It was August 10th when we caught Zsasz, when Joker escaped and threatened Gotham City with a dirty bomb. That was the day Riddler, Bane, and Deadshot wiggled out of our grasp and escaped into the night. And three days later, we'd still failed to recapture any of them.
We'd worked tirelessly around the clock, hardly stopping to eat and sleep. I'd track their digital footprints during the day, uncovering evidence of old bank accounts that were being accessed and combing security footage around familiar stomping grounds that they may revisit. In the evenings, we'd chase down what leads I had uncovered, interrogate old confidantes, and place tracking devices and alarms in locations we suspected they may return to.
And still, nothing. We had leads on Bane and Deadshot, but they were weak even by the most generous of estimations.
As frustrated and anxious as it made me to have no clue where these criminals were, I had to acknowledge that life was marching on. We all had to. As much as we wanted to spend our days hunting down our missing inmates, we had other things to worry about.
Bruce, dressed in his playboy millionaire finest, announced in a press conference on August 11th that Wayne Enterprises would support the expeditious rebuilding efforts to damaged areas of Arkham Asylum. "Gotham City clearly needs the support of a top-notch mental health facility. The Arkham family may no longer be in a position to salvage this important resource, but the Wayne Foundation would like to offer what support we can," he'd announced. Ever since the press conference, construction crews had been hard at work restoring the asylum as quickly as possible.
And while Bruce tried to keep it quiet, I noticed how unreachable he was during the day, how Alfred and he whispered to each other while pouring over papers. He was working on something.
Bludhaven Police Department was similarly keeping Dick busy. As soon as GCPD released their reports that four major super-criminals remained unaccounted for, the city considered going on lockdown. They had increased shifts and mandatory overtime for at least a few weeks until the criminals were caught. This obligation came, of course, on top of Dick's self-imposed responsibility to take late nights stalking rooftops in search of the criminals as well.
Jason's summer sessions at Gotham Academy were wrapping up, and he was set to graduate in December after taking a light course load in the autumn. More importantly, his birthday was in three days. He'd be eighteen and, if all went as planned, his red hoodie we be permanently stowed under his bed and replaced by a Robin suit.
But before that, I would do something I had never done before. Something long overdue, though I still felt like the day was coming to soon. The clocktower was ready, and moving day was upon me.
I stood on the sidewalk outside of the clocktower, looking directly up at the moving arms of the timepiece. It was such a beautiful building, perhaps one of the most iconic on Bleake Island. I felt honored and privileged to be able to call this historic, beautiful building home, but also intimidated. Undeserving.
Or maybe I was just already homesick.
I pushed the uneasiness aside and entered the main doors at the base of the clock tower, where the Regal 'W' of Wayne Enterprises was stamped onto the glass. I stepped tentatively inside, my eyes searching for my tour guides.
The floor I had entered onto had a small desk for a receptionist and rows of cubicles and stacks of servers beyond. A stairwell in one corner and an elevator shaft on the far end of the room led to other floors where, presumably, I'd find more of the same. I wondered if it would have access to my apartment as well. It looked like a true office space, usable by whatever call center or IT department or customer service center might need it.
"We copied the floorplans of Wayne Technologies, scaled to size," Bruce's voice explained before I even saw him. I turned to watch him descending the stairs, Alfred shortly behind him taking notes on a small pad. "They're some of our more versatile floorplans. Most of this is just for show, of course; the servers are all interconnected to support your work, though they include enough redundancies so that if any particular server is damaged or suffering, your work shouldn't be jeopardized."
"It looks great," I smiled at him. His smile back was too enthusiastic. It was the smile he wore in public as Bruce Wayne: the smile of a playboy out on his yacht or playing polo. He seemed genuinely giddy.
"If you think this looks good," he almost laughed, "you'd better brace yourself." He stepped off the staircase and extended an open hand to me. "Can I give you the tour?" I looked hesitantly between him and his hand for a moment, not used to this version of Bruce. I was more familiar with his brooding, mentoring, do-or-do-not-there-is-no-try alter ego. This version was the kind that offered his arm to beautifully gowned women, who paid the valet in bills I'd be afraid to keep in my wallet, who bought companies with the same amount of consideration I put into buying a pack of gum. I smiled and felt my cheeks warm as I placed my hand in his, tentative of what might have felt flirtatious with another man but with Bruce just felt… different.
