Disclaimer: Batman belongs to those people at DC Comics and Christopher Nolan. But my characters belong to only me and no one else.
"We can't," Chloe said with a conviction that she didn't feel. Very slowly, she turned her head enough to look at him, glancing at the vicinity of his jaw. She didn't think she could bear to look at him.
"Why not?" He asked just as softly, brushing his thumb across her cheek. It was only a slight touch but she was caught between the urge to lean forward and back away. "Unless you don't feel the same way about me."
She wasn't sure whether it would be more cowardly to accept the comforting warmth of his touch or to simply reject it. Wisely, she settled on the latter and so focused as she was on putting some distance between them, Chloe stepped on the shards of broken glass. Everything happened so quickly after that as Bruce sprang into action before she could even cry out in pain.
Chloe felt his long, strong arm holding her around the waist, balancing her while she stood on one foot. Without thinking, Chloe rested her chin on Bruce's shoulder, muttering her grateful thanks as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. In spite of herself, she breathed in his masculine scent, letting it overwhelm her senses as she took a shuddering gasp to steady her rapid breathing. "I can't look at it. The blood, I mean. Blood makes me queasy."
He chuckled close to her ear, the rumbling sound strangely calming as it reverberated through her senses. "I wouldn't have guessed you had it in you."
"Now you know," she muttered darkly, feeling the blood oozing out from her right foot.
"You should go to the doctor," Bruce said, and she could already hear the jangling of his car keys, prepared to send her to the hospital.
"For a minor injury like this? No way." There was an insistent edge to it that was not unlike his own stubbornness.
Bruce looked down at her foot which was dripping with crimson stains that were boldly rendered against the pristine marble floor. He suddenly remembered that she was bleeding and needed immediate attention. "Let's get you cleaned up. Do you have a first aid kit?"
"Of course, I have." She retorted irritably.
"What about a suture kit?" He asked again, and Chloe had a distinct feeling that he hoped she didn't have one.
"Really, Bruce?" Without looking up, she pointed to their left. "And to answer your question, yes. It's in the bathroom with the first aid kit."
He reached for the back of his pants, removing a handkerchief that he always had on his person. It was only really Alfred's insistence that every gentleman should have a good clean hanky and as always, the butler was right. Bruce certainly needed it now.
"Close your eyes. And give me your hand." He instructed and she did as she was told, snapping her eyes shut while Bruce took her hand and braced it against the surface behind her. Carefully, he bent down and took her foot. Bruce turned it over, taking in the hideously bloody gash and the pieces of glass jutting out of it. Working quickly, he folded the handkerchief into several layers and wrapped the piece of cloth around it securely. "Keep your feet above the floor. Don't step on it."
Before she knew it, Bruce swept her into his arms in a grand effortless gesture. Chloe protested hotly but it was pointless, and sensing that there was no other way she could make her way to the bathroom on her own, she gave up. "I take it that this isn't the first time you've carried a damsel in distress in your arms?"
"Are you jealous, Ms Greenwell?" Bruce tossed back and she could already imagine his wry smile and the mischievous glint in his eye.
"Hmmph. Don't flatter yourself," Chloe answered casually but his question did make her search her feelings. The answer was still a definite no. "But humor me."
He glanced down at her with a slow, secretive smile but didn't answer her question.
"Fine." She shot him a glare and then, "I'm about to bleed to death here and you can't even answer a damned question, Wayne."
"Trust me, you're not dying anytime soon." Bruce replied but she felt his pace quicken. Soon enough, they came to a stop outside the bathroom. Bruce pushed open the door with his shoulder and sat her down by the bathtub.
"Even for me, this is grand," Bruce remarked as he returned with both kits along with several hand towels and two metal bowls from the sprawling storage unit. Like the rest of the place, the bathroom had a contemporary design and boasted a very impressive 180-degree view of the city overlooking Robinson Park. For someone living alone, her bathroom had double vanity units and a large glass shower enclosure which could easily fit two adults. However, none of it came close to the pièce de résistance which was the standalone Carrara-marble tub in the center of the palatial space. Even with his wealth and the Manor's countless bathroom, Bruce didn't have a bathroom that was anything like hers.
"I'm sure that wasn't easy for you to admit," Chloe replied feeling a surge of pride. It was high praise coming from Gotham's wealthiest man. "Wait till you see the other one. It's got a claw-footed bathtub." She added, mock- seriously.
