He takes a step back, holding his hands out 'n' everything, and examines the car. He squints, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the darkness, considering the closest streetlight is twenty feet that way and positioned in a way that none of the light is hitting it.

Danny would not call himself a car guy. He doesn't think he counts, considering his size and lack of everything. But, but, he knows his way around a few cars, and he had an old obsession with older models when he was little that kinda petered out of existence after his accident. Had a bunch of little car models sitting on one of his shelves back in Amity, and Dad offered to get his hands on an old car for the two of them to fix up together so it'd be ready for Danny when he got his license.

...Anyways.

Point is: Danny can appreciate an old car, and this car has an older -- albeit obviously modified, if the matte paneling and plated wheels meant anything -- look to it. That kind of flat top went out of style years ago, and it's got this kinda rectangular look Danny doesn't see often these days on modern cars.

Other than the electrical cars, but he doesn't think those count. That's boxy, not rectangular.

Danny frowns, tilts his hands down, and leans back further as if that will let him get a better look at this thing. "...What model is this?" He mutters, it's hard to tell in this lighting.

Wait, he should see if there's anyone in the car. It's not running or anything, and nobody's come out to yell at him -- or shoot him -- but, still. People are crazy in Gotham, crazier than they've ever been in Amity. The last thing he needs to do is piss off some guy from the mob.

Danny peers into the window and-- there's no window, okay. Well, no window, and no driver. Some idiot left their car unprotected and without windows, in Gotham?

He pulls on the door handle just to be annoying -- it doesn't budge. Okay, maybe not that stupid. Especially since Danny didn't even see it until he was quite literally running into it.

So. Not that stupid.

Danny looks around warily, pulling his hoodie around him tighter, and then starts circling the car slowly. Like a vulture. No license plate; shocker. Hear how shocked he is? Clutching his pearls right now.

"Reinforced bumper. Cool." he says, er- whispers, really, quiet enough that it doesn't even echo. Danny squats in front of the car and runs his hands over the -- what, should he even call this a bumper? It's bigger than his head, and it's covering the grille. He picks at these... things on the side that remind him of leather straps. Probably to keep this bumper up? Like a ratchet strap?

Danny leans back until his butt hits the ground and he can sit back properly, propping himself up on his hands -- maybe not a good idea. There's probably broken glass somewhere here and he doesn't wanna pick shards out of his palms, again. It's like popping the world's most annoying zit depending on if it gets under the skin.

(He could always just phase them out, but the picking gives him something to do. It doesn't hurt that much.)

Eh. It'll be fine.

With one knee propped up, Danny looks the front up and down, and furrows his brows. The style kinda reminds him of a dodger, especially with the placement and style of the headlights. He plants his hands on the concrete -- hissing when he feels something cut into his palms, ow, there's that glass he was talking about -- and leans down to look under the car.

Hm, nothing jutting out that much. Looks pretty normal. Good space between the bottom and the ground.

He gets up and circles the side again, brushing whatever pebbles or glass that could've stuck into his skin off. He's really curious about where the owner got matte plating for it, or if it's just a wrap. The silhouette's definitely sixties or seventies; too angular for the eighties and fifties.

...There's no one here, Danny looks around again just to make sure, cranes his ears to catch anything. Nope, just the typical quiet rumbling of Gotham's underbelly. It kinda reminds him of Amity, or-- no. No, it reminds him of the quiet groan of the Zone.

That's far more comforting, he thinks. Danny's never really liked Amity all that much.

Back to the car: there's no one around, so Danny folds his arms against the side of the door and sticks his head inside the window. No keys in the ignition, should've figured.

Not like Danny was planning on stealing the car anyways -- anyone capable of modifying a car into this kinda beast -- or paying someone to modify -- was not someone he wanted to piss off. Danny's an orphan, not stupid.

Ignore the fact that he's got his head stuck through the window. The interior isn't anything interesting, but the seats are made of leather, which is nice. Must be a pain in the summer or winter, but leather is cool, and gets stains out better than cloth.

No stick shift though, he's a little disappointed.

Danny presses his mouth into a line and then slants it, humming in the back of his throat. Honestly, he's kinda tempted to crawl in and go to sleep. The leather seats look really inviting, and he's been sleeping on the ground or on park benches for weeks, and the car is really well hidden. No need to worry about being kidnapped.

But, it still belongs to someone. And they're probably using it for something shady. They'll come back for it eventually, so he should get this gawking over with anyways.

And, and-- and. He wants to get a look at that fucking engine. 'Cause holy shit!

