Disclaimer: Batman belongs to those people at DC Comics, and Christopher Nolan. But my characters belong to only me and no one else.
It was a series of realizations that led Chloe to the very unhappy conclusion that the promised comfort of her home didn't change her circumstances, at least not by much. Within hours of waking up in her own bed, she very quickly found out that even the simplest task exhausted her more than it normally would. Having one arm uselessly confined to a sling for an indeterminate amount of time frustrated her more than she thought it would, and for good reason. Until the cast came off, driving was out of the question.
So she took up Marc's offer of driving her around until she was fit to drive on her own. Her father even offered his personal driver as option number two which Chloe accepted because she didn't want to impose anything on Marc, not if she could help it.
Ever since then, she'd been perfectly content to be chauffeured to a couple of spin classes weekly, followed by a session of squats, leg curls and extensions on the machines in her usual gym with the help of a personal trainer. Like so many other gym rats, it became a sort of routine where she would walk two blocks to a juice bar, and she'd sip on a juice of rice milk, banana, granola, and blueberry while she waited for Marc's car to pull up.
It was in that early August morning that she came out from the gym to an iron- grey sky and a torrent of rain. Her usual morning spot was too far of a walk in the weather and wisely she stood where she was, sending a little prayer for it to stop soon, just in case. All around her people were scattering about like marbles, trying to shelter in shop doorways or making a dash for it with some sort of cover on their heads.
Unknowingly her thoughts drifted to Marc, no doubt caught in the morning traffic made even more hellish in the sudden bucketing rain. She'd seen the concern in his eyes, and in the memory of his touch that lingered long after he'd touched her face. as if she was a fragile little thing that he'd felt a need to protect. It wasn't like her to so easily admit that she liked the safety of another man's presence but there was a sort of intensity she'd glimpsed in him that felt very reassuring.
Chloe scanned the rainy surroundings for any sign of Marc's car, seeing no other choice but to make a dash for it as soon as it came into view. It took her a while to notice two passing teenagers scowling at her from beneath a soaked newspaper as they splashed their way through a huge puddle of water. What the hell, she thought, glaring at their back as they hurried away before she swung around at the sound of her name.
No wonder they'd glared at her. They were eyeing him.
She barely got a glance above the lapels of the black Dior suit when she was swept up beneath the shelter of a coat. Her eyes traveled up to Marc's lips, curled in a wry smile and then they were hurrying as quickly as they could as the rain drummed against his coat. They huddled even closer together, trying to keep the rain from soaking their clothes when the passing traffic drenched them with spray. Despite their best efforts, the rain seeped into their footwear and up the leg of his pants. For no reason at all, she burst into giggles and watched as his dark eyes become alight with similar mirth.
When they finally made it to his Alfa Romeo sportscar parked at the curbside, they bolted for the door. Once inside, Marc noticed her face that was set in disapproval at the sight of his sodden leather coat.
"That's a brand new Fendi coat." Chloe told him, exasperated, having recognized it from their fall runway. "I could've simply braved the rain. It's no big deal. I do it al— "
"It's just a coat." He said, shaking his head in amusement. "With the proper care, it'll be as good as new."
A rueful smile crawled across her mouth at Marc's expression and she leaned back against the red leather seat with a huff. "But still. You know what I mean."
With the windscreen vipers cutting like scythes through the deluge of rain lashing down as the vehicle pulled out into the traffic, Marc allowed his gaze to settle on her, studying her for a long moment. Until that moment when he had to face up to the possibility that she might not make it through the accident, she was simply an attractive woman whom had the rare combination of beauty and intellect. He'd enjoyed her company, and was slowly coming to terms that there was much more to her which kept him interested and the possibility of a romantic relationship didn't seem as stifling as it usually would to him.
He looked away as she glanced up, putting his foot down on the accelerator. "Let's get you something to eat."
"This is cozy." Chloe said as they pushed through the door with Marc's coat dripping like an old teabag onto the welcome mat.
"I know you'd say that." Marc replied, casually brushing off the droplets of rain from her hair. They entered the tiny shoe- box of a cafe on the corner of a back street, and the first thing Chloe noticed was the bustle of loud Italian voices.
"Too Italian for you?" He asked, sounding very much like he was teasing her.
"No, I just..." Chloe trailed off. She couldn't exactly tell him that this was the East Coast, where most Italians were likely members of the Mafia. More than anything else, it was probably a stereotype and so she wisely said nothing.
"Just what?" Marc slipped his hand around her waist.
"It sure does feel like I'm the odd one out." She shook her head, smiling.