"I don't doubt it one bit," Bruce replied as he admired the bathroom. "How did you afford all these anyway?" Bruce asked, not as an insult but matter- of- fact.
"The dividends from my shares in your company and then some," The irony was not lost on the both of them as she added, "So it's equally correct to say that you kinda paid for this renovation."
"I'm not sure if that makes me feel any bette— "
"Do you even know how to clean a wound?" She asked in sudden alarm as the thought occurred to her. For what it was worth, she didn't know how to clean a wound either. Or stitching wounds. There never was a need for such skills since she had never injured herself. "Because I don't." At least there's always Google, she thought, relieved.
"Then you're in for a surprise. Because one of us knows how to." Bruce was over the sink, washing the suturing supplies he'd need later with soap and water. He took a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and filled a bowl with it, soaking the items to sterilize it. And moments passed before he was removing it from the bowl, drying it out on a towel.
Chloe stared at him with wide, surprised eyes. "You better not be kidding me." If she had a dollar for all the times that she'd discovered a surprising fact about Bruce Wayne, she'd be a rich enough woman.
"I'm not. You'll see." He went over to the vanity, unzipped his jacket and folded it in half, placing it on the counter. After that, he proceeded to roll up the sleeves of his sweater, and did the same with his slacks, rolling them all the way up to his knee. He took off his shoes and socks, before he returned to where she was. "Ready?" He asked confidently, grinning widely, and she couldn't help but return the expression on his handsome face.
"Just one thing, doc. Who do I sue if there's scarring?"
To his credit, Bruce didn't hesitate. He didn't even blink or seemed surprised. As if he expected it from her. "Wayne Enterprises."
They burst into laughter, but only until when Bruce snapped the surgical gloves on and removed the makeshift bandage from earlier. As he rolled her trousers up, he caught a glimpse of Napoleon's 'Veni Vidi Vici' quote tattooed along the side of her foot "This will hurt." He held her foot in his hands and rinsed the wound under running water. Her toes curled with the pain and he gently patted it dry with a towel, uncurling it. When he doused her foot with saline solution for good measure, she flinched slightly.
Bruce stepped into the bathtub, the bloodied water sloshing around his feet. Sitting down on the edge of the tub, diagonally across from her, he placed her feet on his thigh. When he looked at her, Chloe's eyes was closed from the sight before her. He paused momentarily from the task that awaited him, clearing his throat as he took her foot in his hand to examine the damage. "Look I wanted to say I'm sorry."
Most of the glass that had worked its way into the sole of her foot were in tiny pieces, and none of it appeared to have been driven in too deep. Soon he was gently cradling her foot with one hand while he worked the glass out with the other. He maneuvered the tweezers with a deft and practiced hand. It was for the best that with Chloe' s hemophobia, she wouldn't be able to see the way he worked. Suddenly her foot jerked, and he pulled at it, shooting her a look.
She felt rather than saw his gaze when she told him that she felt ticklish. And once again, despite him trying make it any less ticklish, she jerked again. That same thing happened for a few times before Chloe willed herself to bear the ticklish feeling.
He continued, "What I said at the Manor was uncalled for. I saw the hurt in your eyes then but I didn't want to take the words back. When I heard of the accident, I was worried sick. I felt terrible for putting you through that much pain and suffering. It was all my fault."
"Yeah, apology accepted," Chloe answered him. It was impossible to not forgive him since he was tending to the wound she'd inflicted on herself. And the feel of his calloused fingers holding her foot was highly distracting. To say nothing of the fact that he was in her bathroom and they were in the bathtub together. All they had to do was remove their clothes and it would be an altogether different situation that was infinitely more desirable. Not that she was thinking about it. "But it's not really your fault. It would still have happened anyway."
"I meant every word of it," Bruce said with all the sincerity he was capable of. "I want you to know that I care deeply for you. More than any other woman I've ever known in my life."
She replayed the words in her head, cognizant of the magnitude of his admission. There were so many beautiful women that he surrounded himself with and yet, she was the only one whose love and companionship he yearned for. Chloe was gripped with an indecipherable emotion that she wasn't ready to deal with. One that she knew she would never be ready enough to handle. "If you're asking me to be your girlfriend, I can't do it."
"Is it because you're with someone else now?" Bruce asked even as he feared the answer that he was about to receive.
