A/N: Sorry for the delay! (My boyfriend's been chastising me for making you all wait.) Things get really hectic at work as the holidays get closer, strangely enough, and I struggled with some writer's block on this one! Hopefully next chapter will go better! Incidentally, does anyone know the date (in-show, not air) of Chloe and Jimmy's wedding? I couldn't find it online, and my only other option would be to watch the episodes leading up to and including "Bride" - which, I'm reasonably sure will cause me to want to gouge my own eyes out. Particularly as it would mean watching a LOT of Chloe. Anyone here able to lend a hand?

Chapter 10

Dinner for Three

Bruce gave Alfred the slightest nod as the older man walked out of the room, silently grateful to his friend for his assistance. He didn't know what the canny man had done to get Lois to agree to dinner at Wayne Manor – other than apparently to promise that Alfred would be her dinner date. Honestly, Bruce didn't know whether to demand Alfred give him an explanation or whether he should ask for dating tips. Though, to be fair, he had never had problems convincing a woman to have dinner with him in the past. Of course, he'd never met a woman like Lois Lane before.

Which brought him rather firmly to the issue at hand. He had to give his date a tour of the Manor, which he certainly could do, and tell her about its history, which he almost assuredly could not. He escorted Lois through the door leading to the more public areas of the house, making a mental note to ask Alfred to type up some sort of crib notes or something, for the future. Not that it would help him much right now.

Over the next fifteen minutes or so, Bruce guided Lois through various rooms, inventing history and anecdotes about the wall sconces, knickknacks, and whatever else he found within. Like he cared about the origin of the carpets or chandeliers. As he spoke, he watched his date out of the corner of his eye, gauging her reaction to his comments. She seemed suitably interested and appeared to listen attentively to his stories, but she offered little comment. He didn't know if she was bored or if she was plotting something. The former would be bad; the latter would be worse, he was fairly certain.

He was just wondering whether he should set the room on fire or just pick up the nearest object and bludgeon himself with it when they walked into what had been restored as a relatively small morning room of sorts. There wasn't much to see; the room hadn't been completely refurbished yet. The only furniture in the room was a large wooden table set close to the window, so it was perfectly positioned for the morning sun.

The wood of the table was old and weathered, slightly warped but newly varnished. Since it was the only object in the room that seemed even remotely interesting, Bruce watched as Lois zeroed in on it, and he stepped forward to stand by her side. "This is beautiful," she commented, leaning down to inspect it more closely. He tried not to be too obvious about enjoying the view, but even still, he was grateful that her back was to him. Otherwise, he was sure she'd be more than happy to follow through on his earlier bludgeoning fantasy.

He watched as she swept her hand across the tabletop and was almost entranced by the fluid gesture. "What's its story?"

"Hm?" Bruce asked, being brought rather abruptly back into the conversation when his mind had most assuredly been elsewhere. He scrambled to recover before Lois grew suspicious. "Hm? Oh, it was…actually, my great-great-great-grandfather built it, I believe out of the wood of a pirate ship. We were able to recover it from the fire."

Lois, who had bent over next to the table, straightened at this and turned to him. For the first time, the corner of her mouth was quirked into a smile and he could see her try to restrain a chuckle. "A pirate ship? Really?" she asked. He nodded in return. "That's interesting. Particularly since it's Amish." She gestured to the table. "I saw the manufacturer's logo burned into the wood."

Oh. Well. That was unexpected. Bruce looked to the table and then back to his – well, Alfred's – date. He considered trying to sell that what appeared to be a logo had been burned into the wood in the fire, in some sort of freakish coincidence. Since that sounded entirely too ludicrous, he offered the deadpan explanation, "It was an Amish pirate ship."

She laughed, for the first time since he'd started his tour. It was entrancing, watching her. As he had begun to suspect was characteristic of everything she did, she threw herself into her enjoyment. He hadn't known that kind of unrestrained joy in too long to remember. "An Amish pirate ship?" she parroted in obvious disbelief, crossing her arms over her chest and grinning at him. "Really? Did your great-great-grandfather have to fight off many Amish pirates, or was this a one-time thing?"