His fingers closed around mine and he led me across the first floor to the elevator shaft, Alfred shortly behind us. The butler had hardly looked up from his notes to acknowledge me or the weird gesture Bruce had extended.
"This elevator goes up to the apartment?" I asked, still a bit concerned at who might have access to my space if the office ever did get rented out.
"No," Bruce almost laughed under his breath at the question as he led me into the elevator and turned me around to face the doors as they closed behind Alfred. Alfred withdrew a small set of keys on a ring and inserted one into the panel of the elevator, turning it. Normally keys like that gave access to the penthouse on the top floor, but this key told the elevator to go down. Underground.
"There's a basement?" I asked as I looked questioningly up at Bruce. He looked down at me out of the side of his eyes, a coy smile on his face.
"Not quite," he answered. "It will be rare that you will require access to this level, but in case you ever do…" the doors dinged and opened onto a brightly lit room. A floor of black grating led in a circle around the room, but a large round space in the center of the room was open to the area below. Large mechanical arms craned around the catwalk, poised for engineering work. I peered down into the center of the room to see another large, thick mechanical arm coming from the ground. Looking up above, I saw closed shutter doors.
"The ceiling opens," I noted aloud as I pieced it together. "These mechanical arms… they have different attachments. And the tools… is this a garage?" I asked as I turned back to Bruce. His thin smile widened to show his white teeth, confirming my suspicions.
"Outfitted to handle the Batmobile, your motorcycle, any vehicles in our arsenal," he said. "And it can be programmed through our application to update your bike in different ways on the spot. Say Lucius came up with a new shield technology as we were mid-chase; you could make a pitstop here and get the update installed in a minute or less." I blinked in amazement at the garage.
"This is… amazing," I said, genuinely bewildered. A garage like this, so intricate and detailed, was no small project.
"We have a few others scattered around the city that we're completing construction on," he said. "It'll take some time, with the renovations we're doing at the asylum as well, but it'll make oil changes a breeze."
Was… that a joke?
I turned over my shoulder to look at Bruce again, an impressed and surprised smile on my face. He smiled back at me, dropping his eyes as he laughed to himself and looking down at his feet. I looked him over, his scuff-less leather shoes, his crisp light grey suit with a linen white shirt tailored to flaunt his broad shoulders and sculpted core, his shining black hair style just perfectly to reflect a casual attitude. He looked back up at me, his bright white teeth practically twinkling at me and his blue eyes sparkling in the brightness of the room.
In that moment, I so easily saw what the magazines and tabloids saw in Bruce. He was handsome. Stunning, really. That smile could leave a woman speechless.
"Come on," he waved me back towards him, towards the elevator with a bright smile. "There's more to see." I grinned back at him, his smile infectious, as I walked with him back into the elevator. I looked down at my feet and cleared my throat as Alfred closed the elevator doors and hit the button to return us to the office. I searched my brain, trying to realize if I was attracted to Bruce in this moment or just acknowledging that he was attractive. I turned back up to face him and he smiled sideways back down at me. I smiled back and turned away again, looking to the elevator doors.
Attractive. That's all. He was definitely, for sure, 100% attractive. But no way was I attracted to him. Nooooo no no.
Really, I just wanted to see this version of him more. And not the version that he played for the cameras; this real version, this genuinely excited, truthfully smiling Bruce. What would his life be like if he were always this happy?
The elevator doors dinged and released us back into the office, where Bruce led us back outside and around the corner to where the shuttered door for the garage was. Beside it was a private entrance. Alfred slid another key to the top of the key ring and opened the door, allowing Bruce and myself in first before stepping in himself. The small alcove led to a wide set of elevator doors, almost like a service elevator, but with old antique cage doors. We stepped inside and I saw there were four buttons with a small pad beside them. He hit the third button down and pressed his thumb to the pad, and the elevator closed and rose above the office space.
