A/N: This idea just would not leave me alone. There will be another chapter at least, and if I get a positive response, I may continue. This takes place several months after TDK, and for arguements sake, the Joker has been confined to Arkham for the interval. I am still debating if I want ot bring him into this story, so feedback would be appreciated. Also, I am not blind, but I hope that I was able to write a decent blind woman. As always, I do not own anything recognizable. I am merely borrowing the characters and will return them when I am done.
She couldn't believe she was doing this. It was one thing to enjoy a jazz club alone, letting the music wash over her in a calming wave, it was quite another to be standing in a pretentious ballroom filled with dozens of other people who were whispering about each others outfits. Her sharp hearing picked it all up, and her lip curled of it's own volition at the cacophony around her. For the love of all that's holy, they were supposed to be there to enjoy a concert, not to snipe about one another's clothes. A faint whiff of fresh air passed her nose, and she slowly crept toward what she hoped was the balcony. Slipping through the open doors, she breathed a sigh of relief as the gentle warm breeze of summer caressed her skin. She tilted her head back, letting the sounds of the city surround her, comfort her.
She knew he was there long before he made any move to alert her to his presence. She caught the scent of sandalwood drifting from one corner as she edged closer to the railing.
"Any closer, and you'll be in for a long fall." his voice was smooth as velvet, yet held an ingrained weariness that spoke of years of torment. She turned her head slightly in the direction of the voice.
"I apologize if I disturbed your solitude with my presence. I was merely going to lean against the railing." she replied. She sensed movement right next to her, and turned her face to where she hoped he stood.
"There's no railing. You're at the top of the stairs leading down to the gardens." the voice was above her head, and she once again cursed her short stature. She turned her head up in the general direction of the face, and offered a gentle smile.
"Then I thank you for keeping me from a nasty fall." she said.
"Why are you out here? Don't like the music?" he asked, and she could feel his gaze sweeping, not over her bust, but along the contours of her face. She bit the inside of her lip to keep her annoyance in check.
"I would love the music, if I could hear it over those self-righteous, egotistical, busybodies. And don't you know it's impolite to stare?" she said, hands on her hips.
"I'm sorry to offend, but you have a very lovely face. How did you know?"
"Being blind makes my other senses much more sensitive. You know how the hairs on the back of your neck stand up when someone's watching you? Well, that's just part of your sense of touch." she explained. She heard him make a small contemplative noise in his throat.
"I never thought of it like that. It certainly explains why you can wander around a strange place with no cane or escort." he said, an impressed tone in his voice.
"I've been blind my whole life. I never thought of it as a disability. I simply learned to see in other ways." she replied. Before he could respond, another voice cut through the night.
"It's time for your speech, Master Wayne." the voice was British, with the natural rasp of a full life behind it. He spoke with an authoritative air, but there was a small trace of a grandfatherly quality to it. She blinked in surprise.
"Wayne? Bruce Wayne?" she asked, surprise coloring her voice. A deep chuckle flowed from Bruce's direction.
"I guess you wouldn't have recognized me, since we haven't actually met yet." he said, amusement plain in his voice. Blushing crimson, she held out her hand toward his voice.
"Isabella Gordon." she said, and a warm hand, slightly callused from hard work clasped hers.
"Any relation to Commissioner Gordon?" he asked. Smiling, she nodded.
"My uncle. I should probably get back to him." she replied.
"Of course. Alfred, would you kindly escort Miss Gordon to her uncle. I'm afraid I have to go give a speech." he said, a hint of annoyed distaste in his voice.
"Not much of a public speaker, Mr. Wayne?" she asked, as his hand left hers.
"Master Wayne simply grows easily weary of the games he has to play." Alfred answered my question, his voice much closer now.
"I see. Well Alfred, if you would be so kind as to allow me to take your arm, I will follow you to my uncle." she replied, a bright smile on her face. She heard the older man move closer, and she lifted her hand to find his arm right in front of her. Her hand rested in the crook of his elbow, and one of his weathered hands rested on her fingers gently. He led her with ease back into the ballroom, and Isabella soon caught the smell of stale coffee that her uncle could never quite get rid of.