"It was my great-great-great-grandfather, and you know, you shouldn't underestimate Amish pirates. They're very ferocious, from what I understand," he chastised her with a straight face.

Lois lost it, and her chuckles turned into full-throated laughter once more. The only reason he could refrain from joining in with her infectious mirth was that he was pretty sure that years of a nearly humorless existence had made him immune. But, for the first time since he'd decided to dedicate his life to being a symbol of justice in Gotham, he wished he were the kind of man who gave in to that sort of thing.

As her laughter began to die off, Bruce stepped closer. "Do that again," he murmured softly, tempted to run a finger down the curve of her cheek.

Her laughter off abruptly as she sucked in a sharp breath. "Wh-what?" she asked, her voice catching.

"You're beautiful when you laugh," he explained softly.

He saw her cheeks pink and she scooted a step back. Bruce almost smiled. As Batman, he'd watched as she hiked up her gown and turned, unarmed, to face a seemingly endless number of prisoners, who were more than willing to go through her to their chance of freedom. He had seen that she'd been afraid – she would have had to be insane not to have a little fear in such a situation. Still, she had neither flinched nor backed down. But she stepped back when he got too close.

A lesser man would be wounded, or would take it as a mark against him. Bruce was not a lesser man.

He saw her irritation with herself the moment she stepped back. "S-so…did your great-great-whatever-grandfather manage to pilfer any other items from the Amish Black Bart, or…?"

Bruce bowed his head so she wouldn't see his reaction. If he had to make up another story about a painting or sconce or whatever, he was going to scream. "You want to see something I actually do know something about?"

Her eyes narrowed and she gave one brisk nod of her head. Bruce turned and led her away, to the private sections of the house, generally closed to the public.

Following the fire, Alfred and Bruce had decided to restore the "public" areas of the house first (after the Batcave, naturally), and so many of the rooms to be reserved strictly for family – or, rather, Bruce's – use were still under renovation. Alfred had worked tirelessly to try to restore all rooms to their previous state, even attempting to find exact replicas of the original decorations. It was a painstaking process. Some things, of course, could never be replaced, but Bruce was pretty sure Alfred would die trying.

As they walked into the study, Bruce heard Lois give a soft sigh, and he tried to see the room through her eyes. Further along in the restoration process than most of the other rooms, it was lavishly decorated in warm earth tones. The fireplace in the far wall was stocked, but the grate was still cold.

"Oh, this is lovely," Lois murmured as walked around the inviting room. She paused next to a mahogany table covered in photographs. He saw her pick up one of the frames and stepped closer to her, in order to look over her shoulder.

It was a family photo, the last one taken of his family before his parents were murdered. She stared at it in silence for a long moment, then she turned to look up at him over her shoulder. "Your mother was beautiful." As she spoke, she turned to face him.

Tilting his head to the side, he considered the woman in the picture. "She was," he agreed, "Although Alfred says I take more after my father."

She made a noncommittal noise and glanced down again. "You do resemble him," she agreed. "Though if I didn't know any better, I wouldn't believe that you were this little boy." He shot her an inquisitive look, and she explained, "You're so different. Not just older, but…" She paused and bit her lower lip, and he could tell she was debating whether to finish her thought. "Your eyes." She handed him the photo. "Your eyes are different."

He was about to ask her to explain, but she'd turned away again, replacing the photo on the table again. After a moment, she picked up another. Although he couldn't see the image in the frame, he knew which picture she held. "Rachel Dawes," he supplied in explanation.

He was watching her profile, so he saw her slight frown. "Harvey Dent's girlfriend? I didn't realize the two of you were friends."

Gently, he took the photo from her and put it back on the table. "We grew up together, actually. Her family worked on the estate."

He saw her open her mouth and then close it again, as if she'd intended to speak but had changed her mind. He was strangely grateful for her restraint. He didn't know what he would say if she asked him about Rachel. He also didn't really want to talk about her right now.

She gave a slight frown and turned her attention back to the table of photographs, picking up another family photo. "I read about your parents," she murmured softly, and Bruce braced himself for the offer of condolences that inevitably followed. It didn't matter how many years passed or how many times he heard those words, he never really knew how to respond to them. But Lois surprised him. "You were so young. Do you remember them at all?"

