All Bases Covered

[Bruce Wayne]

Gotham City PD was a buzzing hive of activity, each floor exactly the same, barring forensics. Small partitioned cubicles honeycombed the floor space, obscuring the tessellated design of the blue-and-grey office carpet. The machines were the worst part. Phones bleated at irregular intervals, fax machines hummed like strange, mechanical insects and the radiation from hundreds of computers and halogen light bulbs in an enclosed space thickened the air to a blue-hazed soup.

The offices, for those lucky enough to be graced with one, were crusted around the outside edge of the building like a scab. Most had their blinds drawn closed and the doors shut, the only acknowledgement that people were toiling within was a plain, no-nonsense adhesive name plate on the door. Black background, white lettering. Everyone tried not to look at the doors where only smears of adhesive remained; a constant reminder that even UHU didn’t hold fast forever.

Bruce Wayne rarely ventured here. Cops made him feel uneasy. The very few he knew he could rely on were way outnumbered by those that saw him as a walking bank book. Traversing the ever-shifting halls of Homicide was not unlike swimming with ravenous sharks. Well aware that he was being eyed off, Bruce kept his own eyes trained for sight of his prey. Spotting a head of vibrant red hair, he quickened his pace. So near his target, he was eager to make first contact, or in the very least, first contact in his day clothes.

He didn’t want her to like him at all. In fact, he had very high hopes that she would think him the most self-absorbed rich prick on the face of the earth. He was going to see to it. As though on rails Bruce carried himself through the jointed halls, peering with amused green eyes over the hedge of partitions as he drew closer to Detective Susanna Gossamer. He loosened his tie purposefully at his chin as he walked, stretching his neck on one side against the restraint before he deliberately collided with her as she came out of a cubicle.

“Sorry,” he replied instantly in his normal voice, a hand shooting for her shoulder in an active version of his apology. “Are you okay?”

[Susanna Gossamer]

"Did you get those property claims filled out yet, Brewsky?" As the already nervous rookie looked up at his superior, Susanna Gossamer crooked one eyebrow higher in a show of unimpressed criticism. After giving the buffoon a piece of her mind the night before about his decision to take the law into his own hands in the middle of a drug bust, she had assigned the lad to filling out all of the paperwork for property damage at the docks, a tedious task she wasn't sorry to be rid of and he certainly was sorry to have gotten.... particularly since she hadn't stopped asking how he was coming along since he started.

"S-still working on them, Detective," the rookie stammered out. He had made the mistake of calling her 'Miss Gossamer' last time, and she had corrected him that she hadn't earned her criminology degree (never mind she had never actually finished) and risen through the ranks at GCPD to be addressed the same way he'd talk to a three year old, and if he had damn well better take that into account. That it also preserved the due process of rank, which he had so easily overlooked the night before, was a happy side effect.

"Well pick up the pace. The city wants them done before midnight." She gave a pointed look at the clock on the wall before shifting her eyes back to Brewsky with a look that said she clearly didn't think he was going to make the deadline, and feeling completely and utterly full of herself satisfied with his punishment, she turned back around, some of his completed forms in hand, to go gloat over her victory grab a bite to eat.

But instead, she ran smack into a tall business suit and got a face full of Bruce Wayne. Her papers went scattering. "Jesus!" she exclaimed, politically incorrect and not really giving a damn. Her eyes narrowed in on the face of the idiot who had bumped into her, but quickly fell to inspect the rest of his appearance: the insanely expensive suit, artfully skewed tie, and overall carelessly powerful impression. He looked like exactly the sort of self-important prick who benefited from and laughed at the notion of glass ceilings, and made wisecracks about penis envy. She barely heard his apology.

"Aside from the half hour I'm now going to spend resorting all this paper work? Peachy, thanks." Smart ass remark and accompanying false smile thus dutifully given, she bent to shuffle her papers back together without waiting to see how her words were received. If Wayne thought it was going to take effort to make her dislike him, he needn't have wasted his worry. She already disliked most people anyway.