"Where did you get off to Izzy?" he asked, taking her hand from Alfred and placing a paternal kiss to her forehead.
"I just went out to get some air Uncle Jim. Thank you for your help Alfred." she said. She could hear the smile in Alfred's voice when he replied.
"My pleasure, Miss Gordon. Commissioner." Isabella felt herself being turned to the front of the crowd, and listened with a frown as Bruce began his little speech.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming to this charity event in support of Gotham's finest. With the money we have raised tonight, the police force will be able to rebuild the Major Crimes Unit building and purchase top of the line equipment to better protect the brave men and women who risk their lives every day to keep us all safe. Now, I'm sure you have all heard enough of me, so please enjoy the rest of the evening. And I promise to avoid the booze." he said, and their was a smattering of laughter in the crowd as he referenced the events of his birthday, when he had burned his house down. Isabella was oddly confused. His voice was different from when he stood on the terrace with her. Sarcasm and falsehood dripped from every syllable, and yet she seemed to be the only one who heard it. The music began again after that, and she felt her uncle's hand squeezing hers.
"You okay?" he whispered. She nodded, turning her head as the ebb and flow of muted conversations clashed against the music, giving her the beginnings of a headache.
"Too much noise after a rather quiet spell. I'll be alright. Why don't you guide me to someplace where I can be out of the way, and go and hobnob? I'll be fine." she said. Knowing he would protest, she put on her best puppy dog face and turned it towards him. It always made her uncle laugh when she tried the look, because her unseeing eyes always locked on his chin or over his shoulder. Laughing gently, he led her to one side of the room.
"Okay, on your left is a chair, and right on the opposite side is a small table. We won't stay long, I promise. Thank you again for coming. You know how much your Aunt Barb hates these things." he said. Isabella reached out a hand and found the back of an antique chair. Carefully, she slid into the seat, thankful for the chance to get off her feet.
"No problem. I'll just wait here." she replied, ginning. She felt him leave her side, and settled back against the chair, subtly pulling her feet from her shoes. "Whoever invented high heels needs to be shot." she mumbled to her self, rubbing one foot against the opposite calf.
"I believe that was Louis XIV. Originally the fashion was for men, because the king was so much shorter than the contemporary Frenchwoman." a friendly male voice said from her left, making her jump.
"You startled me." she gasped, pressing one hand to her heart, swiveling her head to where she heard the voice.
"I apologize. I didn't realize you couldn't see me coming. Lucius Fox. I work with Mr. Wayne." he said. This man had a voice that was deep, smooth as honey, and calming. She smiled and held her hand out.
"Isabella Gordon. I'm here with my uncle Jim, who is hobnobbing." she said. A warm hand with long fingers took hers. She took note of the calluses that covered those fingers and smiled slightly as she caught a scent from him.
"You're a bit of an inventor, aren't you?" she asked. There were a few beats of silence.
"Now how did you know that?" he asked, his tone curious, bemused.
"Your hands are callused, indicating that you are no stranger to hard work, yet in this crowd, I imagine you to be an executive of some kind. You also have a faint smell of metal, grease, and burnt wires. Hence, I would guess that you are an executive for Wayne Enterprises, but you still dabble in the Rand D department. Am I close?" she asked.
"On the nose, Miss Gordon." he said, and she could hear the grin in his voice. Her own smile widened.
"Ever since I was a child, I have tried to learn about what people do just by the smell of the air around them, or the feel of their hands against my own. I've gotten quite good at it." she said.
"I am impressed. You turned what could be a disadvantage into an advantage. I don't think even your uncle knew I was behind a large number of the inventions that come out of Wayne Enterprises the last few years." he said. Isabella's brow creased slightly at the tone in his voice. It was still bemused, but now took on another pitch, as if he was mentioning some private joke.
