"Cassandra," Bruce nudges me in the shoulder. I stir, swatting his arm away. "Alfred and I were talking. I don't use the plane enough, so the gas shouldn't really be sitting in there."
"Get someone to remove it," I mumble, burying my head deeper into the pillow.
"I was just thinking I would go to New York."
"That's nice Mr. Wayne, you go and do that with Mrs. Wayne."
Bruce chuckles, "While that is a very good idea that I will remember for future reference. I was thinking I would just take my best friend."
"And who's that?" I mumble, throwing the warm blanket over my head to try and block his voice even more.
"You," he answers, pulling the blanket down to my ankles in one swift motion.
"Bruce," I shrill, my eyes snapping opening, my body raising to a sitting position, as I grab one of the pillows that's sitting next to me to playfully hit him in the chest with.
He laughs, taking the pillow from my grasp, "I knew that this was the only way you were going to get up," he comments.
"I'm not five anymore, you just could have asked me to get up," I cross my arms.
"Really?" Bruce questions, crossing his arms.
I roll my eyes, "Fine. You're right. No one likes a know it all." I huff. He smirks. "I don't have a dress."
"What you're wearing is perfectly fine. Or you know, you could just go across the road and get a dress. Or," Bruce smiles, walking away from me to pick up a dress that's sitting on the chair. "I could pick out a dress for you."
I raise my eyebrows at him, questioning him intently.
"Don't you like it?"
It's a simple dark green short dress with pleats to give it the allusion of fullness.
"I've just noticed that most of your closet back at your house is all work clothes."
"My work is my life."
"I've heard." He smiles and I narrow my eyes.
"Alfred informed me on the plane and I was reading your research on the way back home."
I nod my head, "Well know you know what my whole life consist of. That's embarrassing," I grumble, pushing myself off the bed and taking the dress in my hands. "I'll go change in my room."
I walk out of his bedroom, letting out a large sigh, gaining my breath again as I move down the hallway to my bedroom at the end of the long hallway.
I open the door, checking over my shoulder to see if Bruce has followed me, when I see he hasn't I shut the door and lock it. Putting my dress on the bed before turning around and turning on the overhead light. The room roughly the size of a standard classroom, a light mixture between a light peach and a pale yellow. The walls hand painted with little flowers of the two colors. The bed a queen, with ruffles and a large pale yellow blanket, adored with pillows. The closet door is wide open and clothes are strung all around the room. I sigh, closing my eyes.
I reach into my bag that Bruce left on the bed to fish out my phone. I check my messages, looking for Jonathan's contact to show up. When I see nothing I unlock my phone and press his contact, putting it up to my ear and waiting for the dial tone, it rings in my ears, waiting…. Waiting.
"You have reached the cellphone of Doctor Jonathan Crane…."
I listen to the prerecorded message. When the dial tone commences I start to speak,
"Hey Jonathan it's me. I was just calling to check in about the files. I have them all and I'm just wondering… yeah… call me back please." I hang up the phone and toss it on my bed, running my fingers through my hair.
I unzip my dress, letting it pool to the floor as I grab the other dress, slipping into it, putting my hands through the holes and zipping it up without a second thought. My hands find their way to my hair again, taking my two hair ties to construct a messy bun for the time being, while I grab my shoes. I tip toe through the room, dancing around the piles of unwashed and washed clothing to make it to the closet. Turning on the light with my right hand, the small room bursts into color, my heels all scattered around the floor. I spot the nude heel I'm looking for, bending down and snapping it up. But as usual the matching set are not together, I get on my hands and knees, pushing aside shoes as I do to sort through all of them, trying to match them as I look.
My phone starts to buzz, snapping me out of my focus, I abandon the shoe on the floor, trying my hardest to get out of the closet without falling to get to my phone. In the very last ring I slid the button open and put my phone up to my ear.
"Hello Doctor Cassandra Jackson speaking," I pant, putting my hands on my knees.
"It's just me," Julia says, one of my work friends. My heart sinks.
Julia is my third closet friend. I meet her my freshman year of college. We spent a lot of time pouring over romance novels in the late hours of the night. She is the romantic type. I'm not. Not like I don't want all of that hearts and flowers stuff to happen to me. I just know better. Girls like me don't get happy endings. They marry rich men and are treated like a pet and a prize. Which for some is all they could ask for. It's just I have my parents money. I want more out of life then wealth.