"I've known the folks running this place for the longest time. They'll make you feel right at home." He laughed, leading her further into the warm cafe.
As soon as they were at the counter, a stout white- haired man greeted Marco with a hearty, booming laugh and was immediately joined by a tiny woman who could only be his wife. While the men launched into small talk, the wife paused from buttering ciabatta rolls long enough to wave dismissively in the men's direction. "You are with Marco, no?"
"Yes," Chloe replied in English. "And I'm actually starving." At this, she ducked her head shyly and the wife burst out chuckling.
"Marco!" She called as her black, ringlety head shook with disapproval, scolding him loudly in Italian. "How could you leave a lady starving in our cafe?"
Chloe had to admit, she wasn't around Italians much to witness the male deference to a maternal figure, and was a little surprised at how he looked suitably scolded. The husband came over and a torrent of good- humored Italian spilled between the couple as Marc simply watched on, amused. At one point, she even slapped him good- naturedly on his hairy forearms with the butter knife she was holding.
After two orders of toasted cheese bagels and cappuccinos, they managed to find a table but were seated comfortably enough and they could still hear each other above the din of the cafe.
"That's Mario and Lucia for you." Marc gestured over at the husband- and- wife duo behind the counter. "They've been a staple for the city's Italians."
At that moment, Lucia swung by their table, her gold- ringed hands catching the light as she placed their order on the table.
The two of them were quiet for a few moments, simply sipping their coffee before a bellowing voice came from the entrance. "Aaayyee, Marco!"
Chloe whirled around, unaware that he had invited his friends to join him, raising her brows questioningly at Marc who was just as surprised by their presence as she was. "I'll go say hi." Marc stood up and went over to them at the cashier, yelling back the same greeting. "Aaayye, Alberto, Maurizio, come stai?"
A few loud Italian exchanges later, his friends joined them at their table. "Chloe, this is Alberto and Maurizio."
She took the hands the men offered, shaking their hands as she tried to not reveal the sudden nervous feeling that settled in the pit of her stomach. By the kiss, the bespectacled, skinny Italian placed on Marc's cheek, Chloe didn't miss the appraising look he sent her way as he whispered something in Marc's ear. As if that wasn't unsettling enough, Maurizio was the brutish sort of Italian who looked like a low- level thug, and especially in Gotham, it wasn't a very comforting thought.
As the men chatted loudly, Chloe sat uncomfortably next to Alberto, slowly eating her breakfast while she listened to the conversation that the men were having. While she didn't have much reason to speak Italian anywhere else but in Italy, Chloe understood what was being said without was no reason to include herself in their conversation, so she simply stayed out of it.
Every year on the anniversary of Gisella Greenwell's death, the Greenwells would stop at the florist down at Campbell and 8th. It was the florist Gisella frequented whenever the need for it arose and they simply kept up the tradition. Both knew how much she favored the arrangement of orange tulips and pink lilies which they would always order a day ahead.
The cemetery was on the outskirts of the city where most of Gotham's rich were laid to rest. Save for the the Waynes and the other founding families of Gotham, Chloe assumed that the rest of the privileged folk didn't want to have anything to do with their dead relatives which would explain everything. But of course Chloe knew that it had more to do with families having streets and buildings named after them, and those with family names like hers just weren't influential enough for that sort of entitlement.
From what she knew, the Wayne family was the only player in town who still held Gotham in its thrall. The rest, had either gambled away all of the family's wealth as Martha Kane's brother did, or relocated elsewhere like the Elliot's only son, now a celebrated plastic surgeon with his own practice in LA.
The first headstone was of her grandfather's whom she had met when she was far too young to remember. The second headstone was of his widower, a woman who had watched Chloe as she grew up and attended middle school. Adele Greenwell was a strict woman who didn't always see eye to eye with her daughter- in- law and didn't see the need for anyone to pick up the Italian language.
They approached Giselle's grave now with her father watching on as she carefully placed the flowers in the marble holder. Both father and daughter sat down on the grass, facing the headstone, enveloped in a silence that her father broke first.
"Gisella, our daughter is finally with a man."
"Dad, you make it sound like I'm an unattractive young woman who has been single for far too long."
"It matters that you've found someone." The dismissal was clear in his voice as he went on in a monologue with his late wife on the subject of her current non- existent romantic relationship with Marc.
Now that her father finally broached the topic with her late mother, Chloe knew that her father would expect nothing less than for her to take Marc seriously.