He was a little taken aback at the question. Strangely, nobody had really asked him that before. Most people tiptoed around the subject as much as possible – other than the occasional reporter, who was more interested in what he remembered about the night they died. At first, he didn't really know what to say.

After a long moment, he gave a slow nod of his head. "In some ways, I remember them perfectly." He paused and then continued, choosing his words carefully. "But much of what I know about them came from stories other people told you about them, so I sometimes can't help but wonder if I remember the people they really were."

With her free hand, Lois reached for his hand, linking her fingers in his. "I know what you mean. My mom died when I was little, and there are some things that I'm sure I really remember about her. But sometimes…well, I don't know that reality could ever live up to the fantasies a little girl makes up when she misses her mom."

Bruce tightened his hand around hers and stroked the curve of her palm with his thumb. "What do you remember?" he asked softly.

Lois smiled and looked at some spot over his shoulder, her expression softening as her mind drifted into memory. "I used to check under her bed for monsters every night." A small smile curved the corners of her mouth, and she chuckled, the barest exhalation of breath. "When I was really little, I was afraid of monsters under my bed, but I didn't want anyone to know. My dad…well, he's career military. He was a good dad, but he's not the kind of person to have a lot of patience for that kind of thing.

"But somehow, even though I tried to hide it, my mom found out somehow. She told me she always checked under her bed, even though she knew that no monster would be brave enough to take on the General. But she made a deal with me. She'd check under my bed every night if I'd look under hers. Since any monster would know that the General would come after them if they were found under the bed, she was sure that it would keep them away."

Her gaze sharpened and her eyes met his again. Smiling sheepishly, she finished, "I guess it sounds silly. But back then, it really did make me feel better. Mom and I made a game out of it all. We used to laugh at how the General would scare monsters away – or at least make them do PT. I don't think she ever told my dad about it." She cleared her throat, her cheeks turning pink. "What about you?" she asked, a little louder than necessary. "What do you remember?"

Bruce should have anticipated the question and had a response ready, but he'd been too caught up watching her to think about it. A few memories – not all of them pleasant – came immediately to mind, but he didn't answer right away. She had shared something private with him; he wanted to do the same.

"My mother was a terrible cook," he said slowly, remembering something he hadn't thought about in a long time. "I think she eventually accepted the fact that she'd never be a Michelin Star winning chef, but she was determined to become better at baking."

At the memory of a few of his mother's more notable efforts, Bruce felt his lips quirk, although they never curved into a full-fledged smile. "I don't think she ever got any better, but she kept trying. She used to make these…these horrible pies. Alfred tried to help her, but somehow they just got worse. Too dry, the wrong ingredients, burnt, undercooked. I don't think there's a way to get food wrong that she didn't find."

He chuckled, the sound surprising even himself a little. It grated strangely in a throat unaccustomed to producing the sound. "My father…when she went into the kitchen, he had to know what was going to be coming out. But, every time, he acted like it was delicious, like he had never tasted anything better."

Bruce fell silent, remembering his reaction what back then had seemed to be inexplicable insanity on his father's part. He also remembered his father's explanation for his behavior, when Bruce had once challenged him with the blunt honesty of the young. "It makes her happy, Bruce. One day, you may be surprised to discover what you'd be willing to do for the woman you love." Bruce had scoffed at him with open skepticism, declaring, "Nuh-uh. Not me!"

He was momentarily lost in the memory of the past, when the soft brush of lips against his cheek jolted him back to the present. He looked at Lois in surprise. She was still standing so close to him, the fabric of her blouse brushed softly against his shirt. "I -," she began, but her voice trailed off.

His eyes were locked on hers, so he saw when her gaze dropped to his mouth and then flickered up again. Very slowly, he felt the two of them lean closer to each other. Then, moments before their lips met, she sucked in a sharp breath and leaned back again. "Did you really get drunk and burn down your house?" she blurted.

"What?" he asked, momentarily confused.