Julia got the job after I did. I had to pull some strings with this place... Let's just say that the new part of the building is a thank you for letting her in.
"Oh," my shoulders slump and I walk back to the closet to finish looking for my heel.
"What's wrong?"
"I haven't heard from Jonathan," I respond, pushing aside a pair of yellow heels, to grab the dark black Mary Jane from behind.
"Don't you think that's strange?" She questions.
"Totally, he normally calls me at least once by now. I'm sort of worried about him. You know he lives alone," speaking quickly, I get up and go to one of the drawers, pulling it out and grabbing at all of the heels that are in there.
"No," she curtly replies, "I mean that the two of you call one another that much. Why don't you two just move in together?"
"Are you insane?" I snap, slamming the drawer shut.
"If I was they shouldn't have hired me."
"Whatever you say," I grumble, throwing one of the dark blue Vera Wang's out the door. The heels make loud banging noise that I know can be heard though the phone.
"Can't find a matching shoe again?"
"Maybe." Always.
"Anyway, I was calling to tell you that he called me and wanting me to take half of the files."
"What?" I stop moving, sitting down on the plush tan carpet in the closet, pulling my knees into myself. Why would he call her over me? Can he really still be mad at me? I didn't do anything that bad. I'm sorry I didn't tell him about Bruce. If I had known I would have.
"Yeah he said he wanted to give me more leg work. I was wondering if you have copies of the files or the originals."
"He trusts me with the originals."
"Yeah he wants me to get them from you. I was wondering if I could stop over in ten? I'm half way there anyway."
"Yes you can but I'm not exactly home. So I'll just leave them with Wendy. Does that sound alright?"
"Where are you?"
I sigh, putting my head up to look at the ceiling, only then do I notice my nude heel on the top of one of the dressers.
"Riding."
"Writing?" She questions. "Where?"
Wow.
"Pretty deep into the property."
"Oh alright then, thought we could have a girls night. I have no idea how to do this stuff and you make it look so easy."
"All it is, is doing an in-depth analyses of the patients, what they might have and then you just assign them to a floor and a doctor. It really isn't that hard."
"It can't be, if he is giving it to me. He must think I'm as good as you now."
"Maybe, you'll have to ask him."
And with that I hang up the phone, throwing it down and scrambling to my feet, grabbing ten of the twenty files off the bed in one arm to be able to open the door. I start to run like a bat out of hell, down the hallway and to the stairs. I position myself at the edge of the railing, sitting down and pushing myself off so that I'm able to slide easily down. I jump to the landing, running down another hallway to the entrance of the house. Alfred looks up from his paper.
"Cassandra?" He questions.
"Gotta give these to Maeve," I scream, opening the large door with one forceful tug and darting down the stone steps from the door and bolting into the driveway, only to end up running on the grass.
"I'll call Wendy and tell her to meet you," Alfred calls.
I keep running through the well-kept lawn of the Wayne manner, the countless times I've done this coming back to me in ways of nostalgia, causing me to only push on faster and run harder. I run for minutes until I see the golf cart that I bought for Maeve as she started to grow older.
She was my governess since I've been born, the same as Alfred.
"Cara," she shouts in her thick Irish accent. "What's all the fuss about? Yer crazy," she laughs, stopping the golf cart so that she can come and get the files. Her blonde hair piled on her head, sticking at odd angles like always.
"Julia is coming any moment for these and I don't want to see her or to have her find out…."
"Find out whot?" Maeve takes the files from me, putting them under her arm.
"Bruce is home."
Her mouth falls open, "No," she shakes her head.
"Yes he is," I nod.
"Whot about Jonathan?"
"Unless he has told you himself that he has feelings for me, it doesn't really matter does it?"
She thinks better than to keep talking about the same topic and changes her mind, "Does he even know I'm a real person?"
"I mean when you came to my graduation I told him you were my Aunt…. So no."
"Bruce," she exclaims, I turn around looking to see him, standing next to a golf cart.
"When did you?" I start to speak but Maeve runs past me, throwing her arms around Bruce, he laughs, holding her tightly as she sobs into his navy blue sweater.
"I'm so glad you're back Bruce," she hiccups through her sobs. Bruce looks up at me with a blank expression, our eyes meet but nothing is said.
"Julia might be at the door," I interject, not because I don't want her to keep holding onto Bruce because I am afraid that Julia might notice all of us out here randomly on the property.