"Thumb print access is required for all floors?" I asked.
"Except to return to the main floor," Alfred confirmed. "You can program it to accept whoever's print you'd like. So far, only you, I, and Master Bruce have access to all floors."
"Great. Thank you," I said just as the elevator arrived at it's destination. I frowned in confusion as the metal doors opened onto a completely darkened room. "Is this storage?"
"That can be what you tell anyone that asks, like your father," Bruce said. "Lights, on," he commanded, and the room lit up so bright that I blinked in pain. The walls were panels of white, and a small computer panel stretched on the opposite side of the room over flexed, padded, rebounding floors.
"An augmented reality chamber," I said aloud, smiling with eagerness.
"Just like the one you're used to," Bruce nodded, "so you don't have to haul yourself all the way out to the manor to get your training in." I turned back to smile gratefully at him.
"Sometimes I like coming out to the manor to train," I said. He nodded back.
"And that will still be an option to you. But not a necessity," he said. He led me back into the elevator and pressed the next button up.
The elevator doors opened into a lobby and I tried to keep contain my amazement as my eyes widened, beholding the luxurious penthouse. Bruce stepped out first and I followed, slower, looking around at the space as I comprehended it.
"This is your receiving space," Bruce said calmly, as if every apartment had what he called a 'receiving space.' "I anticipate most of your visitors will come by way of this elevator, but the stairwell is over there," he said, pointing to the left corner of the room by a set of tall windows facing out into the city. "It's next to an A/V closet; the entire penthouse is hooked up to Wayne smart technology," he said flippantly as he led me and a note taking Alfred through the brightly lit space. I couldn't help but notice the quietude of the room; despite the traffic buzzing on the street just below, it was as silent as a crypt in the loft.
"Over here," Bruce continued, leading us through a door to the right of the elevator, "you've got your kitchen and dining spaces. There's a bathroom and laundry right through there." He pointed in various directions, indicating useful appliances and how to operate the stove and where the control panel was for the oven within the island counter, but I was busy taking in the grandeur of the space.
Slightly frosted windows allowed me to look out over our city with no visibility coming back in. The espresso brown of the wood counters and pantry lining a far wall looked expensive, and a pang of guilt went through me wondering how many trees died to give me this luxurious kitchen that, let's be real, I'd wind up cooking boiled chicken and plain spinach in more often than not. As if he could read my thoughts, Bruce went to a pantry door and lightly pressed against it, which allowed it to open to show empty shelves within. "The wood was all ethically sourced, throughout the loft. Not only could we make it a part of our Wayne Foundation Better World initiative, but we had the wood lying around from other projects. Just needed a little refinish, is all."
My gaze turned to the dining room table, already purchased and set up. Four chairs of matching wood surrounded a white table with a quaint succulent at the center. Above it hung a modern light fixture with eight unshaded bulbs pointed in different directions, almost resembling the shape of an atom. The light fixture alone had to be near $1000, maybe more. I felt my mouth going dry at all the finery. And if this was just the kitchen, what would the other rooms look like?
"Are all the rooms," I tentatively began to ask, my eyes still glued to the dining room space, "already furnished like this?"
"I know this is your first apartment," Bruce acknowledged, "and I didn't want you having to worry about buying all the basics. Under the counters, we've already got all your basic kitchenware as well. I'm afraid we haven't gotten you everything you might want; Alfred could help you order a coffee maker and any specialty appliances you might need." Alfred looked up at me at that, his eyebrows raised and eyes sleepy, ready to take notes on what else I wanted.
"Oh, I…" I tried to wave the notion away, but Bruce was already moving on.
"Come on through here," Bruce waved me forward to an open door near the one we'd entered through and Alfred followed dutifully, taking a notes as he did. I followed as well, swallowing the dryness in my mouth. "This is a versatile space, could be used as a butler's pantry or bar or breakfast nook," he explained as we stepped into a small room that could have been a very large closet. "We weren't sure what you'd want so we left it alone for now. Just let Alfred know what you want and we'll get it built," he waved off as he continued through the next door.