[Bruce Wayne]

“Good to know,” Bruce replied easily, allowing the barest hint of a smirk to tweak the corner of his mouth. He kept walking, as if to carry on down the hall before he stopped and pivoted on the spot. His green eyes took in the Detective he knew on sight from over a hundred yards away, though no such recognition of familiarity dawned on his features. He craned his neck cockily to one side, blatantly looking the grouchy cop down and then up again. His smile broke through then, not fully blown but deep enough to have momentarily banished the superficial expressions he usually adopted. As if having thought twice he doubled over, helping her to collect her fallen papers. And, as he was crouched there opposite her with the secretive hint of his smile hidden by the angle of his head, he wondered what it would be like. What she would be like.

He was stunned by the alarm screaming inside his own mind. RACHEL! He blinked momentarily. It was the first time he had even thought about a woman this way in the months since Rachel’s murder, and whilst he still felt guilty he couldn’t help but also feel driven by those primal urges almost all men find hard to fight. He had kept up the pretence as Bruce Wayne, a model on his arm nearly every time he made a public appearance. But here was a real woman, with values. She didn’t care how much money he had, or what he wasted it on. She certainly didn’t care for his cock-sure attitude. And it was for these precise reasons that Bruce was counting on her not liking him at all. She was safe to him. She stood before he did, and Bruce finished collecting the last of the papers scattered by him and handed them to her, looking up.

“Sorry,” he apologized again, genuinely. Wait, genuinely? RACHEL! He wasn’t supposed to be genuine! Batman was who he really was now. He was stern, silent and reliable, not making excuses to meet young Detectives who hated him on sight and had better things to do with their time. Right? Right. So... he would make this quick. “Actually, I wonder if you could help me? I’m looking for Detective Gossamer. I was told he works up here in homicide. Do you happen to know where his office is?”

[Susanna Gossamer]

Dick.

She didn't expect him to help her with her papers... actually, scratch that, she did. She expected him to slap himself for being an idiot, lean down, bumble through an apology she wouldn't listen to anyway, and then beg her forgiveness, which she would coldly and snottily give half-heartedly, leaving him to live another day a hopefully wiser and more aware man. Therefore, his walking off without helping annoyed her to the extreme. The insult she hoped to give him was nothing compared to the one he paid her without even saying a word.

She was happily unaware of his blatant sexual harassment via eye-undressing, feigned or otherwise, though she would surely hear about it later from other women in the department who witness it with, can you imagine, jealousy. His sudden reappearance, then, only surprised her, and for a moment she wasn't entirely certain how to act. In her indecision - for which she blamed him, kthnx - she pursed her lips into a tight, straight line and became more emphatic in her paper collection. She felt slightly chastised. Maybe he had decided she was a total bitch (not far from the truth) and only decided to come back to be the bigger man. It didn't make him much more endearing, because the idea made her feel quite silly. And so, she stood up in a huff and a hurry.

And then, he apologized, and it sounded real enough. Well, didn't she feel like a shmuck. Of the two, he was definitely the biggest shmuck, but as a trained public official she really should have more patience with the less fortunate. She had almost made up her mind to spare him her sarcasm and simply walk away, when he asked for the man called Gossamer. She paused where she had been reaching for her papers, eyes cast down at them, completely frozen for a moment while she let the sting of the unintentional barb settle from fury into something more manageable. And then she completed the action and raised her eyes.

"Absolutely. Let me show you the way." She forced a smile, by no means warm but neither was it obviously condescending. The low blow he had just dealt her was worse than irritating, it was just downright disappointing, and more than truly angry at him she was simply resolved that she was going to have to help the jerkoff with whatever it was he needed and still not change a damn thing about how he perceived the world. She pushed open the door to the office she shared with two others in her unit (hey, it was Gotham PD, not Wayne Enterprises), and walked over to one of the three small, messy desks therein. She dropped her papers onto her desk with a paper-to-wood plop and then turned to gesture at one of the ratty chairs opposite. She took a seat in her own, confident the cheap nameplate on her desk - DET SUSANNA GOSSAMER - would speak to her identity.