"Isabella, are you ready to go? I'd imagine your feet must be killing you." Gordon's voice cut through any response she would have made. Instead she smiled, and stood gracefully from her chair.
"It was very nice meeting you, Mr. Fox. Thank you for sparing a few minutes to entertain the blind." she said, a teasing smile on her lips. A soft chuckle floated from his direction.
"My pleasure. Miss Gordon, Commissioner." he replied, moving away. Isabella lifted her hand, and found her uncle's shoulder.
"Shall we?" she asked, and they headed for the main entrance.
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The next morning, Isabella woke with her alarm clock, and moved about her apartment with the graceful ease her comfort zone provided. She had the layout memorized so perfectly, she even knew when to sidestep the accursed heels she had dropped near her bed. After a shower, she dressed in a light summer dress with an equally light cotton sweater over the top. Her oversized sunglasses went over her unseeing eyes, and she picked up her cane before heading out the door. She hummed to herself as she walked down the busy Gotham streets. Two crossings south, turn left, four doors down. Follow the smell of fresh bread and find Lorenzo's Bakery and Café. Isabella had worked there as hostess in college, and returned every chance she got.
"Isabella! It's so good to see you! How is that handsome uncle of yours?" Lorenzo's warm voice with it's thick Italian accent soared over the din.
"Still straight, Lorenzo. How you been?" she replied, a smile on her face. A warm frame encompassed her and she inhaled the sweet scent of sticky buns that made Lorenzo's famous.
"Such a asino astuto." he said, laughing. Isabella joined his laughter as he led her to a small table in the corner kept especially for her. A cup of espresso and a serving of pastries was laid in front of her, and she savored the smells. She loved her morning routine before she went to her job. While some people believed that a blind woman would make a poor guidance councilor, her students loved her. Not to mention, her sharp hearing kept the students toeing the line. A jingle of bells alerted her to a new customer.
"Ciao, Alfred! How are things with that stuffy employer of yours?" Lorenzo asked, and Isabella perked up at the name.
"Master Wayne is hardly stuffy, Mr. Vencillo. I was hoping to pick up some of that delightful bread you make." the British butler replied genially. Isabella brought her espresso up to her lips.
"Buongiorno, Alfred." she called over the rustle of paper being wrapped over Alfred's order.
"Good morning, Miss Gordon. I didn't realize you frequent this bakery." he said.
"I used to work here. Now I stop in before work for an espresso and a pastry whenever I can. I never have time for lunch, so I need the sugar boost." she explained.
"I can understand that. May I offer you a ride to your work? I would enjoy the company." he asked. She smiled and nodded her head.
"I would love it." she replied. A rustle of fabric in front of her told her that Alfred had settled himself in the chair across from her.
"Where do you do for a living?" he asked, as Lorenzo placed a cup of tea in front of him, the warm smell wafting across the table. Two sugars, one cream.
"I'm a guidance councilor for Gotham Prep. On the one hand, it can drive me up the wall the way the students who have money behave, on the other, it's refreshing to see some of them don't have their heads in the clouds, expecting the world to lay itself out at their feet." she explained.
"It's a very noble profession, guiding children as they begin to foray into the world. My mother was a teacher." he said.
"How long have you worked for Mr. Wayne?" she asked, sipping her espresso.
"I have worked for the Wayne family for nearly forty years, since before Master Wayne was born. It was very hard on him when his parents were gunned down in front of him." Alfred replied. Isabella nodded, feeling a stab of sympathy for the Crown Prince of Gotham.
"I have worked with children who have experienced such tragedies, and I understand how hard it must have been on him." she said, then paused as her watched beeped. She slid her fingers along her wrist, feeling the raised numbers on her watch.
"Time for work?" Alfred guessed, and she nodded, collecting her cane and her bag. The older gentleman took her arm and led her out to a car, where he held the door while she eased into the rich leather seats. After a moment, the engine kicked over with a soft purr and the vehicle began to move. The drive was quiet, with a few conversational questions bouncing between the pair. After a few moments, the car slowed, and Alfred's door opened and closed, followed by her door opening. She stepped out easily and took Alfred's hand.
