AN: Cookies for everyone who gets the references regarding several characters from the DC Comics universe (more precisely the Batverse). And Happy Easter to all those who celebrate it.
Please, don't forget to read and review.
10. MASQUERADE
"Behind this mask there is more than just flesh. Beneath this mask there is an idea... and ideas are bulletproof." ― Alan Moore, V for Vendetta
After just a few hours of sleep, Bruce spent the day working out in the cave and reviewing the evidence he had put together in the early hours of that day.
A quick phone call to Fox kept him updated on the company's latest developments. Bruce was worried that John Daggett, being who he was, might stab them in the back. But there were occult forces that even his brilliant CEO could not have the power to control. Lucius just advised him to stay on Natalia St. Dumas' good side and once again recalled that everything she touched turned to gold.
He and the financial tycoon could be a bit at cross-purposes but if they both managed to put aside their differences, they could quickly realize that joining forces would benefit them both.
Great. Just a bunch of poor excuses for him go to her party.
The day flew past and before Bruce knew it, it was time for him to go to the Charity Ball. However, even now, in his way to Gotham's Museum of Modern Art, his mind stayed restless and he could not focus on anything. He just relied on hoping that a little distraction could be just the thing he needed to calm his mind so he could put the puzzle pieces correctly together.
He turned on the television in the back of the limo and tuned in a business news channel. The skinny newsman with funny voice announced a sharp drop in Wayne Enterprises' shares after a rumor spread stating that Bruce Wayne, as controlling shareholder, was planning to break the company apart and sell off the pieces.
One TV commentator pointed out that this would cause a ripple effect not only in Gotham City but at all locations the conglomerate had subsidiaries. Another one stated that the Wayne name no longer commanded the same consistence, prestige, and respect it once had done.
To make things worse, a mysterious criminal explosion had destroyed an important storage facility of the company, which sparked great speculation about the future of Wayne conglomerate.
Bruce swore violently in frustration. Unsubstantiated news were being sown in the media in order to put his company down. Daggett surely was behind those moves and he could not do much other than appeal to the other major shareholders' discernment and goodwill.
At nine-thirty that night, Alfred pulled the Luxury Bentley Continental black limousine into the driveway of the museum, where dozens of other expensive cars were disgorging their passengers.
Spotlights splashed across the museum's graceful neoclassical façade as throngs of paparazzi lined the red carpet, snapping shots for tomorrow's society columns and websites. Flashes went off incessantly, practically blinding the arriving guests.
The butler glanced into the rearview mirror at Bruce in the backseat.
"Here we are, Master Bruce. Enjoy your evening and don't forget your mask."
Wayne met Alfred's eyes in the rearview mirror with a withering look and mumbled, "I wouldn't dare."
"Don't worry, Master Bruce," Alfred assured him, clearly enjoying the situation. "Takes a little time to get back into the swing of things."
Bruce ignored the butler's teasing. He was in no mood to exchange banter right now. Gritting his teeth in anticipation of the attention he was about to receive, Bruce fit the mask on his face — a replica of a venetian plague doctor mask — and slowly slid off the backseat.
Dozens of lenses swung toward the illustrious stranger, who quietly pressed a button on his wristwatch. All at once, every camera in the vicinity went dead. Frustrated paparazzi clicked uselessly and cursed their equipment. Bruce repressed a smile.
Climbing the steps, he approached the front entrance and handed his invitation to the awestruck greeter at the reception lobby.
She examined thoroughly the piece of cardboard and said, "Right through here, Mr. Wayne."
Bruce entered to find a lavish party in progress. Twinkling white party lights were strung upon the walls and ceilings. Rose petals fell like confetti. Impeccably uniformed waiters and waitresses, wearing black domino masks, moved among the guests with cocktails and canapés.
A jazz band was playing off to the side, under a banner of the TELOS Foundation. The partygoers howled with laughter, talked animatedly and danced. Gotham's A-list, wearing colorful masks along with the rest of their finery, mingled and massed throughout the gallery.
Even Bruce got struck by the ostentation.
Incognito behind his mask, he threaded his way through the crowd with ease, searching for the party hostess. A quick look around revealed a couple of somewhat whimsical guests. To his left, a man wearing a Guy Fawkes' mask was engaged in deep conversation with a small group of invitees.
Further along, on his right side, a strikingly pretty brunette was dressed all in black, wearing a lacy black mask of her own, complete with velvet cat ears. She was sipping champagne and flirting with a young rich twit, whose dark green two-button suit matched with a simple domino mask.
The woman looked vaguely familiar. Bruce searched his memory and recalled her as being one of the many floozies he had hooked up in the past.
