Chapter Text
Your night started out just like any other night. You finished up at work, then you came home and prepared dinner for yourself. Grilled chicken, sliced potatoes, and the fresh green beans you’d gotten at the Farmer’s Market over the weekend. It’s your typical Monday night since you live alone and don’t have much of a social life.
Unfortunately, tonight was the night you just had to switch it up, going out for ice cream after you’d gotten screamed at by an angry Gothamite earlier in the day.
Now, you might be thinking, “You probably didn’t deserve it.” And you’d be right for the most part. But… It comes with the territory of being a city councilperson. You deal with a lot of angry citizens. Sometimes you deserve the anger. Sometimes you don’t.
After two years on the council, you’ve learned to roll with the punches, mostly. The reason you decided you needed ice cream is because the person who’d absolutely berated you on the steps of city hall this morning was an angry father, Mark Benson. He’s been meeting you on the steps of city hall every morning for weeks. He lost his 15 year old son, Zack, in the flooding after Riddler had unleashed hell on Gotham by blowing up the seawall. Zack is still missing, as well as thousands of people. It’s been horrible. But the mayor elect, Bella Reál, has been working tirelessly, despite still being injured, and you’ve been helping out where and as much as needed.
Which is how you ended up here. Being held at gunpoint by Mark Benson under a subway viaduct, And you can’t even be angry. You understand that when you’re a desperate parent, you’d do anything…
“Mr. Benson… I can assure you… I’m doing everything in my power to help find Zack and the countless others missing.” You try to talk to him calmly.
Believe it or not, this isn’t your first time being held at gunpoint. Or even your second.
This is Gotham, after all.
“It’s not… enough…” Mr. Benson’s eyes are full of tears.
“I understand your anger, Mark…” You keep your hands up in surrender, your voice even and understanding. “If I was in your shoes, I’d be angry with the entire world for allowing that to happen to my child.”
He starts to lower the gun, as if he finally understands that all you truly want to do is help him. To help Gotham.
Unfortunately, all your calm and evenness goes straight out the window when Mark Benson gets tackled to the ground, the gun scattering across the sidewalk.
“No!” You start toward the attacker.
The moment you realize that it’s the masked vigilante who dresses as a bat and patrols the streets of Gotham every night, you become angry.
“HEY! Get off him!” You smack his strong, firm back, trying to get the vigilante off of Mr. Benson.
It’s apparent that he’s taken aback by your protesting of taking down the man who just had you at gunpoint. Honestly, it probably does look insane, because what normal person asks someone to stop helping you from being held at gunpoint? But that’s the thing with this man. He just… acts. He very clearly does not think about stopping to ask questions.
“What?” The Batman asks, incredulously.
“I said, get the hell off of him!” You stand your ground anyway, trying to push him off the struggling father.
“He was attacking you, councilwoman.” He murmurs, his voice deep and raspy as he gets up.
“He’s a father who’s worried about his missing son.” You reply, firmly.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Mark’s voice travels up to you, sounding broken as he sobs.
It genuinely makes your chest tighten. Every day that this man has met you on the steps of city council to scream at you, your heart has broken more and more for him.
“It’s okay, Mr. Benson. It’s okay.” You kneel down as the vigilante finally gets off of him.
You start to help the father up to his feet and he crumples into your arms, sobbing.
“We’ll find Zack.” You murmur, comfortingly. “If it’s the last thing I do, I will help you find your son. Please believe me, Mark.”
Mark nods and lets go of you. “Thank you.”
“Here. This is my card. If you need anything, I’m here. All I want to do is make Gotham better, much like the mayor elect.” You assure him.
Mark nods again, sniffling and wiping his nose and eyes. “Thank you, councilwoman. Thank you.”
Mark walks away eventually, with a little hope in his eyes, and now it’s just you and the Batman. You look up at him for a long moment. His intense blue eyes stare back down at you. The blue seems to glow in the harsh neon light of the little bodega a little ways down the street.
“That was… irresponsible.” He murmurs, raspily, looking down at you.
You shrug, starting to walk down the streets. “He was a father who just lost his entire world.”
“Let me give you a ride home.” The bat offers.
You scoff. “No thanks.”
You continue to walk away from him.
“You feel safe walking these streets alone at night after that?”
You stop and look up at him defiantly. “Newsflash, I had finally talked him into putting the gun down when you attacked him. You know… there are real criminals out there. Maybe focus on them?”
He lets out his own scoff, clearly not liking the way you’re speaking to him. Maybe he’s not told off enough.
“Have a good night… uh… Batman.” You step away from him starting to walk in the direction of your apartment.
You can almost swear you hear a huff of a laugh as you walk away.
~*~
“Did you hear about who’s here tonight?”
“Yes. His first public appearance since the funeral…”
“I wonder if he’s seeing anyone.”
If there’s one thing you can’t stand, it’s gossip. Which is why you typically hate these galas. But you’re here with one goal tonight. And it’s to schmooze the shit out of these rich assholes. To see if you can get more funding for the flood relief fund.
