Chapter Twenty-Two: Regret Malfunction

Bruce winced as he tried to raise his arm above his shoulder. Not only had it taken another substantial hit last night, but he had slept on it wrong. Sighing, wiping the steam off of the mirror, he ignored the bruises, some old and some new, and began shaving. Today he had two meetings at Wayne Tower, both of them he would have no qualms about sleeping through (or pretending to), and then he had nothing planned until the sun went down.

For the week that he and Alfred had been staying in the Penthouse, he had made it his only goal to hunt down the Joker and his men and make them pay for what they had done to Dick Grayson's family. He knew that the images and the horror were still etched clearly in the young boy's mind, and that they would be for many years to come. Bruce knew what the boy was going through. It had been 21 years since his own parents had been murdered in front of him, by some strung out addict looking for easy money, and there were times when he still woke up from the nightmare as if he were 9 years old again.

That was why he was doing this: plain and simple. He was using the Batman to hunt these murderers and bring them to justice. His justice. Not the police's or the courts. He knew how the courts could fail, had seen the man let lose because he was willing to testify against more influential criminals. Bruce had also watched the man get shot out of the courtroom, watching with grim satisfaction as the man died; as his hand gripped the gun he wouldn't have to use that had been hidden in his pocket.

He did not want Richard to have to go through that. He prayed that Richard hadn't had to experience any of this at all. He would certainly not stand by and let these men get away with this. He knew the cops couldn't do anything, not what truly needed to be done. He considered it ironic that he had not been willing to compromise his morals to save the city when the Joker had threatened it, but now he was willing to go to whatever lengths were necessary to make sure that Richard's parents were avenged.

He read the police report once more. The Joker had claimed to have had placed bombs all about the circus tent area, but the cops had found none. Bomb sniffing dogs hadn't been able to find anything either. The Joker had lied about that to keep the people in submission, but why place explosives where he had? Why had he wanted to Grayson family dead?

In two days time Bruce had planned a formal dinner party here at the Penthouse. A worthy cause, to be sure. He had almost backed out several times. Cancelled it. This was not the time to be having a party: the Joker, the Riddler, demons, vampires, and then your everyday, run-of-the-mill thugs all running loose through Gotham. Alfred had, however convinced him that if Bruce Wayne backed out of having a party, then it would show that the bad guys had won, and that there was no hope for the city. Like it or not, Bruce was Gotham City's Prince, so-to-speak, so it was expected of him to not care what was going on just as long as he had his way.

And Bruce would get to see Buffy.

He was to the point that he didn't care if the city fell apart, or into hell, or became hell, just as long as he could see her again, could look into her eyes as the world fell around them. The decision to separate had been mutual, but he felt that he had been the one who had forced it to happen. There were things that had to be done, that moral compromise, and he did not want her to see him like. It made what he had to do easier, but he knew that was an excuse. He knew the truth and that was if he had stayed with her than he would have let what he felt for her detour him, keep him from what had to be done.

He left the bathroom and went into the large, wide open sitting room, falling into a chair facing the windows that opened most of Gotham up to him.

Alfred came into the room at that moment, setting a tray of lunch down. It wasn't the first time he had come in over the years to find Master Bruce sitting in this same chair in deep thought or full of deep regret. Today, it seemed it was both.

"What if she was right?" Bruce stated, absently. "What if we can't be together because of who we are? What if the time comes when I have to decide between saving Gotham or saving her? How do I make that decision? How do I sacrifice one so the other can live? And what if I make the wrong choice? What if I can't make that decision at all? What then?"

Alfred sighed, resting his hand on Bruce's shoulder. "Like you, I do not know the answer to those questions. I do not think anyone does until the time comes when they must be addressed in the moment, when the decisions have to be made and quickly."

Bruce sighed, running his hands over his face in aggravation. "I hate that day, when it comes, and I know that it will. Soon."

"You don't know that for sure," Alfred stated gently, fatherly.

"Yes," Bruce said with a chuckle, "I do. It is inevitable. I can feel it as surely as I can feel my heart beating." He sighed again. "I can't help but think that I should have left it alone that night. I should have stayed on that couch, pretending like she meant nothing to me, and let her go. It would have injured me more than anything else ever had, but it would have been simpler, and now would be so much more easier."

"Master Bruce, you can't mean that."

"Yes, I do." He nodded, but it was not very convincing. "Haven't you ever heard that old saying: It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? I think they are wrong, because when I didn't love, it was not like this. You can't miss what you never had."

