Bruce smirks, his hands placed casually in the pockets of his dress pants. "So... You really want to do this?" he asks.
A hand runs through dishevelled and thin hair. He licks his lips. "Yes. Don't ask me why. I don't have an answer."
The two are walking down the streets of Gotham, Bruce giving friendly waves here and there, his companion hunched over, looking uncomfortable around to many people. Looking cornered. Bruce scratches his chin, as if thinking. "If this were one of your silly ticks, I'd have to kill you, you know that. Right?" He asks simply.
His partner sighs, licking his lips again. "Do I look like I'm in that position? No. The people are safe, Wayne."
Bruce seems to trust this answer, gazing forward. The two walk in silence, Bruce looking contented with the silence, fine with it, where his companion looks nervous. Bruce looks at the other man, just as the other does the same. Bruce's face contorts into a mask of confusion. "How did you hide them?"
Another hand finds itself brushing back the hair on his head, as the man answers, unwillingly. "Prosthetics have come a long way. Thanks to you're damn research. Why the hell would you come up with such a flat out useless thing?"
Bruce smiles, looking pleased with himself. "I'm just trying to help others, as I always have. Some people have some pretty disfiguring scars on their face, some that may be just a painful reminder of a terrible past." At the end of it, Bruce looks at his company again. They have wandered into a small coffee shop, and a young looking waitress walks up, ready to take their orders.
"May I take y—Mr. Wayne!" the girl squeaks, smiling brilliantly at him. Bruce's partner looks at the girl angrily, jealously even.
"Ah, Kristi!" Bruce comments, catching a further darkening of his companion's visage at the smile he gives the girl. "It's been some time, hasn't it." The face darkens again. "I'll take my usual espresso. What do you want?" He asks, turning to look the man in the eyes.
His company is taken aback, but tentatively picks a menu out of the rack in the middle of the table. He quickly scans the options, and turns to the girl. He runs a quick hand through his hair; twice. Then licks his lips quickly. "I'll take a cup of English Breakfast." He says quietly, looking upset with himself.
The girl nods enthusiastically, and bounces off to the kitchen. Bruce gives the man a small pat on the shoulder. "That wasn't so bad. And people call you 'socially-inept'." Bruce jokes, chuckling lightly.
"Don't put it so lightly, Wayne. They called me 'sociopath'." The man opposite says seriously.
"And we've gotten you past that. Haven't we?"
"If by "we" you mean your arrogant psychologists, and if by "past" you mean I can still see myself tearing you limb from limb. With pleasure."
Bruce sighs. "You say that as if I can't protect myself."
The man crosses his arms. "Damn fucking well you can't. So you learned a couple of martial arts moves, and lived in Tibet for a month. You can't even protect your mind."
Bruce scowls at this, but the man across from him plasters a look of blatant refusal on his face, looking away. It's obvious he's not going to apologize. Resigned, Bruce opts to change the subject. The brunet rests his elbows on the table, his interlaced fingers holding his chin up. "You know, you get to call me by name. What do I get to call you?"
His company's eyes widen. "You know my name, Wayne."
"I know the name of a villain and enemy. But I don't know the name of my friend."
The other man freezes. For a long time he says nothing, staring no where in particular. Then he speaks. "I gave up my name long ago. 'Just a painful reminder of a terrible past.'" He quotes, looking to his feet.
The waitress comes back, placing their orders on the table, and then opens her mouth as if to say something. Bruce, in an uncharacteristically rude fashion, holds up a hand, effectively silencing her.
"Well, then... Give yourself a new name."
Angry, the girl walks off. The man opposite Bruce locks his fingers behind his head. "A new name. A new life... A new beginning..."
Bruce nods. "Exactly."
The man thinks for a couple more moments. Slowly, the name pours from his mouth. "... Caleb. Caleb Carn."
Bruce quirks an eyebrow. "Why?"
Caleb scowls. "Wouldn't 'Because I thought of it just now' be a fucking given, Wayne?" But his face softens slightly. "Caleb was my first friend."
Bruce nods, then after some time, his face turns sour. "And your first victim... if memory serves me."
"Not that it matters, right? Shit. 'New name, new beginning' remember?" Caleb says, tapping his temple with a sarcastic face.
And Bruce laughs. "Caleb then! Caleb Carn." He smiles now, and places a hand in the middle of the table. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Carn."
"Shut it, Wayne." Caleb says with a snarl.
They shake hands, and smile at each other.
Gotham rids itself of the Batman's archnemesis.