Disclaimer: Batman does not belong to me. I make no profit from this. Batman originally created by Bob Kane.
"Don't you ever wonder why no one's figured it out?" She says, the bright red of her lips matching that of the expensive bag on the floor.
"Figured out what, Selina?" He replies. He knows what she's talking about, but he wants to postpone the answer until after he's tasted Alfred's brioche; he normally doesn't eat bread, but it's Alfred's, and he lives in the gym next to his study anyway.
"The man behind the mask. The hero beneath the Dark Knight's armor. Whatever other clichéd phrase there exists for your secret." She chuckles, knowing he's only asking so that he may get a chance to eat. She doesn't blame him. Pennyworth does have a certain culinary touch.
He decides it's a good idea he waited to answer her, because the brioche is heavenly. Not that one could expect anything less from Alfred. He thinks it's been entirely too long since he ate something Alfred slaved over for hours upon hours. That must be remedied.
"Maybe I'm conceited. So confident in my methods that I don't feel the need to wonder." He says. He knows the truth. He likes toying with her.
She snorts. Loudly. Then she laughs. It's bitter and cynical and somehow fresh.
"You? Conceited? For thinking you look good running around in long johns, I'd say yes. But nothing else."
"Long johns? I thought you liked the Batsuit."
"I do. But I can't help it if your outfit resembles underwear."
"Then what is the Catsuit? Or, whatever you call that garish thing." He says it flippantly, but he's never thought much about what their costumes, their uniforms, look like.
"It's a bodysuit."
"A bodysuit."
"Mmhm."
They're quiet again. The table is long. She is sitting next to him and doesn't doubt that, were the table a building, she would have to crane her neck to look at it. Her mind wanders, but, as wanderers often do, they come back to where they started.
"Now, hold on a minute here. I asked you a question." She says, miffed she let him sidetrack her.
"Did you?"
"Bruce."
He supposes he's had enough fun for now, and turns to her.
"Why do you ask?"
She opens her mouth to say curiosity, then realizes he'll only use it to chastise her, then have a nice laugh.
"Don't answer a question with a question, Bruce. Now, spill."
"...Gotham has enough gang wars, weapons, and corrupt politicians for a medium-sized country."
"Don't you mean small?"
"No."
"My mistake, Bruce. Go on, please."
He smiles. But only for a moment.
"The problems here are too large and numerous for anyone to stop and think about airheaded rich boys and the lack of explanation about their overseas escapades."
"Your point?"
"I don't wonder, as you put it, about them because they don't care about me."
"I care."
He says nothing, and for some reason, she smirks.