The muscles in her throat jumped as she swallowed heavily. "Um…your house. The papers said the fire was your fault. That you'd gotten drunk, insulted everyone at your party, and then burned down your house. I – er – I might have read up on you a little today. Anyway, is that true?"

Bruce had never publicly admitted to or denied the allegations about that night, but he'd never had any moral compunction against lying to take the blame for the fire, either. Suddenly, however, he found himself reluctant to respond. That he had been responsible for the fire that had burned down his family home was both true and false, but he found himself strangely reluctant to start their relationship off on a lie. At least any lie that didn't have to do with Batman. Or the story she was investigating. Or interior decorating.

It was somewhat demoralizing how much it seemed he was having to lie to her already. Which, paradoxically, only made him more reluctant to compound his lies. "It didn't happen exactly the way the papers said – which I'm sure is a shock to you, since you're a reporter. But, yes, I was responsible for the fire." At her quizzical look, he added, "There was a while – a long time, actually – that I really didn't care about this place. I think I actually even hated it. It just reminded me too much of the past and things I didn't want to remember. I was so angry, I couldn't move on. But then, after the fire," he paused, frowning as he searched for the right words.

"It wasn't until after the fire that I realized Alfred was right. Not that I'll ever tell him that, because I'd never hear the end of it. Sometimes the past is worth remembering, and there are things in this house worth holding onto."

She cocked her head to the side, a line forming between her brows as she gazed searchingly at him. He wondered what she was looking for. He wondered more whether she found it. "And are you still holding on to your anger?" she asked gently.

He frowned, trying to find the words to answer her question. It wasn't anger that drove him, not anymore. But it was still there, in a way. At any rate, whether it was anger or vengeance or something else entirely wasn't really the point. He understood what she was really asking him, and the answer to that was easy.

Yes, but he didn't want to hold on to it forever. Only he couldn't say those words aloud, and so silence fell between them. Lois didn't press him for an answer, which surprised him. Instead, she just watched him in silence, and he could read the contemplation in her eyes.

A soft cough from the doorway finally broke the spell that had fallen between them. Alfred was standing there, an inscrutable expression on his face as he announced that dinner was ready. Bruce was oddly grateful for the interruption, though under other circumstances, he'd have considered firing Alfred on the spot. In fact, he wondered how long the older man had been standing there and almost wished Alfred had interrupted sooner.

It had been a long time since Bruce had talked about his parents. Their murders had driven him on to become Batman, a living symbol of vengeance. The memory of his father's words, "Why do we fall?" drove him on when he didn't know if he had the strength to continue. It had been a long time since he had simply allowed himself to simply enjoy the memory of them as his parents, as the people they had once been.

But now he found himself uncertain, wondering why he'd shared so much with Lois. Wondering even more what she thought about his confessions. Although he was certain his secrets were still safe, she'd come closer to them than was comfortable. He'd come closer to revealing too much than he liked. It was a little unnerving, and he was glad that the spell had been broken.

Stepping back, he held his hand out to Lois and was gratified when she took it. He didn't dare speak for another moment and so they walked to dinner together in silence.

Hours later, Bruce was entertaining more than a passing fantasy of firing Alfred as the butler finished regaling Lois with yet another embarrassing story from Bruce's childhood. "When I asked Master Bruce why he had decided to take his clothes off in the restroom of the restaurant, the only thing he said was that his big toe hurt." Lois howled with laughter while Bruce wondered why Alfred had found it absolutely imperative to tell her that story.

"Actually, that reminds me of another story," Alfred began, but when he caught sight of Bruce's fulminating glare, he rose to his feet and continued smoothly, "but I've been meaning to ask, will you be in Gotham long?"

Lois lifted one shoulder in a shrug and took a sip of the rich after-dinner coffee Alfred had brewed. "I'm not sure," she hedged. She sounded uncomfortable, and Bruce wondered why. Was she reluctant to talk about the ongoing investigation for her story, or was there something about the circumstances that had brought her here from Metropolis that she didn't want to discuss? "I convinced my editor to let me come here to work on a story about the murder of, um, Harvey Dent." Bruce saw her glance at him out of the corner of her eye. "So I'm sure he's going to want me to go back sooner or later, particularly given that I haven't had as much progress on my investigation than I'd have liked. But, still, while I work on that, I figured I might as well stick around to follow up on the recent breakouts from Arkham."