Danny pulls his head out of the window and half-dances over to the back, his hand curling around one of the bars as a grin spreads across his face. Now, Danny hates Christmas, but this, this is like it came early and good for once.

"You could smuggle moonshine with this thing," Danny says to himself, grinning ear to ear and running his hands over the edge of the metal. The car is too conspicuous for backroads driving, but the engine, wow. What a thing of beauty.

One of Auntie's friends would probably know what engine it is -- or what type of engine it's based off of, it could very well be a bunch of different engines frankenstein'd together. Danny doesn't recognize it.

Which means it could be illegal. Again, what a shocker. In Gotham? He's clutching his pearls.

Fully satisfied with himself, Danny dances around to the front again and holds his hands out. He makes an 'L' with both hands and shuts one eye, getting the car within the frame of his fingers like he's about to take a picture.

"I rate you," Danny makes a camera shutter sound and mimics taking a photo, "one cool fuckin' car."

"Thank you."

Danny doesn't scream. He does not. He's taught himself better since ghosts started popping up in Amity, and honestly he deserves some credit for that considering they only started popping up over half a year ago.

He does, however, gasp. And he gasps hard, the type that has a high chance of giving you the hiccups afterwards; the painful, chest-thumping kind. Danny slams both hands over his mouth and stumbles backwards, eyes wide and his heart kicking into the fifth gear in his ears.

Bleeding out from the shadows is a man entirely drenched in black, Danny can hardly make out his silhouette and barely catches the white glints of his eyes. Fear like a prey animal burns in his lungs, wild and rabid, Danny has half a mind to bolt.

His ghost sense didn't go off, which might just be the most terrifying thing.

The man doesn't move any more than a step, just enough that Danny can barely see him, but he can feel him watching him. Shit. Shit. He should've never stuck around.

Bruce's mouth twists into a frown.

Gossamer threads of memory blur at the back of his mind; blood and pearls on asphalt. He brushes them away, pushes them down, brings himself back to topic at hand.

It's hard to tell who Danny is trying to piss off more, Bruce or Vlad. The comment seems to at least partially have its desired effect because there's just the slightest tug of a smile at the corner of Danny's mouth when Vlad's jaw drops.

"Danny!" Vlad splutters, completely beside himself. "Buttered biscuits! That's not-"

"Oh, you're funny," Bruce interrupts, forcing out a light chuckle. He slides his hands into the pockets of his slacks, reinforcing his mask of cool, aloof, professional; hiding the way that he can't stop his fingers from trembling. "What makes you think I didn't just pay for it?"

"Hmm." Danny's eyes dart off to the side for just the briefest moment, like a reflex he couldn't resist. "Fair."

Before tensions can escalate further, Lucius gestures to the conference table and waiting projector. "Well then, let's get to the research proposal, shall we?"

Bruce knows why he is here, but why is Danny here? Because Bruce is supposed to be shadowing Lucius everyday after school. Because Bruce is supposed to be learning how to run a multi-billion dollar company. But that's not what he wants to do today. He's 16. Sometimes he's allowed to be impulsive, right?

"I'm going to take Danny on a tour, we'll be back later."

Maybe Bruce just wants to rub WE in Danny's face. Maybe he wants to make Danny regret his choice of words. Or maybe Bruce just wants to get Danny away from Vlad.

If Lucius is surprised, if he's dubious after Bruce and Danny's first little encounter, then he doesn't show it. His eyes dart between the two teens, assessing, and then he nods. "Alright, we'll be here."

On the other hand, Vlad looks absolutely relieved and delighted. "That's an excellent idea! Don't wait up for us, have fun."

Bruce was expecting some kind of resistance, for at least one of them to say some kind of protest. For Lucius to remind Bruce not to shirk his responsibilities. For Vlad to insist that Danny is part of the case he's making for whatever research he wants to make into new medical treatments or whatever.

Instead, the protest seems to come from Danny.

Or, well, he doesn't seem happy with the idea, but it is at least probably more appealing than hanging around listening to the research proposal.

The guy is quick to spin on his heal and head right back out the door of the conference room. "Cool, see you later, you weird-ass fruitloop." The last several words are muttered so quietly that Bruce isn't entirely sure if he heard them correctly.

Forcing a spring into his step, Bruce steps out after Danny and then gestures down the hall. "Right, let’s go this way then."

"Yup, lead the way, Mr. Building-Dude."

