My romantic rant after watching Dark Knight. First off, I don't intend this to be a grand tale. I like to take breaks on my real stories and do little novellas to hone my skill. This is my next one, staring Bruce Wayne, because Christian Bale is just too awesome. I love criticism, within reason ! And I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I am enjoying writing it.
Harvey Dent Memorial Hospital.
Keeping the secret of Harvey Dent's last actions was proving more difficult than Bruce Wayne had imagined. Since Gotham General Hospital was blown to the ground there were efforts to rebuild a new hospital on its bones: Harvey Dent Memorial Hospital.
He didn't blame them for what they were doing. They didn't know the truth of what their hero had done and that had been the whole point of Batman's sacrifice. These were the people who were trying to focus on the sacrifice of a hero, to give Gotham some hope. Bruce Wayne couldn't object to that noble end. Even so, Bruce Wayne was finding it difficult to keep Batman's secret.
Every time he heard Dent's name, and it was so frequent, it was like being pulled from the carefree pleasure of playing the heir to a fortune, and back into the care laden world of the Batman. In addition, though this Bruce had expected, the public was more critical of Batman than ever. He was as hated as Dent was loved. Sometimes, no matter how hard he pushed it away, Joker's voice would creep into his head and whisper, "given the chance they will hate you."
As if he could prove to everyone that he didn't care, he pushed away the thoughts and reminded himself that, given the opportunity, he would make the same choice as he had to take Dent's place on the cross of public slander.
Batman had not disappeared. He still prowled Gotham's streets, leaving thugs tied up for the police to find in the morning. Batman was on vacation; but he didn't let the scum of Gotham forget that he was still out there.
As such, Bruce Wayne had more opportunities for public appearances and his current project was helping raise the funds for Harvey Dent Memorial Hospital. It stung a little; but Bruce Wayne was not willing to let the name of Wayne fall as far as that of the Batman.
He had volunteered his pent house, yet again, as the place for the initial revealing of the blue prints to Gotham's elite and wealthy and the press. There would be many more fundraisers and checks to be written; but this was the first step.
Over breakfast, as always, Bruce and Alfred had painstakingly discussed Bruce Wayne's social agenda.
"With the Batman taking a vacation Bruce Wayne ought to have more time for public appearances."
"And less time to wait away scandal," Bruce had added.
"Well I guess the illegitimate love child will have to be put under reserve then."
Bruce had, for the first time in a long time, made a conventional entrance. He had greeted everyone as they came through the door, with another beautiful model occupying the space at his side. With a glass of champagne in one hand he urged his guests to drink up because the proceeds were going towards something "very special." Shaking hands and repeating names was Bruce's agenda for the whole evening and it was a task he endured, rather than relished.
Bruce tried to remember his father, to replicate the man's ease with the crowd, the way he walked and drew the gazes of everyone in the room. In the foreseeable future, this was the way he would be most able to help Gotham recover. Until Batman could help, Bruce Wayne would have to do.
When the last of the press had arrived and the ever-late business tycoons as well, almost two hours, Bruce had nodded at Mrs. Morrison, a wealthy widow who had been a part of any major philanthropic event in Gotham for the past three decades.
A small podium had been set up at the head of the room and, with a nod from Bruce, Alfred had gotten the press set up in the audience. The guests were cleared into the room and there was only light conversation as everyone wondered what this grand new project was.
Bruce left his date to herself, the cover model didn't seem to mind, and escorted Mrs. Morrison to the front of the room. Everyone quieted as he stepped up to the podium, with Mrs. Morrison just behind him.
"Guests, members of the press." The cameras flashed and Bruce focused on a spot on the back wall to avoid being blinded. "I'm glad you all could make it to our somewhat unconventional press conference/ party/ fundraiser. And I must say the turn out is much better than I expected after my last party." Polite laughter. Bruce could tell he was poking an uneasy spot with the crowd.
