Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Batman universe.
The night wind feels good against my burning skin. Wind is different during the night. Believe me, I would know these things. Night wind is more refreshing than day wind. It's cooler, but not biting at this time of year, and has this mysterious feel to it, like it carries on it all the secrets of a lover's whisper.
I'm not running away. I say that over and over in my head. I'm just … out for a gentle fly. I'll go back. Really.
Bruce was fast asleep when I crept out of the dark room that currently holds my heart prisoner. I just needed to escape for a little bit. I'll be back before sunrise.
Still as confused as was I was before, I fly on. I had thought that after the things that had passed, everything would be steeped in a clearer, brighter light. Not so. I'm not regretful, it's only been a few hours and regretting it right away would be almost insulting, just still as confused as ever. I don't even know if I'm going to leave soon now. The one rock in my existence, my one sureness, has been turned upside down. What a pitiful life mine is, when my one certainty is running away from things. Eh, I never claimed not to be a coward.
My body still burns with Bruce's heat and I can feel him dispersing in my bloodstream, sending himself into every corner of my existence. Instinctively, I turn around and rush back to Wayne Manor. Bruce is still where I left him, safe and sound. Alfred has fallen asleep in front of a fire, a book on his blanketed lap. I peek at the cover, Montaigne. Not the most educated person, I don't recognize the name, but assume it's probably over my head anyway.
I debate going to my own bed, but settle carefully and stiffly in Bruce's, as far from him as possible. I wake up alone with the sun peering at me through the wide open window. A breeze, impossibly different from last night's, curls the sheets against me. I stumble into the hallway. I hear noise in the kitchen. Bruce is making me food, listening to a classical music station on the small radio that I thought Alfred had disposed of.
I take a seat at the counter and refrain from speaking at the moment. I gaze steadily at Bruce's back, his muscled, perfect back. I know he knows I'm sitting here, but he doesn't acknowledge me in the slightest. The music almost puts me back to sleep, and I change the station.
"Oh, what a night! Late December back in '63. What a very special time for me, 'cause I remember what a night. Oh, what a night. You know, I didn't even know her name, but I was never gonna be the same. What a lady. What a night."
I change it again, swiftly. I catch the tremor in Bruce's shoulders that is the only give-away that he just laughed.
"And she bangs, she bangs. Oh baby, when she moves, she moves-"
I am mortified, almost at the point of throwing the damn thing against the wall, when Bruce's hands enclose mine. I look up into his eyes, his face creased in a rare smile.
"Seriously, who still plays that song?" I mutter, as he stretches over the counter to kiss my forehead. It's a sweet moment, one that would be antagonized over during a movie production. Who knew those moments actually existed?
Without another word to calm my nerves, Bruce turns back to his oven. Was it that bad? I wish I could read his mind; that would make things so much easier. I should have left last night when I was free.
The elephant sits in the room, that's the common cliché, but right now it's a whole universe that squats in the kitchen. A universe filled with doubt and unspoken words.
"I'll be out by tonight," I finally say in a small, small voice.
Bruce freezes. "Good," I can imagine him saying it in my head, even as he turns to me with wide eyes. "Wha-what?" I really do cherish these rare moments when he looks so … vulnerable.
"I can pack up and leave tonight, maybe even this afternoon … if you want me to," I say, my face as blank as the gray area beyond the known universe.
"Why would I want that?" Bruce asks me, his tone on the brink of condescending and visage again unshakable.
I shrug miserably. Way to screw everything up, Breezy, I scold myself.
"I don't want you to leave," Bruce says. He knows he's upset me, and he feels bad. I let him for a moment.
"Last night was a mistake, admit it," I scowl.
"Last night was not a mistake," Bruce says, more defensive than I foresaw, "Don't ever think that."
"Okay, not a mistake," I concede quickly, not wanting to anger him, "But a one time deal." His face visibly droops and it confuses me so much I almost stop. "And I'm just saying, if you would rather me get out of the way, I'll be gone and you'll be free to forget."
"You're really stupid sometimes, you know that?" Bruce says angrily. Whoops.
"Yeah. Why?"
"I don't want you to go. I don't want that to be a one time deal. If there's any way that you would … stay indefinitely … just say the word and I'd do anything."
"You don't want me here forever. I'd get annoying," I joke, swallowing my feelings.
"I'm not kidding."