"What can I help you with?"

[Bruce Wayne]

He wasn’t stupid enough to believe her smile was real, but he followed along behind her like a little lamb to the slaughter, nodding to the various secretaries and other women who had heard tell of his presence. The men watched him as warily as a male watches any new buck in his territory, and Bruce returned their casual-seeming inspections with loaded glances of his own. They moved back the way he had originally come in; he had been counting windows. At night this whole place was lit up like a Christmas tree, and he had observed Detective Gossamer from 30-something stories up. Pausing in the doorway to the cramped office he immediately took stock of the other two names occupying desks in the room. Keep your friends close.

He blinked again when she sat at the desk bearing her own name, a brief look of confusion forced across his features like a cloud crossing the sun in summer. As she seated herself with a sense of dominion, he moved into the room proper and remained standing. At least one part of the etiquette training his father had drilled into him as a kid had been retained, if nothing else. Reaching into his jacket he pulled out the latest copy of The Gotham Times, which he thwacked right on top of he paperwork discarded by the Detective. The first three pages had been removed. In the top left hand corner of the rag was a write-up - ‘Bat Bust: 6 Arrested in Drug Heist’ – below was a flattering picture of a male detective packing a toughened looking criminal into a Squad car.

6 men, including crime family head Alfonso Paccini are awaiting arraignment behind bars tonight downtown after Gotham City PD received a stellar tip-off about a deal set to go down on the city’s West docks. Drugs with an on-street value of over 20 million dollars and a significant quantity of counterfeit cash have been seizes in evidence, and police are calling for any reliable witnesses to come forward. “We’re willing to offer anyone with information the best protection we have available,” Det. Gossamer, regularly of the city Homicide Divison, told The Times. Detective Gossamer and his team had the situation under control within half an hour, despite interruption from the caped menace Batman, who disappeared not long after he arrived on the scene.

“You’re better looking than that guy,” Bruce told her, with a nod at the photo.

[Susanna Gossamer]

Susie's eyes turned curiously to the paper he plopped onto her desk, expecting rather something silly, like someone had the gall to go and die while he was around and could she ensure he didn't have any more trouble from it than it was worth? Instead, she was surprised to find the story was about herself (okay, so it like mentioned her) and if she thought being mistakenly called a man was disheartening from a stranger, it was rather irritating from a soulless entity like a newspaper. Grrrr. But, really, most annoying was that she could no longer be annoyed with the man in front of her, except for his very bad walking skills.

She wasn't particularly amused by his quip, and raised her gaze to meet his with a qualifying look that said as much. Did everything where a woman was concerned have to revolve around sex appeal? But because it wasn't really offensive - even to her easily provoked senses - she made no other remark, and merely surveyed the paper again with a professional-seeming sweep. Really, though, she was merely pausing in preparation for this little gem:

"Well if you came in today just to meet with the sexy beefcake on page 6, I'm sure I can find him for you." She tried hard to repress a grin, but the devil was in her eyes and in the curve of her lips despite her best efforts as she picked up the man's paper and offered it back to him. It was funny, actually, she felt like she had seen him somewhere before, plenty of times actually, but though she quickly paged through years of memories she couldn't remember having ever run into him at the police station before. Which suited her just fine, really, because that meant she could be as much of a bitch as she liked.

[Bruce Wayne]

Quirking an eyebrow every so slightly as her penetrating look made him want to take a step back, Bruce couldn’t help but wonder if he wasn’t pushing his luck. Because he was who he was, however, and because pushing his luck (and consequently other people’s buttons) just came naturally, he wasn’t particularly phased by it. One of the perks of having an altar-ego was the fact that your chances at friendship with almost everyone were doubled; it brought a whole new meaning to the concept of being two faced. He relaxed almost visibly when the beginnings of a smirk captured her full lips, and he reached out to take the paper from her.