And Danny follows Bruce on a slow, lazy trail through Wayne Enterprises Tower. With 85 floors, surely there will be plenty to occupy their time. They go past the HR floor, down through the Media floors, breezing through the Call Center, through corridors of offices, and they end up taking a short rest in the cafeteria. Well, more like Danny just wanders away and sits down, so Bruce gets two sodas and his irritation immediately flushes into guilt when he realizes that Danny is catching his breath.

"So," Bruce slides into the seat across from Danny, putting the two cardboard cups on the table and trying not to focus on the way that Danny's chest stutters with his breath. "Do you want orange soda, or root beer?"

"Orange."

He slides the cup over to Danny and they sit in silence, looking in opposite directions. It's not just awkward. It's uncomfortable.

What should Bruce say? Obviously not anything about whatever is going on with Danny's health. But small talk is boring. But it's rude to not talk to a guest, Alfred taught him better than that.

"What school do you go to? I haven't seen you around Gotham Academy before."

Danny gives him a sour look. "I do online."

"Cool. Do you take the required courses, then? Or do you get to make your own schedule?"

"Look, man. We don't gotta, like, do the chatter-thing. We can just chill. I don't like you. You don't like me. My guardian is trying to get stuff from yours. We can just…" Danny makes a vague gesture. "Not be corporate about this whole thing."

Bruce scoffs. "Be corporate? That's not a thing."

"High society, whatever." The guy mutters, slouching lower in his chair like he just wants to sink through the floor.

"Hn." Going back to sipping at his soda, Bruce mulls that over.

It's an interesting tidbit of information without any real answer. Although, with the way that Danny dresses and acts, compared to Vlad's tailored appearance and refined behavior, that gives Bruce two hypotheses. Either Danny feels like he doesn't belong in a higher social class because of his adoption, or neglect has made him feel like he can never belong.

Danny uses his straw to stab at the ice cubes in his cup. "Stop that. I can smell your brain over-cooking from here."

"Sorry, just… You said that I don't like you. That's not true." While that wasn't exactly the topic on Bruce's mind, it is no less a true statement.

"I'm not a very likable guy."

"Well you certainly don't make it easy."

Raising an eyebrow, the corner of Danny's mouth ticks up. "I think that's the first honest thing you've said all day."

"Then here's another honest thing: I think you're defensive and that you don't want me to like you." Bruce carefully watches Danny's reaction.

He's hoping to get a rise out of Danny like Danny has clearly been trying to get out of him. He's trying to break through Danny's mask. He wants to get a real reaction from Danny. But the approach was too heavy handed and Danny utterly shuts down, the sharp attention of his eyes going flat as his face falls into careful neutrality. He turns away from Bruce, facing the rest of the cafeteria while he sips at his orange soda. As his torso twists with the motion, it's enough for the outstretched collar of his hoodie to pull to the side, revealing a medical port just under his left clavicle.

Bruce would normally file that information away, but he’s a bit distracted turning his last statement around and around in his head.

Should Bruce apologize? Should he double down? Should he switch topics?

What exactly is his goal here, taking Danny away from the meeting that Vlad had clearly brought the guy to be a part of?

Now enough time has passed that it would just be too awkward to say anything at all, so Bruce doesn't. He looks in the opposite direction from where Danny is facing and picks up his cup, sipping at his soda and using the sting of carbonation as a distraction from the guilt gnawing through him.

Finally, after a long silent moment, Danny is the one to switch topics, though his voice is more subdued. "Is there, like, anything actually worthwhile going on in this place? Or is it all just capitalism?"

"Well there's the Martha Wayne Foundation, they manage a majority of the charity work from community fundraisers, to scholarships, and civic projects. Companies should be giving back to the people who work for them and the cities that house them. It's why we push for green initiatives and and higher quality of life. Every choice that someone makes is a chance to make someone else's life better."

"Huh. Alright."

Bruce clears his throat. He hadn't been expecting that change in topic and maybe babbled a bit too much. "Sorry, didn't mean to go all corporate on you. What you probably meant was, like, if there's anything cool to see?"

"Yeah, um, yes."

"Then two bats with one stone, let's go see R&D, that's where the a lot of the good ideas start." Or at least, in Bruce's opinion.

"Research and Development? Sign me the heck up." And there is a sparkle that's come to life in Danny's eyes that kind of catches Bruce off guard.

"Alright, though we gotta go down a few more floors, since they technically have their own separate building."

Nodding, Danny finishes the last dregs of his soda and then gets up. "Okay, lead the way, Mr. Bruce."

Heading over to the cafeteria doors and tossing the cardboard cups in the compost bin, Bruce realizes that while Danny still used the title of 'Mr,' it was paired with his name this time instead of a silly moniker. In other words, Danny still has a wall up, but he's not trying to be quite so much of an ass and actively insult Bruce.

