#fyeahwonderbat

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Bruce approached her as soon as she arrived. Almost as if he were lying in wait for her. The thought amused and pleased her in equal measures.

“Happy Birthday,” she greeted, leaning in to place a kiss on his cheek. He smelled nice; musk with a hint of spice. She lingered.

“Do you send flowers to every person you invite?”

He chuckled lowly. “Only to those who might need some extra persuasion.”

“Well, they were very lovely, and quite useless.”

A gleam in his eye told her that he had received the message.

Bruce introduced her around as Diana Prince, art curator. Most of the attendees recognised her as a familiar fixture at recent benefits and galas and soon they fell into pleasant, if not banal, small talk. They asked about her work at the Louvre, discussed the record-breaking amount a Picasso had netted in an auction, and spoke about the Royal Russian Ballet Company due to make a stop in Metropolis. No one mentioned the high-profile investigation into a drug smuggling ring that had finally ended after the main perpetrators were found dangling over Gotham Harbour, trussed up and ready for the police. This time, there were no bat brands on their skin.

All the while, Diana watched Bruce from the corner of her eye. He seemed relaxed, ready with a quip or a playful smirk whenever the occasion demanded. He looked like an agreeable man, if not entirely forgettable. But it was the moments when his façade slipped that Diana found endlessly fascinating; the weariness in the set of his shoulders during a lull in the conversation, the dark pull of his mouth whenever a dismissive comment about Gotham’s less privileged was passed, the restlessness in his eyes as he thanked person after person for their birthday wishes. She realised that Bruce Wayne was just another mask for him.

A while later, she slipped onto the balcony and leaned against the railing, admiring the Metropolis skyline. A flute of champagne dangled from her hand. Bruce found her not too long after, and deftly replaced her empty glass with a fresh one. She smiled her thanks.

“Admiring the view?”

“The lights do sparkle like jewels,” she replied. “But I miss skies that used to be full of stars.”

“Can’t say the same for me. All that I think about when I look up to the sky, is what’s coming for us.”

“This invasion you speak about-”

Bruce held up his hand. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. Tonight’s for enjoying good company, and…letting loose.” It was no surprise that the man who spent his days in the boardroom, his nights patrolling the streets, and the rest of his time forming an alliance to prepare for the end of the world, would feel uncomfortable with the concept of taking a night off.

When Diana told him so, he looked mildly offended. “Hey, I haven’t forgotten to have a good time. I’m not that old.”

“Being old has nothing to do with enjoying life.” She crossed her arms pointedly. “I’m an enjoyable person.”

“Debatable.” He hid a smile behind his glass. “Anyway, in human years, I’m-” He stopped suddenly as a thought struck him. His face collapsed into a sullen frown.

“What?”

“I’m older now than my father ever was, Diana,” he said quietly. “Sometimes I forget that. And when it comes back to me…” The grip on his scotch tightened. “It’s not fair. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.”

Moving closer, she laid a hand on his shoulder. Any words of comfort that came to her mind felt hollow in front of the kind of tragedies Bruce had suffered. Taking action, always moving, never stopping; the Batman had mastered this coping strategy, and so had Diana after she lost Antiope, her home, and Steve. But sometimes, memories could heal the wounds time left. The long hours she had spent with the photograph had taught her that.

So she asked him about his childhood, about his birthdays growing up, his parents. “Tell me. I’d like to know.”

This time when he smiled, there was no pretence.

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The art exhibition was particularly noisy. The moneyed elite mingled with the young bohemians amidst the clink of glasses and lively conversation. Diana moved to a quieter corner and savoured the peaceful moments as she strolled from painting to painting. She paused at a few, but never for long. The years had made her appreciate the evolution of art, but she would always prefer the classics. There was one piece that caught her eye, however. It was an abstract painting; a brilliant blue giving way to a constellation of grey. The title was simply one word. Revelation.

“Marvellous, isn’t it?” asked a woman in a gown the exact shade of azure as the painting. “I like the inversion, blue to grey instead of grey to blue. Not exactly a happy thought though, is it?”

“Well, now and then, one does need a grey revelation,” she replied, thinking of foggy London skies.

The woman laughed softly. “Now why would a person like you have any greys in their life?”

Diana shrugged and turned back to the art. The woman, sensing that she had misstepped, touched her arm gently. “I apologise for any presumptions. Claire duMont,” She held out her hand, Diana took it. “I manage the gallery and it is second nature to slip into that persona. The fact that a curator of the arts from the Louvre is here is privilege enough, I don’t need to nudge you to buy one of the works too.” She smiled winningly, revealing straight white teeth. Diana gave her a brief smile, suddenly tired of this farce.

Claire shot her a conspiratorial look. “Now there’s someone whose patronage I could use.” Diana started a little on seeing him. “Bruce Wayne. Have you met him? Shame he’s rarely attended these things lately. He can easily afford every single piece of art in the room.”

Bruce was yet to glance their way. He was deep in conversation with a young woman dressed in a striking red, a charming smile on his face. But his eyes, Diana noticed, were flat. She considered going up to him but held back. Soon, Wonder Woman and Batman would have to stand together against an army of aliens. The less Diana Prince and Bruce Wayne were seen together in public, the less suspicious it would seem. Perhaps that moment on the balcony on his birthday was the last time. The thought filled her with momentary sadness.

Claire bit her lip in contemplation. “Alex Wentworth has already shown an interest in the sculpture but if I can draw Wayne’s attention to it, it may drive up the price. Or perhaps he’ll be more interested in a painting? I saw him lingering near that portrait… What could it remind him of? His dead father? Yes, that could work…”

The polished façade was off and Diana could see the undisguised hunger in her eyes. She left Claire duMont standing there, muttering to herself.

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The next morning, a package arrived with her morning tea. It was flat and rectangular and even though she had an inkling of what it could be, Diana gasped after carefully cutting it open.

It was the painting that had drawn her notice last night. Revelation. It stood propped against the wall of her hotel room, fitting in quite beautifully. This annoyed Diana even more. A hundred years, and she’d never felt the need or want for anyone else to buy her presents or flowers. She wasn’t going to start today.

She was about to pick up her phone when she spotted a note she’d missed earlier.

Diana,

I don’t know when your birthday is and I don’t know if it even matters. But this is for when you kept me company for mine, and all the days before.

So, happy birthday.

Yours,

Bruce.