"Right," Maeve pulls away, wiping her eyes, "You're so grown up now."
"It's nice to see you," Bruce says to her, taking her hands and giving them a tight squeeze.
"So handsome," she gushes. "Right," she jumps up. "I'm going to get going," she turns away from Bruce and walks by me, putting her hand on my shoulder. "Have fun sweetie."
"Thank you for everything."
"You know that's what I'm here for," Maeve responds, getting into the golf cart and driving away.
I look over at Bruce whose eyes are still dancing with amusement.
"What?" I part my lips.
"You ran all the way here. I'm impressed."
"A girl like me gets bored," I smirk, walking to the golf cart and sitting in the passenger seat. Bruce shrugs his shoulders, turning around and getting in.
"You don't go out with the upper class?"
I narrow my eyes as he starts the golf cart, turning it around and trudging it through the lawn.
"Why would I? My last name is Jackson."
Bruce glances over at me to see if I'm kidding.
"You're father really didn't want you to stay in Gotham did he?"
"He wasn't happy with anything I've done my whole life," I look away from him, biting my lip.
"I thought he might have gotten better. You're very successful."
"I'm not married yet. I don't have a house of my own. I don't have rich friends. I don't have children."
"The marriage is his real issue isn't it?"
"Stop knowing my family really well."
"What about Doctor Crane?"
My eyes widen, "What about him?"
Bruce chuckles softly, shaking his head in amusement, "You really don't want to talk about him do you?"
"I don't see why he is important." I sigh, biting the inside of my cheek.
"He has to be pretty important if you do all of his extra homework."
"It isn't like that," I face him, his expression neutral.
"Whatever you say." But I know he doesn't believe me.
"You don't…" I stop speaking as we reach the house.
"Let's go to New York and stop talking about this."
We spend the plane ride with Bruce in the cock pit and me sitting behind him. We exchange idle conversation the whole time. He promises to get me lessons so that I could fly my own plane, he doesn't see the point of me not learning myself. He asked me more about work. I ask him to fill me in on Princeton and some of the traveling he's been doing. He asks about my family a little bit more, poking holes into my protective out layer until I'm laughing loudly without a care in the world.
Bruce picks a very uppity place in the upper east side of New York, renting the helipad, or so he says, he makes one phone call to a friend in New York and he's allowed to stay there for as long as he wants. I don't believe for a second Bruce has to pay.
Once we are seating Bruce starts to relax along with me, placing ourselves in the way back of the restaurant away from prying eyes.
"So, how is it that no one recognize you in Gotham?" Bruce asks, taking a small sip of the red wine he requested, a little bit out of practice, me getting my own bottle.
"I left when I was eighteen and didn't come back until I was twenty-two. That's enough time for people to forget about me. I wrote you letters." I state, taking a sip of my wine, my red lipstick coating the glass as I pull away.
"Did you?" He questions, his eyes transfixed on mine, the yellow glow of the room catching in his eyes causing them to dazzle slightly.
"I have them all. I give them to you sometime. I didn't have your address. I didn't have your phone number. Where were you really?"
"What exactly do you mean?" He questions, his shoulders slightly tensing.
"You expect me to believe you took holiday that long? They declared you dead."
"And yet here I am," he smirks, pushing backwards and holding his hands out. I slightly force my smile.
"Here you are." I cross my arms, raising my eyebrows.
"Did you stay in contact with anyone from High school?" Bruce asks, moving back to be closer to me.
"No, my mom still contacts Edward on occasion. But I don't contact him. I mean I do, here and there. I miss him sometimes. But I'm a very different person than who I was in High School…. And he hasn't really changed."
Bruce goes to open his mouth only to be cut off by the pretty waitress with slick brown hair and cat like alert eyes. She's all smiles as Bruce orders his food and all indifference to me. She sends me a slight glare as she collects my menu.
"She is going to spit in my food," I mumble as soon as she is out of ear shot.
Bruce laughs, "We'll trade plates and see what happens. How does that sound?"
A smile grows on my face as I nod.
"Boyfriends?"
"In college or-"
"Both."
"In college I dated a few guys. But I had Jonathan so I didn't really see the point of dating. And then no nothing since. A couple of dates, I get bored."
"Did you and Jonathan date in college?" Bruce asks taking another sip of wine as I put my glass down, knowing now that I should have taken a larger sip.