It’s only natural that Bruce doesn’t want to be insulted and called names. It's basic respect and practice to call people by their correct name.

So why is there a warm tinge that flickers in his chest at the sound of his name on Danny’s lips?

It doesn't matter.

Shaking the sudden nervousness out of his hands, Bruce leads the way to WE's R&D department. Before the doors are even finished opening, it's like Danny is taking his first breath of fresh air in a long, long time.

"How much can we see? What kind of projects are being worked on? How do you decide to hire your engineers and scientists?" Danny is animated in a way that Bruce wasn't expecting, or really thought it possible for the guy to be.

"There's actually not all that much that I can share, but you're welcome to ask Lucius more questions when we get back to the conference room. He used to be the department manager before he took over from my dad, so Lucius still likes to keep a close eye on the place when he can."

Even though Danny seems to deflate a little bit, he's still no less excited and his eyes keep darting around, trying to take in as much as he can. "Yeah, alright."

When Danny doesn't ask another stream of questions, it definitely doesn't cause Bruce's chest to clench with a pang of regret. He slows down their pace even more and makes a decision. "You're welcome to look at any research center that has an observation window, just don't try to distract the employees."

"Of course." And Danny proceeds to practically plaster himself up against the glass. "Is that a quantum particle accelerator?"

Bruce's stomach does an anxious little swoop. "You really have an eye for this stuff. Are you like a scientist or an engineer in the making, or something?"

"Or something… I, uh, just do a lot of reading now. I've had more than enough lab time for two lives." Danny peels himself off the observation window and moves to the next one.

And that is an interesting phrasing of words that Bruce can't quite make heads or tails off. So Danny has been in a lab before? Lots of labs? Spent a lot of time in the same lab? And then things changed? Well there was Danny's adoption by Vlad. Does it have to do with Danny's health? With the research that Vlad is trying to get funding and scientists for?

"Hey, what do you think about supernatural entities like ghosts?"

The switch in conversation is enough to slightly blindside Bruce. "Um, I mean, in Gotham? There are certainly some stories. But realistically and scientifically? I'll believe it when I see it."

"Hmm."

"Let's go over here. There's something I want to show you."

"Yeah, okay." Danny lingers for a moment longer, and then pulls himself off of the observation window to follow Bruce down the hall.

They go to Lucius' office (because even though Bruce's mentor has the office penthouse in the WE Tower, this is the office that he actually uses) and Bruce uses his key to get in. Flicking on the lights, Bruce leads Danny over to the desk in the corner.

"This is my work bench," he says with a sweep of his hand. It's no where near as fancy as anything in any of the research centers, but this is Bruce's place, where he can just work on something and ignore the rest of the world. "Since you seemed so interested in the on-going research, I thought that we could work on something if you wanted."

"Oh, hell yeah." Danny perks up even more, his hands fluttering over the work bench without touching anything just yet, his eyes practically glittering. "It's been so long since I could get my hands on some parts. What kinds of things do you usually build? What should we make? Solar powered model train? Pogo stick with a super spring? Oh, it's been a while since I last made an air-canister rocket!"

Bruce opens his mouth a bit, but when no words come out, he just closes it again. Danny doesn't even notice, dragging a stool over to the work bench and taking a seat, the words just keep pouring out of him.

"I used to make these all the time, or at least I did after baking soda bottle rockets got kinda boring. It was that, or I would start trying to figure out scale model combustion engines, so my parents switched me over to air-power pretty quick. Part of the fun is that after you launch them, you gotta go run and catch them before they hit the ground!"

It's like Danny is an entirely new person.

It's like he's come alive.

It's like there's a light that's filtering out of him, trying to shine through the fog of his poor health. His skin is still pale, his hair is choppy and limp, his thin fingers nimbly flying over parts and picking up tools. And his eyes. His blue eyes are ringed with the same dark marks of fatigue, but that cleverness is bright, sharp, and attentive. There's an unwavering strength to his spine as he sits up and gets to work, confidence and assuredness leading every one of his motions, his words unwavering, unfiltered, and unafraid.

Oh, okay. So this is Danny.

Bruce swallows against his suddenly dry throat.

Oh, he hadn't really noticed it before.

