hello all--welcome back for chapter 8! thanks again to all reviewers & readers! this story is for you guys, enjoy!

disclaimer: i still own nothing (not even my chapter titles).

Chapter 8: Love is but a song we sing

Time seemed to have stood still. But it couldn't have, since the clock on the mantle now read 7:49 pm. But Ev had never experienced such a whirlwind of emotions before. Not even in the time of Malin's death. She sighed as she turned her eyes to the window.

Bruce had been gone most of the afternoon, from when they parted in the library until now. She didn't have a clue as to what he could be doing on a Saturday afternoon, but she'd contented herself to exploring the library and resting on the plush sofas, realizing it was none of her business to know.

"Miss Werren?" She turned her head sharply at Alfred's sudden voice. "Dinner is served if you wish to come eat."

"Oh, thank you Alfred," she said, food never having donned her earlier, "dinner sounds wonderful." She rose from the sofa, still a little unsteady on her feet. She braced a hand against the back of the sofa as she walked around it, gauging her steps.

"Miss Werren, are you alright?" Alfred asked kindly, concern hinging on his voice as he stepped closer to her, offering a steadying hand.

"I think I'm ok…thank you. I've just been sitting down for so long, I got a head rush when I stood up." She let go the sofa and took some steps that were shakier than she liked them to be. Alfred smiled comfortingly, doubt in his eyes, before walking back to the door with Evelyn close behind him.

She followed Alfred through door after doorway, room after room, until surprisingly they reached a part of the kitchen with a small table set for two. A candle included.

"Master Wayne thought you might be more comfortable eating in the kitchen versus the formal dining room."

"Thank you," she said warmly, "should I be expecting him any time soon?"

"He said he would be up in a minute and that you're not to wait for him."

"Don't worry, I won't be too far behind." She turned with an unexpected smile at Bruce's voice, meeting his eyes.

"Good evening Bruce," she said as he pulled her chair out, "and may I say, your bathrobe looks smashing this evening." He smiled blushingly as he pulled his chair up to the table.

"Well, I, uh, heard on the news they were the latest things in fashion, since you're following the same trend." That may have been the first time he'd ever heard Evelyn laugh.

"Mmm—this wine is wonderful." She suddenly said, lowering her glass.

"Is it?" He looked at it curiously, swirling the merlot around the glass before raising it to his lips. "I believe it's Australian…."

"Wine connoisseur?" He smirked almost sheepishly. "Mm, I love a sweet wine."

"Must be what makes you so sweet." He playfully suggested.

"Oh yes," she agreed sarcastically, almost having choked, "to be sure." She met his smile for a moment before turning to her plate.

"So," he said after a bite of steak, "you know about my family, or current lack thereof—"

"Current? You planning to plant and harvest some more family?" She asked lightly.

"Not right away," he said dismissively, "but it's nice to think of marriage and having children someday."

"It is a nice thought," she said almost wistfully, "but if I ever had kids, I'd be so scared of messing them up." Bruce glanced up curiously.

"Which brings us back to my original question of your family…." He trailed off, uncertain what more to say as he watched her almost hesitate.

"How about we leave the maudlin topics until after dinner?" She gently suggested. "I have a feeling they'll spoil the steak and merlot." She raised her glass.

"Fair enough." He raised his own glass and met hers with a soft clink before lowering it to his lips.

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She walked lazily into the living room, wine glass in hand as Bruce followed behind her. It had been a most relaxing evening and atmosphere—all of which were pleasantly surprising to Ev. Only now was she truly seeing just what an ass she had been earlier, and deep down it still troubled her.

"Again Bruce, I have to apologize for everything I said earlier…you must have thought me such a shrew," she sat stiffly on the sofa, setting her glass on the table, "I can only imagine your reaction at finding me in the road, 'oh no—not this English hellcat.'"

"I admit—my initial reaction at finding you was 'why you of all people,'" she looked at him understandingly, "but now I am glad that of all people, it is you." Sharply, she looked up at him in disbelief.

"You can't honestly mean that…." She said pointedly.

"But I can, you're more interesting than you let yourself appear." He said plainly, watching disbelief somewhat fade from her eyes, replaced by what appeared to be embarrassment.

"I think twisted is more the word you're looking you." She muttered quietly as she leaned forward to her wine glass. Her comment made Bruce even more curious, but he wasn't sure if she'd meant for him to hear it. For the time being, he chose to gloss over it. Instead, he watched as she settled back against the sofa, sipping her wine.

"How long have you been in Gotham?" He suddenly asked, looking for more conversation.

