Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or any related characters
Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or any related characters. I do, however, own my character, Robin Grayson, the Menia hotel, and The Gotham People Magazine. Remember to read, review, and enjoy! Constructive criticism is appreciated and encouraged. P.S. This story was meant to come out on that Friday that the new movie premiered, but then the chapter just wouldn't end. So then I wanted it to come out when I went to see the movie (Monday), but that didn't work out, either. I don't know what it is about these chapters, but they are just so long! For me, anyway. Plus, forget how many times Robin may have had to re-write her article, you don't even want to know how many I had to. And it's still not quite malicious, or even very mean, which is very disappointing!
Chapter Three
"Grayson, what the hell is this," Mike Smith yelled.
Robin made a quick note to hold the phone further away from her ear. "It's the interview you asked for," she told him, trying to keep from rolling her eyes.
He huffed angrily on the other end, "This isn't an interview, it's an attack on one of the richest men in the world!"
"Some people deserve to be attacked." She opened her fridge and grabbed a jug of orange juice. She sniffed it, shrugged, and poured some into a glass. "With words, not physically, that is. And the interview was not that bad! I put in all of his personal stats, and then just added a few things I found interesting in it."
"It's not the interview I asked for. You are either going to redo it or I'm giving someone else the interview."
She thought of her choices. If she didn't redo the article, the entire interview would have been for nothing. That meant that she had spent the better part of two hours talking to Bruce Wayne for no reason. On the other side, she could allow her personal feelings about the man out, even if they didn't get published.
At the moment, fame meant more. "Fine, I'll redo it."
"You bet your ass you will!" Mike calmed down a little bit, "I just sent you a few more questions. You're going to have another interview with Bruce Wayne, and you're going to do it my way. You didn't ask nearly enough questions, and those you did were things that most people already know."
Robin winced. She didn't want to talk to that man again! Once was enough for a lifetime, maybe even two.
"Your interview is for later today. Three o'clock. Be there on time and… don't embarrass the magazine." There was a click as he hung up, then the dial tone.
In a sort of haze, she went to her laptop, sat down, and pulled up her article.
Bruce Wayne: Billionaire Bachelor Revealed
by Robin Grayson
As a child, he was the kid that every woman wanted as her son. They all wanted to protect him. As a teenager, he was considered smart, cunning, and brooding. His face stayed out of the papers and out of gossip. Until several years ago, when he disappeared.
Now he's back and there's one question on everyone's mind: what does a billionaire bachelor whose been missing for several years act like?
Everyone heard about the famous fire at the now non-existent Wayne Manor. He was drunk, raving, and overall not the pleasant man that was made out in the media. He threw a tantrum and when he didn't get what he wanted, he destroyed his home.
He's got arrogance down to an art form. It's clear that he's had more than enough experience at evading the questions of the press in order to effectively ignore many important questions during the interview.
He's still the mystery that he was before, however brilliant. He gives off the aura of knowing more than anyone should. And, surprising, he keeps to himself.
Or at least, mostly. Out of all the faults that have been capitalized on Wayne, possibly the biggest is his womanizing. In his own words, he likes having a woman around with nothing in her head. He's not looking for serious, he's looking for fun.
Arrogant to a fault is another way some would describe Bruce upon meeting him. A few women gave the answers, "He's dark, mysterious, and commanding. The perfect man."
A few of the people who have already met him say, "Although he proves to be a genius when put to a test, that's not the impression he gives. When met, he acts as though he's a flirtatious idiot... although maybe that's judging his character too harshly. He's imposing to be sure, although he plays his part quietly. He flies under the radar of business importance and into the light of publicity."
So what exactly is Bruce hiding? Apparently, more than we could possibly guess. Whether that's a good or a bad thing has yet to be answered.
And in the attachment from Mike:
This isn't a personality delving article. Go back to Wayne and ask him these questions:
How does it feel to be a Sexiest Man?
Your parents were shot. How does that affect the public's opinion and view of you?
It's said that you have a personal relationship with a certain Miss Rachel Dawes. Care to explain?
What do you do in your free time?
The list went on and on. Robin groaned at the simplicity of all the questions. Some of them had potential... and that potential was immediately cut off. Today at six... another meeting with Bruce Wayne. It was not on the top of her list of things that she enjoyed doing. Nor was it on the bottom, or anywhere in the middle.
"Robin, hey, your mom's on the phone!"
"Bring it in here," she yelled back. She was not in the mood for doing anything at the moment.
Marissa walked into the room, glaring at her, "You lazy ass, come get the phone next time."
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." She rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at her roommate. "Hey, mom."
"Robin."
The reception on the other line wasn't exactly cold… it just wasn't warm. Of all the people who took her not wanting to be a circus freak hard, her mother took it the hardest. It was almost like the woman who gave birth to her no longer knew who she was. They used to be best friends (although it didn't really help that there weren't many kids in the circus—except reptile boy. Enough said).
"Something you wanted to talk about?"
"Well, actually, yes." Her mom paused, "We're going to be traveling down south over Christmas week. Florida, Louisiana, Texas. Sort of hit 'em and run, you know?" She paused again. Robin imagined she was trying to find the words to talk to her daughter. "We were wondering if you could get time off work and come down. It'd be sort of like old times."