Danny is pretty.

~~~

Well that was certainly a thought that appeared out of no where in Bruce's head. An idea that has no base of reason. Illogical and easily discarded. Swept under the rug. It's not that he actually thinks that about Danny. It's not that he like likes Danny.

Bruce was just caught off guard is all.

Now he can be pragmatic again.

Danny is just tinkering away, and Bruce isn't sure if he's making a rocket or a pipe bomb, but either way, they both sound fun. Although, Bruce very much should and does prefer the less violent option, so he joins Danny at the table and starts following along with what the guy is doing.

It's not that Bruce wants to do the same thing that Danny is doing. No, it's only that if Bruce knows how the contraption is assembled, then he knows how to disassemble it. That is the only reason. It's logical and direct and to the point, no complicated feelings involved

"Okay, so we need a few inches of pvc pipe and some hot glue and an air-canister, nothing big, just like the 50cc ones that are used in an airsoft gun."

Bruce digs around in a drawer and offers up two, one for each of them.

He's hanging onto Danny's every word.

"Yeah! Perfect! And we'll also need something to make the nose and the tail wings, cardboard should be fine. Oh and we can’t forget to make a little launch pad, something that will open the air canister. It's fun to do the one that, like, you gotta stomp on. You got like a hose and something that's kinda like an accordion?"

So Bruce shows him where some more supplies are, and they get to work. Danny explains each step, his pale fingers working nimbly, like he's meant for this, like he's built for this.

Wen Bruce finally gets his voice working again, he asks the stupidest, most obvious question ever. "You like building things?"

"Yeah." Even though Danny responds, he’s clearly paying more attention to his rocket than to Bruce. "You could say that."

"Uh, huh," Bruce says sarcastically. He kinda wants that unwavering attention to be on him instead. "Defensively no interest there, none at all."

"Alright, yeah, there is some interest."

"But only just some?"

And the giddy smile falls off Danny's face, his hands going still as he stares at the rocket between his fingers. "Well, it's not like I can do anything with it."

"Why not?" The answer feels like it should be obvious, but Bruce just can't see it. Not with how much Danny clearly enjoys being in the R&D lab. Not with how much he clearly enjoys making something. "You have a real talent for engineering."

"Yeah, well, I'm…" Danny makes a vague gesture at himself.

"I don't understand."

"Pft, really? You haven't noticed my lovely death-like complexion? Some might even say that I have one foot in the grave."

And Bruce would just be better off putting his foot in his mouth, but instead, the words are past his lips before he's even finished thinking about them. "Well, yeah, you do appear to have a condition, but you seem pretty lively to me."

He wants to face palm. He wants to be an ostrich and put his head in the floor. Here he is, just digging his own grave. Because he's 16 and sometimes he can be rather impulsive.

Danny pauses, taking one moment to give Bruce a long, slow, thoughtful blink of his dull, sea blue eyes, and then he's throwing his head back to laugh. It's a full-body laugh that starts in his chest, shaking his shoulders and showing off the column of his throat, his smile wide enough to show his teeth. He wraps his arms around his middle, his adam's apple bobbing as his laughter tapers out into chuckles.

Yeah, Bruce kinda has to admit it now.

Danny is hot.

"A 'condition.'" Danny mimes wiping away a tear and flicking off the imaginary droplet. "That is certainly one way to put it, Brucie."

And Bruce just shrugs because it's not like he's going to ask about Danny's health, but he's also not going to sweep it under the rug, and also he's feeling quite a bit tongue-tied again and ever so slightly red in the cheeks because Danny said his name. And Danny didn’t just say, ‘Bruce,’ he gave him a nickname, ‘Brucie.’

Instead, Bruce gets to his feet. It's easier to change the conversation anyways. "Let's go launch these things, wanna go to the roof?"

"The roof of WE? Isn't that like, 100 floors?"

Well, he had been thinking about the roof of the R&D building, but the helipad on the WE Tower would also work. "It's only 85 floors. Come on, let's go."

"Oh, fuck yeah."

It's nice to see Danny loosen up and get comfortable with being around Bruce. With being just a regular teen. It's nice that Bruce can feel like that too.

He's not Bruce Wayne, orphaned and prodigious son who's going to take over the family business.

He's Brucie. And he's making a friend.

Carrying their rockets and the launching device back to the elevator for the Tower, Bruce asks the question not because it's a small talk standard, but because he actually cares. "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"Well, I used to think about being an astronaut."

"Yeah? Why not anymore?"

Danny makes a vague gesture, waving Bruce's question aside like the answer is obvious or that he just doesn't care. Deflecting. Redirecting. "What about you? You got your whole future ahead of you."

And that… that is an interesting way of phrasing it, as if Danny doesn't have a future.

Tucking the information away as something to dig into further, Bruce answers Danny's question. Or at least, he partially answers. "I'm not too sure. Probably this." He waves his hand at the building that they're walking through. "Or I could be a doctor like my Dad was, but I'm not sure. What I really wanna do is something that matters, something that makes a difference and helps people."

"Okay, then do that," Danny says like it's simple.

"But I don't know how or what."

Danny shrugs. "You seem to have a pretty strong sense of right and wrong, so you should keep using that to guide you towards helping people. What you said about the Martha Wayne Foundation and supporting a community? For the record, I don't think that it was a corporate thing to say at all. The world would be a better place if more companies took the same stance that WE does."

And those words, paired with the soft, encouraging smile that Danny offers, does a funny thing to Bruce's chest. It makes him feel all warm and there's this tingly, fluttery feeling that spreads out to the tips of his fingers.

Fumbling for an answer, Bruce stumbles through his own encouraging statement. "Alright. Then you'll become a great astronaut; go to the moon, see the starts, all of that."

Danny's sneakers squeak on the linoleum floor of the hall as he comes to an abrupt stop, his eyes blinking hard. "Yeah?" he asks, a little breathlessly, a little disbelieved, but what he really seems to be asking is, 'You mean it?'

So Bruce just simply says, "Yeah." But what he's really saying is, 'I mean it.'