"No. No. No. Just friends. We've always been just friends."
"So your feelings for him are unrequited."
I narrow my eyes, "Who said I have feelings for Jonathan?"
A coy smile slips to Bruce's face, "I'm not exactly blind."
"I never thought you were. Look-," I start and Bruce cuts me off.
"It's fine."
"No. You want to make this into some type of competition. Jonathan isn't going to fight for me. He doesn't have feelings for me. And if he was, respect me."
"I always respect you. I'm sorry for pushing it."
"It isn't like I don't know how to handle unrequited feelings. I didn't do half my life."
"Don't give me that. You loved Edward."
"And I was in love with you."
"Ah," he says, nodding, "past tense."
"Don't pretend you ever loved me when we were younger."
"I did love you. Just not in the same way. I loved you when I came home before you went off to college."
"Before you left for seven years."
"I'm sorry."
"I know you're sorry. That doesn't," I start to hiss only to be cut off by our food arriving.
"That's mine, my girlfriend ordered my meal." The waitress's eyes opened wide as mine did the same only for two different reasons. His girlfriend?
"I'm just going to take this back and get a new dish, this one has something on it." She stutters, walking away with the meal.
Once we know she is far enough away the two of us burst into laughter.
"I knew it," I choke out between laughing sobs.
"Her face," he laughs again harder.
"What was this about me being your girlfriend?"
Bruce stops laughing and raises his eyebrows, "Made it easier to explain who you were."
"I'm not your girlfriend."
"You could be if you wanted to."
"So you met no girls on your travels?" I narrow my eyes, picking up the wine glass and swishing around the liquid in my hand.
"Didn't want to."
I say nothing, parting my lips softly, as if I can't believe what I'm hearing.
The plate returns and we start to eat.
"Want to play a game?" I question him, knowing that the two of us could keep talking about the last seven years apart from one another. I could tell Bruce everything about me, I could tell him about my friends and about my work.
But I couldn't tell him about Madame Raven. I couldn't tell him about how I had been trying to fight crime in the city on my days off. How could I explain that to Bruce?
I know that he'll understand. Can I trust him?
"What kind of game?" He asks, looking directly at me.
"Questions. I'll ask one. You answer honestly. Then I answer."
"Why do we not know one another?"
I slide my phone open and pull up a set of questions, "What's my favorite color?"
"Pale yellow and orange."
"When I was younger. Pastels. I love them. All of them. And navy."
"Okay what's mine?" He rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed he was wrong.
"Black."
"Fuck you," he mumbles, looking down at his beef. I look away and giggle. "You heard that didn't you?"
"Of course I did. Now do you agree to play?"
"Fine, yes."
"Who has been the biggest influence in your life?"
"Start with the fun ones why don't you? It used to be my father. I don't see how it can be anymore. Alfred is my father in a sense though. I look up to him still. It wasn't easy raising me. I know that much. Now you," Bruce cuts a piece of his beef and puts it in his mouth.
"My grandmother, my father, she is such a free spirt even though she comes from all of that money. It never clouded her judgement. She was still the same wide eyed England girl."
"I love your Grandmother."
"She loves you too. Please call her tomorrow and tell her you're alive. What kinds of things really make you laugh?
"Nothing I'm a cold stone."
"You're an asshole. Take this seriously." I laugh lightly, looking up from the question to meet his eyes across the table.
"Well what makes you laugh?" He turns the question on its head and I just can't answer it.
"We can skip that question," because the answer is really nothing. I do laugh, I just don't have things I specifically laugh over.
"Ha," he points out, "You can't answer it either."
"Nope I can't." I take a bite of my pasta, chew and swallow before asking the next question. "What's your favorite place in the entire world?
"I loved Russia when I went. I spent a year there."
"Of course you did. Mine was Ireland. I went there on my year abroad. It really changed my life, I'm still trying to convince Maeve that getting a cow is the best bet."
"Do you want me-"
"I have my own money. But thank you for the jester."
He nods, "I have a question, who is your best friend?"
"Naomi. I met her at the bookstore I go to. We are basically sisters at this point."
"I want to meet her."
"And you shall. Favorite movie of all time?"
"I haven't watched a lot of movies. I liked American Psycho, James Bond."
"You would."
"Okay then you then. Judging me."