"And this is your den space," he said as he opened his arms in the next room. My eyes grew wide as I took in the space. While this room had only two thin windows, already covered with dark drapes, the entire back wall was lined with empty bookcases just waiting to be filled. A white sectional sofa with light blue throw pillows sat in front of it, and a large TV was mounted on the wall between the two windows. The room looked like it was about to be photographed for some Instagrammer's lifestyle blog.
"This is… too much," I said, feeling overwhelmed by all that I was being given.
"Nonsense," Bruce said, and I could hear his smile as he said it. "I know you're a bit of a bibliophile, like myself."
"But I can't afford to buy enough books to fill these shelves," I laughed out, though it was more of a laugh of disbelief. "Why do you think I worked at the library?"
"We have plenty of books in storage at the manor that we could store here, if you're looking for some additions," he turned to Alfred, who was already taking the note. I choked on my protestation, feeling like I should say no to the offer but genuinely curious which books would be pulled out of storage.
"I feel like Princess Belle in Beauty and the Beast… when she's given a freakin library," I laughed, marveling again at the wall of shelves waiting for words to grace them.
"Just wait," Bruce said. I turned back to him to see a coy smile, a secret on his lips, as he looked away from me. "But first, you need to see your room." He led me out of the den and to a door directly to our right, across from the elevator we had come up on.
The walls were windows, all frosted like the ones in the kitchen. The city looked near serene from up here, still so peaceful and quiet from the safety of the room. The bed was already made with light gray and cool white blankets, and I could see myself opening my eyes every morning to sunlight peeking into our city. A long dresser was on the far wall beside a door leading to what I guessed was the master bathroom. I stepped closer and opened it up to see a linen closet, his-and-her sinks, a toilet, and then a walk-in shower space that led up to an elevated bathtub that was so large it may have been zoned as a private indoor pool.
"The spaces are a bit threadbare," Bruce noted, which made me turn back to him with aghast eyes ("threadbare?"), "but we wanted you to be able to make it your own."
"No part of this apartment is threadbare, Bruce," I said as I closed the bathroom door behind me. I felt small, like this apartment was all of Bruce's grand life and I was a mere guest in it. "This is… really too much, I… I don't know if I feel comfortable accepting all of this…"
"It's a corporate apartment, Barbara," Bruce said in his best CEO voice. "We offer these amenities to many of our corporate tenants." I scoffed a bit at that.
"How many 'corporate tenants' are there, Bruce? Besides me and Dick, I'm guessing?" I asked.
"Wayne Enterprises owns residential properties that are given to a good deal of employees, from c-suite executives to work-study students. We have international co-ops that we put up in corporate housing," he offered, as if he were in an interview with Vicki Vale.
"Housing like this?" I gestured at the grandeur of the bedroom, the view. "I mean… I've slept in the same bed since I was ten years old, Bruce, this is… it's a lot." After a few seconds of heavy silence, I willed my eyes to meet Bruce's. He looked back at me with a calm, small smile on his face.
"I want to show you one more thing," he said as he met my gaze. He gestured with the crown of his head towards the door and led me out, Alfred lingering a few steps back. He led me to the opposite corner of the receiving room and opened a door that led to a winding spiral staircase and the A/V closet he had mentioned. He led me up the old metal staircase, likely the original staircase in the historic building. We came off the staircase in a small alcove and walked down a small hallway to reach the main space.
We were inside the clock. To the city, the clock faces were all you could see; but from within, I could look out of the clock face to see the city down below, and the arms of the clock mechanically thumped at the passing seconds. It was peaceful, meditative. The carpets were a dingy green, like something out of the late 80s, and the wood paneling of the bookcases and built-in furniture (including a desk and mini kitchenette) was old, worn, tired. In the center of the clocktower, two curving bookcases formed a sitting area. At the center of that space was a wood paneled floor, the wood similar to but not quite matching the wood of the bookcases, with a large dark 'O' in the middle of the floor.
