Only Truth

[Bruce Wayne]

The day of Bruce Wayne’s 32nd birthday dawned brooding and cloudy, almost as though the atmosphere surrounding Gotham itself reflected the tense anticipation Bruce himself felt. He had spent the day out of his apartment in an attempt to clear his head, sailing one of his smaller boats out past the harbour and beyond the prying lenses of the paparazzi. A cutting breeze attempted to carve a hole through the city well into the afternoon and Bruce’s Maserati snaked through traffic with ease. He was listening to Chopin; another telltale sign of his on-again, off-again melancholy. Pointedly ignoring the party vendors preparing his bachelor pad, he had spent the next four hours in the gym training before he had been politely reminded that it was time to shower and ready himself for his guests.

As though one could ever be truly ready for the fake smiles and even more fabricated conversation he was about to partake in. Bruce amused himself by making a game of such occasions. He had soon learned that he could say – and do – whatever he pleased in situations like this and so he set out to make his statements and actions more outlandish each time he was placed in company that he would have sooner avoided. Smiling, mingling and holding a glass of champagne that he routinely tipped out into various house plants, Bruce played the game. The apartment was stunning, which he had expected. The food was nothing short of perfect, which he had also expected. It was like, day in and day out; nothing more than a series of expected` events. One thing Bruce hadn’t counted on, however, was the way he would feel when he saw Detective Gossamer.

[Susanna Gossamer]

Everything was in place. She saw no reason whatsoever why the night wouldn't be smooth as butter. The flatfoots, just two quietly but conspicuously placed in the lobby, were 'showing force' so that no one got any big ideas. And a few of her more trusted undercover peers were roaming around the party, packing heat and ready to subdue any potential threats. Not to mention probably getting tipsy and randy, but never mind that.

She was one of the undercover cops, with handcuffs hidden in her bra and her handgun hidden in her thighs - if only half the men checking her out knew she was packing heat in more ways than one. As she was stuffing her bra with her cuffs, someone had the lack of sense to remark that someone would be getting more than they bargained for later that night, har har. She cuffed him to the door and stole his handcuffs for her own use. At least one man wouldn't be staring at her (slightly amorphous) tits all night.

So here she was. She was wearing a red dress that came just up to here and went all the way to the floor, which she only bought because it made Mary-Lou blush. Putting it on she thought it made her look like the sex kitten from Roger Rabbit. And of course her cousin looked like an angel out of some romantic movie, which just made her annoyed. She had to avoid her lest she say something nasty to one of the guests, so she made a beeline for the one part of the room that seemed most appealing to her: the Bar.

And what better place to be caught by the most eligible bachelor in town, who has been known to hit on you, who you are slightly-not really-but really kinda avoiding, but getting your booze on in a sex kitten red dress at his birthday party. Cue Marilyn Monroe singing Happy Birthday, Mr. President. As she lowered the martini she was about to take a gulp sip from, she glanced up at the dashing handsome wealthy 32 year old and felt her cheeks begin to burn at the comical situation. "Bru --- Mr. Wayne! Happy birthday!"

[Bruce Wayne]

For a man who was used to having women wearing next to nothing in his presence and slobbering all over him – both of which he loathed even though some wouldn’t believe it – Bruce was at a loss to connect his thoughts, vocal chords and lung capacity. He lifted a hand to delicately cover the small ‘o’ his mouth had formed, coughing to dislodge the breath that had hitched in his throat whilst hoping vehemently that Detective Gossamer hadn’t noticed the effect her appearance had enticed from him. He had moved towards her the way a bee flew loyally back to the hive, his senses buzzing in anticipation of her honeyed conversation. Time seemed to freeze. People miraculously melted out of his way, because life was infuriatingly perfect for men like him that way. He slid along the bar to her side but followed through rather than stopping.

He was entitled to have a little fun, wasn’t he?