"When Mrs. Morrison approached me about her next philanthropic endeavor she wished to undertake, and offered me a seat on the committee," Bruce added, "I was excited and eager to begin immediate preparations. For those of you who don't yet know the details of Mrs. Morrison's plan let me assure you," Bruce smiled, "they are a credit to her taste and experience and I am flattered to be a part of them.
"I immediately offered the newly rebuilt Wayne Manor as the location for its public reveal," the camera's flashed as the crowd got silent, adding a tension to the pause. "But Mrs. Morrison requested that we hold it here." The room quieted and more cameras flashed, no one had forgotten what had happened here at Bruce's last party.
"Needless to say I was a little confused as to why; but when she explained her reasoning I was touched and realized why she writes the checks and why I sign them." Polite laughter. "Now let me introduce Gotham's most generous benefactor, who eats, sleeps, and breathes Gotham, with its best interests at heart, Mrs. Carolina Morrison."
The crowd applauded as Mrs. Morrison traded Bruce places. As Bruce turned back to face them, glad that his speaking part was done, he could see in the eyes of the crowd the adoration they held for this woman. At nearly 68, Mrs. Morrison was Gotham's caring grandmother. She was one of the people who saved Gotham the way that Batman couldn't and Harvey Dent had.
"Friends, it's an honor to stand before you here, and I wish to dispel the curiosity about why we meet here, on this tragic battlefield without pause." The crowd got silent again.
"Many of you were present on that night last spring; and all of you remember what happened. I want you to do something difficult, that we have all tried to avoid. I want you to think about what happened here." A pin could have been heard dropping as everyone in the room thought about the night when Gotham had begun a descent towards chaos.
"I want you to remember the hopelessness, remember the despair, and most of all, I want you to remember the fear. That night fear stole into our hearts and began a period where much hope was lost; but friends, we must bring it back, because only hope can drive out fear.
"I remember well, the first night that I met Harvey Dent." The room got positively silent and even the clicking of cameras was quieted. "We talked and I was taken by the sincerity and humility of the man from the campaign posters and I remember what he told me when I poked a little fun at his campaign slogan, 'I believe in Harvey Dent'. He told me that he had wanted his slogan to be 'I believe in Gotham'; but that it was changed by other members of the campaign.
"Since the passing of our beloved Harvey Dent, Gotham has come to a crossroads. We all believed in Harvey Dent; but he is gone, and it's time to choose whether our belief… our hope has gone with him, or whether we are going to honor what he stood for.
"Ladies and gentlemen. I believed in Harvey Dent and now I believe in Gotham." The hired help wheeled forward a table with a white tablecloth covering the slanted diorama. "It's time to let go of fear and continue the fight for Gotham City. Here, in this room, last spring, hope lost the battle against fear. So it is here that I wanted to plant the seeds of hope anew. My friends, I present to you, Harvey Dent Memorial Hospital." She pulled back the table cloth and revealed the hospital model.
Cameras flashed like mad and the crowd burst into applause.
Bruce clapped wholeheartedly along with everyone in the audience and felt the satisfaction that came from weeks of caterers and meetings.
It took almost three whole minutes for the clapping to die down so that the Q&A session could begin. Most of the guests went back into the other rooms, not interested in the details since they would only be donating anyway and the press began its questions.
They hung on Mrs. Morrison's every word as she introduced the other members of the committee; but mercifully Bruce didn't have to talk much and after another hour he was set free. Suddenly playing the host didn't seem so bad anymore.
Upon emerging into the other room Alfred carried over another glass of champagne and Bruce was reminded why he loved the old man. "I'm afraid to report Mr. Wayne that Ms. Palmer was driven home by Mr. Grange." After downing the glass Bruce looked back up.
"Who?"
"Ms. Palmer." Bruce gave Alfred a blank look. "The cover model."
"Oh," Bruce shrugged. "Means we won't have to get her a cab." Alfred laughed ironically and took Bruce's empty glass.
"Take my advice Master Wayne, it's better to be happy for even a short period then to never be happy at all."
Bruce looked at Alfred strangely, "why wouldn't I be happy Alfred?"
