It wasn't as though this was the first time he'd had to undergo this ordeal. Not the first time he'd been forced to play the part, put on the mask...
Or, he thought wryly, act the fool.
Gotham City was not a lady who enjoyed a decent spell of peace and quiet. No, she was constantly stirring murky waters, begetting psychopaths and lunatics to haunt every dark alley...
That is, when she wasn't raising up brilliant and devilish minions to wreak their schemes in the broad daylight.
A never-ending battle, he brooded. The Knight's gloved hands ran absently over the keys of his computer.
He'd been working at those keys, it seemed, for weeks to penetrate yet another one of Rupert Thorne's air-tight black market plots. The police had been at it too, "Workin' like an oiled-machine, so we don't need babysittin' on this one!", as Bullock had snapped at him a few hours ago. In his opinion, of course, the only oily thing about GCPD was the greasy, blustery and unkempt detective. Still, he was a part of Gotham's finest.
One hand reached up almost unconsciously and pulled the cowl off of his head, then dropped it to the desktop. Two weeks...and still not a scrap of court-worthy evidence, still not a single lead. It was frustrating, he knew...even the Commissioner had been irritable and irascible of late.
And if he went, the Knight thought, sinking into a chair, how much longer could any of them last?
"I thought I heard your return, Master Bruce." The polished, accented words emanated from the equally polished butler who now descended the stone steps into the Batcave. One hand held a carefully balanced tray, the other a black suit. "I do believe that this would be most appropriate for the gala tonight...after all," and here the butler's lips twitched, "'Nothing but the best for my niece', if I may quote Mayor Hill."
Bruce couldn't-didn't- want to turn his swivel chair and face the butler, or, for that matter, the cold-hard reminder of his further obligations this evening.
"In which case, Alfred, you should be the one to attend the gala."
"No, sir...I don't think that my presence would delight the young lady nearly as much as yours."
It had been a few weeks ago since Bruce hosted a charity luncheon on the grounds of Wayne Manor...a luncheon attended by all the blue-bloods that the city could muster. Mayor Hill approached his host, adeptly turned the latest blonde "arm-hanger's" attentions onto his nephew, and then spoke in an undertone,
"Bruce, I'm delighted that you're hosting this luncheon...our police certainly need all the help they can get! Which brings me to my point...my niece Denalynne has recently been after me to host a large city-wide event for our police, and I was hoping that you could help..."
Help had apparently entailed Waynecorp's biggest meeting venue, a full-out gala, and a promise to escort the would-be "hostess" to the event. Not that he had resented the agreement at the time it was made...but the work-load that had been put on his shoulders as Batman was wearing. And the last thing he wanted to do tonight, he thought again, was to act a fool for the sake of the paparazzi.
"Sir?" Alfred's voice was such that even in that one word, he seemed to intone that he knew exactly what Bruce was thinking. "If I may be so bold, your prompt arrival at the Mayor's home would be better guaranteed if you were to get ready with haste. And...an evening out might do you good."
Bruce knew that Alfred was right, as usual...and it actually might do him a bit of good. There was a chance...just a chance...that Denalynne Hill might actually have a real concern for Gotham's police, and not some ulterior motive to get her hands on a billionaire.
Swiftly standing, the dark knight relieved Alfred of the hanger and, with something vaguely akin to anticipation, prepared to change costumes yet again.
VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV
Mayor Hill's home, although not nearly so large as Wayne Manor, was grand in its own right. There were several vehicles parked out front...doubtless some belonging to Denalynne and her entourage. And of course, the press...
"Mr. Wayne!" A swarm of reporters turned, as a single tidal wave, from the front of the mansion and towards the Billionaire.
"How long have you known Miss Hill?"
"Was keeping the hostesses' name a secret your idea, or hers?"
"Have you and the Mayor been planning the gala for long?"
"How did Miss Hill react to your offering to be her escort?"