He returned to his quest and it took him a moment, but he soon spotted Natalia on the dance floor, sharing a slow dance with a gentleman wearing a Phantom of the Opera mask. She sported a burgundy evening gown and a string of pearls around her neck. A frilly Venetian mask was her only concession to the theme.
Bruce could feel every beat of his heart thundering in anticipation as he approached the waltzing couple. It only confirmed what he had been fiercely denying to himself in the past couple of days: for some inexplicable reason Natalia Saint Dumas called to him on some primal level. Inexplicable because why he would be attracted to someone he barely knew and probably considered him no more than an arrogant ass, he did not have a clue.
Damn. He blamed his wayward feelings on the fact that he had not been out with a woman in… How long had it been?
Did not matter. Bruce had no interest in getting involved with anyone — not even the ravishing businesswoman — and went to that party only because of two specific reasons: (1) to make amends with a crucial business partner, once he previously had come off as rude and arrogant; and (2) to please his old butler whose efforts on making him get back out into the world had doubled down in the last few days.
Coming to a halt beside the couple, he spoke over her shoulders, "Mind if I cut in?"
As Nattie turned, Bruce pushed the mask to the top of his head and her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of him. Despite the mask covering half of her face, he noticed she pasted a smile on it that did not reach her eyes. Wayne's heart jolted. She did not look very pleasant.
What are you doing here? She did not ask it aloud, but she might as well have.
Nattie's gaze flicked over him from head to toe. Her eyes held curiosity and something else that made him slightly uneasy.
Her voice broke the brief yet uncomfortable silence that followed. "Let's resume it, okay?" she said to her dance partner.
The other man nodded politely and left quietly.
Bruce then closed the distance between the two of them and took Nattie by the waist. Her hand came to his shoulder and their palms connected, skin to skin. Her hands were small, and her skin was soft and warm. He was a little startled by how naturally her body molded to his.
What surprised him even more was the tingling sensation that started in his fingers and worked its way up his arm. Which was more than he could say for this situation, and the odd, longing sensation deep in his gut.
They started to glide gracefully on the dance floor amid the murmur of conversation, under prying eyes that wondered what Gotham's most reclusive son was doing there.
"You don't seem very happy to see me," he observed, the amusement showing in his eyes.
Finally her gaze met his. "I wouldn't say that. Surprised would be a more suitable word," she conceded with a shrug. "I'm glad 'Grumpy Hermit Wayne' has came out of hibernation to honor my event with his presence."
Nattie had to admit that she got startled by how much Bruce Wayne had changed in just a couple of days. Her breath caught in her throat and her heart nearly stopped beating altogether when she found the dashing playboy standing by her side as lean and powerful like a phoenix reborn from the ashes.
Last time she had seen him, he had entered the room moving stiffly with the aid of a cane, wearing a rumpled dressing gown and slippers, looking older and scruffier and better suited to retirement than a red-carpet gala.
He gave a genuine chuckle at her reply and for the first time Nattie thought she caught a glimpse of the man he must have been before the pain burrowed in and made a home out of his heart. Even more disturbing was the effect that his soft and masculine laughter had on her. The sound of it was so adorable her knees actually went weak.
Why the heck was she acting like a fangirl who had just barely been introduced to some popstar? Nattie gave herself a swift mental kick for being so silly and uncontrolled. She had to stop thinking like that right now.
"Just following your advice," he said, glancing at her. "Besides this is a very special occasion. After all, how many times in this city does somebody have a benefit for such an outstanding cause and invite all the rich, pretty people?"
His expression was light, neutral, but Nattie could detect a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
"Even before you became a recluse, you never seemed to be into these things..." she commented as they kept gliding smoothly across the floor in a perfect fit.
"Perhaps because proceeds usually go to the big fat spread. It's not about charity, it's about feeding the ego of whichever society hag laid this on."
Nattie cocked her head. "Should I be offended?"
"Absolutely not."
"Well, Mr. Wayne, in my party the proceeds will go where they should, because I paid for the big fat spread myself."
"That's very generous of you."
"You have to invest to restore balance to the world."
Bruce grinned boyishly.
"Alfred thinks it isn't too late for me to apologize for my behavior the other night." He sucked in a breath. "I hope I wasn't out of line."
She gave a limp smile. "Apologies accepted. Let's just leave the first impressions behind, shall we?"
"That's fine by me."
"Good. Now tell me about the restorative chemical bath that you immersed yourself in?" she asked, eyeing him curiously.
Bruce's brows suddenly dipped in confusion whilst he tried hard to ignore the soft aroma of her perfume. "Excuse me?"