"It has nothing to do with Marc, or you." She sighed. "I haven't dated anyone since I took my undergraduate degree."
The relief whooshed through him, but it was brief. "I haven't dated anyone since Princeton," Bruce said as he doctored her, waiting for her reply.
As much as she knew what he was offering her, she wasn't naive enough to take his words as it is. "I couldn't be another notch on your bedpost," Chloe said finally and Bruce realized that it was her reason all along. "And I don't think you'd want to be on mine either. I don't want you to." It was true. She wanted them to be something special, and she wanted all of it to amount to something much, much greater.
In all of the times since she'd met Bruce and struck up an unlikely friendship with the billionaire, she'd never once considered the possibility that they could ever stop being friends. Deep down, she always thought that they were too good for each other. Maybe they'd even get a shot at something that would mean more to the both of them but she never harbored any false hopes. Wishful thinking could only get so far before reality settled in and the hurt would be too much to bear. Now when it seemed that they've arrived at the end of the road, she wasn't sure if there could be any outcome where they will remain as friends. The mere thought of being less than what they currently were devastated her.
He didn't pause in his work. Bruce could see her point, and it was a very good one that he had no immediate answer to.
Finally, he replied. "I'm not looking to force you into anything." He softly massaged her foot, working more of the glass shards to the surface. "I'm just asking you to give it a chance and if you decide that it's not something you want to pursue any further— that's fine."
Bruce tightened his grip on her foot. "Hold still," He said sharply as he concentrated on a particularly large shard of glass. It was in much deeper than the rest, and if he didn't get it out, it would cause a painful infection.
Chloe struggled to come up with an answer that would satisfy them both. "I need time to think. I just need to make sense of everything." And meekly, she added, "I don't want there to be any hard feelings between us."
He pulled out the large shard in one swift movement, and Chloe's hands closed around the side of the tub in a death grip. Swiftly he disinfected the wound with more saline and blotted away the blood. She breathed a massive sigh of relief. "It's all out, but the worst is only about to begin."
Her words crashed down upon him with a cruelty that squeezed his heart like an iron fist. Bruce had never realized that there could be anything more painful than seeing someone he loved die because of him. But having the woman whom he knew he loved so close to him and yet so remote and unreachable filled him with a hopelessness that he hadn't experienced in all the years that he had lived. "I'll always be here for you. I want you to know that." He couldn't fault her for her decision, and he would give her all the time in the world to make up her mind.
When Chloe spoke again, her voice sounded very small and hesitant. She knew the suturing part came next and that it was more complicated than simply removing the glass from the wound. "I'm leaving it all in your hands."
"Don't worry about it," Bruce went through the contents of the first aid and suture kit for any sort of local anesthetic or pain relief medicine. Unsurprisingly, there wasn't any that would be of much use for the suturing process, save for the topical creams and that was for after the stitches were in place. He figured that if she really was as well- prepared as she said she was, they might just have the thing. "Any ideas for anesthetic?"
"I've got Lidocaine," Chloe answered. "It's in the cabinet by the sink. Just don't ask where I got it from."
Bruce nodded. "I wouldn't even dare ask," A semblance of his usually- cheerful air returned, and he went to retrieve it. Arranged neatly on one of the shelves was a row of the numbing medication in various concentrations. He took the 1% Lidocaine and a syringe. On the way, he stopped to take an irrigation syringe from the very well- stocked first- aid kit.
Methodically, he irrigated the wound with saline. As he tore the package of the syringe, Bruce searched for a distraction from what he was about to do. "How's the MBA coming along?"
"Not fun," Chloe replied, and the petulance in it didn't go unnoticed by him. "You should check it out sometime. You might even learn a thing or two from them. We had our wealth handed down to us, but most of them looked like they've devoted their whole life to making it into Forbes' rich list."
"So did any of them recognize you?" Bruce asked as a hint of humor darted over his face at her description.
"I don't think so. But one of them did. And I think he wanted to ask me out."
"What did you do?" Thus engaging her in conversation, he injected the Lidocaine into the periphery of the laceration on her foot.
She made no indication that she felt the prick of the needle. "He's a little on the young side. Not my type," Even if she didn't want to admit it, the ease with which she told him everything reassured him that not all hope was lost.