"Thank you for the ride, and the conversation. Have a nice day, Alfred." she said. One weathered hand patted her own.
"It was my pleasure, Miss Gordon. Have a pleasant day." he said, and she turned into the school campus.
"Nice wheels, Miss G! What'd you do, rob a bank?" one of the students teased. She rolled her blank eyes at the comment.
"No, Teddy. Just accepted a ride from a friend. See, in past generations, chivalry was firmly entrenched in society." she retorted. The students laughed as she breezed past them, heading for her office. When she settled at her desk, she ran her fingers over her correspondence that was written in Braille. Most were boring memos, and she made notes on her Dictaphone about her responses. Next she checked her schedule, and settled in for a long day.
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"Iz, are you going to come out with us tonight?" Susan Destart leaned into Isabella's office at the end of the day. Isabella was finishing up some of her paperwork to be sent off to the translator.
"No, I think I'll go home. It's been a long day." she replied. She and Susan had become good friends soon after Isabella had begun working at the school.
"Okay, but keep an ear out. Sleazy Steve has been hovering at you office door all day. I swear that guy creeps the hell out of me." Susan replied. Isabella waved a hand in dismissal, and her friends heels retreated down the hall into silence. After straining her ears for several minutes, Isabella gathered up her things and swept for her door, intent on getting home. She stepped out into the warm summer evening and smiled to herself as she walked the familiar route home. The rhythm of Gotham pulsed around her, filling her mind with the generalized shapes of the buildings and people that she passed. As she approached the five steps into her apartment building, she caught a whiff of a sickly sweet cologne, and cursed under her breath.
"Why are you following me Steven?" she demanded, fishing for her keys. She heard Steve come up behind her, and she sensed the movement in time to slam her elbow into his gut. He stumbled back, swearing in Russian. Steven Detrovan was another teacher at Gotham Prep, and thought he had every right to the women at the school, regardless of age.
"You bitch! How dare you!" he yelled. Isabella shoved her door open and flew down the hall to her apartment, where she threw the locks and snatched up her phone, dialing 911 by feel.
"911, what is your emergency?" the bored voice came over the line after two rings.
"My name is Isabella Gordon, I live in the Serenity Vista Apartments, and a man just tired to attack me at my front door." she said.
"Alright, officers are on the way. Are you hurt?"
"No, just a little unnerved. I'm blind and I didn't see him coming. He works with me at Gotham Prep. Jerk never did understand the meaning of the word 'no'." Isabella said, trying to calm her ragged breathing.
"How did you know it was your coworker if you couldn't see him?" the operator asked, an incredulous tone in his voice.
"I recognized his voice, and the nasty cologne he wears. I am positive it was Steven Detrovan." she snapped. A sudden pounding on the door made her yelp.
"Iz? It's your uncle Jim. Are you okay?" her uncle's voice was muffled, but obviously his through the door.
"Okay, the police are here. Thank you." she said into the phone, hanging up as she unlocked the door. As soon as the door was open, her uncle swept in and threw his arms around her, knocking her off balance for a moment.
"Are you alright? I was just down the block when I heard the call." he said, pulling away to look her over.
"I'm fine, just a little unnerved. It was Steven again. He followed me home, and tried to grab me at the door. I shoved my elbow into his gut and ran." she replied. Jim sighed.
"Damn idiot is even more slippery than Falcone was. We can't ever prove anything on him." he said, sinking into a chair. Isabella sat down across from him and slid her hand into his.
"We'll get him one of these days. And until we do, I promise to get Susan walk me home at night." she said. Jim squeezed her hand and stood.
"I better go. I promised Jimmy I'd help him with his science project tonight. Will you be alright?" he asked. She nodded, and led her uncle out the door. When he was gone, and the locks were turned, Isabella sighed and headed for her bedroom. She changed into a nightgown and slid into bed. Just before sleep claimed here, she had a passing feeling that she was not alone in her room.