"You're no longer hobbling on a cane."
"Oh, that! May I tell you a secret?" he asked, grinning unrepentantly. "I have my own fountain of youth in my house's basement."
Nattie laughed, genuine humor for the first time tonight.
"That's going to work for now but I'm looking forward for the day you'll give me a better explanation."
He swung a lazy glance at her while speaking, "You're a little relentless, aren't you?"
"Of course," Nattie replied. "That's how I get what I want."
Bruce chuckled at her answer. He had not played that game in years, but it did not mean he had forgotten how.
"And you always get what you want, don't you?"
"Always," she spoke seriously, looking up at him. Bruce was instantly and equally smitten as they lock eyes.
"May I ask you a personal question?" He suddenly asked, his dark hazel gaze studying her.
"Others have tried and failed."
'Night And Day' ended and the jazz band switched the song to 'Can't We Be Friends?'.
Bruce looked at the rich folks strolling and dancing around and sighed. "Don't you ever get bored doing this?" he asked her.
Nattie blinked, not fully understanding the nature of that question. "Doing what?"
He motioned his head toward the ostentatious display of wealth and extravagance.
"Promoting charity events, dealing with hypocrites, pretending you enjoy every moment being here."
She bristled at that. Her eyes flashed darkly. She considered giving a naughty answer, but she thought it would not sound very mature of her part.
"I can't say I ever thought of it that way," Nattie said, struggling to maintain a neutral tone. She tilted her head to one side consideringly. "Nope. Doesn't bore me at all. I do what I have to do."
"But it's not what you wanted to do, is it?" Bruce insisted.
"How can you know what I want if you don't even really know me?" she challenged, with a slightly outraged expression.
Bruce looked down at her, casting a close look to her shiny hair. He put a hand under her chin and lifted her face so he could look straight into her striking blue-gray eyes.
"I've learned all I needed to know about you from the first time I saw you. All the rest are just details." His mouth turned up in a cocky smile.
The hint of sexual challenge in his voice surprised her. For a moment, Nattie considered pulling away from him. The flood of attraction that raced through her was more than she could handle.
But before she could take any decision, he continued softly, "I know you're lonely but also kind and generous and loyal to your origins. And I think you're so engaged in changing the lives of others because deep down you want to change your own life. You're tired of using your mask."
Nattie swallowed hard. How he could see her very soul so well remained a mystery to her.
"How do you see that?" The torment in her voice only barely controlled.
"Because it's what I see when I look in the mirror," Bruce offered candidly. For the life of him, he had no idea where those words came from, only that he meant them.
Nattie let out a breath she did not know she was holding until now. He sounded so honest that she doubted he was just putting on an act, which made things even more difficult for her.
"So, the eccentric billionaire is supposed to be someone else, huh?" she guessed, looking away from his intense gaze.
"In life we all wear masks, Ms. St. Dumas. Either to disguise our true intentions, to hide our sins or to free our soul."
"Well, the thing about masks is that when you spend too much time behind one, it becomes your real self. Don't you think so?" she countered.
"Maybe."
She leaned over and whispered in his ear, "However, I must warn you that you're wrong about this not being my true face. What you see is what you get. There are no false pretenses or ulterior motives in what I do."
He had no reason to not believe her. Nattie's breath tickled his ear and the scent of her flowery perfume filled him with pleasure. It almost made him calm. Except for the fact that it also got his blood boiling — in a very uncomfortable way since there was nothing he could do about it.
She continued, only this time facing him, "At the risk of sounding naive, how can I turn my back on a chance to make difference in the lives of so many people? I created the TELOS Foundation after my husband died. To celebrate the way he lived, not dwell on how he died. I believe that when we lose someone we love, we have the obligation to honor their memory. I don't care about the obstacles I have to overcome to fulfill my mission."
The words sounded like they carried heavier meaning and Bruce recognized himself — at least partially — in them. Then he looked down curiously.
She frowned at that. "Something wrong?"
"You're… leading."
A slow smile curved the corner of her mouth. "Does that bother you?"
His head tipped to the side, his smoky eyes raking her with an appreciative gaze. "Not at all. I like women who—"
Whatever Bruce would tell it remained hanging in the air as the conversation was suddenly interrupted by the sound of gunfire and shouting, and then darkness.
Few moments earlier, a large black truck with the logo of a well known catering service pulled into the museum's rear entrance. A security guard checked the credentials of the driver and his companion. When he had verified that they were genuine, he entered a code in the keypad, allowing the main gate to slide open, and motioned them through.