Robin smiled into the phone. "I'll see, mom."
Old times weren't exactly bad, but that was before she knew that there were bigger, better things available to her. While her parents soared above on the trapeze, the bearded lady, Barbara Sandfen, taught her all the skills she would need to know in the real world. And then there was Joseph Dine, who taught her math… by pick pocketing people and making her count all the money. Then there was Fiske Jean, who was the first one to actually see that maybe she was suffocating with the circus. He convinced her parents to let her live with her aunt in Chicago.
Seeing all of them wouldn't be bad. She thought about them often and missed them. But a part of her would always know that they represented what she left behind and how glad she was to be rid of it.
"It'd be really great if you could. Your dad really misses you. Says it's not the same without you watching in the crowd." The fact that sometimes she was up with them was conveniently left out. She hadn't really been a good trapeze artist anyway. Robin fell nearly every single show she did. "Oh, Dick wants to talk to you."
There was a split second before she heard the phone handed off. "Sis?"
"Hey, Dick, how's it going? Having fun?"
There was a pause on the other line. "Yeah, it's sweet here! Have you ever been to France?"
They were in France? And her mom couldn't invite her to that.
"No," she replied, printing off her interview questions. "We mostly did shows here in America and Canada when I was around. Sometimes we went to Mexico."
"Well, you wouldn't believe it here. The bread is amazing! And there's this girl who lives in one of the houses near the grounds that brings us fresh flowers every day after the show."
"Really," she teased. "Is she cute?"
He deadpanned, "She has a face like a horse and a laugh like a jackal."
"Dick!"
"Duh, she's cute!"
"Are you even old enough to like girls?"
"I'm eleven."
She snorted, "Girls have cooties and don't you forget it."
"Whatever, weirdo." There was another pause and she heard him saying something to her mom. "Hey, do you think that I could come stay with you in the city for a little bit?"
She paused. That was something she'd have to check with her roommates on, "I'll see what I can do. But, really, I don't know why you wouldn't be able to."
"Sweet! I've got to go, though. This card is almost out of minutes."
"See you, little man."
"Bye."
Robin hung up the phone and sighed. Christmas with the family, huh? She'd rather die.
--
Again Robin found herself in the horribly fancy lobby of The Menia. This time, though, a different girl was working the front desk.
"Hi! Can I help you," the girl asked in a perky voice.
"I'm Robin Grayson, here for an interview with Mr. Wayne."
"Alrighty, I'll call right up."
She smiled and grabbed the phone. She hadn't even glanced at her clothes.
Robin had dressed carefully this time before entering the hotel. She didn't like the dirty look she had gotten and would avoid it at all costs. Now she was dressed in her business suit, although her jacket was unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up—the price for a jacket that was slightly too big for her.
"He's ready when you are, Miss Grayson."
"Thanks."
She began walking away, wincing at every step that echoed off the walls.
"Hey," the girl at the desk called. Robin took a deep breath and turned around; she hoped that this wasn't where she got chewed out. Instead, the girl asked, "You don't happen to be related to the Gotham World Circus Grayson's, do you?"
"Yeah… yeah I am."
"Oh," the girl squealed, "I went and saw the show a couple years ago. It was amazing! You must be so proud?"
Robin lifted one eyebrow, "Proud?"
"Your parents are so athletic! So you're a reporter?"
"Yeah."
"Do you ever get to, I don't know, report on your parent's show?"
Robin shook her head before turning around, "The last time I saw my parents was the last time they were in Gotham… a couple of years ago."
"Oh," she heard the girl sigh, embarrassed.
--
"So, Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy, how does it feel being on top Gotham's Sexiest Man list? Congrats. Must feel good knowing women see you as a slab of meat with a tight ass."
"So you've been looking at my ass?"
"I've been told it's a view not worth missing."
"And?"
"They were wrong."
That wasn't the best way to start off her second interview with Bruce Wayne, but she was angry that she even had to do it again. Robin wanted to start off with making all of the questions sent sarcastic. What she had not expected was for Mr. Wayne to be sarcastic right back.
It had been three hours. Three long, horrible hours of talking to Bruce Wayne. And he seemed to be enjoying it.
Robin shook her head in disgust as she took a bite of a biscuit. Alfred had brought more than enough food to last her a lifetime. The butler seemed to be anticipating a long interview.
"Okay, now please answer this fully," she was annoyed with how he seemed to get so much joy out of tormenting her. He just sat there with that stupid playboy smile on his face. She could tell that it wasn't his real smile either; it didn't quite meet his eyes. "What do you do in your free time?"
"Buy things."
"And how… fulfilling that must be," she replied sarcastically. "Doesn't that get old quickly?"
He just quirked an eyebrow at her.
"Fine. Whatever. I don't even care. This article isn't exactly supposed to be promoting me any." Actually, that wasn't exactly true when she thought about it.
"Well, after I buy the things, I use them."
"What do you buy, Bruce Wayne?" She tapped her pencil against her head annoyed.