Which is why you’re in a floor length black gown that fits in all the right spots and makes you feel confident.
Your plan tonight is to make them feel like they’ll be heroes of Gotham if they put their money where their mouth is. You’ve already gotten a couple rich douchebags to donate a couple million, which is great, but you know you’re going to need even more to begin scratching the surface.
The moment you see him, though…
“Mr. Wayne.” You smile kindly up at the billionaire who’s never so much as stepped foot at one of these galas in years, if at all.
The moment your voice catches his attention, he does a subtle double take. He gives a soft smile. So soft that you’d almost miss it.
“Councilwoman.” He nods, his head dipping toward you, making his dark brunet hair swish a little in a way that you find a little endearing.
“Do you have a moment to speak?” You ask.
He glances around with his eyes, his head never moving.
“I suppose I do.” He murmurs softly.
“Would you care to dance?” You ask, nodding to the dance floor.
“I’m not exactly one for dancing.”
“Neither am I. Perhaps we could look foolish together?” You offer, trying your best to charm the man.
You’d learned in the last couple years how to charm your way into people’s hearts. Which is one reason why your campaign manager said a second term would be easily won. However, a man like Bruce Wayne… doesn’t seem easily charmed.
“I didn’t say I’d look foolish.” It takes you a moment to realize that’s him teasing.
“I’m sorry… Did Bruce Wayne just make a joke?” You smirk.
“I occasionally make jokes, yes.” He takes your hand and starts leading you to the dance floor where there are about two dozen couples dancing to the melodic stringed quartet.
“Well, I promise not to tell anyone.” You grin up at him, doing your best to charm him.
Bruce lets out a breathless laugh, like he can’t quite believe that the two of you are joking together.
That would make two of you, honestly. You barely know anything about the man. Just that his family had a sort of history of philanthropy and that he became an orphan too early in life. And also that The Riddler had some sort of strange obsession with him. And that he was the “Prince of Gotham”?
The moment that his hand gently falls to your waist while his other hand takes yours, you find yourself looking up into his piercing blue eyes. They seem so clear but you just know this man doesn’t just let anyone in.
“Mr. Wayne, are you aware of the Gotham flood relief fund-” You start.
“Ah. You’re looking for a donation.” He smirks, softly.
“I am, yes.” You both sway to the music.
There’s clearly no need to beat around the bush with this man.
“How much?” He asks.
“How much what?”
“How much do you need?”
“About 750 million.” You murmur, your eyes never leaving his.
“I’ll write a check for a billion.” He murmurs. “I don’t want you to think I’m some piece of shit who hoards my wealth.”
“Mr. Wayne, I don’t think that-” You start, clearly taken by surprise, though he seems to still be teasing.
He chuckles and changes the topic before you can get another word in. “I admire your activism, you know.”
“My activism?” Your brows furrow in confusion.
“The way you stand up for Gotham and what’s right. It’s inspiring. We need more of you.” He nods.
It takes you a moment to realize he’s being genuine but when you do, you go slightly warm in the face.
Bruce Wayne, world renowned recluse, paying you a compliment. A compliment that’s a nice change of pace from the “compliments” that creepy old white billionaires usually give at these galas.
“Well, thank you. And I couldn’t agree more. About needing more people to care.” You look up at him, into blue eyes.
Blue eyes that feel a little familiar for some reason…
“Is there anything else I can do?” He offers as you continue to dance while the stringed quartet gets a little more intense.
“I’ll let you know.” You nod.
People around you are either dancing or staring at you, you now realize. And when Bruce sees that you notice, he spins you slightly.
“Don’t pay them any mind.” He murmurs, a soft smile on his lips.
That forces you to look up at him. His stare is almost too intense… Too warm… In an incredibly surprising way that, for the first time in your life, leaves you completely speechless.
With parted lips, your own gaze never leaves his.
Until the song ends, and his hands leave your waist and hand. It leaves an empty feeling but you clap for the stringed quartet.
When Bruce’s hand finds your lower back again, his mouth near your ear, you find yourself not able to pull away like you normally would.
“Perhaps we could get some air and you could tell me about your ideas to better the city?” He asks.
You find yourself wanting to say yes. But there are other people who probably require your attention. And also, the familiar feeling is starting to make you uneasy.
“Um. I should… go mingle.” You murmur apologetically, stepping away from him, your eyes still on those piercing blue eyes.
You can see the subtle disappointment and it does something to your insides. Which is why you say…
“Perhaps we could grab lunch sometime this week?” You offer. “To talk?”
He gives a genuine smile and nods. Like the thought of having lunch with you genuinely delights him. “I’ll call your office this week.”
“No need.” You reach into your little wristlet that matches your dress and grab a business card that has your personal cell phone number. “Just call or text me.”
He looks down at it and then nods, but you’re already disappearing into the crowd, trying to calm your beating heart. Because there’s no way that you can get yourself mixed up with a billionaire.
Though, he does seem different from the rest, doesn’t he?