The truck backed into a large loading yard and two men in dark blue uniforms climbed out the vehicle and set masks over their heads. They then opened the back doors, freeing up at least half a dozen of other masked men dressed in tactical gear, carrying automatic weapons. The last of them was Bane.
As soon as the armed men headed for what appeared to be some kind of butler's pantry, one of the event organizers emerged, saying aloud, "Hey, what the—" His eyes went wide and his question was interrupted as Bane lifted the man above his head and hurled him into the walls with rapidfire lethality.
The goons continued down the hallway, dispatching everyone who crossed their path with ruthless efficiency until they reached the Great Hall where the celebration was taking place.
A thug wearing a red hood helmet pulled out his weapon and fired into the lights, throwing the room in semi-darkness, just a few decorative candles remained lit. The dance floor erupted into a frenzy instantly. The band stopped playing and the crowd started to scream, all at the same time the mercenaries sauntered among the guests.
An imposing figure advanced slowly onto the stage. He was intimidating: almost seven feet tall, with an enormous chest and shoulders, a narrow waist, and thick legs. His nose and mouth were covered by some kind of breathing mask. Tubes curled from the sides and reentered the mask at the back of the neck.
Bruce automatically took Nattie's hand in his own and entered in full-alert mode, realizing those masked men were part of Bane's underground militia. He quickly analysed his options and tried to find way to get out of here inconspicuously, as fast as possible.
Meanwhile a heavyset male guest — probably someone with advanced military background given the way he acted — tried to stop the man with the freaky rubber gas mask only to be caught in a headlock by the assaulter, who snapped his neck and tossed him onto the floor. Terrified people gasped out loud at the sight of it.
Immediately afterwards, a private security guard came up amid the chaos, his weapon aiming at Bane, who disarmed him extremely easily and slammed his fist into his face, driving shards of bone and cartilage into his brain.
Bane's goal was simple: inflict as much damage as he could as quickly and efficiently as possible. Despite his muscular frame, he moved with the speed and ferocity of a wild animal.
All of sudden an automatic pistol was pointed at Nattie's head, hammer cocked. Reflexes took over as she held up her hands, palms out, in a nonthreatening gesture. She exchanged a glance with Bruce, who appeared to be fighting the urge to step in and wrest the gun from the other's man hand. She then gave him a barely perceptible shake of the head to warn him off.
The rough gunman, hidden under a fearsome black mask, howled, "Up against the wall, everybody! You better move! Move!"
Under Bane's watchful eye, Bruce and Nattie were herded back against the wall with the others. The partygoers instantly began stripping off their jewelry, taking out wallets, mobile phones, etc. as the mercenaries passed by with gunny sacks.
Bane took the microphone and said with his muffled voice, "Ladies. Gentlemen. The storm has come. A wave of vengeance aimed at the few who've left so little for so many. We're nothing but the evolution of the weak and oppressed this city has forgotten for so long. Our mission is to wash away the greedy, to restore the balance of justice. Gotham shall not die with the old and the powerful holding it back."
His eyes searched the crowd and locked with Wayne's gaze, whose face was set, eyes steely, staring at him. He noticed when Bruce's jaw twitched in a visibly sign of anger.
Enjoy what little time you have left, traitor, Bane thought. Your days are almost over.
A gunman with a white owl mask moved down the line to Nattie. He looked her up and down predatorily as she stared back in defiance. His fingers slowly reached up to grip her necklace, but before he could touch it, she smashed his hand, calling on angrily, "No!"
Just as quickly, the man thrust his arm back, the barrel of his gun pressing up her chin. Her eyes were welded shut with fear.
Suddenly, Bruce's fist met the man's jaw in full swing. During the struggle, a shot was accidentally fired into the ceiling, causing more screams to fill the air. The masked hoodlum stumbled back with a thud as another one lunged at Bruce, bashing him in the face with the gunny sack filled with jewelry, sending him knocked backward.
"Bruce!" Nattie shouted desperately and moved to reach him, but the man in the owl mask caught her by the arm to stop her. He curled his fingers around her pearl necklace and yanked and the necklace broke. Pearls spilled past Nattie's face and clattered lightly on the floor as Bruce watched everything as if in slow motion. The image of pearls spilling over the floor triggered flashbacks from the night of his parents' deaths.
By now, sirens could be heard outside, growing louder by the minute. Bane did not look concerned.
"Time to go mobile," he declared quietly to his minions.
Nattie nervously shifted her gaze from the mercenary leader to where Bruce was lying down just a few seconds ago. To her surprise, he was gone. Her eyes frantically scanned the crowd but there was no sign of him.
TO BE CONTINUED