"I thought you might appreciate the history behind the 'O,'" Bruce noted. "Back in the day, when Old Gotham was the newer development, this clocktower and Bleake Island were notably in the 'old' part of town. So when the city had at that time restored it, it was meant to be one of the tourist attractions of the 'old' part of town. This was once the landmark destination of 'Old Gotham,' until it of course became one of the most developed parts of the city again."
"Everything gets a return," I noted, my hand smoothing over the surface of a bookcase in the center of the room.
"Though, we did rehabilitate this space a little," he said, approaching a bust of William Shakespeare. He tilted back the head, which was a shocking sight since the thing looked to be made of solid bronze, and a retinal scanner of blue light shot out.
"Identity confirmed," a computer voice acknowledged. I jerked my hand away as the floor panels opened and the bookcases descended into the floorboards. Metal shutters closed behind the clockfaces, blocking out the sun. Darkness momentarily engulfed the room, before three giant holographic projector lights kicked on and a trifold keyboard emerged from the floor. I looked up in amazement at my own Batcomputer, a bigger and more elaborate setup than perhaps even Bruce had.
"Top of the line, for our top programmer and computer whiz," Bruce acknowledged as I stared wondrously up at the screens. "Through the roof, there is a secret entrance to this floor that you'll be able to key in through your gauntlet. And of course, just over here…" he said, hitting a switch that had appeared inside a grandfather clock in a corner of the room by the elevator. A bookcase descended to show my Batgirl suit and gear, ready to go. "The mannequin you can place this suit on will clean it, once you close the case. Any larger repairs will still need to go through Alfred, but your average blood stain should come out easily enough." I looked between Bruce, Alfred, my Batgirl suit, and the larger room, still in disbelief at all the tools, no, toys I had been given access to.
"You know, when we built Lucius his apartment on Founder's Island near Wayne International Plaza," Bruce said, his eyes scanning over the projected screens, "he argued with us a bit. Said it was too much, we were already paying him a CEO's salary, he didn't need all we were giving him." I kept my eyes glued to the back of Bruce's head, feeling the same way myself. "Lucius came from humble beginnings, but he and my father made Wayne Enterprises what it is today. Rather than an arms dealer or pharmaceutical giant, we became a part of everything… prioritizing safety rather than military monetization and disease prevention rather than pharmaceutical profiteering. That's because of his innovation and invention. Whether he wants to admit it or not, he's… special." Bruce turned back to face me, too quick for me to avert my gaze and pretend I hadn't been staring.
"And then he went further and supported our crusade to save Gotham. To stop criminals, to make this city a better place. He's worked late nights, dangerous situations, risked prison time, limb, and life. And he wants me not to acknowledge those gifts?" he said, looking deeply back into my eyes. It was clear he felt that same about me. "That would be too much."
I couldn't help the smile that flickered onto my face, but I dropped my gaze as I felt humbled. Appreciative for all the recognition he gave me. I could feel him smiling at me as my cheeks grew warm and red. He turned away and hit a button on the center console that turned off the projectors and reverted the room to its original state.
"There's a murphy bed in that corner," he said, and I raised my gaze to see where he pointed. "Pulls down from the wall. There's a small kitchenette there, though I'm afraid it only has a hot plate. And there's a small bathroom down the hall we just came in from." He took a step closer to me and placed a hand on my arm. "If it's too much to accept right now, I understand. If you only want to isolate yourself to this floor, you can. But I want you to know: you deserve everything in that apartment downstairs. With what you spend your days and nights doing, you deserve a good night's sleep. Comforts." I looked up at him with just my eyes, my chin staying low and humbled. "Consider it," he insisted. I nodded. He smiled wider and his hand left my arm as I quickly reached up and grabbed his wrist.
"Thank you."
His hand wrapped around mine in a gesture that sent butterflies through my stomach.
"You're welcome, Barbara."
"Are you sure this is all you need? We can stop by a store, pick you up some cookware or a futon," dad said as he looked in the backseat of his beat-up car. The car was just about as full as it could get, though that still didn't mean much. I couldn't decide what embarrassed me more: that the car was full to bursting or that it managed to hold all the tangible things I had in this life, minus a few pieces of technology I had brought over the day before.