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The next morning, Isabella woke with the dawn. She could feel the sun streaming through the open curtains onto her face and frowned. I swear I closed those last night. she thought as she climbed out of bed and reached for the curtains. Her brow furrowed even more as she felt the lock on her window. It was locked, but she felt a slight scratch on the side, as if it had been picked. Sliding her fingers along the sides of the window, she felt a piece of paper laying to one side. She unfolded it, and her fingers found the familiar Braille bumps.
"Just checking up on you. Batman." she read, and chuckled. She knew the Batman must be a decent guy if he would check on her for Uncle Jim. She stepped into the shower, and turned on the water, letting herself get lost in the spray. Isabella always felt a little uneasy when she took a shower, because it was one of the few times that someone could sneak up on her. The sound of the spray easily drowned out any other sounds in her apartment. She cleaned up quickly and stepped out, listening for a moment when the water stopped. Hearing only silence, she dressed quickly in a skirt and airy blouse. She headed out onto the street and made her way to Lorenzo's. When she stepped in, she found herself crushed suddenly against the warm, sweet smelling bakery owner.
"Bella! What are you doing here so early? And didn't you promise your uncle you would not walk alone for a while?" Lorenzo asked. Isabella frowned, her eyebrows creasing in annoyance.
"Lorenzo, you know how I hate it when you call me that. And I am not an invalid. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Besides, I only promised Uncle Jim I would not walk home from work alone. I never said anything about walking to my favorite bakery on a Saturday with an escort." she snapped. Lorenzo murmured an apology in Italian and led her to her usual table. She settled herself down and gladly accepted the cappuccino she treated herself to on Saturdays. She closed her eyes and listened to the quiet goings on of the bakery so early in the morning. The tinkling of the front bell alerted her to a customer, and she caught the scent of sandalwood wafting from the door.
"Welcome to Lorenzo's! How may I help you?" Lorenzo asked, even more cheery than usual. Isabella quirked an eyebrow at the tone she had dubbed as 'Lorenzo's Suck Up Voice.' He only used it when the very wealthy entered the bakery, so she hardly ever heard it.
"Good Morning Lorenzo. I'm afraid Alfred has caught a very bad cold. I remember him telling me he gets his favorite breads from you, and I wouldn't let him leave the house today." the weary velvet tones of Bruce Wayne's voice carried across the café, and Isabella grinned.
"I'm very sorry to hear that. Please have a seat, and I will fix up a basket for him. I hope he feels better soon. His visits brighten my day." Lorenzo said.
"Lorenzo, tell Hannah to dish up some of her best matzo ball soup. It will have him right as rain in a few days." Isabella called.
"Perfecto! As usual, you know my customers better than anyone. Are you sure you won't come back to work for me?" Lorenzo teased.
"Sorry, Lorenzo. I like my job. Won't you join me Mr. Wayne?" she replied, sipping her drink. The sandalwood scent drifted over and Bruce sat down across from her.
"It's nice to see you again, Miss Gordon." he said politely. Isabella waved her hand dismissively.
"Please Mr. Wayne. Call me Isabella or Iz. Miss Gordon is only for those stuck-up people you call associates." she said, and he laughed, a rich sound that trickled down her spine.
"In that case, call me Bruce." he replied, and Isabella smiled. This morning Bruce seemed more at ease, unlike the attitude she had heard during his speech.
"Bruce, can I ask you a question?"
"I think you just did, but go ahead."
"The other night, when you gave your speech, that wasn't really you, was it?" she asked. He was quiet for a moment.
"Well, who else could it have been?" he asked, his tone falsely light, but wary.