"Oh, not too long…maybe a full month," she said, shaking her head dismissively, "but long enough to hear of the Bat-man that has been sighted around."

"Of course," he said, not surprised to hear it, "everyone in Gotham has heard of it. What do you think about him?"

"I've never seen him….Jonathon thinks he should be locked up in Arkham." She added with a slight laugh on her voice.

"Maybe he should be," Bruce agreed quietly, knowingly, "but I asked what you thought."

"After making an ass of myself when I judged you too quickly, I'm trying not to judge others too quickly without having known something about them first."

"You thought you knew about me—"

"And I was wrong," she quietly suddenly said, cutting him off, as she turned to face him, "I was really wrong." A small smile crossed her face as she let her eyes linger in his that danced with firelight.

"Well…," he said, an almost dismissive tone to his voice, "I'm sure you've heard some things that have been true. Everyone has their secrets."

"What's yours?" She leaned her head against the back of the sofa, open honesty shining through her eyes.

"Oh no—some secrets are not meant to be shared."

"We all have some like that I guess," she agreed, disappointment in her voice, sparking his curiosity again, "although, somehow, the ones we hope to keep forever, can so easily become common knowledge." A raw truth emanated on her voice, striking a cord within him.

"That happened to you didn't it?" He softly asked, turning his eyes from her face to the fire where her gaze lingered, remembering her "twisted" comment earlier. She simply nodded.

"Yeah, one afternoon my father tricked me." She said softly, sensing his confusion without even having to face him as she sighed deeply, almost nervously. "I have dysthymia. Chronic depression." A forced, almost embarrassed note rang on her voice, and she found no sense in mentioning the OCD. It too was apart of the depression.

"I never would have figured," he said, "you don't act like it."

"On a daily basis, I don't—medication takes care of that."

"Maybe you do need to go back to the city sooner than I'd thought then." He said concernedly.

"No Bruce, it's alright—I'm normal for another three days." She said, a silent laugh on the end of her words as he smiled at her.

"How long ago?" He asked caringly.

"About eleven years," she candidly answered, "one afternoon my father…," she paused, huffing silently, "my father…He's a psychiatrist—taught at the University here in Gotham for a time, and he desperately wanted a son. He got me instead. So right from the start, anything I did was never good enough," she shook her head, as though attempting to understand something she couldn't, "and then I majored in mechanical engineering at Swansea, and that just seemed to cement every opinion about me he had, despite my minor in psychology—his field of interest," she turned from the fire towards Bruce with a knowing, almost comical look to her face, "that's where the depression sprung from…his complete lack of approval and love for everything about me. And with my mother, who was no source of consolation…it was a hard way to grow up."

"Understandably so," he said, fighting back his childhood memories, "do you still see your father?"

"Oh no. An occasional communiqué, but I haven't seen him in three or four years I think."

"Really? He doesn't come visit you in Gotham now?"

"No…he's a psychiatrist himself—hence how he knew so much about Jonathon's work—but when he was here, he was here but just long enough to come to absolutely hate Gotham."

"Can't say I blame him." Bruce agreed, glad to hear her light laugh before sipping his wine.

"So what about you?" She asked, lowering her wine glass from her lips.

"About me what?" He asked, licking a drop of wine from his lips, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.

"You must have a story of some kind…secret or something…." She said knowingly, smiling openly at him.

"It's one that I don't readily share." He said, a pained note to his voice.

"Of course," she said, trying not to bristle, "after all, I'm not the best person to tell secrets to," she said, as she set her wine glass down on the table before falling back against the cushion, "then tell me that you at least share it with someone…no one deserves to keep it all locked inside. I know that now." She paused, as though deciding whether or not to continue. "It never ends well otherwise." Involuntarily her eyes fell on his as he sighed and shook his head, laughing silently.

"What a pair we make under one roof. You with dysthymia, and me with what you could call multiple personality disorder." She looked back at him in almost shock, a curious smile on her face.

"You what?" She asked, lightly, more curious than shocked. "No, wait…you don't have to tell me anymore," she said, hating that she had tried to pry, "you've told me enough."

"You cannot sit there and tell me you're not the slightest bit curious about what I just said." He said, a playfully accusing tone coloring his voice. She rolled her eyes, laughing.

"Fine then—yes I am curious to know what you meant, but if you wish to say nothing more I won't pry. But I must admit…the idea of you having an alter ego is pretty interesting. Makes one think…do you believe you're King of France or dress like Teddy Roosevelt—"

"A bat." He said almost silently, instantly knowing he'd taken one hell of a chance that he shouldn't have taken. She stopped and met his eyes, genuine surprise swirling around in her green depths.