An arm slipped casually around her waist, rustling the fabric of her dress as he leaned close to kiss one flushed cheek and then the next. On any other couple the action would have looked like nothing more than the commonplace manner of greeting often exhibited at these sort of gatherings and, Bruce supposed, most of his guests would still assume the same of this one. The pair involved – or at least one of them at any rate – felt the tension squeeze between them, popping at the point where their bodies met briefly before he pulled away with a teasing glance. “Thanks,” he said then, even though his eyes were saying something like ‘nice dress’.

“For coming,” he added with a small smile. “You look beautiful, Susanna.” The use of her name implied that she should call him Bruce without him actually saying it. ‘Mr Wayne’ tended to attract attention in a room where everyone was salivating to show off their friendship with him by proving they were on a first name basis. “How have you been?”

[Susanna Gossamer]

Not many people left Susanna Gossamer speechless. She was sharp-tongued, usually with a snappy comeback for everything, but this particular experience was not one that she was used to. It wasn't that she had never encountered a man who was too forward for her tastes; on the contrary, at the bars where she sometimes spent her off time, the type of man who would attract her wrath were plentiful (which might be why she liked them). But Bruce's brand of pushing the limits was so suave, so debonair, that it was hard to know whether she had the right to make a fuss about it. His entire greeting felt downright lewd, but in actuality it was just a kiss on the cheek. There was something else about their particular chemistry that made it feel sexier than it really was, and that took her by surprise and nearly made her blush some more.

"Thank you," she responded to his comment about her looks, for lack of anything scathing coming immediately to mind. She unconsciously crossed one arm over her chest, still holding the martini aloft, as she shifted uncomfortably beneath his gaze, but luckily was saved from suffering long by his inquiring mind. Her auburn eyebrows lifted as she spotted an opportunity to turn the tide of the so far ass awkward (for her) meeting.

"Things are going well," she began neutrally, before continuing, "We have patrols outside the building, as well as two officers as a gesture in the lobby, and you may have noticed a few people you didn't invite wandering around." She paused and then added, "Like me," for good measure. No time like the present to remind him this was a business affair, and she wasn't here on a personal invitation!

And then she remembered the drink in her hand and her eyes fell to it. "I was just... trying to blend in a little more," she lied less-than-smoothly. Well, so much for being entirely professional.

[Bruce Wayne]

Try though he might, Bruce was completely at a loss to keep the amusement from subtly creasing the corners of his usually direct gaze. He simply nodded at her informative statements, noticing the smooth change in pitch of her voice from one of uncertainty to one of confidence; she knew her job inside out. It was one of the things that had drawn him – Batman – towards her. She was a beacon of light which could illuminate the Police force and throw into sharp contrast the clean cops from the rancid ones. He saw the same resilient, adaptable control in her that he saw in the (now) Commissioner Gordon. Bruce smiled at the conclusion of his gentle head bobbing.

“You – and your staff,” he told her with the barest hint of cheek as he desperately tried to maintain the level of professionalism that she had set a preference for, “Are seamless. In fact, I think that if you blended any further a few of my so-called ‘friends’ might suspect a merger.” He raised the lip of his glass to his lips to stifle the smirk that threatened to bud there. His green eyes travelled this way and that, attempting to make out any possible threats or entry points. It was an inspection he had gone over in his head a hundred or more times in the wee hours of each morning, unable to sleep because he, Bruce Wayne, was endangering more people just by holding the party. It was expected and they would come in droves as the packed room proved, but at what cost?

"I sincerely hope that you all enjoy yourselves. I can't imagine that you get much chance to socialise." He fell silent for a moment. Then, "Crime doesn't respect pesonal time."

[Susanna Gossamer]

She understood, she thought, the true intent of his statement, but couldn't help feeling that he was accusing her of not getting out and having a good time much. Which was totally not true! She socialized. She totally did. She went to bars and hung out with people from work. Granted, most of the time she just did it to bully the men in her department who would bully her, but, that was a form of socializing. She went on dates occasionally. She did!