"I wouldn't assume you aren't Master Wayne; but I would urge you to take advantage of this lull in your usual activities." Bruce smiled. Alfred would always look out for him.
"Thanks Alfred." As if to punctuate the moment, a woman from the hospital committee waved Bruce over to a small gathering by the bar. Bruce joined them gladly, shaking Ella Martinez's hand and allowing himself to be introduced to the members of the group.
"Pretty intense reaction huh?" Ella asked, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder. Bruce could smell the alcohol on her breath and only hoped she could stay sober long enough to get home.
"Very intense," he agreed; "but the press was eating up and it will be all the better for the hospital." Another woman in a low-cut red dress complimented Bruce's generosity, and a man at her elbow glared a little at Bruce. Bruce deflected the comment with some little joke at his own expense.
The crowd shifted and changed as people left, came, or went to join other groups. Ella Martinez stayed by Bruce's side however. She laughed every time he said something remotely funny and brushed against him as she shifted in her long heels. Bruce's unconscious mind recalled what Alfred had said and he paid Ella special attention.
If Alfred was insinuating that he involve himself with a woman, as Bruce suspected, than Ella was perfect. She had straight black hair, high cheekbones, a curvy figure: beautiful by any summation. She leaned over to whisper in Bruce's ear every time she got the chance and Bruce was not averse to her looks.
He allowed himself to ignore her obvious hints and flirted with her a little. She adored his attention and commented on everything that was said in the small group of people.
Bruce felt retrospective and examined the evening. The booze was good, the company was nice, Ella's attention didn't make him feel any more listless; and as the evening grew late he considered himself as having accomplished Alfred's wishes.
The crowd talked about the hospital, gossiped, and drank a lot. The whole evening was coated with a film like a lens added to a camera. It diffused the light, added warmth to the air, and filled the conversation with superfluity.
As Ella whispered a tidbit of gossip into Bruce's ear he heard a man's shout. He looked around, though no one else had noticed and heard another shout from the balcony. He looked around for a security personal; but there wasn't one in the immediate vicinity. He sighed as another shout floated through the doors and more heads turned toward the door.
"Hold that thought just one second," Bruce whispered to Ella who clung to his suit as he shot her a teasing look in return of her pout.
The cool evening air swept over him along with another yell from the man's disembodied voice.
A woman's softer voice responded more audibly. It was calm and relaxed. "Stop shouting Austin." The pair were standing by the balcony, which made Bruce uneasy from the way the man tottered in an obvious drunken stupor. The woman stood with her back towards Bruce and seemed to be headed for another door off the balcony. The man didn't even notice Bruce.
"Why should I keep my voice down Laura? Why can't I say what I want to say? Who cares what those rich snobs think!?" he yelled the last word, punctuating the sentence by taking another deep swig from the drink in his hand. The woman sighed and put her face in her hand.
"That's it Austin. I'm sick of this. No matter how nice you are during the day, every time…you just get drunk and say stupid things."
"What does that mean?" he asked. In his inebriated state he couldn't disguise the fear in his demeanor. "Are you breaking up with me?"
"Breaking up implies we were going out, which we weren't." He looked confused and she sighed exhaustedly. "Yes, Austin it's over." She turned towards the door and moved to leave when Austin stumbled forward and grabbed her forearm, possibly aiming for her wrist. As Bruce moved forward her soft voice whispered. "Let me go Austin."
He pulled her back from the door and her voice rose in volume though it retained the lack of intonation that indicated anger or even fear. "Austin Hayes, I said let me go."
Bruce snatched Austin's hand from the woman' arm by twisting the man's wrist away from his body until he snatched it back.
She recognized him and her voice was surprisingly bubbly for the situation. "Mr. Wayne."
Austin scoffed and took another drink. The woman exhaled softly and Bruce could sense her embarrassment.
"Is there a problem out here?" Bruce asked, almost slipping into the gravelly tone he used during his other activities.
The woman smiled in a manner that was surprisingly convincing. "Nope, no problem at all."
