here goes with chapter 12. thanks for the reviews & to all those who have stuck with the story!
disclaimer: again, rien n'est pas la mienne. (except for a terrible circuits textbook & one fat black cat)
Chapter 12: That's all I ask of you
Cold Mountain, by Charles Frazier. Ev couldn't say she'd read it since she picked it out of Malin's desk seven years ago. And she couldn't even be certain why she picked it up just now...
But as she thumbed through the well-read, annotated pages, it was almost a source of comfort. As if knowing Malin was close by.
"It is amazing what love could do to someone and their likeliness to forgive another." She sniffed back a tear as she read through the quote and several others. Just then a loose scrap of what appeared to be paper slipped out from between the pages and she quickly turned it over, a smile spreading across her face.
It was a picture from the weekend they spent at his parents' during the summer. One of his parents must have taken it, since both she and Malin were in the picture. They were standing with their foreheads together, as if having a staring contest, but the small smiles on their faces were indicative of something much deeper.
She had no pictures of Malin in her apartment now, and seeing him in this picture, for the first time in seven years, was almost welcome. God, how she wished he was still alive. Especially now that she'd given up on ever finding love by ending it with the one man there was actually a chance with.
But no matter now…the past was the past, she reasoned. And that's where it belonged—in the past.
Soon gentle strains of Bach, Alexander and Faber were floating through her apartment. Of all the things she owned, she valued her piano to be the most prized possession. Maybe because it was the only real skill she had.
She'd never been particularly smart and she had no real 'trade' to speak of. But she could play to the piano…anybody could afternineteen years.
She rediscovered it about the time medicinally-induced feelings came into her life, and therefore she used the soothing playing of the piano to attempt to make feelings more real. It worked most of the time.
Her hands froze over the keys as a gentle knocking sounded on her door. A visitor? Oh good Lord.
She flew off the bench, straightening her glasses, hating the stacks of paper spotting the living room and her casual, sloppy state.
She opened the door and stood rooted to her spot, just barely able to keep her heart from leaping out of her chest or her jaw dropping open from surprise. Bruce always looked so suave, even in simple khaki trousers and a dark blue shirt, offset by his black overcoat.
"I didn't mean to stop the piano playing. It was lovely."
"How do you know it was me?" She cast him a playfully questioning smile.
"Too many missed notes to be professional."
"I didn't make that many mistakes," she laughed mock-angry, "how long have you been out here?"
"Five…ten minutes. I was enjoying hearing you play." He smiled warmly, watching her blush under his compliment.
"Well, you'd better come in before the neighbors start to gossip too much more."
"Although won't it create more gossip by my actually coming in?" He casually questioned as she closed the door behind him.
"Only if you or I was married." She said dismissively before realizing she'd said it. She watched a small smile light across his handsome face before his gaze narrowed.
"I didn't know you wore contacts." Suddenly she felt her glasses grow to three times their original size.
"Yes well," she said, instinctively touching the thin rim, "I'm just a girl with many hidden secrets Mr. Wayne."
"Don't call me that," he scolded lightly, "makes me feel so old." A note of disappointment seemed to hinge on his voice.
"Well I can't call you anything more intimate…seeing as how we are not on intimate terms."
"That's right...no attachments." He nodded
"No attachments." Her tone held the same dejected quality as his. She trained her eyes to the floor not caring where his gaze was. And suddenly it seemed like it was the end all over again. "But," shequickly said, forcing some lightness to her voice, "there's no reason why you and I still cannot talk like friends." Her eyes met his and saw a mere hint at happiness, a smile of approval. "Well welcome to my flat," she said stepping back and opening her arms, as though showing off the room, before letting them fallto her side, "such that it is."
"I didn't come here to judge," he said knowingly, shaking his head, "I could have done that long before now. I just came by to see how you were…how things had been."
"You are so sweet," she quickly said, "for someone…as you are," she added watching him nod, a smile on his face that said he couldn't believe this exchange was actually taking place. "Please, have a seat—let me get you some tea…oh wait, Americans—how about water or something."
"Just water is fine." He answered, shedding his coat just now noticing Ev wearing a loose black skirt and a cambric forest green shirt. Her brown curls were pulled back with a clip, but a few had broken loose and fell lazily around her face. In Bruce's eyes she'd never looked better—it seemed as though there was this light around her today. She seemed almost…happy.