If Chloe was honest with herself, his company was not in itself unpleasant, but she despised herself for her reasons to go along with her father's desire. As it is, there was nothing occurring with Marc and she could see that it was entirely up to her on whether or not their current relationship remained what it was.
The answer was, quite obviously, that she found Marc attractive, charming and everything that would only lead to sex. It was lust, not love and Chloe wasn't ashamed to admit it. Problem was, it would only lead to a presumed romantic interest in Marc.
It was either a deal for two or nothing at all.
Chloe sat back and merely regarded the uncharacteristically animated manner in which her father spoke to his late wife. This was the man who once had it all and who only surfaced on the occasions when they came out here.
"Your mother used to wonder if you'd get along with Bruce Wayne, but the opportunity never presented itself." Her father's voice was soft, the gentlest she had ever heard him mention Bruce's name. Never had her father made any indication that the Greenwells personally knew the Waynes, so she was surprised that he would decide to do so now.
Chloe didn't bother to indulge her father with details about Bruce Wayne or whatever it was that he wanted to know. If he wanted to know, he should at least ask it outright.
"Why don't you tell your mother all about him?"
She looked between her father and the headstone that marked her mother's grave. While it was not particularly uncomfortable to divulge details about the man she was currently waging a silent war against, it felt very much like her father had been looking for an excuse to bring it up for a long time. But Chloe knew she would feel horribly about it later if she didn't at least tell her mother the kind of man Bruce was.
"He's an all- around nice guy. You could be the janitor, the homeless guy on the street or the punk who keyed his car and he'll still be nice to you." Well, she didn't actually know that. It was how she imagined him to be when he wasn't busy dating supermodels, hopping from one club to another or buying the most expensive cars to have ever existed.
"He has no appreciation for modern art and could be a tool sometimes, but he's a decent guy. For a billionaire, at least." It was about all she was willing to share with her parents. Of course, Chloe also thought that he was handsome, sweet, and smart but no one needed to know that too.
When they'd left the cemetery and got back into the car, Derek promptly brought up the subject that Chloe didn't particularly want to discuss with her father. "I noticed that you've finally decided to spend less time with Bruce Wayne."
She made a vague motion in the air, not looking at her father. "What can I say? You were all for it, Dad."
"I just want the best for you, and you deserve to have someone who could offer you so much more. Wayne isn't the sort of man for you."
"Look, I get what you're trying to do, Dad." Chloe was careful to maintain the slight irritation in her voice as it was the way she normally spoke to her father. Sometimes, it bordered on being rude to her father but he always tolerated her behavior as long as she didn't raise her voice with him. "And I'm trying to make it work with Marc."
Without knowing it, without meaning to, Bruce's intention to push her away had resulted only in a physical distance that didn't make the feelings he had for her any lesser. Perhaps, his only consolation was that he only had to convince himself that the physical distance was necessary. Recently Alfred had made it his duty to ensure that his charge knew all about what was going on in Chloe's life, carefully detailed in the Gotham Gazette's society column.
At present, Alfred was determined for Bruce to make amends with the woman who had simply moved on from him to another equally handsome young man. "If you keep this up, Master Wayne, you'll never win her back."
"She's moved on, Alfred. And it's time that I do too."
"With all due respect, sir." Something in Alfred's voice compelled Bruce to pause in his motions of dressing up for tonight's dinner. "You know as well as I do that you have a less- than- stellar track record when it comes to moving on."
Bruce's hand stilled on the half- formed knot of his tie, his reflection staring back at him miserably from the mirror. "My choices have led me to become the man that I am today but she doesn't need to live the same life as I do. I have to let her go, Alfred."
"You do not know her, sir. She might be far more accepting of your other life, of Batman. More than Miss Rachel ever did."
Finally Bruce turned to Alfred. "Which is exactly why between the two of us, I'm the one making the decisions." At the moment, Bruce loathed how forceful he sounded, and wondered absently how Alfred could still put up with him for as long he had.
"Just one last thing before you depart for dinner with a Lithuanian model you barely even know, sir." Bruce glanced up from wearing his watch, throwing a glare in his butler's direction as their eyes met. "Have you ever considered apologizing to Miss Greenwell?"
Shuko was barely a week old, and yet it had acquired the status of being the city's peak culinary indulgences. It had been breathlessly hyped and promised an offering of exceptional Japanese food. More to the point, the restaurant commanded a price where a meal for two could easily run to a little over a thousand dollars. Seating was limited and those lucky enough to get a seat closest to its superstar Japanese chef paid as much for his company as they did the food.