"Breakfast at Tiffany's. I wanted to be her for such a long time." And I am now. "What's your biggest goal in life right now?"
"To find myself again. I feel like I left such an empty life behind."
"It's understandable with your-" I stop as he nods, knowing what I'm going to say, "Get the approval I need to have Arkham be expanded. We can't hold everyone anymore and I hate turning them loose early. I want to be able to have day patients that aren't "insane"" I say with air quotes.
"You really do love your work."
"I really do care about people. What is your favorite way to spend a Saturday?"
"Sleeping."
"Don't be a-."
"Trust me I'm not kidding."
"Reading."
Bruce smiles, taking a sip of wine, "That hasn't changed."
"No. I don't think it ever could. If you could be any person for a day, who would it be?
"Dead or alive?"
"Doesn't matter."
"J Edgar Hoover."
"Respect for that." I point to myself, "Taylor Swift."
"Seriously?" Bruce starts laughing.
"She has great music."
"What are you five?" He keeps laughing, causing me to scowl.
"What are you three? She's the same age as I am. I should be allowed to listen to her music if I damn well want to."
"Fine fine. Just please tell me you're music taste isn't that bad."
"Okay old man with his classic music," I sick my tongue out.
"Okay Fleetwood Mac. Take it down a notch."
"Fleetwood Mac is a religion."
"So is Queen."
"Hey," I exclaim as the check comes. "I have never doubting that for a second."
"The Police? Simon & Garfunkel." He keeps listing others.
"Okay," I put up my hands and go to take the check, Bruce stops me.
"I'm paying."
I roll my eyes.
"Does that go against you feminist views?" He challenges.
"Shut up."
"We could split the check. I'm fine with that."
"Just pay for it," I say as my eyes catch sight of someone with a camera. "So much for privacy." Bruce looks directly over and slightly growls.
"I thought this was far enough."
"You're Bruce Wayne. I don't think you can go anywhere without something knowing you."
"You'd be wrong about that. Oliver Queen has these issues to."
"Who? That asshole from Central City? He's a child."
"We are around the same age and don't' judge him. You don't know his life," Bruce sharply scolds me. My eyes open wider in shock.
"I'm not judging him. I just read."
"If you believe everything you read we wouldn't be friends."
I get up from the table and walk over to the reporter, a handsome man with black short hair and piercing blue eyes shaded by glasses. He's wearing a button up plaid shirt and jeans.
His eyes grow wide as I approach.
"My name is Doctor Cassandra Jackson. I have a PHD in Psychology and Biology and a degree in Chemistry. Cassandra is spelled C-A-S-S-A-N-D-R-A and Jackson is spelled J-A-C-K-S-O-N."
"How-" He says his facial expression showing fear and his voice sounding frazzled.
"You stick out. Where do you work? Clearly not the New York Times, they never would have let you out in public wearing that. So you're not from this state." I notice is name tag, 'Clark Kent, Daly Planet.' "I read that paper. I have a bunch of different ones sent to my house." Alfred has a bunch sent to Bruce's house that I read with him every morning. "That's one of them."
"You like the news?"
"When it is the news. What has peaked your interest in here Mr. Kent?"
He stutters slightly, "You're very assertive."
"I am, that didn't answer the question."
"You're sitting with the news."
"Mr. Wayne?" I look behind me as he speaks to the manager. I turn back to Mr. Kent.
"Are you two that formal?"
"No," I shake my head. "We are friends."
"Just friends?" Mr. Kent raises his eyebrows.
"None of your business."
"Can you at least tell me where he has been the last seven years?"
"I've been finding myself across the world. I decided to come home because I missed my family and my friends," Bruce says from behind me, slipping his arm around my waist and pulling me in. "I'll be in the car," he kisses the top of my head and exits the restaurant.
"Just friends," Mr. Kent says smiling.
"You're a very handsome man Mr. Kent."
"Please call me Clark."
"Please call me Doctor Jackson." I say with a tight lipped smile. "And handsome faces, should know better than to put it in places they don't belong. We wouldn't want something bad to happen to it. Now would we?"
His mouth opens a little, "You're a spit fire aren't you?"
"Oh very much so," I take the camera from his hands, he goes to take it from me. "I can make one phone call to your boss without even batting an eye. He knows me," I look down at the photos of Bruce and me, picking my favorite. The reason Mr. Kent's boss knows me is because my family once paid him off to keep a secret. I hand Clark back the camera, "Use this one. It's natural."