Bruce studied the edges of the wound, ensuring that there was no jagged flesh for any infection to occur. He'd experienced it for himself on the occasions when he'd tried stitching himself up, and the result wasn't pretty. It wasn't something that he would recommend it to anyone and had since learned to let Alfred do it for him instead.
With a deep breath, he took a pair of grips in his palm, the stainless- steel instrument carrying a curved needle with a black thread clipped onto the end. Bruce stitched the wound close in five neat lines, deftly cutting off the excess thread. He surveyed his handiwork proudly as he applied antibiotic on it, and after that was done he wrapped the bandage around her foot. Suddenly remembering the bloodied water in the tub, he drained it and cleaned all traces of blood. "It's done."
She opened her eyes, immediately noticing the state of Bruce's pants. There were maroon stains which were without a doubt, blood. Chloe felt badly for being the person responsible for it. "I have some clean pants around. And I think it might fit. Want a change?"
Bruce looked down at his slacks and at the bloodstains on the fabric at his thigh. "It's just stained a little," He shrugged. "Nothing Alfred couldn't get rid of if he scrubbed hard enough."
Chloe clucked her tongue in reproof. "You have no qualms about working your butler to his limit."
"Well, it's part of his job description," Bruce said, feeling a tiny stab of guilt for being putting Alfred out there like that.
"Speaking of which, I haven't looked at what you've done to my foot." Promptly, she lifted her foot, bending it toward her for a closer look. She nodded in obvious approval at the clean suture. "I'm sure your father would be proud if he could see this right now."
He had been used to hearing comments about how much he resembled his father. With distaste, he recalled Earle's words and the many of those who he encountered after. He never paid much attention to what they had to say, but Chloe's words left him feeling a twang of sadness that none of theirs did. Bruce swallowed thickly with emotion.
As soon as she'd uttered it, Chloe realized the impact her words had on him. Gingerly, taking a step forward and resting her weight on the balls of her injured feet, she touched him lightly on his arm, and his brown eyes snapped to her. The melancholy was plain to see before it shuttered away and was replaced with a light that didn't quite reach his eyes. Right there, she saw how easily it was for him to shift between moods and the way he hid how he truly felt. Chloe wanted him to know that he had no reason to pretend to be someone he wasn't. "Goddamnit, Bruce. Why wouldn't you just be who you really are?"
There was a blankness to his stare as his spine stiffened. Whether it was anger or something else, she didn't quite know but she braced herself for him to raise his voice, or for some equally emotional response.
"Does it matter? I'm not as perfect as I'm made out to be and you don't even know half of it. Maybe you're better off with someone else." There was a heartbreaking bleakness to his words that made Chloe do a double- take. His words made her ache for him but at the same time, she felt her temper flare with a self- righteous anger for the billionaire. Was he a saint? Was he stupid enough to not notice that he was kind, handsome, funny and shockingly intelligent? Was his childhood trauma more severe than she initially assumed? And above all, why the hell was he taking her rejection with more grace than she thought he would?
"For fuck's sake, Bruce, why do have to be so nice to me?" Chloe shouted, and she became aware of just how much she needed this, wanted this to feel better with herself.
Bruce saw the overwhelming self- loathing that radiated from her and the way her face flushed with a sudden indignant anger on his behalf. Her hands were on her hips and she was visibly shaking with adrenaline. She had glared at him, and he'd glared right back at her. But still, it wasn't enough as she'd somehow managed to silently goad him into giving in to his baser instincts. And then, it was useless for him to pretend as if he liked the shitty hand that was dealt to him. From his parents' passing to becoming Batman, and to Rachel's death, his life had been forever altered by the sum of it all.
If Chloe wanted to see just how pissed off and angry he was with everything, he would give her just that. He'd like to see how she could take it all in stride. "You think I don't want to be angry? Well, then you don't know me at all. I wanted to kill the bastard who killed my parents. I wanted to squeeze the life out of that ridiculous clown with my own bare hands and to laugh in his face for killing Rachel." He was shouting in her face now, his voice becoming hoarse with a white- hot rage. God, this is damned therapeutic, he thought in passing as his blood burned furiously.
"It felt like shit when I was told by my only best friend that she was going to marry Harvey Dent. That pretty boy lawyer of hers had nothing on me. Nothing! And let's not even start on you." He paused, sucking in a lungful of air as he let his last word hang in the air with significance. "How is it that you can wrap me around your little finger without even trying to? Heiresses aren't even my damn type of girls to begin with." Blindly, he punched the wall beside him, sagging into himself. The angry outburst was a huge burden off his shoulders and his chest felt lighter than he ever thought possible.