"You're beautiful." He said, meeting her eyes as she entered the room with a glass of water. The smile fell from her face, replaced by a curious, playful grimace.
"Where did that come from?" She asked lightly, walking up to him, "no matter," she quickly said, a self-scolding tone to her voice, "what I should have said was thank you. So, thank you." She said, settling on the couch next to him. He laughed softly.
"You are the most exceptional…different woman I have ever met," he said, a truthful, mock-annoyed note on his voice, "but today you seem…almost radiant." She shook her head, indifferently, dismissively.
"A double dose of medicinally-induced feelings can do that," she lightly admitted, before looking away almost ashamedly, "but I've too many thoughts and feelings to know what to do with them all," she said truthfully, "they just make me…I don't know…feel like flying or something." A down note mixed with lightness and laughter hinged on her words.
"Could it be happiness?" He gently questioned.
"It could be," she answered slowly, turning to face him, "it's been so long, I can't quite remember what it feels like." She said, almost wistfully.
"You and me both," he agreed before looking out over at the strict stacks of papers organized on the floor, "so what were you working on before the piano and I completely tore you away from it?"
"Its nothing important—Jonathon is appearing in court tomorrow to give expert testimony, and I am researching past cases like it," she said, surveying the piles of folder and loose papers, "but I've already found a file full of useful information." She smirked triumphantly.
"Sounds like its all going well."
"Smooth enough. How about yourself? You seem kind of lost." She said, turning back to his face, his eyes still lingered on the floor.
"Things are well enough," he admitted, "its still taking some getting used to—to wrap your mind around the paradox of reading about yourself on page one of the paper being this shadowy figure half the city is terrified of, and then page two, there you are again, being respected by other prominent citizens."
"You have to give it time, Bruce," she said comfortingly, "I mean, it is…odd…and a slightly unnerving time when suddenly this man wearing a cape, acting like a bat stops a few criminals. People don't get all the facts, and it's still fairly new." She said, an almost motherly tone to her voice. "What else? There seems to be more than that…." She said knowingly, studying his face.
"Not much more," he answered, an empty tone to his voice, "you don't need to be burdened with the many issues in my life." He said caringly.
"That's why we work well together," she suddenly said, meeting his surprised gaze, "well we do—both of our issues stem from our parents. Granted they are both very different in every aspect from cause to diagnosis, but we've both been hurt…and for some reason, we both take comfort in that." He looked over at her, as though unable to believe he'd found someone talking so candidly about everything in her life, in his life. "And we both have methods of coping with our issues, which the other doesn't mind—you have your…demonic therapy; and I have my drugs."
"You make us sound like great people." He said laughingly, laughing at the absurdity of it all. Her laughter soon mixed with his and she rolled her head against the couch cushion to face him.
"You have the nicest eyes." She suddenly said, feeling herself wanting to fall away in them.
"Now it's my turn to ask," he asked, a lightly pointed edge to his voice as he raised a hand to her face, brushing aside a loose curl, "where did that come from?"
"I just felt like it." She answered, watching his eyes fill with surprise, as she knew he most likely wasn't expecting an answer, but a kiss. He seemed to move somewhat closer to her, and quickly she hopped off the sofa, hearing 'no attachments' running through her head and fighting to make herself believe it true.
"Where you going?"
"To find my water bottle—I'm thirsty." She lamely tossed over her shoulder as she hunted around the stacks on her floor for it. She bent over to pick it up, and Bruce's eyes involuntarily fell on the revealed gap between her skirt and shirt. Silently he rose off the couch and moved behind her, wrapping his hand around her hip.
"Aren't you freezing in this thin shirt?" She leaned sideways against him and into his other arm as she looked at him mischievously, eagerly welcoming his close proximity, suddenly damning 'no attachments' to hell.
"I'm warm now," she softly said before meeting his eyes, "could be warmer." Her lips found his without even trying. Everything between them felt so natural. Never before had she guessed she would find anything like this. And now here it was, here he was, holding her close again, exploring her mouth just as eagerly as she explored his.