A volley of camera flashes followed each question...at any rate, the questions he could hear. There was a general clamor in the background which was doubtless the sound of dozens of quieter, more easily drowned-out inquiries.
And, as always, he plastered on his best smile and waved cheerily before making his way, still somewhat surrounded, towards the front double-doors.
They swung open before he could quite reach them and light spilled out from the warm interior...and there stood Denalynne Hill.
Bruce had run the gamut of dates-from the childishly excited ones who practically hung on his arms to the glamorous, dignified goddesses who bestowed their affections with an ethereal, lofty air. He'd experienced ones who were rude and cold to everyone but him...
But this would be the first time that the woman in question didn't even seem to notice his presence.
Surprisingly, her attentions seemed to be focused on the press...she could qualify as one of the goddess types, although in Bruce's opinion, there was really one, and only one female who could perhaps qualify for that honor.
Her mint-green gown was simple, yet very flattering, and obviously expensive...as was every other bit of her ensemble- especially a matching stone-work pin which held her upswept blonde hair.
He searched the faces of some of the reporters and instinctively knew that they were already making notes of Denalynne's apparel. He'd guess the Mayor's niece to be in her late twenties, perhaps even early thirties. She flashed big, buoyant smiles at the cameras, but the smiles didn't reach her eyes...
Bruce shook the thought away. Too much of the detective mindset. Tonight he was Bruce Wayne, just a charitable socialite out for a pleasant evening. No costumes, masks or villains. A smile played at his lips at that thought...
He was at the top of the stairs now, almost next to Miss Hill before she finally turned and regarded him. She smiled quietly and extended a hand.
"Bruce Wayne, I presume? I've been looking forward to tonight for quite some time."
"As have I." He said, hoping that the past hour counted as "quite some time". "Our police have been hard-put lately, and...well, who doesn't enjoy a night out?"
She smiled and slid her arm into his. "Certainly not me. Let's go."
VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV
The ride over was rather quiet. All that Bruce had learned was that she'd only just moved to Gotham from Seddersville, that she was still trying not to get lost in the city's many roads and off-paths, and that she wanted the air in the limo lowered so as not to mess up her hair. Not a very talkative type...which at present, was a relief. The silence might've been awkward under other circumstances, but both Bruce and Denalynne seemed intensely preoccupied. Both looked out of opposite windows, Bruce's hands laid idly across his lap while Denalynne's were primly folded, save for the occasional absentminded pat to her hair and the stone-work pin.
Shedding the detective mindset was, in spite of his earlier resolves, impossible. "But what else is new?" he muttered mentally. He was Batman...it was what the night had forged him into. And life had taught him that leaving that identity behind would take more than a change of costumes...
It wasn't just Thorne's black-market smugglers...lately everything in Gotham was on the rise. If it wasn't Thorne with illegal arms shipments, it was Harvey on the drug scene, and it if wasn't him it was Iseley wreaking toxins and green-righteous havoc on some construction group. Bruce ran a hand through his well-groomed hair in frustration. They couldn't wear him out more if they'd actually planned this...
It took him a moment to realize that he was being stared at, and turning he caught Denalynne's dark eyes on his own.
"You seem so preoccupied, Bruce..." she laughed, waving her hand dismissively. "A billionaire like you must have a lot on your mind, especially if his date's as somber and silent as he is!
Bruce caught himself in the middle of a little nod of agreement. She laughed. "It's fine...I'll try to do better. So...Gotham. You've lived here your whole life?"
"Yes," answered Bruce, almost adding "too long", and then thought better of it. "At any rate, most of it. I left a few years to study abroad."
"Oh, yes..." she mused, "I seem to have heard of that.."majors in business and applied science, if I recall correctly?"
"That's right!" said Bruce, with a smile...which really stemmed from the thought "and majors in martial arts, theatricality, combat strategy..."
At that moment the limo pulled up in front of the WayneCorp conference center. A crowd about thrice the size of that at Mayor Hill's house lined either side of the red carpet.