"What I mean is, of course you were the one talking, but it wasn't really you. Since I can't see, I have learned how to distinguish moods from the way a person speaks. When you spoke to me on your terrace, you were at ease. You knew I wasn't one of your wealthy counter parts, and so you didn't feel the need to put on a face, so to speak. Then when you made you speech, It was obvious that you were putting on an act, your voice was practically dripping with sarcasm and falsehood. Granted, I was probably the only one who noticed, though Mr. Fox might have suspected. He seems to be quite a bit brighter than the others." she explained. Bruce was quiet for a moment, as if contemplating what she had revealed.
"You are very astute, Iz. It's true, I do have to put on a certain air when I am among the wealthier men and women of Gotham. When I saw you at the party, the first thing I noticed was the look of distaste on your face when you walked out the doors. You were only there to support your uncle, weren't you?" he asked. She nodded, taking a sip of her cappuccino. "Even though I figured you were blind pretty quickly, I didn't want to disturb you when I saw that you were moving fairly easily without a cane. If you hadn't been a step from flying down the stairs, I probably would have left you alone." he explained. She smiled gently at him.
"I knew you were there the second I stepped through the doors. You smell of sandalwood, and I was also going to let you stand in the shadows. Thank you again for stopping me from going flying down the stairs. My uncle is already too overprotective. If I had fallen, he would have forced me to move in with him and his family, even though I have lived on my own since I graduated from high school." she said, her brows creasing at the thought of being treated like an invalid.
"You don't like people treating you like a blind woman, do you?" he asked. She chuckled under her breath.
"I don't mind people taking into account the fact I can't see when they are around me. What bothers me is when they act like I am incapable of doing anything simply because my eyes don't work. I have been blind my entire life. I don't know any different, so I trained my other senses to see for me. For example, in about five seconds, Lorenzo is going to swear in Italian because his bread is starting to burn, and no one has checked on it." Sure enough, a string of obscenities in Italian came from the kitchen. Isabella smiled. "I could smell it. Also, Hannah snuck her kitten into the back office again. I can hear the little thing mewing at the door. So you see, Bruce, it doesn't really matter to me that I'm blind. It just means that I figured out other ways of moving through life." she said, calmly finishing her drink. The pair sat in silence for a moment, each musing over the conversation they had just had.
"Would you like to have dinner with me?" he asked, his voice so soft she almost missed it, even with her exceptional hearing.
"What?" she asked, still not sure she had heard right. She heard him shift in his chair, as if leaning closer.
"Have dinner with me tonight. Please." he said, and she was shocked by the serious tone in his voice. Even so, her brain immediately went into suspicion mode.
"I don't do pity dates." she replied.
"Am I really that pitiful?" he teased, a smile in his voice.
"You know what I mean." she snapped.
"Yes, and I am serious. I would like to take you to dinner. This conversation has been more stimulating that the last six months worth of talking with most of the people around me." he replied. Surprised, Isabella lifted her head, and caught the gentle intake of breath from the man across from her. She knew then she had fixed him with her unseeing gaze.
"Alright Bruce. I would love to go to dinner with you. But please, nothing to pretentious. It'll make me feel like I'm on display, and I hate that." she said.
"Great. I'll pick you up at seven?" he asked, and she mutely nodded as she heard Lorenzo move forward, the rustle of the paper bag in his hands telling her he had Bruce's order.
"Thank you for you business, Mr. Wayne." he said, grinning broadly.
"Thank you Lorenzo. I had better get back, or Alfred will be up trying to clean the manor. I swear the man doesn't know the meaning of the words 'sick day'." he joked, and stood up. Isabella pulled out a business card and handed it to him.
"Give me a call and I'll tell you my address later." she said. Bruce's fingers grazed hers as he took the card, and Isabella had to suppress a shiver at the feel of those strong callused fingers. He may have acted like a spoiled playboy, but his hands told that he was no stranger to hard work. Dimly, she was aware of Bruce retreating, and the bell at the door signaled that he had left. She became aware of Lorenzo fixing her with a stare.
"Alright piccolo manca, what has you in such a daze?" he asked. She blinked and looked up at her dear friend.
"Bruce Wayne just asked me out on a date, and I said yes."