"This is it. It's already kind of furnished, so I don't need too much," I told him as he drove us onto Bleake Island. We passed his office and rounded the corner towards the clocktower. "See how close I am to your work?" I smiled cutely at him.
"Maybe too close. Hell, if you visit me at the office, you may see me more nowadays than you did when we lived together," he joked. I laughed back, though a pang of anxiety worried me that he wouldn't take care of himself if he didn't have me to come home to. I knew it wasn't my responsibility to keep him on a good schedule, but I wanted to give him that comfort nonetheless.
"I'm going to be alright, Bumble Bee," he said in his low, gravely, comforting tone. Clearly, I'd been wearing my heart on my sleeve too much lately. I laughed to myself and smiled up at him.
"I know. It's just… strange," I acknowledged.
"Tell me about it," he said. "But this is a good thing."
"I know."
We unloaded all the boxes into the elevator and locked the car, able to carry everything up in one elevator load to the top floor. The bags of clothes, sheets, and towels were chucked into the corner by my murphy bed; technology and accessories were placed carefully on a dingy desk in one of the corners of the room; and books were carefully unloaded from their boxes onto the center shelves in the room, along with old dance and martial arts trophies and a picture of me and dad.
"You'd think, with all that Wayne money, they could have dressed this place up better for you," he said with a huff as he put a box of books down beside me to be unloaded onto shelves.
"It is free, dad," I reminded him.
"I know, I know, it's just… Bruce Wayne's got all the money in the world, he can't send a little more of it to a place like this?" he grumped again. I tried to force a smile, but felt ungrateful pretending I had less than what I did.
"Well… they're fixing up a corporate apartment one level below me. And my boss said they might give it to me, once it's done," I said. Dad's eyes got big as he forgot about the box he had been about to pick up and stood up straight.
"Oh. When's that going to be? You'll have to move all over again," he said. I waved him away.
"No, I'm sure it'll be fine. I don't know when it'll be ready but… when the time comes, I'll have more space than I know what to do with," I said. "But besides- how could I turn down this view?"
When we finished organizing the boxes and unpacking the essentials, I ordered Chinese food from down the block and we sat eating lo mein and teriyaki chicken in the center of the room. Joking. Laughing. Making fun of the green carpet.
It almost made me forget that he had to leave for work.
"Before I go, I have something for you," he said, lifting his GCPD jacket to reveal a poorly wrapped box hidden beneath it. My smile widened and head tilted as I grinned at him.
"Dad," I said appreciatively, "you didn't need to get me anything."
"Well, it's not much," he said as I picked it up and ripped off the wrapping paper.
It was a classic Mr. Coffee machine and pot. No bells and whistles, nothing like what Alfred would have gotten me.
"It's perfect," I smiled down at it, weirdly feeling like I might cry as I looked at it. I shook my head, trying to send the tears away, as I put the box down and hurried into my dad's arms. The crinkling of his GCPD windbreaker felt so familiar against my cheek and I hated to think I might not see it or him every day. I felt like a child, clinging to her daddy as he left for work. "Thank you," I said, hoping he thought I meant just for the coffee pot. Even though I meant it for so much more.
"I love you, Barbara," he said into my hair. I smiled as I felt my eyes sting with tears. I blinked them back, refusing to cry, and pulled away.
"I'll bring you coffee tomorrow," I insisted. He nodded.
"Nothing too fancy," he said with big eyes.
"Double espresso mocha latte with a caramel shot it is," I jokingly responded. He smiled back and gave my hand a squeeze as he stepped into the elevator.
"Goodnight, Barbara," he said as the elevator began its descent.
"Goodnight."
And the apartment was completely silent. I was alone. I looked around, the thumping of the second hand of the clock my only company. I smiled at the peaceful sound it made, sitting down in the center of the room as I looked up at the mechanical workings and cogs of the clock above me. Enjoying that this space, this humble space, was completely mine. And when I was ready, the elegant space below it would be mine too. But for now, the simple comforts of a twin bed, $20 coffee pot, and calming clock were all I needed.