"Not at all," Austin agreed with a wide gesture of his arms that betrayed his state of inebriation. "We were just leaving." Austin tried to move to sweep Laura towards the door, clutching at her forearm as he moved towards the door; but she twisted out of his grasp.
"No Austin I was just leaving." Austin tried to grab her again; but this time Bruce stepped between them.
"I think she wants to leave Mr. Hayes." Bruce was actually shorter than the man by an inch or so; but he was unintimidated by the towering drunk.
"Stay out of this pretty boy." Bruce let the comment roll off him.
"Austin would you please just shut up for once?" Laura asked from behind Bruce. She moved around him and toward the door again and would have left the balcony if Austin hadn't started up again.
"Tell me Laura what makes you so much better than me?" Laura stopped. He had enunciated the words by pointing his glass-laden hand at her accusingly and now she was frozen in disbelief as the amber champagne dripped down her front and soaked her white dress.
It took Austin a moment to process what he had done and why she was standing motionless with one hand on the doorknob mouth agape.
For a few seconds no one moved until Laura regained her composure and opened the door, stepping out in a huff.
Bruce regained himself. "Alright, I think you've had enough." Austin laughed degradingly and tried to drain any remaining champagne from the glass. Bruce grabbed the man's upper arm and towed him towards the door; hoping security was close enough that Bruce wouldn't lose his temper before he found them.
The man crashed his champagne glass on Bruce's head from behind and though it angered him more than it hurt he turned around and slammed his fist into the man's face. The drunk fell to the ground stone-cold unconscious as Bruce turned with his fists raised for a fight.
He was disappointed when he beheld the man on the floor. Drunken party guests put up much less of a fight than mobsters and Bruce was a little sorry for it.
Bruce exhaled and pulled himself together. When he turned Alfred was standing by the door with a slightly disappointed look on his face. "You couldn't avoid thrashing someone for just one evening?"
"He broke a champagne glass on my head," remembering the injury he raised a hand to his head.
"Shall we get you to a hospital then?" Alfred returned in a monotone. Maybe it wasn't one of Bruce's worst injuries. Bruce started an argument that died before it was fully formed. He dropped his hand and looked at Alfred. "There's a woman named Laura inside, about five, seven, brown hair, wearing a white dress inside. Will you go find her and help her get cleaned up?"
"What'd you do to her Master Wayne?" Bruce glared at him until Alfred moved.
Bruce shook the glass out of his hair and fixed his suit. He stepped back inside and told security a guest had passed out on the balcony and that he was to be escorted out as roughly as possible. When he was done he found Ella still standing by the bar with a different crowd.
"Brucey," she called, as though he hadn't seen her (though they were making eye contact).
Bruce cleared his throat. "Sorry about that. You were saying?" She remembered her comment and filled Bruce in on everything he had missed. Just when his heart rate had gone back to normal, the flush in his cheeks had gone away, and he had started to lose himself in her superfluous comments she looked at him like he had the plague.
"Bruce you're bleeding!" It took him a moment to figure out what she meant and when he tried to covertly check his knuckles he felt the blood as it dripped from his hairline to his forehead.
"Damn," he muttered, touching his forehead and bringing his fingers back to eye-level with a bloody coating. "Hold that thought one more time," he told Ella.
"Bruce will you be alright?" she asked urgently, he paused a few steps away. It seemed a little silly, it was just a little blood. He nodded and headed down the hallway towards the bedroom.
He unlocked the door with a key (a measure taken to keep guests in the designated areas) and closed it behind him. He swore again as the blood dripped off his eyebrow and onto his white shirt. Taking off his suit coat, yanking off his tie he used the now useless dress shirt to staunch the bleeding on his forehead as he moved towards the closet. Using his non-bloody hand he pulled another dress shirt from the closet and threw it on the bed next to the tie and suit coat.
Bruce opened the bathroom door with the clean hand and was taken quite by surprise when a woman yelped in surprise. He stepped backwards and yanked the door most of the way shut as her half-clothed figure registered in his mind.
Bruce found himself speechless for the second time that evening. He heard the rustle of clothing in the bathroom and forced out some words.