"Well, crime doesn't sleep, certainly, but I wouldn't say I don't socialize much..." she responded, loosening the death grip she had maintained on her professional demeanor and loosening her crossed arms over her chest. She made rather a split second decision (which most of hers were, it had to be said) and decided that to prove she wasn't a complete job-driven prude, she would have to do something dramatic. Although just who she was trying to prove this to - to Bruce Wayne, who she claimed to care nothing about, or to herself - was hard to determine.

"Bruce, would you like to dance?" A disc jockey had been spinning tunes the entire night, but only a few couples had been at the bar enough to embarrass themselves as the first couples out. Susan hadn't had nearly enough to drink to normally inspire her to such lengths but the accusation, as she saw it, that she seldom socialized had struck a little too close to home and she was desperate to prove that she could do both, actually. She could have a social life and be absolutely stellar at her job. In fact, she would do so tonight.

She set her drink on the bar and then turned back to Bruce curiously, red hair curling on one pale shoulder and looking up at him with clever, and now almost daring, coffee brown eyes.

[Bruce Wayne]

Draining the amber liquid from his glass in one fell swoop, Bruce raised his enquiring jade-colored eyes to Susanna’s face at her invitation. Not only was he shocked that she was actually volunteering to be at his figurative mercy for the length of a whole song (or two if he pushed his luck) but she had also called him Bruce, which indicated that either she was loosening her grip on formality or, more likely, that he had touched a nerve. Unable to stop the smile from hijacking his lips in time he settled for allowing some of his surprise to be translated here, hoping that Susanna noticed her triumph over him and took it in good stead. “I’d love to,” he replied as his glass was deposited on the bar next to hers. The music throbbed though the immediate vicinity and Bruce moved through the crowd with Susanna to the designated dance floor area.

Dancing to music with a fast beat was all very well for women, who knew that all they had to do was wiggle their hips and lift their arms over their heads a few times and men would instinctively find them irresistible. As a child, Bruce had been taught how to dance. The Waltz. The Foxtrot. The Tango. Not the Hustle, or the Running Man or – God forbid, was that Justin Timberlake? With a look of restrained horror bubbling under the surface of his usually well maintained mask. He looked at Susanna for inspiration (this usually worked when he wasn’t drunk enough to make a total joke of himself) before feeling his knees starting to move with the music. Scarcely five beats in, however, the DJ flipped the vinyl and a slower, more sultry tune sauntered through the atmosphere.

This was more like it. Holding out one had for her to take, Bruce stepped into Susanna’s personal space and snaked an arm around the forbidden territory of her waist. He swayed slightly, wondering whether she had wanted him to accept her offer or not. With a more confident smile Bruce pressed his fingers into the small of her back and let his cheek brush against hers. Refusing to look at the number of people now staring in their direction and hoping that Susanna didn’t mind being the sudden centre of attention, Bruce’s smile transformed into something more conspiratorial. “I’d make the usual joke to break the ice,” he murmured softly by her ear, “But I’m almost certain that is a gun.”

[Susanna Gossamer]

She was relieved he didn't say no. Perhaps in the sudden shock of being caught at being a workaholic, she had suddenly developed the fear that no one would ever want her again. And just as quickly she was reminded, men really weren't that difficult to please. She welcomed the pulse and ebb of the dance floor, the heavy beats of JT vibrating the floors. Whatever distance his slight stiffness caused, she was too wrapped up in the music to notice much, in the feminine zone where a man becomes a mere accessory on the dance floor, more audience than contributor. Into this transcendent phase she was allowed a few moments of relative peace, and then the tempo changed.

She pulled a classic, looking up at the ceiling as if the change in lights had to confirm for her first before she'd believe she had just been suckered into slow dancing with her partner. Where Bruce made the transition from uneasy to in his element, she pivoted into the opposite corner. She took his hand, allowed herself to be pulled close, but in the parade of awkward dance memories within her mind slow dancing with Bruce ranked just behind junior high prom with Bobby Jenkins (which ultimately resulted in their braces being stuck together in the worst kiss ever).