Right. The breakouts. Bruce had almost forgotten. As much as he was enjoying the evening off, there were madmen loose on the streets of his city. Though Bruce wished he could pretend for one evening that he could still have a normal life, he couldn't forget that Gotham still needed the Batman.

Bruce and Alfred exchanged looks, and he saw his butler heave a soft sigh. Lois, apparently missing the exchange, grimaced and glanced at her watch. "Actually, while I hate to say it, it's getting late. I should probably head back to my hotel."

"You could stay here," Bruce teased, though he would have been more than happy to have her take him up on the offer.

Still, he wasn't surprised when she responded by rolling her eyes at him. "Nice try, Wayne, but you're not that charming."

Alfred rose to his feet and interjected smoothly, "Well, I certainly hope we will have the pleasure of your company again soon."

Lois jumped up to give him a hug, and this time, Bruce really did consider firing his butler when she said, "Thank you for the wonderful date, Alfred. We'll have to do it again sometime." Bruce heard the soft sound of her whisper but couldn't make out the words she spoke into the older man's ear. Whatever she said, it made Alfred smile and murmur something soft in response. As if the exchange hadn't happened, she stepped back and addressed the older gentleman. "Mind taking me home?"

"I can drive you," Bruce cut in quickly.

She grinned at him. "Thanks, but I'm Alfred's date for the evening, remember?" Then, apparently deciding to cut him some slack, she bit her lower lip and added softly, her voice warm, "Maybe next time."

"I'm going to hold you to that," he warned her in an undertone.

She snorted. "Yeah, I don't doubt that."

When she was safely on her way, Bruce knew he'd go down to the caves and suit up for a long night on the streets of Gotham. Given the dangerous criminals on the loose, he knew he should hurry. Heaven only knew what was happening in the city's shadows at that very moment. But, still, he lingered, taking the opportunity to walk Lois to the car.

As they headed to the front door, Alfred, ever the shameless matchmaker, murmured some excuse and stepped away for a few moments. On the one hand, Bruce was grateful for the moment alone with Lois. On the other hand, it left the two of them alone for the awkward end-of-the-evening farewell.

Bruce held open the car door for Lois, but she didn't slide inside right away. She put one foot on the car's floorboard and then paused and turned on him. "Tell me something. Who are you really? Are you really that shameless 'party boy' Bruce Wayne, who takes supermodels for a swim in hotel fountains and actresses for a cruise in the Mediterranean?" They hadn't been actresses, and it hadn't been the Mediterranean, but he suspected that would hardly help his case. "Or are you really Bruce Wayne, the entrepreneur they praise in the press as the savior of Gotham?"

The corner of his mouth quirked up. "Maybe I'm both," he suggested.

Her eyes narrowed at him. "Maybe. But why do I get the feeling there's more to you than you let on?"

Bruce forced himself to breath normally and not give away his momentary flash of concern. Had he let on more than he'd realized in their earlier conversation? Did she suspect his secret identity? "What did you have in mind?" he asked in a casual, flippant manner.

She huffed in frustration. "I don't know." She was clearly irritated that there was something she didn't know.

If he wasn't certain he'd give himself away by doing so, he'd have breathed a sigh of relief. He could see in her eyes that she hadn't caught on to his secret. Still, it wouldn't be a bad idea to change the subject. "Did you mean what you said earlier, about there being a next time? You know, I'd love to have a chance to take you out your date and not your chaperone."

She blew out a long breath and then smiled, letting the previous subject go. After pursing her lips in thought, she nodded. "Okay, Wayne. One date." She paused, leaned in conspiratorially, and teased, "But for the record? I'm only doing it because Alfred's awesome. I figure anyone he cares about as much as you can't be that bad."

"So I'm only getting a date because of his endorsement?" he asked, eyebrows lifting in mock surprise. It wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind. However, he made her laugh when he agreed, "You know what? I'll take it."