None of this was lost on Chloe who had accepted Marc's dinner invitation. It had been impossible to conceal her surprise when she realized that he had put in a fair bit of effort to impress her and belatedly, realized that she wanted him to. They'd walked into the restaurant with her arm in his, and were led to hinoki-wood sushi bar in the middle of the restaurant.
To his credit, Marc had gotten them the most enviable seat in the house, right in front of the head chef himself. Needlessly, he took over from the waiter, pulling out her chair, just so he could brush his fingers over her bare arm.
Her skin tingled as she smiled at him when he slid into the seat beside her. He was dressed handsomely as always, in a navy Burberry suit matched with a camouflage tie. "This is quite the surprise, Marc."
"As is the lady herself." Marc offered, taking in the sculptural drapery of Chloe's cocktail dress and her newly- dyed golden, caramel colored hair. "The hair is quite the drastic change, but it looks great on you."
"So, tell me, do you happen to personally know the chef?" Chloe turned to him, almost certain that Marc did.
There was no doubt that he did. Masa- san, as Marc addressed the pleasant-looking, round-faced man dressed in a loose-fitting cotton shirt, came forward and they exchanged more than just pleasantries when Marc introduced her to him.
In the dimly lit, severely edited Shinto-like space, Chloe couldn't help but observe the retinue of sushi acolytes working silently behind the bar with their heads shaved like monks. It was mesmerizing to watch as Masa prepared their meal, his actions easily qualifying as being part nourishment, part entertainment, and part ancient performance art.
Their third course of sushi was placed before them, explained as a serving of beautifully cut squid, sea bream and fat red shrimp over ever-so-slightly warm sushi rice. With their bodies closer than it had ever been in such a public setting, they laughingly fed each other. Suddenly the soft murmur of conversation around the bar rose, and they both turned around to see Bruce Wayne a few seats away.
He was laughing, a loud, harsh sound at odds with the temple- like feel of the establishment. There was a glazed expression on his face which explained that he was probably drunk enough to put a hand under his date's dress when all eyes were on him.
She turned away, flipping her hair over one shoulder to block the sight of him.
The sloppy smirk on Bruce's face eased off slightly but the blank look in his eyes never wavered as his gaze settled on the back of her head. He didn't pay as much attention to the change in her hair color as he did her body language that suggested he'd taken the act a little too far. The bottle of sake he'd ordered still lay untouched on a bed of crushed ice.
Alfred was the one who made the reservations but he couldn't have possibly known that Chloe would be here tonight. An uneasiness wormed its way through Bruce who wondered if his butler would have done any different, had he known of her presence. He decided that he'd rather not dwell on how Alfred would certainly enjoy seeing him squirm at the thought of Chloe with another man.
Beside him, Julija whom he'd met through a mutual acquaintance, hinted in a murmur that there was an enormous amount of bluefin tuna on the menu.
Chloe didn't think she could remain any longer at the table with her mind on someone else, so she excused herself and Marc had looked through her, as if he understood. She ducked into one of the many stalls in the washroom, releasing a breath that she didn't know she had been holding.
What the hell, she silently scolded herself. You've played with the fire that burned brightest in the whole damned city and you're only seeing the burns on your skin now? It would definitely explain why she felt so inexplicably betrayed by the company Bruce had with him tonight but it still wasn't an easier pill to swallow.
Bruce was just coming out from the washroom when a female figure bumped into him in the hallway. Well, it was more like the woman who had plagued his every waking thoughts planting her face right into his chest. Then somehow one of her hands ended up on his chest, simply resting above his heart and his body pressed up against hers, reveling in the comfort of her presence so close to him. He had looked down at her and the temptation to close the distance between their lips was stronger than he last remembered it. Instead, they simply stood gazing at the familiarity of each other's eyes.
Her phone must have slipped from her fingers, and he effortlessly caught it before it could hit the ground. Immediately, they pulled away from each other like a pair of teenagers caught making out in a dark corner. The phone in his hand rang and Chloe snatched it from him, avoiding his eyes. She pushed past him and headed back into the washroom as she clumsily took the call.
Not long after, Bruce went back to his date but inside, the cogs of his very observant mind was working to figure out just exactly what Chloe had gotten herself into. The more he thought about it, the more it worried him that she was hiding something.
He was determined to find out about the private number that had flashed on her phone's screen.
A/N: There's a purpose to every little thing so far (you'll see soon enough).
For now though, thank you for reading and if you review, I'll greatly appreciate ALL comments! Please review as I love hearing your thoughts. Thanks a bunch :)