She handled this one with better grace. She was sure he could feel her stiffness and her dress felt too tight as she tried hard to breathe and not seem to breathe, but she easily followed his cues in a way that had become habit. To avoid the stares trained her way she closed her eyes and his mannish scent floated to her - new suit, hint of cologne, soap, and skin. Despite her nerves she began to relax.

"It is," she promptly responded to his supposition, smile tickling at the corners of her mouth. "So if you know what's good for you, you'll behave yourself."

[Bruce Wayne]

Bruce’s smile evolved into a light chuckle as he tried not to think about the way the fabric of her dress brushed against the front of his dinner jacket. He was usually so restrained around women when he was merely Bruce; he was careful to seem as reckless and promiscuous as possible while all the while keeping his inner being well and truly subdued. Around Susanna this buffer he strove so hard to maintain had a habit of squeezing in on itself, and it both thrilled and worried him. He pulled away from her slightly so that she could bear witness to the fabricated shock on his face, his eyes light and teasing before he resumed his closer position. “I always behave myself,” he smirked.

Confident that Susanna was capable of keeping pace with his dance moves, Bruce kicked things up a notch. His paces became more fluid, even daring, and he moved them in a tight turn before maneuvering between the other couples that had decided to take to the floor. “Well,” he added, dipping her for good measure and answering the pleased gasp of the crowd with his signature grin before bringing Susanna back to a standing position, “Most of the time, anyway.”

(Blargh, crap! Sorreh. )

[Susanna Gossamer]

Her eyebrows kinked upwards at his feigned innocence, not surprised in the least that he quickly proved himself wrong. She tried not to be annoyed that he drew the attention of nearly the entire room by dipping her, a little embarrassed that her work colleagues - Mary-Lou especially! - might glance over and see what a fool she was making of herself. She wondered whether people were whispering, wondering who the redhead was dancing with Bruce, and sincerely hoped there were no reporters present. As she was brought back to her original height she could only glance at Bruce once with a look of warning she knew he fully intended to ignore.

"Oh you've made that very obvious over the years," she responded, sounding a bit like a school marm talking to an old student whose deviant ways continued into adulthood. "The entire Russian ballet?" she asked incredulously as their dance wound onward. "Tell me," she then continued as she was lead into a spin, turning first outwards, and then being drawn back in by Bruce's strong arm. She returned with her back against his front and finished her thought over her shoulder. "Weren't you exhausted?"

Without waiting for his lead, she executed her own turn back the other direction to return to dance position. She met his eyes defiantly, to prove herself unaffected by his bad boy charm. She was not the kind of woman who would fall victim to a cad, not even a rich handsome cad, though she had to admit one thing. If she were the kind of person who lived their life for sin, she was sure there was no one who could inspire more of it than him.

[Bruce Wayne]

He managed to look a little bit ashamed of himself as she chastised him, a smirk threatening to upturn the corners of his lips when she mentioned the ballet. If he hadn’t known better he could have sworn there was a hitch of jealousy in her tone. He fancied himself as imagining it and pushed the thrill of ‘maybe’ down into the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t afford to let himself get close to anyone again. He knew too well the consequences. She spun outwards, showing that perhaps she did have more social skills than he had at first given her credit for. As she came back, curling into the lean rail of his arm, he smiled in spite of his inner warnings as she out-maneuvered him. He used his hand in the small of her back to bring her closer than she had been previously, his fingers holding her soft hand as if it were a delicate orchid bloom.

“You assume that I spent time with them,” he whispered against the curls that flirted with her ear. “You’d be wrong. Just because they spent two weeks on my yacht doesn’t mean that I was there with them.” Determined to punish her for thinking so little of him even though he strove daily to portray himself as the worst sort of playboy to the public, Bruce raised his voice. “The paparazzi of Gotham are incredibly unreliable. For example, I should probably state right now that Susanna is spelled without an ‘h’ and that you’re Detective rather than simply a patrol officer.” He offered her a roguish smile which did not extend to his eyes, for you see Bruce Wayne was punishing himself also for having more than a professional interest in the fascinating woman in his arms. He steeled himself for the expected slap across his cheek, wishing that it would come soon and numb every fibre in his being that was screaming at him to kiss Detective Gossamer.