"Um… I'm sorry. Now do you want to tell me why you're in my bathroom?" There was no response and Bruce wondered how the woman, who had appeared alone, had gotten into the locked bedroom.
He let the doorknob slide through his fingers as she pulled it open and after a moment he recognized the woman as the one from the balcony, though it took a moment with her holding the neck of a new black dress over her form and with a taken-by-surprise look that Bruce hadn't seen on the balcony.
"Mr. Wayne," she said, a definite blush creeping through her cheeks. She put out her hand and Bruce took it by reaction. "Laura Daines. I'm the head of donations on the hospital committee." Awkward pause. "I apologize Mr. Wayne; your butler let me in and…gave me the dress."
Bruce cleared his throat. "No, completely my fault. I told him to, I just… forgot." Wow, that sounded bad.
She laughed once. "Can't blame you for not knocking in your own house I guess. Give me another second and I'll give you back your bathroom?" Bruce nodded and turned away as she closed the door.
He laughed to himself once as he picked up the dress shirt and pinned it back to his forehead before he bled on everything.
In sixty seconds the woman opened the door, dress now properly tied above her neck, with her stained dress in one hand, and her heels in another.
She tucked her brown hair behind her ear and turned to him. "I have to thank you for the dress." It was a conventional black little number that fit as well as something kept on hand for such occasions could be expected.
"Don't bother. It looks better on you than it did on the hanger." He laughed once and broke the eye contact. Perhaps that wasn't the best comment to have made.
She smiled. "Well thank you." At least she was polite even though he had just interrupted her in the middle of changing. "But I have to ask: should I be worried that this was in your closet?" Her tone was teasing.
Bruce smiled. "not if you like it."
"I do."
"You'd be surprised how often spare clothes can come in handy at a party with drunken millionaires."
She smiled. "You have very nice taste Mr. Wayne." She saw the shirt in his hand and paused, her face growing concerned. Bruce pulled down the shirt which was now soaked through with blood. He wadded it up more and replaced it. "Did Austin do that to you?" she asked, fixing him with a surprised look.
He felt a little embarrassed, taken from behind by a drunk. "He caught me by surprise."
She smiled without humor and shook her head. "I am so sorry."
Bruce shrugged. "It's not your fault."
"It kind of is… if you weren't trying to be a gentleman than you would still have a clean shirt."
"Well that makes it my fault then." Bruce smiled.
"Do you want any help?" she asked quickly. It took him a moment to understand what she meant. "I'll clean the cut if you want."
"Oh, no I can get it."
"You sure?" she asked good-naturedly.
"Yes," he reiterated.
"Okay." She extended her hand again and he switched hands on the shirt to shake hers. "Sorry, again. But thanks for the dress and sorry about…" she pointed towards the bathroom door, "that."
"My pleasure." He paused as soon as the words came out. That sounded perverted.
She smiled and laughed. Bruce looked over her shoulder. "Wow," he said aloud as she started to laugh again, surprised at his own lack of tact. She took it in good naturedly with extra laughter.
"Don't worry about it, no big deal."
"Not if you're not born with your foot in your mouth." Bruce picked up the dress shirt, jacket, and tie.
Her face grew serious. "And Mr. Wayne, thank you for the… the help. I really do appreciate it, and I don't know what might have happened if you hadn't showed up."
Bruce nodded and went into the bathroom, without pausing to watch her leave.
As he cleaned the blood and glass out of his hair Bruce laughed aloud when he realized that Alfred had gotten his wish. Bruce had seen a naked woman that night.
When Bruce was satisfied with his appearance he ran his fingers through his hair and put the suit coat back on.
He was adjusting the cuffs when he walked back into the bedroom and saw Laura Daines, still standing by the door. For a moment he was bewildered until he saw her point at the door handle noncommittally and realized that it was still locked.
"Sorry," Bruce apologized as he unlocked it with the key and let her out.
"Don't be, I owe you a favor." She turned to face him before walking out. "Have a nice evening Mr. Wayne." Bruce inclined his head and she walked back into the crowd with him a few steps behind.