"You have not loved and lost yet, Sir," Alfred stated emphatically. "You have not lost her. I think it will take much more than that for either of you to let that happen."

Bruce was silent, staring out at nothing. Alfred left the tray and exited the room, leaving the young man to his thoughts, regretful that he could not help more.

Was it supposed to be this way? Was love supposed to make you so high that you could look down over the clouds one minute, and in the next be wincing as the ground came to meet you out of freefall? He wished for a brief instant that he had never met her, and that he had backed out of the gala at the museum like he had intended to, but then he felt guilt over that thought. No, as painful as it was, as difficult as it could be, he would not wish that again. He loved her, that was the most true thing that he knew, and she loved him. It was strong and it was incredible.

They would survive this. They would live through this and meet on the other side and live happily ever after. Right? He had to chuckle at that. He knew that no such thing existed, at least not in this day and age, if ever at all. There would always be some demon she had to fight, just as there would always be a criminal like the Joker that he had to contend with. It was never ending. That was just the way the world was.

He glanced over at the lunch that Alfred had set out for him. For a moment he was tempted, but instead of eating, he stood and made his way back upstairs to get dressed for today's meetings. The first one would start in fifteen minutes. He would be late, as usual. He never considered this a bad thing: Bruce Wayne was nothing if not fashionably late. Besides many of the people who would be at this meeting were well over the age of sixty and knew him very well for most of his life: if he showed up on time or, God forbid, early, most of them would die of shock. So late he would be.

He just wished that these two days would hurry up and pass.

And when they had passed quickly, he wished they hadn't.

Buffy and her friends, along with Richard, were supposed to come to the party tonight. It just felt wrong if he hadn't asked them. When he had called earlier to make sure, he had hoped Buffy would be the one to answer, but he was glad when it was Willow that did. It had taken everything he had to not ask to speak with Buffy, and even more so when Willow had asked him if he wanted to speak with her.

The guests began arriving at the appointed hour, and Alfred greeted them while Bruce remained upstairs. He would make his entrance once everyone arrived.

He slipped over to the railing to look down below to see who had arrived so far. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Willow, Kennedy, Xander, and Giles. He searched but he could not see Buffy or Richard anywhere. He caught Alfred's eye and the butler came up the stairs to him.

"Where is Buffy and Richard?" He asked, deeply concerned.

"Miss Summers is not feeling well, and is in the restroom. Young Master Richard is standing outside the door waiting for her." Was the explanation.

After Bruce greeted his guests, he turned to Willow who had been watching him with a strange smile on her face. "Is Buffy sick? Alfred said she was not feeling well."

"Just a little bug," Willow answered with a tiny shrug.

"Yes, a little bug. Just the stress of being – " His words were cut off when Willow jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. "Stress of the whole bad guy thing goin' down. Whole city is nervous about it really. Horrible thing. All this crime. I am going to go over to the buffet and strangle my sorrows in caviar and shrimp." Xander quickly disappeared into the crowd.

Bruce had watched the exchange with concern, knowing they were keeping something from him. Willow just smiled sheepishly and then backed a few steps away and then she herself disappeared into the crowd also. Yes, they were definitely hiding something from him.

It took him a few moments to find Buffy. She was standing not too far from the bathroom door as if afraid to get too far away from it. Richard was by her side. Actually he was standing in front of her, leaning back against her with her hand clenched tightly in his hand. He was dressed in a very nice gray suit with a teal shirt, the matching tie crammed into his blazer pocket. He was looking around in wide-eyed amazement. Buffy was talking to a woman from the museum, a glass of chardonnay in her hand. And she looked absolutely breathtaking in the strapless gunmetal gray satin dress she wore. Bruce wanted nothing more than to run his fingers over the soft skin of her shoulders and kiss the space right behind her ear. All he could do was stare at her, overwhelmed by the beauty of her and his love for her. This past week had been torture and seeing her after what had seemed like an eternity was maddening and arousing.

Richard looked up and spotted him. "Bruce!" He cried running across the floor, and practically tackling Bruce, making take a step back to regain his footing or be knocked over. Glad for the distraction, and really just glad to see the boy, he patted the boy on the head. "I've missed you!"

Bruce smiled, setting his glass on a nearby table, so he could pick the boy up in his arms. "Yeah? Well, I have missed you too." The words were very true. He had never really pictured himself a father before. He had had no reason to, but he had to admit that it would be nice to be one.

