bruce works thin - frame glasses down his nose. the pair lands upside down to the desktop with a mild thunk of thought as fingers take their place, rubbing thoughtfully at the bridge. ❝ no. ❞ he knows what it sounds like, stark agreement with none other than yourself, but – ❝ neither am i. ❞

arms cross, each sleeve rolled to the elbow some time ago in contemplation. they've been at this for the better part of an hour now, searching. configuring. compiling. quantifying, only to do it all again. double - check, triple - check their own work. together, they are mirror halves, both complimentary and yet inverse, peering up at one of the many widespread faces of the cave's computer. so similar, and yet, completely unlike the other. it's curious; it's fascinating, but they both know it is one more puzzle to be solved.

HE had been watching the other work - a gaze so intent that it would have seen INTRUSIVE. there's the way glasses slip down nose , and the fingers that rub thoughtfully at bridge. he wonders if the other picks as nails and bites them in a nervous manner while in deep thought.

this particular puzzle was the work of an arkham - pieces of alan wayne's journal that were scattered all over gotham. bruce now has 6 of the 12. the coding on this one had required the pull of surveillance. staring at the sea of faces it leaves one quite overwhelmed.

' i think they've been after me - us the entire time , shifting almost ... ' his voice faltering as an almost bewildered tone accents words , ' they've figured out how to outsmart me ' the tone of defeat obvious though , he feels SAFE to admit this. he is , after all so young in training. the work that was required had also been eaten up by the aftermath of gotham - a building of company that had his mother's namesake.

ㅤi'd instructed the officers to sanction off the area , get tape hung and cover the body ( which to me looks less like a killing and more like an execution ) but he's snuck right past without so much as a word. a quick once - over leaves me with more questions than answers , like the slight bulk beneath his shirt that tapers off just before his waistline — a bulletproof vest , if i'm not mistaken , and i'm almost certain i'm not.

ㅤhis question catches me off guard , wrenches me from my thoughts , and i extend one arm to offer my hand in greeting. ❛ i don't think so. detective cale wickham. everyone just calls me wick. ❜ i can't help but study his face in the meantime , get a good look at his almost haggard features. his eyes seem familiar — not because i've seen them before , but because they remind me of mine , wrought with a deep , distinct emptiness anyone else might miss and a clear disconnect from his surroundings , the way you fumble for a light switch in the dark and can't quite reach it.

ㅤ❛ just transferred here last week. ❜ out of genuine curiosity , i turn to the body ( what's left of it , anyway ) and gesture towards it with a quick jerk of my head. ❛ you look like you've got some thoughts about all this. ❜

just transferred here last week ... the words hang , and bruce wonders just why GOTHAM wants him here. make no mistake those who entered the city were not here by accident. lenses' do a quick sweep of the area , and it turns out his credentials match up to the name he's given.

there's yellow tape that has the wording : CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS , and for a moment he's brought back to another scene. a scene in which he sits in the back of an ambulance as he sees a sheet drop upon his father and mother. the shock consumes as the young boy nods a 'yes' when asked if he can follow the nice policeman.

tonight is no different , the scene meticulously chosen , and the victims ? well , they're the true players in this scene. this killing like so many others meant to convey a message. gotham city painted in grays as rain was imminent and the sound of thunder was not far off.

' i thought gordon would be here ... ' bruce slowly says , the scene of the crime had been close to FOXARK offices - convenient enough that bruce being there wouldn't have been out of place. there wasn't enough time for a change ...

casual i remind myself , coincidence that you stumbled into the crime. it helps that i spy at least ten other employees. lucius standing off to the side as he gives me a look. i then go to look at the detective and shake head assuring that nothing deeper lingers. of course i had been allowed to go beyond yellow taped lines , perhaps there were those who hoped for a breakdown , a triggering of my PTSD. i am never anything more than an object ; that object being of headlines of the very people of gotham. in my mind i've accepted this , and i've learnt to use those things to my advantage.

if  her  fate  lies  in  the  hands  of  one  man  ...  this  one  is  hardly  unfavorable.  he  is  gentle,  kind,  and  noble  in  the  truest  sense  -  that  of  his  heart.

SUNLIGHT pours , accenting fields as he looks upwards , and closes eyes. the warmth of the sun flooding cheeks as he smiles ; in this moment he is content. you can hear the sounds of hard work from the nearby lands. fields of grass that are begging to be harvested , cattle whose tails swat at flies.

he is called from the temporary reverie he finds within the suns rays as one hand feels the top of hayfields brush against palm. eyes open as head falls and he feels her hand move against forearm , and as she drops her findings into palm he closes it.