"That's you?" She asked softly, admiration lacing her voice. She turned her eyes from his, putting Bruce on edge. "It fits…it makes sense." She said after a moment's pause.

"Really?" He asked dubiously. She nodded quickly.

"I read your parents were murdered by a nameless, faceless criminal; so it only makes sense that you—faceless—should seek to rid the world of other faceless criminals."

"I do what I can." He answered, a dark, deep tone to his voice.

"I think its great," she honestly answered, meeting a look in his eyes that clearly said 'you're crazy,' "in spending time at Arkham, I've come to see all the bent and unthinkable connections minds can make…and yes, technically I am crazy," she smiled and laughed silently, "and probably technically, you are too." He leaned further back against the couch, laying his head back against the cushion, rolling it over towards her, a smile on his face.

"Should we go commit ourselves at Arkham?" She laughed and rolled her head over to his to where their foreheads met.

"Now where's the fun in that?" They both laughed and shared a look between their contrasting eyes before he rolled his head to stare up at the ceiling.

What was she doing? Through the heat of the fire, the haze from the wine, the deep conversation—Ev really didn't care, but she knew it just felt right.

"No one, aside from Alfred, knows half the things about me that you know." He quietly said.

"Rather a vulnerable feeling isn't it?" She quickly asked, knowing what he was feeling. "Don't worry, Bruce—I about died when my trust was betrayed. I will never willingly put another person through that." She turned from facing him and lowered her gaze to the floor. Suddenly she seemed to grow quiet, reserved and pensive, just as she'd done that afternoon in the library, causing Bruce to slightly worry.

"Ev?" He asked gently, bringing a hand to gently stroke her left cheek. Slowly she turned towards him, a small, almost reluctant smile on her face.

"I trust you…more than I've ever trusted anybody," she said truthfully, a down note to her voice, "and it's comforting in the best way imaginable…yet discomforting at the same time." A silent disbelieving laugh came through on the end of her words.

He found no response as he smiled warmly down at her, wondering why she was suddenly so special as he let his hand trail down to her shoulder. Without thinking, she fell against him, into his arms, feeling his other arm instinctively wrap around her. He held her close, offering whatever reassurance and comfort he had to offer. Her face lay against his right shoulder, her nose brushing gently against his neck as she snuggled into him.

"For someone as you are," he softly said, "you talk about it so smoothly…it's refreshing actually. Knowing that someone can see through it to live normally." She pulled somewhat out of his embrace, a shocked look on her face.

"Bruce, my parents were not shot before my eyes—I can't even pretend to know what that does to a mind, and a heart," she paused before softly continuing, an insight on him dawning on her, "one of which, I don't know if you truly have."

"Not anymore, truthfully," he sharply, almost automatically answered, "so if you're seeking a way in, it won't work."

"How can someone who doesn't feel with their whole heart expect to be let into another's? Simple…."

"You don't." They both softly answered. She looked over at him.

"Sounds like we're both on the same page." She softly said.

"You're probably the only person who would willingly admit it."

"Oh I don't know—there are several who would kill to be on the same page as you. Wealth, charm, and tall, dark and handsome all rolled up in one nice, though secretly twisted package." She said lightly, laughter on her voice as he smiled borderline embarrassed, softly laughing.

"If only they knew." He said laughingly, the whole thing seemingly absurd to him now that he thought about it.

"Their loss." Ev simply said as he kept his gaze ahead, uncertain of what he'd see in her eyes. Somewhere out of the darkness of the house, a low chime tolling out the late hour broke their comfortable silence.

"Well what do you say to calling it a night?" He quietly suggested.

"I'd say that sounds great," she said, rising from the sofa as he did, "all this heavy, though much needed talk has taken a lot out of me."

"Doesn't look that way." He commented, an almost playful note on his voice. She laughed embarrassedly, nodding her head.

"I feel like it at any rate." She said, a yawn hinging on the end of her words as they left the library.

"I hope you sleep well." He said sincerely once they reached the top of the stairs.

"I'm sure I will—confession is usually good for the soul. I hope you sleep well too." She could not help but smile, meeting his eyes.

"Night Ev." He nodded politely, returning her smile before turning and heading down a hallway.

"Night Bruce."

well there it is. hopefully not too unbelievable, but it just seemed to work. post a review, comment, criticism, if you feel so inclined & thanks for stopping by! (next update should be sometime next week.)