Disclaimer: Don't own Batman, or Bruce, or anything, to be honest.
Notes: First time writing anything in this particular genre, so feel free to criticize, or offer me feedback. It's short, something that just came to my mind at night and I wrote it out, not intending to do anything with it but why not post it? So I hope you enjoy it, and I would never discourage reviews or input!
It's not who I am underneath... but what I do that defines me
Heart
When you look into the abyss, the abyss looks into you. -Friedrich Nietzsche
Bruce Wayne returned to Gotham at the height of spring; the trees ripe with leaves, the grass green and dewy, the sky less gray than usual.
But it's still the same corrupted, wicked, dark Gotham of before, and this makes him sad more then anything else. He spends four days walking the narrows in disguise, an old tattered jacket and ripped denim pants, in a feeble attempt to lay low until the storm created by his return blows over. It's fruitless, of course, but he waits until the first wave has crashed before making his debut appearance.
Officially, he spends his days sleeping in and forgetting important board meetings, and his nights getting drunk and partying. He shows up at some dinners and weddings, putting himself back in the top graces of the city. Articles fly about wildly in magazines, newspapers, across the internet, and televisions blare his latest exploits loudly.
Unofficially, he spends his days in the cave, researching drug traffickers and tracking petty criminals, and his nights in dirty back alleys, capturing lawbreakers in the act. He wakes up in the morning with bruises marring his entire body and smears of purple ringing underneath his eyes. When eventually, people are moved to inquire, he offers them a bright smile and proceeds to tell them all about his passionate love for polo.
Batman takes the city by whirlwind and for days, no conversation goes without mentioning the masked vigilante. Bruce Wayne offers his opinion when necessary, mocks himself without batting an eyelash when needed.
It's the same everywhere, he thinks, people offering false smiles from between their lies. Never take things at face value, there's always something lurking beneath the surface, is what he tells himself. This has never been more true then when applied to himself, so he has no reason to believe that it is not relevant while dealing with others.
There are layers upon layers of dirt and grime on top of Gotham, but underneath it all, there are good people here, worth fighting for.