Bruce stepped out and opened the door for Denalynne, who paused just a moment before accepting his proffered hand.
Soft jazz music floated out into the night, and seemed to transform Denalynne. She straightened and tossed smiles towards either side of the mob of reporters.
"You must be used to them." remarked Bruce.
"No, just taking advantage of the moment, she replied without missing a beat."There aren't too many openings for "center of public attention".
Once inside, the gala was much like any other that Bruce had attended-refreshment tables, lavish decorations meant to correspond with police blues, and a live band providing music for the various couples already swirling on the dance floor. Mayor Hill and several other of Gotham's elite class held up conversation in the various clusters. Denalynne once again surprised Bruce-pleasantly-by suggesting that they split up in order to perform their hosting duties more efficiently. Normally all of Bruce's dates hung onto his suited arms and practically whined to dance every possible moment.
"Good idea." he glanced quickly at the evening's program. "We'd better meet at that front table before the speeches."
"Sounds good, Bruce." She waved just the tip of her fingers and was gone in an instant.
A group of young policemen immediately approached him. "Mr. Wayne," said the first, a big-built fellow with a practical infestation of freckles on his face, "Just wanted to thank you for doing this for us! Name's Jack, by the way. Jack Auslin."
Trey Weaver", said a young man next to him.
"And I'm Danny...Daniel Yin."
The last introduction came from a dark haired boy of decidedly oriental descent. Both his features and his accent testified to it.
"A pleasure to meet all of you" said Bruce, offering his hand to each. They grasped it with the typical pleasure and delight that people seemed to get from actually touching a billionaire-except for Daniel, who seemed to be perfectly awestruck and...a little fearful?
At that moment a high-pitched shriek resounded from the microphone
"That's my cue" said Bruce to himself, then, "if you'll excuse me?"
The young officers smiled in response, and Bruce prepared to take the stage.
VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV
An hour later, and Bruce was almost ready to acknowledge that Alfred had probably been right. After his introduction and opening words, Mayor Hill had spoken- to Bruce's ears, it sounded very like his typical situation of the city addresses, slightly re-vamped for the sake of fitting the GCPD, but at least he was trying.
It was Denalynne who stole the show. The round of applause that accompanied her on stage was obviously more than typical for a hostess...she'd apparently made the most of her time before the speeches and hit it off with all the attendees. Mayor Hill's speech had been (to Bruce's ears) a recited, typical talk. Denalynne was a master of words, and artfully spun humor and passion together into a speech Bruce half-wished was directed towards him. Too soon, she was wrapping it up.
"I know...I'm not a cop, and the last uniform I wore included a little plaid skirt. But don't think I don't know...and don't think that there's a lot of wonderful, wonderful people in this city who don't know and appreciate the work that you...and you...and you have done for us. To all of Gotham's protectors...I salute you." Her hand, which had been gesturing towards her audience earlier, now snapped to her forehead in a neat salute. And the roar of applause that accompanied her off the stage was long and lasting. She flashed one of her famous smiles towards them, then slid back into her chair and looped her arms around Bruce's neck.
"Did I do alright?"
"You were perfect. Thank you."
"Thank me? Now, don't you wish you were one of them and could go fight crime so that you could thank me better?"
Slightly taken aback, Bruce allowed the space of silence to be filled in by the band, who'd started playing for dances again. He was about to speak when an officer approached.
"Excuse me Mr. Wayne", he said, and then "Miss Hill? I was hoping to speak to you in private...if you have a minute."
She looked up and smiled archly. "My whole evening's for the boys in blue. Bruce, you don't mind, do you?"
Her hand reached over and gave his a quick squeeze, and then she accompanied the stranger outside.
"You know, I didn't expect that he'd actually show...or that she'd go through with it."
"What?" Bruce left off following the couple and turned to Officer Montoya, who was standing at his table and watching Denalynne.
"Why, don't you know?"
VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV
Thank you so much for reading! I would love to hear all and ANY of your thoughts and critiques...so please review! Thanks!
