It was all bullshit of course. Bruce knew from the moment he let the journalist in that he was going to put on his best smiling face and pretend to be a rich socialite who enjoyed talking about his feelings with people. He found it difficult to speak with his own allies in casual conversation, even when he wasn't putting on a persona as obnoxious as Bruce Wayne: rich man; it took nearly a year to truly open up to Dick, and Stephanie had still yet to see him truly vulnerable. Talking to someone outside of his closely knit group of warriors left him drained from the act. Best to end this quickly and get back to more important matters.
The journalist was late, because of course he was. Bruce had only one interview that went according to schedule, the one with Mrs. Lane at the Planet. And that was because she wanted to get the obvious fluff piece over with as quickly as possible. He'd done his research on the one coming today, from The Gotham Star. The Star was the Gazette's annoying cousin, more focused on celebrity gossip and celebrities than on any primary concerns. Of course, this being Gotham, it was less about the rich and famous than the rogue and dangerous.
The Gotham Star was the local newspaper with the most nationwide sales. Sometimes, Bruce felt that rest of the world was stranger than Gotham.
There was a knock on the door. Bruce didn't need to go open it; he trusted Alfred to do it. Plus,he thought, annoyed that he even had to do this, what kind of rich socialite greets his own guests? He picked up one of the many pointless books in his sitting room; nobody ever read these, they were for looking nice. Bruce didn't even think Tim touched a single thing in here; he was always in the library or the cave.
A man walked in, dressed mostly nice except for the tie, which was a size too small. He had a large broad nose and brows incredibly close to his wide eyes. He reached out a hand, a smile almost as nicely faked as Bruce's growing just a bit wider. "Hi there, Alexander Knox, Gotham Star. It's an honor to meet you Mr. Wayne."
Bruce put down the book and stood up, taking Alexander's hand in a firm but loving handshake. "Bruce Wayne, professional interviewee. Can Alfred get you anything? Wine, scotch, cognac? Or one of the craft breweries I keep having to convince Kate Kane to stop buying?" Bruce let himself giggle a bit. His cousin in truth had only bought one, a local brewery that ended up being run by a homophobe. Bruce didn't laugh that often, but that bit of ironic punishment always got to him.
Alex declined the drink, instead electing to sit himself down on the chair opposite of Bruce. Further away, trying to distance himself from his subject. Probably not looking for anything major, keep it impersonal. "I think it's best if we get into the juicy bits right away," Alex said, leaning forward. Trying to humor me, or intimidate me. Probably says that to most subjects. Bruce leaned in forward to match, a cheeky smile on his face.
Alex reached into his suit's pocket and pulled out a digital recorder. Newer reporter, probably a more recent journalism school graduate. "I'm going to start with a bit of a test. Psych thing. Word association. You know it?"
Bruce Wayne was given damn near every type of psych test after that night at the Camille Sly theater. He'd made sure that Leslie Thompkins gave him another round of them once a year, even if she always said that no sane person dressed up like he did.
"Hit me with it, Alex," Bruce giggled, crossing his legs.
"Pearls."
A television, another sleepless night. He didn't know why he watched these awful TV movies, they never got it right. Always the wrong order; his father was shot first, then mom. She was wearing pearls that night, but it wasn't what the man wanted; was probably going for her wallet or a ransom or something. The pearls didn't break. They never bounced in slow motion. Bruce would turn the TV off afterwards; he reminded himself why he fought the crusade every night.
"Susan." It was the first name that came to mind, a model he had sex with in the back of a car. A random name, a meaningless act.
"Ooh, that's a good name. She still with you?"
"Not really." Bruce pretended to look wistful, glancing up at the ceiling. "She went back to Metropolis the night after the party. Ah, well, fun while it lasted."
"Okay," Alex muttered, "Scars."
It had been three days. Dick must have been worried. Talia had kept him here, right next to the Pit, a reminder that even death itself wouldn't be an escape. He felt the whip at his back again, the pain barely registering anymore. It hurt at first, and at one point he even yelled into his gag. But the pain faded, even as the scars would remain.
