Disclaimer: I do not own either of the millionaire playboys or their alter egos.

Chromatic/Myotis

"Mmph….dammit that hurts."

"Serves you right. Trying to run through a volley of bullets in a cape and partial Kevlar, keyword partial, suit is pretty stupid, even by my standards. I haven't even started stitching yet."

"Like you know how to do anything that doesn't involve projectiles…Speaking of which wouldn't have been fired if you had let me handle the situation. I was in a perfect position to apprehend them and you had to blow my cover!"

"Last time I checked, my city, my collar. You would say the same if we were in Gotham right now. Hold still, this is gonna hurt…..Maybe if you had let me know your real intentions in Malibu I wouldn't have interfered."

Bruce said nothing to this last comment. The man was right, and not for the first time since he had known him. Wincing as Tony stitched the wound in his shoulder, he tried not to notice the look of concern in his eyes as they skimmed over the other various scars on his body. Tony chided him accordingly.

"With all the money you have, it can't be too hard to get a better suit, you know. Jesus, Bruce, some of these look like they nearly killed you!"

"And? I learn from my mistakes, Tony. Same as you did. A man's suit shouldn't make up for his inability to fight with his fists or feet. Or mind, for that matter."

"Sorry if I actually want to feel somewhat secure running headlong into a fight, Brucey. For a while there, I thought I was the reckless one. Alright, it's done."

Bruce went to flex his arm, and immediately regretted it. The stitches held, but the pain was immense, and he couldn't ignore the black spots dancing in his vision. From behind, he could hear Tony say something, but it sounded strange, fuzzy. A pair of arms reached out to support him. He allowed himself to fall into the embrace as the threatening darkness attempted to pull him under. His weakness was the only thing to cross his mind as the pain got the better of him.

Tony sighed, and hefted Bruce's prone form over his shoulder. Of the two, Bruce had always been the one to push himself harder. When they had been younger and Tony more naïve, he had based this on a general lack of intelligence compared to his own. The two had always harbored mixed feelings towards one another, and a lack of understanding had flourished as well.

Tony was well aware of Bruce's situation; orphaned at the tender age of eight by a violent crime, raised in useless splendor afterwards by the loyal family butler and no friends. It was a perfect scenario for any pity party, but Bruce never took the bait. He had gone to private school, then to college for a few years, and then pulled a disappearing act for a good 10 years or so. Tony could remember seeing a picture of him after his return. His eyes had a look to them. Not quite haunted, but it was like something had been wrenched out and replaced in a rather messy fashion. He hadn't thought any more on the matter, and had issued an obligatory statement of thanks for his safe return to the press when asked. That was three years ago. That was before Batman.

However, before he could even think about the matter, he had his own little metaphorical pothole to slip into. Of course, he was out of the Middle East in less than a year, with the mental blueprints for a better future to boot. Iron Man was in service only a month or so after he got back. Within a year, Tony had reinvented himself in every way, and had faced and conquered a formidable opponent. But then again, Tony was a genius.

That didn't mean Bruce wasn't smart, per se. There was just always a need to immerse himself in whatever he did. Maybe that could explain the length of time away from home. Either that or escape. But Bruce wasn't the type to run from anything. He had stared down the barrel of that thief's gun and long after he had fled; Tony had a feeling his gazed remained fixed up until the cops arrived.

Shaking away his reverie, Tony set Bruce down on his bed. The man was lighter than he was, but the feel of toned muscle beneath his careful hands earlier had reminded him of those years away. That and the stillness of his voice, as though the problem wasn't getting shot at but having Iron Man mess up his investigation. Tony was well aware of his mortality, he had been on the brink of death, he still was; a number of things could stop the glow in his chest. Obadiah had made him realize that early on. Of course, he was much more careful now. But Bruce was different.

Bruce didn't have a magnet that could last fifty lifetimes in his chest. He didn't have anything there anymore. Just a flesh organ. And since he had returned, Tony had put off seeing him for that reason. Though the two had always had a tumultuous relationship, at least there was passion, emotion, and feeling. None of that anymore. Bruce had sacrificed his soul and body to the dark knight.