How they could ever fool themselves into thinking there was nothing between them was beyond her, especially as she felt his hold around her tighten and their kiss take on a more longing timbre.
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Good Lord, morning. She stared up at the ceiling from her mess of tangled bed sheets and Bruce's arms. The night had ended much too soon. Everything they had promised each other a week ago now meant nothing…and yet they were now right back at the same place they had been.
Gently she rolled back over, facing him and snuggling against the pillow and him. Why spoil the moment with thoughts of the dreaded future?
"Shit." That soft, yet incessant knocking at her door just wouldn't go away. Carefully, so as to not wake Bruce, she slid out from under the covers quickly grabbing her black skirt, and the nearest shirt, which happened to be his. She lightly ran to the door, hastily fastening the buttons.
"Yes?" She asked, raking a through her hair as she opened the door.
"Sorry to disturb you Miss Werren," the building groundskeeper said apologetically, "but I was handed this letter and told to deliver it to you immediately."
"Who delivered it?" She asked curiously, reaching for the offered letter.
"Thegentelman didn't give a name, but said it was urgent that you promptly receive it and follow its instructions."
"Thanks Mr. Hennessey." She said warmly smiling at the older man.
"Good day Miss Werren." She closed the door, scanning the envelope for a return address or anything. But nothing. She sat on the back of the sofa, tearing into the letter, pouring over it.
"So what's the news?" Bruce gently, suddenly asked, walking over to her.
"It's from my father," she said in disbelief not even looking up, as Bruce stood over her shoulder, "he says Henri told him Gotham's time has come…and that I'm to board the first plane for London I can."
"Henri?"
"Old friend of the family's. His wife was killed about twenty some-odd years ago and he took off for Tibet or somewhere. Haven't seen him since, but my father and he stay in close contact."
"The last name wouldn't be Ducard…would it?" Bruce stiffly asked.
"Yes…," surprise hinged on her voice as she looked up at him curiously, "you know him too?"
"Yes I know him….personally knew him." He said distractedly as he took to reading the letter.
"What? Does the letter mean more to you than to me? I don't understand a connection…what do Henri's words matter to you?" Bruce's eyes shot up from the letter to hers.
"Ev I need my shirt back," he calmly said, "I need to go."
"What? But why?" She stuttered, dropping the letter watching him return with her shirt.
"I have work I have to do," he vaguely answered, sliding into his shirt, hastily working at the buttons, trying to sort through the letter's warnings, "but Ev, in all seriousness, you should do as your father says and leave Gotham."
"No," she said sternly, not believing what she was hearing, "I can't just leave Gotham on my father's word—he couldn't be telling the truth—I don't understand."
"Ev your father has excellent reasons for telling you to leave," he shrugged into his coat, watching her stare blankly, confusedly ahead, "trust him this once…and trust this is what's best for you." She found she couldn't argue with the almost pleading note in his voice. She nodded, slowly, reluctantly.
"Very well." She felt on the verge of tears…that or punching someone.
"Don't look so down," he stepped up to her, placing a hand under her chin and raising her face to his, "you'll know soon enough why we wanted you to leave, and you'll be glad for it."
"I can't imagine why." She answered downheartedly. He smiled reassuringly as she stepped into his arms, pressing her face tight against his neck. Gently he brushed a kiss across her forehead, some voice whispering it would be the last time. "Goodbye Bruce." She whispered, pulling back from him and breathing deep.
"Goodbye Evelyn." One last glance and he turned from her, the door closing softly in his wake. She bit her lip and stared at the door.
She never had any intentions of leaving Gotham…even when she promised Bruce she would. It had ripped through her heart to lie to him, but she couldn't very well argue with him…not now at least. Not when something in her father's letter had clearly set him on edge—something that made Batman start to overcome Bruce Wayne.
She ran her hands uncertainly through her disheveled curls and headed for the shower. Whatever it was…she couldn't sort it out, at least not now and not on her own. She would talk to Bruce later on…but right now, she decided to head back to Arkham. She still had a job to do after all.
oh yay. hopefully not over cliched or mushy. (although it is valentine's day...but still). anywho, please post a review if you want & if not, thanks for stopping by! tune in in a week or two ("same bat time, same bat channel") for next chapter (nearing the end...only 3 more chapters & epilogue left!)