"I know. Me neither. But Bruce, I can't stay. We both know it. So, let's not push this any further, if it can get any further," I mutter under my breath, and then continue, "It'll only end badly." He closes his eyes and I almost think he's going to cry. How ridiculous. But then he nods his head and begins to walk past me.
"But I'm still here now," I say, grabbing his arm. I don't want him to ignore me or hate me or stop … loving me, I just don't want to sleep with him again and make it harder when I leave. He twists in my grasp and pulls me off the countertop, kissing me more passionately then I remember him ever doing before.
"Okay, I'll stay," I grin widely, probably too widely, "For now." The statement darkens his eyes, but he doesn't ask me what I thought he was going to as we sit down side-by-side at the table.
"Breezy? There's been something that's been on my mind since I met you."
"Shoot," I tell him, not perceiving the implications.
"How did you get into the League of Shadows in the first place?"
I drop my fork and push away from the table, flight-or-flight instinct taking over. Yeah, I know, duh, Breezy, it's fight-or-flight. Nope, wrong. I'm part bird, so that gives me like, three parts flight and only one part fight.
"Breezy!" he calls after me. I flee to my bedroom and lock the door. "This door won't stop me!" he shouts, "Come on, Breeze!"
"No!" I shout back.
"Breezy! You're being childish! We just … connected more deeply than some people will ever know and you won't even tell me some of your history?"
He ends up breaking down my door, and pins me on the bed underneath his body, "Please?"
"Fine," I push him away and huddle in a corner of the bed. I wait until he makes himself comfortable, and rush into it, not wanting interruptions.
"It was about ten years ago. I was in northern Canada and a group of Eskimo men found my hide-out and … would've killed me if Ducard hadn't shown up. I guess they were criminals he had been tracking, and he caught up with them while they were killing me." The shadows cast angry furrows on Bruce's face, but they're not the only factor. "They didn't … rape me or anything, they were just looking for money and food and a fun kill. Besides, they were a bit scared of me, I think. Anyway, Ducard shows up, beats 'em down, and then takes me. I was unconscious and he was planning on just taking me to the nearest village and dumping me, but he was curious and the people probably would've killed me anyway and he knew it. I think his curiosity actually saved my life, because he would've left me had he not been so intrigued. Over the next few months I travelled with him, all over the world. I had never been accepted by any human being before, at least not one that didn't want to stick me in a cage, so it was a special kind of feeling."
I laughed once, scornfully, "At one point, I thought I loved him. But it was sick, and thankfully he never capitalized on it. Anyway, he taught me to channel the hate that I had, but had never put into words, for the society that feared me. The pain, the loneliness I felt every moment of my life was almost unbearable. We are not made to be solitary creatures; even the bird part of me craves fellowship. Have you ever been left out of something?"
Bruce thinks back for a moment, and then says, "Not really. The only thing I can think of is my grade school years when I would arrive at the playground every day conveniently just in time for everyone to finish playing kickball. It was earth-shattering, at the time."
"Okay, think of that feeling, only amplified about a gazillion times," I grin weakly, "That's what it was like for me. No parents to love me, no friends to comfort me, no people to claim me. Only Henri Ducard and his magic words. So, naturally, when he told me about his League of justice-enforcing soldiers, I immediately put my name on that list. He manipulated me into it, really. I joined, rose through the ranks in an accelerated time, passed my initiation, and become a member of the League of Shadows. Only after did I realize fully what I had done, and they had no intention of letting me go then."
"So how did you get out?" Bruce asks, wide-eyed, "Or rather, how did you become nurse-maid?"
"I failed my last few missions horribly. Every one they sent me on in the last two months, I screwed up. Ra's wanted to kill me, but Ducard spared my life. They kept me there as a slave, unable to escape, unable to fight, unable to live. Until they let me go, of course, which I still don't quite understand."
"What made you change your mind?" Bruce wonders.
I sigh heavily, "Another story for another time." Bruce sighs disappointedly too, but doesn't argue.
"Well, thank you for telling me that much," he kisses the top of my hand as Alfred walks into the room.
"I wanted to remind you of your party tonight," Alfred says, his crisp, clean voice breaking through the dusty memories, "And Ms. Dawes left this for you. She will not be attending the party."
"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce takes the box but doesn't open it in my presence, leaving me to wonder what's inside.
"This is going to be a big night," he tells me, "Are you ready?"