~~~

85 floors above the streets of Gotham, Bruce and Danny walk out onto the roof of WE Tower. This high up, they've punched through the worst of Gotham's smog layer. There are few other buildings that reach this high, so they can more or less see the city spread out below them, sunlight flashing against skyscraper windows and the streets looking fogy from the smog. It's gotten later than Bruce had thought it was, the sun hanging low in the sky; it'll start setting soon.

"Do, uh, you think they're done with the meeting yet?"

"Yeah, maybe. Vlad's probably hoping that the longer we hang out then the better his research grant chances are if we're like friends or something."

Sighing, Bruce can't believe that the realization didn't dawn on him sooner. "Lucius probably also hopes that I'll make a friend."

"Someone like you? You're an A-lister, surely you got loads of buddies."

Well, Bruce isn't sure what that means, but he can guess that it either has to do with grades or popularity, or both. "No, total loner."

"Strange, a cool guy like you should have lots of friends."

"You think I'm cool?"

Danny shrugs. "Well, now I'm not so sure. Cool guys catch their rockets after launching them."

"Hn." Bruce looks out past the railing of the helipad, where the roof of WE Tower is covered with clutter, from skylights to industrial vents; heaters and air conditioning units and pipes and a spattering of solar panels. "Well, I'm not so sure about running and catching them, but we can certainly go find and pick them up. It's probably a good idea not to try to litter, and also as long as we try to make sure the rockets land on the roof."

Humming in agreement, Danny holds out his left hand- palm flat and fingers together, thumb sticking out to the side, and wrist bent up at a 90* angle -and closes one eye, like he's measuring the sky or something.

"Okay so given that the helipad is kinda here on the corner, if we move more to the left to get closer to the center, then the wind is in a pretty good direction to blow the rockets across the roof. Unless a really strong gust comes through, I'm fairly certain that the rockets will land up here before falling to the street."

Bruce holds up his free hand and closes one eye, trying to see whatever the hell Danny can see. "And you can just tell that?"

"With some quick math, yeah. I can be more accurate if you want, it'll just take a few minutes to actually calculate the projectile trajectory equation."

"Nah." Bruce drops his hand back to his side. "I trust your assessment. Now how do we get this set up?"

Kneeling near the left side railing of the helipad, Danny sets the launching device down. The thing looks like if a whoopee cushion and an accordion had a baby- flat and puffed up and ready to be stomped on. Coming off of that is a hose connected to a four-pronged stand where they're going to put their air-canister rockets.

"Okay, so we connect the rocket like this to the stand and the hose, and when we step on the pad, it activates this pin on the stand, which will break the seal of the air-canister and send the rocket up into the air."

"Yeah, got it."

Danny sets his rocket up, pulling the step-pad a few feet away from the rocket stand as far as the hose will allow, and then he starts counting down, "5, 4, 3, 2, 1…" He stomps on the pad with all his might. "Lift off!"

The rocket flies straight up, up, up into the air.

Danny and Bruce go running, watching it soar above their heads as they follow it to the end of the helipad. The railing hits their chests much sooner that they would like and they shade their eyes with their hands, trying to watch as the little rocket hits its peak and starts falling down, down, down-

"Where did it land?"

"Did you see?"

"I'm pretty sure it hit the roof."

"Yeah, I don't think it went over."