"When are you coming home?" Richard asked, and the pout on his face, a sign of his sadness, was heart wrenching.

"Soon, Richard, soon. I promise."

The boy then put his arms around his neck and hugged him, much like he had that night that Bruce had brought him back to the manor after the tragedy at the circus. For a moment, Bruce was so overcome with emotion, that all he could do was hold the boy back, and fight to keep from crying. He looked up over the Richard's shoulder as Buffy approached.

"Hi," she mouthed silently.

"Hi," he mouthed back, his mouth turning up into a small smile. She returned it. "I've missed you," he admitted, also not out loud.

He saw her jaw tremble, her eyes become moist. With arm still holding the boy, he reached out the other and drew her closer to him. He knew there was a room full of people here, more than likely watching them, but he didn't care. He motioned with a tilt of his head to the kitchen and she nodded. Richard raised his head up to look around as all three went into the other room.

"Are you alright?" He asked her, out loud this time.

She nodded, smiling at him, though he could see the sadness in it. She glanced at Richard and the boy nodded.

"You can put me down now," he said, and Bruce set him on his feet. And then the boy did something that Bruce did not expect. "I don't blame you for what happened to my family. And I could never hate you." And with that, he went back through the door and out to the party.

Bruce turned a confused look onto Buffy. She just shrugged. "He just knew. He knew you are Batman just like he knows I am the Slayer. No one told him." She shrugged again. "He says it is Gypsy magic. I believe him."

Bruce nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He wanted nothing more than to pull her body against his, and it was almost too much for him to resist. "Are you sure you are alright?" Letting the conversation drop for now about Richard. He would talk to the boy later about it when there was more time. "Alfred said you were ill…"

"Oh! I just had a little…um…too…much…to…drink?" She wasn't a very good liar. "Yeah! That's right. I was drinking just before we came here because I needed the liquid courage and just felt like guzzling something with high alcohol content…" She could see he didn't believe a word she was saying. "Slayers sometimes get flu-like symptoms during times of high stress. It is a proven fact. Ask Giles." Okay, that was the truth, but not the truth.

He knew there was still something that was being left out, and it angered him that she would not tell him. "Why do you feel the need to keep secrets from me? He said, a little more forcefully than he had intended.

"Just let it go," she warned, her features set hard, but her eyes pleading with him to do as she asked. "Please, Bruce. I can't…"

He nodded, taking a step away from her. "Fine. If you feel that is what you must do, then by all means, do it."

"Do what?" She asked, her anger flaring.

"Lie to me. Keep secrets. Why should I expect you to be totally honest to me when that is all that I have done with you?"

"That is not true!" She snapped.

"No? I think I have been. I told you everything about me, about my past, even things that Alfred doesn't know, and the man is like a father to me. But you, you pass my secrets around like they are currency, and then you keep yours hidden away."

He could see the anger flare in her eyes and her fist clench at her side. He wasn't a fool: he knew the damage she could do, but he was not about to back down.

"Pass them around… How dare you? I had to tell Willow and the others so they could help us. If you were uncomfortable with that, then you should have said something I gave you every opportunity."

He shook his head again. Another step toward the door. "This wasn't a good idea?"

"What? Me coming here?"

"Yes," he said. His heart melted a little when he saw her eyes widen, the tears that were forming there. So engrossed was he that he missed what was coming.

He had been punched, kicked, shot, stabbed, and just about everything else a person could suffer when fighting evil. But he had never in his life been slapped like he was at that moment. It more than stung and it sent him staggering up against the countertop. He tasted blood in his mouth and his eyes were unfocused. It felt like she had spun his head around on his shoulders.

"Fine! Then I will leave! And when you decide to take a few minutes and make up your damn mind what you want from me, then let me know. I am tired of this dancing around with you. You tell me that you love me and then you treat me like this." She stomped to the door, but just before she opened it, she turned and looked back at him. "And you better be damn glad I held back, Mr. Wayne!" And then she was gone, slamming the door so hard behind her, he was surprised it didn't fly off the hinges.

Bruce slid to the floor, unable to touch his cheek because it hurt too much to do so. The pain, however, was nothing compared to the stinging sensation where his heart had once been. Swallowing blood, pretty sure he had a tooth or two loose, he leaned his head back against the counter behind him, and finally allowed the tears to escape.