“Actually, I had dinner with him last night,” he volleyed in a conversational tone. “He wasn’t overly chatty though. I think he was playing hard to get.” Without any further invitation, Bruce hooked his foot around the stem of one of the other Detective’s chairs and honed it closer to Gossamer’s desk. Parking himself with the ease he might have donned were he in tennis whites and not in a tailored business suit, he leaned back casually. His head automatically lolled on his neck, whether on purpose or because he really was that arrogant would never be known, but the odds were on the latter. His gaze, once redirected to Susanna, was more professional. Almost businesslike. Or at least as businesslike as someone who took himself as ‘seriously’ as Bruce did was capable of getting.

“Congratulations on the bust. It was some swoop.” He tucked the newspaper back into his breast pocket, ready for review and storage later in the day after he had finished feeding his whim his reconnaissance. “I know we didn’t exactly get off on the right foot here, if you’ll pardon the pun. But I have a favour to ask of you, and I’m willing to make it worth your while.” Realising how that sounded, he lifted a peremptory hand. “Nothing like that. I need to make sure the police are aware of, and available to… respond,” he worded carefully, “to an event I’m holding.” He reached a hand upwards towards his throat, adjusting the knot of his tie with long fingers. “They have a tendency to attract gate-crashers.”

[Susanna Gossamer]

Ha! Wait, had she just laughed, in her head, and even to a smaller degree out loud, at something this nimrod had said? Well, she corrected herself, even the rich have senses of humor. She didn't know whether she was glad that he had finally taken her up on her offer to sit down - it was odd to have him hovering over her, when he was already so tall - or whether she was disappointed her exceptional attempts to get him to bugger off hadn't been successful. She felt oddly threatened by him, not only because he exuded the kind of unwritten ease of a person who is used to getting their way, but because she wasn't entirely sure of herself around him thanks to having already misjudged him not once, but twice. It was an uncomfortable feeling to hit a bump in the normally smooth road of her own arrogance, and if he was to bring about more of them she would rather hit the highway now and preserve what was left of her dignity.

Luckily, however, the conversation turned quickly to business, and in that she was perfectly assured of her abilities. She listened with attention and care, although in truth she couldn't comprehend why he would need her assistance for this particular problem. This sounded like a problem for flatfoots to her. "Do your gate crashers normally come in wielding battle axes and chainsaws, because otherwise I'm not really sure this is within my area of expertise?" Hey, this was Gotham they were talking about, so it wasn't as if she could entirely rule out the possibility of a bunch of crazy maniacs showing up at some rich sod's front door, but really? A homicide detective? She was more the sort to show up after the fact than be there to witness it.

She was lost for a moment in a daydream of outlining this particular fellow's body in chalk, but snapped back to reality before he could suspect her of such a sexy morbid line of thinking.

[Bruce Wayne]

The answering grin to Susanna’s Detective Gossamer’s question filled the lower portion of Bruce’s face and even extended to his eyes, making them seem less brooding and more human. He wasn’t about to go into detail, but if this Detective had any kind of idea who he was, then she clearly wouldn’t have asked that question. His last birthday party had been interrupted (albeit unknown to the public) by the notorious Ra’s Al Ghul and his band of merry ninjas, and the more recent soiree held at his upmarket penthouse in honour of the late DA Harvey Dent had the Joker and his clowns show up. “You have absolutely no idea,” Bruce admitted in a commiserating tone, resting both of his arms along the chair’s arm-rests and stealing Gossamer’s gaze.

“I just don’t want any trouble. I’ve already spoken to PR, and they said that short of putting 911 on my speed dial, there’s nothing they can really do. Last time I checked, drug busts wasn’t high on the list of a homicide Detective’s priorities either.” With a slight tilting of his jaw and a merciless, teasing quality about his eyes, it was evident that he was building up to something. Seeing no need to continue beating around the bush, Bruce straightened slightly in his chair and went all out for his proposal. “I’m willing to compensate you and your team for your time and effort, of course.” He paused, looking up at the shadow of someone passing by the door frame behind him before he smiled at Susanna. “What do you say, Detective? Will you come to my little party?”