They look at each other, smiles wide and shoulders brushing. There's that warmth in Bruce's chest again, giddy and fluttery. Then they're tipping their heads back and laughing.

"Again! Again!"

"Let's do mine now!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, do you got it or do you want me to show you again?"

"No, I think I got it…"

"Careful, you don't want the pin to accidentally break the valve when you're putting it on the stand."

"Wait, that can happen?"

"Yeah, hadn't I said that?"

"No, Danny! That is kind of some important information to leave out!"

"Oh, oops! Well it's fine, looks like you got it right and you didn't get your eye taken out. Good job! Now let's back up and you can count it down."

Bruce readies his foot. His Louboutin dress shoes never thought that they'd be launching an air-canister rocket. "5, 4, 3, 2, 1…" He brings down his foot with as much force as he can muster. "Lift off!"

Once again, the rocket goes flying up, up, up.

And once again, they run after it all the way to the back railing of the helipad, watching it rise until it tips, dips, and falls to be lost somewhere to left of Danny's or beyond the edge of the roof and into Gotham's streets, it's hard to tell.

"What about that time? Did you see where it fell?"

"I'm pretty sure it hit the roof?"

"Off to the side though, not the same trajectory that mine had."

Bruce bumps his shoulder against Danny's- just to get his attention, just to relish the contact -and gestures towards where their rockets fell. "Well then, cool guys find their rockets."

He's rewarded by another glorious sight of Danny throwing his head back and laughing. And then Danny bumps his shoulder against Bruce's- and is it his imagination, or does Danny let the contact linger -with a bit more force than Bruce expects.

"Well then, Mr. Cool Guy, let's go find our rockets."

Instead of opening the gate that's off to the side of the helipad, they slip under the railing of where they are standing and weave their way across the roof, moving around all of the industrial parts.

Wandering around the roof looking for their air-canister rockets, Bruce watches as Danny hops up onto a fan casing, walking toe to heel as he balances along the edge. He's probably tying to get a better view point to look over the tangle of industrial parts that litter the top of the WE skyscraper, but there's something else that comes to Bruce's mind.

"Have you ever tried parkour?"

There's a strange mix of emotions that flutter over Danny's face as he turns away from Bruce. It's like the guy practically leans into the breeze. "I guess you could call it that."

That's another interesting phrasing of words.

Instead, Bruce says, "Race you, one lap around the roof."

Danny casts a side eye over to Bruce. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

The most brilliant smile breaks out over Danny's face, like the full moon coming out from behind a cloud. It's a lopsided, smug, imperfect thing, and it's beautiful. It's a challenge. It's the only warning Bruce has before Danny's moving.

And as one, they take off, throwing caution away because they're 16 and sometimes they're allowed to be impulsive.

The wind is in Bruce's hair, pulling his jacket open and blowing his tie to the side. These aren't the right shoes to do this in, and he doesn't care. Danny's hands appear in Bruce's peripheral view before he's vaulting over a skylight and pulling ahead of Bruce. They leave a trail of laughter behind them, shoes squeaking against concrete as they dodge around industrial clutter on the roof of WE, 85 floors above Gotham's streets.

It's freedom. It's like flying.

Bruce turns to say something to Danny, to call a taunt or a tease over his shoulder or something, but Danny stumbles as he slides over an industrial ventilation pipe, barely managing to catch his footing as he leans back against the pipe for support.

"Oh, shitfuck." Danny's voice falters, the syllables getting caught in his throat with the roughness of his gasping breathes.

Bruce rushes back to Danny's side. "Hey, you okay?"

Danny actually manages a chuckle at that and Bruce feels stupid. From the very first moment that he laid eyes on Danny, it was clear that the guy was no where near the realm of 'okay.'

"Don't freak out, but my nose is gonna start bleeding."

"What? You can just tell that?" Bruce helps him ease down to the ground, the pipe solid and cold against their backs.

Danny's eyes are distant and his head sways like he's on the deck of a ship at sea. "Mhm, yeah. Like when joints hurt before rain, or like when the air pressure changes."

"Nah, you're bullshitting me."

"Oop, nope, there it goes."

And shit, sure enough, first one of Danny's nostrils starts bleeding and then the second follows not a second later. He presses the back of his hand under his nose, tipping his head back with a dull thunk against the metal insulation of the ventilation pipe.

"Uh, here." Bruce digs into the pockets of his jacket and pulls out a silk handkerchief, it has lacy edges and one of the corners is embroidered with flowers around the initials MW. Normally he just has it as a keepsake, but now it could actually be useful. "It's unused."

Danny glaces out of the corner of his eye and actually has a double take. "What? I don't want to ruin that with my blood."