[Susanna Gossamer]

The reminder of her humiliation at the hands of the Daily Prophet Gotham Times stung, and she winced visibly, her gaze meandering from his as she struggled not to let the slap show and in so doing showed it more clearly than ever. When she returned her eyes to his face her look was no longer defiant and enlivened, challenging his debonair charm with her own stubborn pride. It was simply disappointed, though it was impossible to tell to the untrained eye whether she was disappointed in him, in the press, or a mixture of both. Maybe she was only disappointed in herself for the threatening thrill in her chest every time the self-proclaimed gentleman and accused womanizer drew near.

"The press are panderers and until society outgrows the kind of culturally accepted male chauvinism that stigmatizes powerful women and idolizes arrogant men they'll always be overlooking my achievements and awarding them to others." The spark of challenge, of defiance, flared up again in her dark brown eyes as she looked him dead in the eye, tilting her head curiously. She didn't buy his evasion about the ballet for one minute. Everyone had always wanted to believe the best about Bruce Wayne, with his parents being the prominent people that they were, inspirational figures in Gotham's past. And yet here he was, smirking at her and prancing around the subject of his playboy behavior like a nineteen year old cad, pompous and untouched by remorse. She shook her head softly.

"What's your excuse?"

She let her hand fall from his and pulled away enough to move by him, their shoulders brushing as she walked past with eyes lowered and heart fallen towards the edge of the crowd who had followed their example and the incomplete salvation of self-righteousness.

[Bruce Wayne]

Bruce hadn’t meant to insult Susannah Detective Gossamer, and he realised his mistake all too late when she responded with a wince. Unable to catch her eye again Bruce merely stood there helplessly, a victim of his own supposed cleverness. The subtle hint of disappointment in her eyes wounded him just as much as his stupidity had injured her and he was quite at a loss as to how to set things right. He was relieved when she started to talk, but soon his relief dissolved into a bitter kind of anxiety because he knew from her tone that she was about to give him what he more than likely deserved in the way of home truths.

When she looked him in the eye he held her gaze, unable to think of anything to say that would make the situation any better and afraid that if he apologized it would rather make it worse. She didn’t want to hear his apology.Bruce was supposed to be an asshole, he reminded himself wryly, and while he had always seemed quite content to have society think the worst of him as long as they thought the best of Batman all of a sudden it didn’t seem quite enough. Batman was now a fiend and Bruce was – for the first time in his life – dealing with true rejection and it was a difficult pill to swallow for someone used to being adored in one way or another.

Her parting shot added salt to the cut her previous words had carved in his resolve and he found himself feeling sick. His hand and shoulder felt suddenly arctic as she removed herself from him, the closeness that had almost, in Bruce’s mind, grown between them suddenly gaping like a canyon of mistrust. Perhaps his only saving grace (or Archilles heel) was his reluctance to let things end like this. He followed her as she slipped quickly through the crowd, accidentally pushing a man his father had known and apologizing profusely without letting the Detective out of his site. He realised soon enough that she was headed for the balcony and he followed her out there, cautiously approaching her as a gamekeeper might watch a lioness.

“Detective…” he began impotently, not quite knowing what to say or how to say it without sounding like he was insincere or trying too hard. He had thought that he had seen her look at him the way he had been looking at her, but what if it was all in his head? What if he was just desperately trying to find something special to fill his life when everything else under his control seemed so entirely without hope? Brashly, and knowing full well that he could be charged with something if she decided to punish him (quite rightly), Bruce closed the space between them with long strides and stood beside her. He dipped his body, shortening his height and leaning around in an attempt to catch her eye. “Susanna, I’m sorry.”

