So, in the story below... Tony may have been a bit TOO much of a dick? I dunno. So, in all honesty I'll probably update a third chapter in a day or two. It's sort of the companion piece to the first ficlet.
Prompt 001.: Beginnings.
There is a beginning to every end, but you have to look far, far back sometimes to see it. Bruce isn't entirely sure when it began, but he knows when it is going to end. He has known for a while. It was a vague feeling at first, but it has grown steadily, and about fifteen minutes ago he knew for sure what was going to happen.
(If he closes his eyes and breathes in deep to stave off the tears, he remembers. Whether he wants to or not.)
He doesn't know for sure when it began.
(If he closes his eyes and breathes in deep to stave off the tears, he thinks it may be all those nights he couldn't sleep because he knew what waited for him when he closed his eyes.)
But he knows this is where it ends, up on the twentieth story of a Nouveau-Gothic high-rise in Gotham city. Alone.
The drunks masquerading as philanthropist are inside, separated only by large glass doors and tragedy. He couldn't stay in the stifling room anymore. It was a curious phenomenon, Bruce noted, that in that room full of people he had never felt more alone.
(If he closes his eyes and breathes in deep to stave off the tears, he thinks it was sitting alone in the precinct waiting, praying, for Alfred to wake him up and tell him he was running late for school and it's just a dream. It's all just a dream...)
He tries not to think about what Alfred would say. He tries not to think about what Rachel would do. He tries not to think about what his parents would think (they are why it started… If his Dad had just made him sit through the opera…). He tries not to think of the people who will be hurt. He tries not to think of the people he will leave behind. He just thinks about the way the air is so cold and refreshing as he stands on the thick black metal railing, his hand leaning against the horn of a stone gargoyle.
(If he closes his eyes and breathes deep to stave off the tears that itch forth, he thinks it was the funeral where he watched the earth swallow his parents whole.)
This is where it ends. This is where the Prince of Gotham lets go and learns to fly….
(If he closes his eyes and breathes deep to stave off the tears that itch forth, he thinks it may have been the day he flinched when he heard a gunshot come from a TV set.)
Or at least this is where it would have ended in a quick sound of rushing wind and a dull thud on the street below, but Tony Stark tosses open one of the doors and steps forward.
"Enjoying the view?" Stark asks with his usual flippancy as he leans forward on the railing next to Bruce Wayne's dress shoes. He takes a sip of his champagne and lights a cigarette.
"…Tremendously." Bruce replies flatly. He can feel the dull pain in his hand from gripping the statue too tightly.
(If he closes his eyes and breathes deep to stave off the tears that itch forth, he thinks it might be when he went off to boarding school and left behind Rachel and Alfred and anyone who has ever cared about him for who he is and not how much he is worth.)
A few minutes later when Tony finishes his cigarette, he tosses it on the floor of the balcony; he doesn't even bother to glance up at Bruce before he pushes himself backwards and moves to return to the warm party.
"Well," Tony says with a broad empty grin, "make sure you don't squish anyone on the way down, kay Brucie?"
Bruce Wayne doesn't say anything. He just feels the shame rise up in his throat until he can't breathe and he is drowning right there with his hand clasped so hard on the gargoyle the grainy stone digs into his skin; his palm begins to bleed.
(If he closes his eyes and breathes deep to stave off the tears that itch forth, he thinks it may have been when he realized that the loneliness and pain he felt was never ever going to go away.)
Stark isn't done yet. He turns in front of the door to look at Bruce's hunched shoulders.
"Remember, Wayne, in case you get down from there remember, down the highway, not across the street."
Bruce can't see him, but Tony lifts his glass of champagne and smiling with that same mocking grin calls out, "Cheers!" and finishes the drink before he turns back and slams the door shut behind him to rejoin the crowd. He doesn't give a second thought to Bruce Wayne.
Everyone is suffering. What makes Bruce think he's any different?
Bruce lifts his hand from the gargoyle and sees the trickle of blood that looks nearly black in the dim light. He feels a humiliation growing inside of him. He can't let Stark laugh about this. He can't let it end that way.
(If he closes his eyes and breathes deep to stave off the tears that itch forth, he thinks it may have been when he glanced down at the calendar this afternoon and realized they would have been together for twenty five years today…)
He hops down on to the balcony and wipes the blood on his expensive designer slacks.
This is where it ends.
(If he closes his eyes and breathes in deep to stave off the tears, he knows it is the night nine years ago in the alleyway when it rained blood and pearls on the dingy ground.)
This is where it begins. Again.
He can't let himself drown yet. A corpse is no use to anybody. A broken body can't make his parents' murderer feel the pain and emptiness he has felt every single day since they were ripped away from him. He will make Joe Chill pay. He will get justice.
There is an end to every new beginning, and a beginning to every new end.
This is where he begins.