"Take it," Bruce insists. Because it's something that she would've done. Because it would make a difference. Because it would make him feel helpful. Feel useful.

With one final skeptical glance, Danny reaches out and takes the handkerchief and switches it with the hand pressed against his nose. Wiping the bloodied back of his hand against his jeans, he uses the handkerchief to pinch his nose. It only takes seconds for the delicate cloth to turn red.

"It'll be over in a few min, you don't need to watch me like I'm gonna drop dead or somth." Danny's aiming for humor, but his voice falls flat and nasally with his pinched closed nose.

"Right. Sorry." Bruce leans back against the industrial pipe, forcing his gaze to settle along Gotham's sky line.

It's starting to get dark, the sun hanging low in the sky. Not much longer now and it will be setting.  

"Hey, um, sorry about the first question I asked you, I guess I was just prickly and being rude on purpose and-"

"My parents." Bruce's eyes don't leave the skyline, Gotham's smog smeared red by the approaching sunset. "It was my parents who died and gave me a building."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Well, at least you got a building out of it," Danny says ruefully. "All I got was an injection schedule and a megalomaniac for a guardian."

Bruce is quiet for a moment, not quite sure which angle to focus on there. "Your parents are dead too?"

"I killed them."

Bruce's eyes drop down to his lap. "Yeah… me too…"

They sit in heavy silence, watching the sun dip lower over Gotham's skyline and the air getting cooler with the approaching night until Danny lowers the bloody handkerchief from his nose.

"Um, you probably don't want this back… I'll get it dry cleaned and mail it back to you?"

"Yeah, that sounds fine."

"So…" Danny draws out the word as he tries to fold the handkerchief so that all the damp blood is on the inside until he just gives up and shoves the whole thing in his hoodie pocket. "You're probably wondering…"

"You don't have to explain."

Danny dismissively waves his hand, the back of it speckled with dried blood. "You should know that it's not actually Vlad's invention. It's something that my parents made. But he needs help with the research because they weren't able to finish developing my treatment. I haven't always been this way, but with my condition… It's complicated. Things gotta get worse before they can get better." Accentuating his words with jazz hands, he sing songs, "Treatment kills it faster than it kills me."

Bruce takes a moment to parse through that explanation. So many half-answers and tidbits that lead in different directions.

"So, um, your parents were the ones who created your treatment?" He can't help the curiosity worming its way through his brain. He wants to know, needs to understand. "If they're dead then why…"

Danny looks away, the back of his head turned towards Bruce as he yet again rapidly switches topics. "You know, a year ago I wouldn't've thought this would be the thing that did me in. Kinda would’ve liked to kiss someone before I die the rest of the way."

And once again, Bruce's brain is reeling from several tidbits of information that have no further explanation. Most notably, the implications of 'die the rest of the way' and what Danny apparently thinks about his condition.

Instead of anything about all of that. Instead of reassurances. Instead of offers to help. Instead… the words are out of Bruce's mouth before he knows that he's going to say them because he's 16 and impulsive and there is a sad, pretty boy in front of him.

"I'll kiss you." And Bruce means it.

Slowly, Danny turns back to face Bruce again. Even with dried blood smeared under his nose, Danny is really attractive. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Danny's thin, chapped lips part a bit, and his shoulders curve in as hesitation and nerves take over. The smudges of exhaustion under his eyes almost look like bruises in the low light of Gotham's setting sun, and maybe it is just the redness of the clouds reflecting off of Danny's pale skin, but his cheeks sure do seem to be a lovely pink. His eyes are so blue. Sitting his close to him, it almost looks like there's a thin line of green around Danny's pupils.

Bruce smoothly leans forward as if he's done this many times before. He hasn’t.

And Danny follows as if he's caught by Bruce's gravitational pull.

Because they're 16 and sometimes they get to be impulsive.

And their lips brush, skin against skin.

But it's not like how media makes it out to be. There's no sparks, no butterflies, and no grand overtures. Danny's lips are cold and rough under Bruce's mouth, yet the sigh of his breath is so soft. The sides of their noses brush, and Bruce can slightly smell the iron of the dried blood above Danny's lips. Bruce feels warm, from his cheeks to his ears and down his chest. He's not sure if he should move his lips, do something more than just sit there, enraptured.

Then Danny leans back and turns away, his eyes tracking the setting sun. Bruce's gaze stays locked on Danny's profile.

"Thanks."

"Yeah."

"I guess kissing is kinda overrated anyways."

"Yeah, maybe."

"Friends?"

"Of course."