"How do you know my boss?" He questions.
"I know a lot of people Mr. Kent. Have a wonderful rest of your day. I have a feeling this won't be the last time we meet." I turn away and take five steps, turning back around, something about him did strike me as off. "You know," I start and he looks up. "You look a lot like Superman."
And with that his eyes open wider.
"Thank you." He tries to mask the shake in his voice.
"I don't know if that's a complement or not."
"It depends on what you believe."
"Very true," I say and flick my hair over my shoulder, walking out of the restaurant.
Bruce looks over at me from where he is standing by the black car we arrived in.
"He's still going to run it."
"If he was smart he would just sell the story to the Gotham Newspaper," I say as Bruce opens the door for me and I slip inside.
I wait for Bruce to take the seat next to me. The diver starts right away to take us back to the plane.
"You would like that?"
"No I would like him to pull the story."
"Worried about everyone knowing who you are again?"
"No, worried about my boss."
"You know," Bruce says after a moment. "He looked very familiar."
"Like Superman. I know I said that."
"But Superman wouldn't be dumb enough just to put glasses on would he?" Bruce questions.
"If you're going to be a superhero your face should at least be somewhat covered."
"Like Madame Raven?"
"Who? The woman who runs around Gotham. Yeah like her." I look back out the window.
We spend the rest of the car and plane ride asking one another questions. I really do feel like I'm re-meeting Bruce again.
He opens the door for me as I slip inside the mansion. As he shuts the door he makes a jester to take my coat. I slip it off and hand it over.
"I don't want to wake Alfred up," he says, putting it over his arm as he walks to the coat closet.
"There you go again thinking he sleeps."
"He's still up? It's almost eleven at night."
"Is it really?"
"Yes," Bruce says, pointing to the clock in the room. "Go ahead check your phone again." He says looking at my hand gripping my bag, my thoughts going to Jonathan.
"He isn't going to call me and I do have to do those files. I left myself the harder ones," I sigh, heading up the stairs, heels in hand.
Bruce follows close behind.
"So he has trust issues?" He asks, bringing Jonathan back into the forefront of the conversation. I sigh, shaking my head.
"No. I basically am his right hand woman."
"Right," Bruce nods, "because he has trust issues."
I sigh, louder this time as I push open my door, Bruce follows close after me even though I am going to shut the door.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm having a conversation with you and I'm not going to just stop it on account of you changing."
"You're frustrating," I sigh and look down at the files on the bed. Fuck Jonathan and his bullshit. I turn back to look at Bruce, clapping my hands together. "I say we move around everything that back your home." I comment as I slip out of my dress and put on my only pair of sweat pants.
"It's my parents' home." Bruce rolls his eyes.
"It's your home. It's Alfred's home." I sigh, checking my phone one more time to see if Jonathan has called me. He hasn't but Julia has.
"It's your home too," he says, I meet his brown eyes, smiling. Forgetting Jonathan yet again.
"I missed you."
"And I missed you."
"Let's go," I say, grabbing the hair tie from my wrist and putting my hair into a messy bun. I reach into my pocket, throwing the phone onto the bed and walking out of the room, giving him a second glance to see if he's coming.
"I have to change you know," he says, taking off his suit jacket and throwing it on the bed, following me out of the room.
"You have one minute," I jokingly reply, putting my hands on my hips, my baggy cat t-shirt crumpling up as I do.
He rushes into the bedroom and slams the door. Allowing me to turn around and cast my eyes around the hallway, I've been here so many times before, I've walked down this hallway since I could walk. It just feels different. The whole house feels different, as though it is finally alive now that the true owner is home.
The door opens and Bruce walks through, running his fingers through his hair and messing up the perfect gelled hair.
"Why'd you do that?"
He scrunches up his face, "feels fake to me."
A black tee-shirt hugs his chest and arms, along with a pair of grey sweatpants, I smirk, walking over and running my fingers through the gel, causing Bruce to slightly tense and then relax.
"I agree. It isn't the real Bruce. It's more Bruce Wayne."
That causes him to smile. He nods his head down the hallway and we walk down the grand staircase yet again and into the ballroom, dust covers the floor, chairs, piano, the tables and any sort of surface. The white cloths meant to protect the surfaces are covered in a large black film of dust.