' is it not what we live for ? ' bruce allows a smile to blossom upon lips , ' obligation , loyalty , and at times ... love ' a gentle tease to words as he then opens palm and looks at what she had dropped , ' i love my brother ... though we have never met - my father made sure of that ' a turn in tone as hurt and anger mix - sepulchral , ' i think there are others who would rather have me banished ' from palm he plucks a berry from her gatherings. ' i don't think we've known stability , the world we grow up in begs for that but ? ' a small laugh falls as he shrugs shoulders , the wind picking up. ' it would be nice to improve the world wouldn't it ? '

" let them think what they want, they won't remember tomorrow. " a corner of your lip raises, too afraid to blink or even turn away... you almost miss @batfall's question: do you want me to stop...

" no... " your voice is quick, a quiet whisper slightly muffled by the sound of music, no doubt made by some guest in attendance. his hand pulls back from your figure & you nearly spit out a protest, but instead you let the air grow tenser between you both, gaze looking out to the lit tables & bodies crowded around the bar. " it's my first met, you think i'd miss it? " playful words spill as brown eyes flick back to his outline, gaze so in tune with every curve of his face, every sharp line of well steamed suit.

a moment of silence, a moment too long, before you fold your lips into a full smile followed by the quietest of laughs. " you know what's stupid, this feels like a weird... fucked up first date, except only we know about it. " right hand reaches out, gently brushing the tips of your fingers ( scarred, vaguely coarse from the snap of bow string back & forth, again & again ) against the back of his hand. " i couldn't hide from you if i wanted to, it'd be rude. "

IT'S terribly indulgent , her calloused fingertips traveling against the back of hand. his gaze so fixated upon her full lips as his eyes become a lighter blue - there's the faint hint of something else that begs , a remembrance of their time spent in bed. tangled limbs as he reached for her under an ocean of sheets. his eyes widen , and he licks lips remembering her taste upon his lips.

' no - no , ... i'm encouraging terrible ideas ' the 'no' so quick to leave lips that tongue had practically stumbled over words. his heartbeat quickens , and he then allows them to be swallowed up by shadows that swathe them in a haze of dark lighting. the music carries on , and so he leans in - his mouth grazing the shell of her ear.

' i'll take hours ... ' words effortlessly fall , a hand going to rest against her hip as other hand goes to cradle her jawline , and lips press a kiss against her cheek once more before he looks into her eyes. the two of them so pressed against a wall , and so still that they'd look like one of the pieces housed on this particular floor.

it was night of celebration. a new piece was added into the gotham museum of human history. carved stone art was discovered in a riverbed of the gotham river by a local jogger. every archeologist and donator that lived on the east coast was in attendance for the new exhibit. not to marvel at the find. but, mainly to keep appearances. alex's case was mandatory, as she was representing the smithsonian. her instructions were to smile, wave and observe artifacts that drew crowds in. attending events like these was unfortunately part of the job.

upon the grand balcony of the museum, stood the raven haired woman. watching the exhibition goers move around and socialize as if they were ants on the floor below her. glass of champagne in her hand, she had done a good job avoiding small talk with people. until a familiar face stepped into vision.

"we have to stop meeting like this." - @batfall

he was a sight for sore eyes. bruce wayne was one of the few rich people here who actually appreciated the exhibits.

"you're right, let's just not hold these things anymore." she jested, before turning to him. "do my eyes deceive me or is bruce wayne actually attending a social event?"

it's been a year since she had last seen the billionaire at an event such as this. unlike the year prior, she was dressed formally. alex sported a long black gown and silver earrings that she had borrowed from her mother. last year, the doctor got an entire lecture from the public relations team on how you wear dresses to events like these and not pants. she listened to their critiques, even going as far as to styling her hair in neat waves and wearing heels.

EVENTS like this brought out the elite ; those who told themselves that they were somehow saving gotham. saving gotham , seems odd doesn't it ? the city encloses around them. the balcony of museum met with neon colors as a haze decorated air. this haze was a mix of fog and humidity that came off the bay , and the breeze that rolled from the oceanfront stank of decay.

' i'm here ... though i think half of the people came so they could pat themselves on the back. make themselves believe that gotham is changing ' lenses worn as they record and scan the surrounding area.

her name not lost within the scanning , and the faint outline of an owl resting upon a nearby skyscraper is detected. though he's unflinching with response. ' what are -you- doing here ... gotham's history museum has nothing on yours ' the museum taking on a life of it's own as margaret pye was made curator.

' these events never end well ' exhaustion gently treads as he gives half a smile. currently their faces being illuminated blue as a toothpaste commercial plays in the background. gotham does the thinking for you it appears.

interesting how she preys on insecurities , enhances panic , and without hesitation breathes destruction. if she ever loved her people one wouldn't know it. instead she dangles dreams and hopes as she rips them away. only the select few have been fighting , the battle never ending as the scars are made evident.

for a moment i think about backtracking on that statement it is as vague as it is negative. it does no one good to dwell in the this city's insidious nature - though ? nor does shutting out the TRUTH. i allow my eyes to avert upwards as i go to lean upon railing. elbows touching upon steel as i watch the toothpaste commercial play out. then looking directly at her i speak once more.