"I've got a Lamborghini, several motorcycles, three Porches', and a Ferrari."
"Is that all? And what do you do, spend all of your time driving?"
"Sometimes I throw fundraisers… parties… and the like."
He looked so breezy about it. He spent all this money that could be helping the poor. Just the other day he had yelled at her for not knowing what it was like in the Narrows, now he told her all of the nice expensive things he bought. Where was the justice in that?
And fundraisers. What does he need fundraisers for? She was curious, so she asked.
"To help Gotham, of course."
Ah, yes. To help Gotham. Of course. Although Robin had heard that his Christmas fundraiser last year that had raised over a million dollars and it had been split up and donated to the orphanages of the city. Rumor had it that every child had at least one present waiting under the tree that year. At the orphanages, that is.
"Are you having another Christmas fundraiser this year?"
He shrugged nonchalantly, "Yes. And probably two more before that."
For the first time, she saw something under that cool, calm exterior. Maybe he was more sensitive and understanding than she gave him credit for.
"One is in a few days, actually."
He seemed to leave something hanging out of the statement. Robin wasn't quite sure what it was. There was the (probable) and you're not invited or the (improbable and strange) want to be my date?
"What's the charity for? I'm sure that it could use some free advertisement."
If he didn't accept her small act of kindness, he was an ass. A big, freaking ass.
"Children's Cancer Ward at the Gotham Children's Hospital."
She smiled, "That shouldn't be too hard to write about."
"But I don't need free advertisement," he said, smirking at her.
It was like he knew that she wanted to be nice, but was throwing it back in her face. He was an ass. A huge, arrogant ass.
"You know what," she seethed. "Forget that I said anything. I didn't just offer you my help or anything of the sort. Forget it."
"Shouldn't be too hard."
Robin narrowed her eyes. Most people wouldn't be able to see it, but she definitely could. He was trying to cover up the fact that he was nice behind this cold, almost cruel yet innocent exterior. There was something in his eyes that just… it was kind, for lack of a better word. It was understanding. It was intelligent. In other words, it was everything that Bruce Wayne seemed to not want her to believe he was.
She kind of liked that look.
But she knew better than to bring it up. If she started questioning him about what he hid behind his façade, he would kick her out in five seconds flat. He had made that clear the second he, well, Alfred, let her in the door.
"You know what," she ask. "You are a jerk. A huge freaking jerk."
"But I have money, so that doesn't really matter, does it?"
He was amused by her, she could tell and understand why. There couldn't be too many people unimpressed with his attitude or his vast riches.
Robin had to admit that she was surprised he didn't take her… insubordination angrily. She would have expected that it would be something he wasn't used to and hate her for it. His amusement was something that she didn't foresee at all. And she found that she hated the look that amusement seemed to put in his eye. It made her uncomfortable, almost like he could see through her.
"Do you have any more questions?"
She could pretty much feel his smirk. Finally she asked, "Do you believe that there is hope that Gotham will eventually be an uncorrupted city?"
"I think that depends on the hearts of the people."
Robin smiled at him. Not an indifferent smile, like the one she had used to promote her sarcasm, nor her polite smile, which she gave to Alfred whenever he offered her something. It was a true, genuine smile. And it was the first time she saw him falter.
"And what do you think the hearts of the people of Gotham are saying?"
She leaned forward, awaiting his answer.
Bruce's eyes grew cloudy and in a gruff voice, he replied, "I think they're saying that they need help."
Now he looked at her, almost as if wondering what she thought about his answer. Clearly he was not expecting her agreement. She only wondered why he seemed to think that her opinion mattered.
"I think that they've been saying they need help," she told him. "I think that they've been saying it for a long time."
And then he smiled at her. Really, truly smiled. And she felt her insides fall out.
--
Robin couldn't keep the smile off of her face, "Really, you like it?"
She had been expecting a lot of things to come out of Mike's mouth when he called her later that night over her hastily put together article. The fact that he liked it was not one of them.
"The entire senior staff likes it. A few revisions will be made and it will definitely be put in the magazine."
"Really?"
"Yeah, and you have another assignment, if you want it."
"Of course!"
Did this man think that she would actually turn down the chance to make any money? Sure, interviewing Bruce Wayne was hard, but she had gotten through it (she was going to ignore that one smile. It was a fluke and that was all there was to it.)
His next words, however, would take the smile right off of her face, "Tomorrow night you'll be attending Bruce Wayne's Thanksgiving Gala. It's dress up, so wear something appropriate. Preferably a dress."
She blinked, "Why am I doing another Bruce Wayne event?"
"It was a request."
Robin groaned, "Fine. Whatever. I'll do it."
"You'll be accompanied by Luke Garinson," Mike told her.
The head photographer? He did all of the spreads in the magazine, plus a ton more. Nearly all of the girls at the Gotham People Magazine had at least a slight crush on him. Her included.
"No problem. I'll be there."
A/N: This didn't end quite the way that I wanted it to, but I don't think that it's such a bad thing at the moment. So, what did you think? Was it up to snuff with my previous chapters? Remember to review! Oh, by the way, this story is post-Begins, but pre-Dark Knight.