Connections

She was a vision of loveliness. Her head was bowed down, immersed in the book she was reading. She was sitting by the table in the breakfast nook of the manor, her feet up on the opposite chair, poking out from under the other side of the table. The only light was the soft glow that emanated from the 30 Watt lamp on the wall not far above her head.

His fingers ached to touch her, but alas, she maintained her distance. A part of him was slightly frustrated, because no matter how much she denied it, spoken or unspoken, there was a definite attraction between them. On the other hand, he understood her perfectly—emotional investment was the biggest gamble of them all and she was worth much more than a notch on someone's belt. He knew she kept reminding herself of his reputation.

Alfred had also been beside himself, but for a different reason. For a long time now, he had been worried that Batman was taking over Bruce. Not Bruce the persona, but Bruce the man who had found a rather unique outlet for his frustration with injustice. Bruce had always denied it, but it it did not mean he had not noted Alfred's words. Bruce thought of himself as the amalgam of three separate entities: there was the one displayed to the media, another one the man who still had the insecurities of the little boy brought up by Alfred, and the last one had the fears and drive that were Batman. For years now, he had considered the third part to be dominant and knew that the other two had diminished, but had never given it much further thought in spite of Alfred's nudges. Now he had begun wondering if Alfred had a point.

Remembering where he was and that he was royally late and that Chloe had most likely heard him come into the kitchen, he moved slowly across the floor to her, his shoes announcing his presence further.

"Hello, Bruce," she said before casting a glance his way. Bruce came to sit on the chair beside her feet, throwing his suit jacket across its back.

"I didn't think you'd still be here."

"I keep uneven hours anyway," she said, "and I've had a nice time talking to Alfred, reading... and he might have given me a cinnamon bun." She dusted a few stray crumbs to the side of the table.

Bruce just looked at her. He still was not sure what it was that drew him to her. What he did know, though, was that his thoughts of possibly putting her in danger just went flying out the window—she could take care of herself. In passing, she had mentioned, or more likely implied, that she had connections to what she had called superheroes. It had been an innocuous comment unnoted by her, but it intrigued him—just what kind of company had she been keeping? Then again, it would explain her apparent fearlessness when faced with Batman.

As she sent the crumbs rolling across the oak surface, he could not help noting how beautiful she looked. Her clothes were elegant in their simplicity and there was a little silver pendant with a peridot stone suspended in the middle hanging around her neck and her golden hair hung in loose curls above her shoulders. He had never seen her hair curled before, he realized. He wondered where she had been to earlier in the day.

Suddenly, her expression turned more serious and she withdrew her feet which shook Bruce out of his reverie. She leveled her eyes with his and set her arms on the table, the only mark of her nervousness the slight hesitation before she spoke.

"How was it?"

"Fine, the ride back took longer than expected. Sorry about that," Bruce said. And technically, it was true—only he had not been on his way home from a business engagement out of town but shadowing and planting a trap for a bunch of robbers. He had sent Gordon a message to go pick them up to make it back to the Manor at an almost decent time.

"Did you fall asleep against the window or something?" Chloe asked as her hand swiped the hair falling over Bruce's forehead revealing the vague lines left by the cowl from where it had been pressed tightly against his skull.

Touch between them had been infrequent and a luxury as far as Bruce was concerned. Chloe's fingertips graced his skin momentarily before she withdrew her hand. The quick brush had set his nerve endings tingling and he almost reached for her outstretched hand.

"But you didn't, did you?" she added, her voice quieter.

Chloe's fingers itched to reach out again and smooth the few strands of tousled hair she had so candidly dishevelled a moment ago. Sometimes she wondered how good an idea this so-called friendship had been, but in moments like this, she didn't regret it all, despite the conversation they were having. She had fought hard with Bruce and herself to keep the lingering glances and flirting to a minimum, or at least revert from reciprocating. She had kept reminding herself that at the other side of those thoughts and words waited trouble and unavoidable heartache.

Since that Saturday they had shared coffee, she had noticed that ignoring the implications of Bruce's words was the easiest way to carry on. At first she had thought he was putting on the act that thrilled tabloids nation wide, but she couldn't understand why he chose to flirt with her, to almost—dare she say it—court her. And at times she had responded in kind, but lately she had started to add more comfortable distance between them after realizing that Bruce was not only a very nice and engaging man but also unreachable. And now their stagnant relationship was possibly about to get much more complicated.

Bruce's ran a hand over his forehead, the strands of hair resettling over the marks. Sometimes Bruce wished Chloe's eye was less keen, despite his appreciation for it.

Bruce was about to reply when Chloe continued. "I know," was all she said. Bruce arched an eyebrow, but remained silent. "It can't be comfortable, what's it made of?" she asked.

Then it clicked. She knew. And she was asking about the suit. He disregarded her question.

"When?" he asked.

Chloe sighed softly, leaning back in her chair and looking out the window.

"For sure? Last night when Batman, you, berated me for doing my job."

"You mean putting yourself in unnecessary danger."

The air around them was surprisingly light. Chloe had spent enough time around Clark and the Justice League to not be angry because he had lied to her—it was for a just cause. She was, however, irked that he was trying to shift the negative attention to her. Chloe squinted at him, but decided to let the matter drop, it wasn't the most important matter in hand.

Bruce felt oddly relieved. It had been a long time since he had felt quilty about lying or omitting information because he was Batman. The closest people to him, Alfred and Rachel, had known and now it was only him and Alfred. And Chloe, apparently. Truth be told, he was glad she knew. He was certain that one of the biggest reasons why she avoided him emotionally was that she knew he was keeping a large part of himself hidden and it was something he could not fault her for. If anyone knew of emotional detachment, it was him.

He cleared his throat. "How?"

"Turns out Batman's allergic to hideously expensive perfume as well."

He had told Chloe one of his business associates he had met for dinner had gone too strong on her perfume. Truthfully, his eyes had been irritated by the substance from a lost spray can that had turned into a misty gas as it had been sprayed at Batman two days ago. He'd had red eyes for two days and they were only clearing up now.

"Plus they were your eyes," she said with a smirk firmly planted across her lips.

Instead of making a glib remark about her gazing into his eyes, he stayed quiet for a while and undid his tie and top shirt button—both of which he had put on automatically as he rushed back up from the batcave after changing out of the bat suit. He was surprised by how well Chloe was taking the revelation, even though he knew he probably shouldn't be. He intertwined fingers and lay his arms on the table as if he was the posterboy of casualness.

"So," he drawled. "How do you feel about this, Miss Sullivan?"

Chloe perked up at the playful way in which he addressed her. It had gotten less frequent of late, but now that the cards were laid on the table, the ease of their rapport was returning.

Deciding it was better to take a break from the serious talk for now, she mirrored his pose like she had all those weeks ago at the Gazette and leaned forward until she was mere inches from his face and whispered, "Well, Mister Wayne... I think you owe me a tour of your base of operations, don't you think?"

As her breath danced across his face and her trademark-worthy mischevous smirk adorned hers, Bruce's eyes wandered over her lips and he had to talk himself out of kissing her. Instead, he drew back and offered her his hand.

Chloe looked at his outstretched arm knowing she would accept it. When her hand slipped into his, she felt his grip tighten around her fingers before he drew her up off her seat.

"Come on then."

So I thought that when Chloe finds out about Batman's identity, it would be less about the fact that Bruce has been hiding it and more about bridging the gap that's been between them. Hence I decided to write it as a very understated scene. I was also going to write much more into the chapter, and did, but all the extra bits seemed just that—extra and trivial. Feel free to disagree on anything, I just wanted to try it like this :)