Chloe stared at him in abject shock. She couldn't bring herself to take offense at his distaste of heiresses in general. There had been something arresting about the rawness that erupted from within his person. Even when it terrified her, she refused to let it show on her face as her eyes remain fixed on him. He'd given her the truth that she wanted, and now that she'd seen him completely unhinged, she wondered if his anger would ever go away. And if she was the one who could make it go for good, or make it even worse for him.
Slowly, she approached him and took his large hands in hers. He glanced down at her without really seeing her. "Bruce," Chloe whispered his name as if she thought it might otherwise have the unintended effect of provoking his anger once again. For the first time, she saw the sheer size of him and how he loomed over her. "You deserve to find real happiness. And I want to be good enough to give you exactly that or none at all."
Bruce squeezed her hand but the moment was completely shattered when he withdrew his hand a little too quickly. "Wha— "
"I may have split my knuckles," He said wryly as he tried to hide said knuckles from her view. "It's nothing serious," He added hastily.
"Oh no, you aren't," Chloe replied in a sing- song voice as she reached for his hand that he had tucked in his pocket. Tugging at it relentlessly, it took her a while before he relented. "Who did you think you are? The Hulk?"
She ran her fingers across his knuckles, feeling the skin around it which had the consistency of bricks wrapped in sandpaper. His hand was strangely very calloused but she didn't remark on it as she sought out the injured area. His skin was split open at two knuckles, a glaring reminder that no one should attempt bare-knuckled boxing without any experience or protection. "Who's the Hulk?"
"You really don't keep up with pop culture, do you?" She asked as her lips twitched with barely contained amusement. "Were you trying to destroy my bathroom wall?"
"I don't," He replied, and in slight annoyance added, "Maybe you should check the wall. Who knows?"
"Pfft. I don't care about the wall," She took his wrist and he obligingly let her take the lead. She hobbled slightly, and then Bruce seeming to take pity on her, put his arm under her armpit and held up most of her weight. "I've only split my knuckles once, and it hurt like hell. Never made the mistake of repeating them again. Are you sure nothing's broken?"
"It takes more than a wall for me to break my fingers," Bruce reassured her. "How did you split yours?"
"I punched a heavy bag wearing only hand wraps. I know it's stupid but hey, I was young and wanted to be a bad ass." She removed a tube of antiseptic cream from the cabinet and grabbed a box of plasters.
Bruce snorted softly. "Since you're bad ass and all, are you still willingly getting yourself hurt frequently?"
Chloe didn't bother denying it, and it was really a matter of perspective on how he viewed self- defense classes. "I just get bruises and it's only because I can't duck a staff fast enough sometimes." She said it with a lot of meh but apparently, Bruce didn't buy it.
His other hand reached out to skim the edges of a purplish mark at her forehead. Against herself, she leaned into his hand. "Something like this?" He asked in concern. It was a nasty mark after all. "Did you go to the doctor and get it checked for a concussion?"
"Don't be dramatic." She brushed off his concern. "The other guy's an accountant. He doesn't hit me hard enough. I think it's because I'm a girl," Chloe said, shrugging as she applied a thick layer of the cream. He didn't even wince, barely indicating that he registered the sensation. "Maybe you should come along to the dojo when you have the time. Maybe I can even learn a thing or two from you."
I'm sure you'll learn plenty from me, Bruce thought to himself. He froze and stared at her, taken aback. "How did you figure?" It would be suspicious to pretend otherwise.
"Your extremely calloused hands and the spelunking stuff you once told me about? You must have hit plenty of guys really hard, and I figured it went along with the whole thrill seeking package." Chloe explained, and Bruce reminded himself that he really should be more careful around her. It certainly wouldn't take much for her to figure it out if she cared enough to.
She plastered his knuckles, checking to make sure that it was properly done. "Still curious about the Hulk?" Chloe asked, already knowing what his answer would be.
"You're enjoying this very much, aren't you?" Bruce asked, gloomily. Her stomach fluttered with excitement and she knew it had nothing to do with the movie that she had watched when it was released years ago.