[Susanna Gossamer]

What she needed was some fresh air. She'd had too much to drink she decided, and even for someone like herself who claimed to be a staunch feminist she supposed the allure of being pursued by a handsome, rich man like Bruce Wayne could go to her head. So she had let the party and the idea of being asked to do something thrilling like the drug bust again go to her head. She'd go back to work Monday and just be a detective again, dealing with dead bodies and clues and other cold, impersonal facts. She'd never met a dead person that could wiggle in through the chinks in her armor the way a certain man had been able to do in just a few short meetings. She would go back to normal soon. Aloof. Unavailable. Ice queen.

She was too many stories up and it was too late at night to be out on the balcony without something over her arms but the brisk night air seemed to mock her assertion of being an ice queen. Despite feeling rather out of her element, the city of Gotham sprawling around her soothed her, and instead of running when she heard Bruce approach she stood her ground. And when he forced her to look at him, she did so begrudgingly, but what she saw only served to baffle her more. He looked sincere, humbled, and anxious. She shook her head in bewilderment.

"Who are you??" she asked in a feeble attempt to understand. "The first time we met I thought for a bit you might have been the most arrogant man I had ever met in my entire life. And yet during the course of that meeting you looked at me and for a moment I thought you actually saw me, and not the way every other man sees me, as a woman trying to be a man in a man's world, but really seeing me, like the fact that I'm damn good at my job and it really means something to me might actually hold some weight with you." She turned slightly to look through the windows to his apartment, gesturing as she continued. "And then in your apartment, it's like..." She didn't finish what it was like for her, lest he be the truly manipulative jerk she half feared that he was.

She shrugged glancing away for answers that could only be found in his face, which her gaze quickly returned to. "Which is it? Are you an arrogant prick who just wants to add the conquest of a detective to his bed post, or are you like the one guy in the world who actually sees me for me, and not the threat I might pose to his massive ego? Are you the guy in the papers, or the guy in front of me right now?"

[Bruce Wayne]

He saw her shiver and reached out for her, stilling his hand before it could cross some invisible line that Bruce had been skirting ever since he had set eyes on the redheaded Detective. When she rounded on him he felt awful to see the confusion and frustration on her face and he looked away for a moment, considering the boundaries of Gotham and trying to draw power from the night and his surroundings the way he did as Batman. His usual sense of stability failed him however, and he looked back to Susanna as she spoke, not knowing what his face was showing at all. The blankness in his mind managed to allow him to really hear her and he remained silent for a moment after she finished before looking into her eyes.

The mossy glance he had manipulated people with since college met her impenetrable chocolate stare, and he saw at once the need for a certain amount of truth here. She had already proven to Batman that she could be trusted, now it was time for Bruce to show her the same courtesy. He looked down for a moment, gathering his courage before he shrugged helplessly, clearing his throat. “It’s an act. All of it. The parties, the cars, the girls. I wasn’t lying when I told you that I wasn’t on that yacht.” He blinked and looked back up at her, anxious as to how she was taking this news. He felt close to her, even closer now that he was telling her things that the whole world took as gospel.

It was then that Bruce realised the reason he didn’t know what to say or do was because he was experiencing a feeling that had lain so low within him that he had almost forgotten how its grip on him felt. He was afraid of Susanna thinking badly of him. Perhaps it was his ‘assumed’ narcissism kicking in, but Bruce wanted to be liked. He wanted to be loved. He swallowed nervously, unsure of how to continue now that he found himself in a real awkward situation and not one merely acted out by one of his two alter-egos. He took a step closer, his lips slightly pursed as he tentatively lifted a hand under her chin, feeling the chill of the air on her soft skin.

“You’re so much more than a Detective,” he said then, eager to prove that he was the better half of the options given. “You’re a good person who wants to make a difference in the world. If everyone was like you,” he managed a wry smile, “Then the world would be a much better place.” His hand slipped around so that his fingers curved against the delicate style of her hair as he leaned forward. Her breath was so warm against his face and he hesitated, hoping that he was doing the right thing and knowing that even if it was the wrong thing he probably wouldn’t do it any other way. Closing the gap between them, Bruce pressed his lips against Susanna’s and kissed her.