"So you both never went in here?" Bruce asks looking around the room.
I shake my head, putting down the broom, mop and bucket on the floor. Bruce puts his supplies next to mine and walks to the window opening it up to let in the slightly cold air.
"So shake out the white tarps and then put them back on while we clean the floor."
"Or we could just wash the floor twice?"
I roll my eyes, grabbing the broom from the dusty floor and walking to the dead center.
We worked for hours, throwing dusting rags at one another, sliding on the floor and into each other's arms.
"Do you remember when you tried to pour water on the floor to make it an ice skating rink?"
"One time," I laugh, shaking my head, thinking about my seven year old self.
"And then I-"
"You asked your parents to rent out a whole ice skating rink."
"Never wanted to learn how to skate on ice. Glad I do now."
"Why Mr. Wayne? Have you been doing that a lot lately?"
Bruce skates across the floor in his black socks and takes me into his arms. I playfully try to fight him, only to have his grip on me tighten he twists me around so that he can quickly kiss me on the lips.
"I keep thinking you're not real," I whisper, as we break apart, cupping his face with my hands.
"That's what I keep thinking about you." He bashfully replies.
Our eyes stay linked until Bruce pulls away and walks over to the piano.
"Can you still play?" I ask, wondering if it's like riding a bicycle.
"Let's see shall we?" He sits down and puts his fingers in the right sections.
"Show off," I mumble, crossing my arms.
"Come here," he says, one hand behind his back as the left starts playing just a little bit.
"I should go upstairs and get my work," I nod to the door. Bruce stops playing and looks over his shoulder.
"That's what your life is now isn't it? All work all the time?"
"I've gotta stay busy," I shrug my shoulders at him.
"Go get them, you can work in here can't you?"
I nod my head and leave the room. As soon as I do Bruce starts to play, the soft sounds of a perfectly played piano echo through the hallway, I go to walk up the stairs to see Alfred doing the same.
"I knew you would still be up," I smile as the two of us walk up the stairs.
"Cassandra," he starts, concern on his face. My smile drops.
"Alfred?" I question, scared of what he might ask. "We are going to clean up the buckets and everything."
"I have no issue with the buckets. It's about Master Wayne's heart."
This causes me to pause on the staircase.
"I don't think I understand?" I question him, gripping the railing harder.
"You like Doctor Crane correct?"
My mouth slightly drops, "yes."
"So how does Master Wayne come into play?"
I smirk, "First of all. I don't think Bruce likes me that way. Second off Jonathan doesn't like me like that at all. So why are we talking about this?"
"Bruce has always liked you as much than a friend, it just never has been appropriate until now."
My mouth drops, "Please Alfred-"
"I know you will make the right choice Cassandra. I just want you to be okay in the end."
"I will," I nod, putting my hand on Alfred.
We make it to the landing and he retreats into his bedroom. I walk quickly down the hallway to my bedroom, grabbing my work, and looking over at my phone with a longing expression.
I come back down the stairs, Bruce is mid song, he doesn't stop playing, just looks over his shoulder.
"I have to go into your library for a little while. Can I leave the door open to hear you play?"
A smile spreads on his face, "That's fine."
I nod, walking out of the ballroom and go to the library, sitting down on the floor and spreading out all of my work. I pan through numerous amounts of books, writing notes on a separate sheet of paper, throwing pencils, pens and highlighters across the room, Bruce plays softly in the background. I pause closing the last file I've checked over twice, close my eyes only to be woken up by Bruce taking me into his arms.
"Hey," I whisper, nuzzling my head into his chest.
"Shhh, go back to sleep."
"I should go home."
"You are home," Bruce whispers.
He leads me up the staircase and into his bedroom, putting me down and leaving the room, he comes back with my toothbrush and two cups.
"Here," he puts the toothbrush into my hands. I brush my teeth, swishing around the water in my mouth and spitting it out. He takes the cups and toothbrush away and into the bathroom. I fall back to the bed and nuzzle myself into the sheets, feeling the expensive fabric, I know it no longer smells like Bruce due to the fact that I slept in this bed for months straight. I close my eyes and reopen them as I feel a dip in the bed, Bruce turns off the light, shedding his shirt and throwing it on the chair. He turns putting the blanket up closer to me before laying down.
"You're so hot," I whisper, looking at him with lazy eyes.
"You're beautiful. Good night," he says as I close my eyes.