Bruce must have convinced her with his wheedling tone or his natural charm, maybe a combination of both because she never thought she'd allow him anywhere near the microwave. Given his less- than- stellar track record of burning down his house and crashing his car, she'd kept her fingers crossed and prayed that he wouldn't either destroy the appliance or pop the corns all over her kitchen floor. Obviously, it was simply her being paranoid and Bruce was capable of doing simple tasks in the kitchen.
Chloe loaded The Incredible Hulk on the Apple TV, turning down the lights as she waited for Bruce to reappear with the popcorns. He'd flat out refused soft drinks and told her that alcohol wasn't an option either because it would thin her blood, so they'd opted for water instead.
In the near darkness, her eyes were like tiny glittering emeralds as it met his when the movie's opening credits rolled over. When he'd traveled the world, Bruce had learned to master his anger and as he watched the main character sucking in his diaphragm, only to be slapped around later, Bruce was thankful he'd never experienced the slapping. "A drop of his blood goes a long way, huh?" He muttered to himself, absently stretching out his arm across the couch.
They were halfway through the movie when she curled into his side and was gently snoring. He figured she had dozed off much earlier but he only just noticed it. The movie was moderately interesting to him but Bruce was determined to watch the rest of it, and a small part of him wanted to preserve the moment which was priceless for its normalcy. It was ordinary moments like this that Bruce never had much of, and on that particular night, he was simply content to have someone who he could while away the peaceful hours with before it was time to head back and get some sleep himself.
When the ending credits rolled and he fumbled around with the controls for just a bit, Chloe's head was on his lap, asleep like a baby. Carefully, he carried her in his arms toward the master bedroom. She stirred once when he was about to tuck her in but gave no indication that she had been awake. As she slept undisturbed, Bruce looked around the room, his gaze settling on the artwork that he'd bought for her. It was propped against the wall as if awaiting its turn to be hung.
Bruce lingered in the doorway for a while longer, charmed by the sleeping figure that was illuminated in the pale moonlight.
The thunder cracked overhead and for a moment, she looked up, as if expecting to sky to split open. Raindrops were beating relentlessly against her back as she tried to take another step forward in the mud which halted her progress toward the Gothic structure. All she knew was that she had to reach it before it was too late. There was a beautiful boy in there that needed saving from the horrors that a wizened old man had whispered in her ear.
A rising wind had left the moon bare and its light shone full on the object she held in her hand. It was a warped, wing-shaped locket which shone with a pallid glow. Her hand was dirty with soot and so she wiped it against her torn white dress. She started crying, thinking of the boy with the hair the color of burnt sugar and his promise that he would keep her safe from the others. They had beat him up when she went running to him, asking him to stay with her forever. The boy didn't look up, and didn't say anything to her but she remembered her promise that she would come see him again when she's all grown up.
They wouldn't tell her where he was but she heard them talking about a large house when she should have been asleep. She snuck out as soon as the lights went out, wearing the green slippers that were his favorite. The forest was dark and scary, and she ran as quickly as she could, fearing that the monsters would smell her blood. Her legs were painful and tired from the exertion, but she will save him from the faraway house that only seemed to move further away from her.
There were stories of a clown who would demand payment from those who walked this path. She gripped the one thing he'd given her, intending it as payment for the clown. As she crossed the shadow of an old oak tree, a manic laughter invited her to play with him and goosebumps prickled her arms.
"Will you bring me to see the boy?" She asked, voice timid. "If I play with you?"
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA...
She screamed, clapping her hands over her ears to stop the terrible laugh.
"You asked for it, doll." She was pushed forward by an unseen force. Around her, the cackling intensified and out of nowhere, a doll materialized on the soggy earth before her. Kneeling down, she recoiled from the sight of the headless doll from which black treacly blood flowed freely. It was dressed in a black suit that looked just the same as the one the boy always wore.
Chloe's eyes flew open as she glanced wildly around her room. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and fear clawed at her throat as she shifted on the bed, trying to look for the clown in the familiar setting of her room. Her toes dug into the flokati rug as she got out from the bed, stalked down the hallway toward the bar and took a hefty swig straight from a bottle of whiskey. "Fuck you, psycho."
Author's Note: There will definitely be more of Bruce and Chloe from this point onwards. As always, thank you all for the follows, favorites and reviews. Was honestly pretty bummed that the previous chapter had so little feedback. Love it or hate it... review! It really means a lot to me :)