"Kinky," Bruce said with a wink. That gave Alex a bit of a laugh.
"Alright then, how about Cat?"
Selina. She stood there on the opposite rooftop, facing him, a mischievous smile on her face. When he lept to her roof, she backflipped, onto the next one, starting a quick run away. She always did this when she had a lead, made him work for it. Batman should have felt annoyed, pissed that someone with vital information was playing at a time like this. But with Selina, it was different. It made the chase, the hunt, almost fun.
"Pussy," Bruce replied, completely deadpan. Alex started laughing, a large belly laugh that made him drop the recorder. "I'm glad you didn't ask for some wine. I bought this rug from a stall in India. Handwoven, the woman said."
It took Alexander a minute to recover, before he picked up the recorder. "Wow," he said, wiping his eye a bit, "Never expected you to be so… forward."
"With what? You watched Tweety bird when you were five, right?" Bruce replied, putting on a Cheshire grin to show that he knew exactly what Alex was talking about.
"Right right. One more before we get to the real interview. Family."
It was the first time the whole group was gathered here like this in a long time. Steph and Cass were furiously signing under the table, but Bruce could guess exactly what they were talking about. Duke and Tim were having a furious debate over the latest edition of that fantasy game they loved, but he didn't feel they needed interference. Besides, Alfred was good at measuring when something was too heated. Damian was giving Ace scraps of brisket under the table, something that Bruce would have to talk to him about. Dick and Barbra were giggling about something Dick had said. Harper was trying her best to look bored, but anyone could see the smile on her lips. And right next to her, Bette by her side, was Kate. It was her idea to gather like this, as a family. She even offered to cook much of the food herself, and even Damian admitted she made a fine kugel.
Bruce stood up, class of apple cider in hand. He felt his heart swell, and for the first time, he didn't feel like his happiness was an act. "A toast," he said, with joy in his voice, "to the protectors of Gotham and beyond!"
"Joy," Bruce said, just barely loud enough for Alex and his recorder to hear. It wasn't a fake answer like the ones before it, and his smile had faded to one that rested comfortably. Alex probably couldn't tell the difference between a fake and real one, at least when it came to Bruce Wayne.
"Thank you." Alex nodded, and with a quick gesture indicated that this part was over. "Quite, uh, revealing, Brucey. Can I call you Brucey? Ah, never mind. Time to get to the real interview…"
The whole thing was standard for Bruce Wayne at this point. He gave non-committal but progressive views on political issues, danced around subjects of his personal life, made vague but dirty comments when it came to his sexual attitudes. Just enough for a piece, but not enough to reveal anything important. Whenever the question of his parents and their murder came up, he gave the same thing he always did, the exact phrase: "I spent many years in therapy, and went to a bunch of different schools abroad. I only came back to Gotham when I could face myself again."
Alex clicked his recorder, turning it off. "Great talking with you, Brucey," he said, standing up. Bruce stood as well, taking his hand for another shake.
"It was fun," Bruce replied, making sure to walk Alex to the door. When it shut, his smile dropped to his usual, neutral face. Lord, talking like that was exhausting. And wasted so much time. He was sure that, in the time he spent with Knox, he could have solved a murder. No matter, it was time to get to work. He discarded his jacket, tossing it in Alfred's general direction. The butler caught it, as always. Bruce walked down a hallway, the history of the Wayne family surrounding him. Portraits of every Patriarch and Matriarch stretching back to the landing of the Colonists stared down at him, till he reached the portrait with his mother, Martha Kane. Underneath was vent, which he took off effortlessly. A quick reach around the corner of the vent revealed a switch. He flipped it, and the portrait across from Martha, her husband Thomas Wayne, slid up with the wall, revealing a staircase that lead into the dark.
Bruce had walked this path many times, and every time it gave him slight goosebumps. It felt good to take off the mask, to look in and find his home. The Cave.
Time to get to work.
