The next two months were a blur. Your days melted together, only distinguishable by doctor's visits and which job rejected you that day. The economy was in shambles; going on Indeed you were seeing hundreds of applications to a single Dunkin' barista job. You tried your best to forget about Bruce Wayne, and kept replaying the conversation over and over in the week following. His promise not to hurt you, the vague sense of safety and danger you got when you were around him... but it was soothing knowing that he was all the way on the other side of the US. This relief went away when it was deep into the night and you remembered he had all the money, all the tech, all the opportunity to hunt you down if he wanted to, but you did your best to trust the humanity he fronted with. You kicked yourself for forgetting to bring up the loan thing, adrenaline having been coursing through your veins blocking out any real coherent thought outside of the direct moment. It couldn't have been him, it could've been another donor. Maybe it was even fucking Alfred checking your texts when you'd gone to the bathroom or some shit.

The days still blurred together however, and secretly you relished not knowing what day it was; not knowing meant you didn't know how close the draw was. Your mother's clinical trial started beginning of August, and would be a biweekly shot... if she was accepted. At each and every appointment leading up to that fateful day the staff engaged in tempering assurances, albeit assuring hardly anyone would make it into that trial. For a split second whenever a doctor or nurse mentioned it at the end of her appointments you felt a white-hot rod in your throat that froze you in your tracks. The doctors said this was her only hope. And only if she avoids placebo.

Walter was growing increasingly anxious as well. Walter refused to leave her side to the point you had called the office to see if they would ever make an exception to bring a cat inside. No. Allergies. Your dad had taken to staying home with him, otherwise he would go on a food strike. It would take hours of petting and cooing to him to make him comfortable enough to eat again if your mom ever got out of his sight. It was better with your dad there, though. Instead of three hours of cuddling, it might take two for him to eat again. You tried not to think about what would ever happen if your mom's battle ended... poorly.

Your dad started going back to work, only part time. You made sure to spend all the time possible out in the living room with your mother and Walter while she knit and pulled pieces of yarn from Walter's teeth, and watched some sort of romcom. When your dad came back you would all start cooking dinner, then eat, engage in some sort of discussion (your dad had taken to downloading an 'icebreaker' app and would pull one question each day from it) and then you'd spend the rest of the night submitting job apps. It was monotonous, a bit draining, but also sweet. It was such a far cry from Gotham that at just over a month gone from the city, you'd started to wonder if you'd dreamt it and you'd actually been here with them all along... until the day before the clinical trial announcement when you'd woken up to a particular email.

Dear Miss Y/L/N,

It is at the referral of Gotham University President Dr. Janay Vry that we extend to you an offer of employment in the position of JOURNALISM DEPARTMENT ASSISTANT for the academic year of 2024-25. This is a part-time position requiring 20 hours of on-site time per week including outreach of no more than 5 hours per week. Duties include management of a public column in the Gotham Gazette and various office responsibilities as-needed. Compensation includes a housing stipend of fifteen-hundred dollars per month and an hourly rate of forty-three dollars and forty-five cents.

Please respond before Friday, August 2nd at 5pm. There is a mandatory meeting on Monday, August 5th at 12 noon in Challey Hall, Room 245. Flight and one-week hotel stay will be provided upon acceptance.

We look forward to hearing from you.

Gotham University Faculty Administrator

You stared at the screen as if you'd seen a ghost. For weeks you hadn't had to worry about Gotham; the crime, the sleazes, Bruce Wayne. I'm balls deep in rejections and now Gotham sweetens the deal. You kicked the sheets off of you then paused, horrified, before remembering Walter didn't sleep in your bed anymore.

Breakfast was as usual. Your dad made omelets and the three of you made small talk about the happenings of the day ahead. Today your mother was getting a visit from Debra, her old friend from the Y back when she volunteered there on weekends. Your dad was working the same shift-10am to 3pm-and would put steak on the grill when he got back. "Looks like it might hit a hundred if we get lucky."

"Y/N," She asked after taking a sip of coffee. "Can you make sure Walter's water is filled? I think I might go to Debra's to get out of the house." You looked under the table to see Walter slurping up the last puddles of his water and rose to fill it. You grabbed a few ice cubes so it could stay cold just the way he liked it; a sobering thought of leaving this for Gotham threatened to sever your spine. After pouring a few cups into his bowl and giving him a proper pet, your dad followed up on your job search. "Any luck on those applications?"

More than anything you didn't want to tell them about Gotham. But as your parents had talked, the more you began to mull over the money in your mind. Free housing. 1500 would be enough for a good studio. 800 a week. A plane ticket's 200 round trip. I could visit, easy. I would visit. It would only be temporary, I wouldn't probably last the whole year before I got offered a position at home. What if Mom doesn't get into the trial? What if she does and she gets placebo? How long does she have? Will it be painful? Do I need to think about a job right now? It would look fucking great on a resumé, which would increase odds of getting ahead of the job seekers in WA quite significantly...

"Hun? Any offers?" Your dad turned to look at you and you blurted out the contents of the email. A second of silent surprise then an uproar of celebration. "Thank heavens, that sounds wonderful! Did you already accept?"

You looked back at them with shock, your mouth hanging slightly open. What? Walter finished his food and brushed against your legs as he wandered to your mom, looking pitifully up at her slices of bacon. "Well, no. It's Gotham. I thought it was too dangerous." You guys nearly prohibited me from even going to Gotham in the first place...

"That was before we visited!" Your mom was ecstatic; she rose to come and give you a big hug, and your dad tried to swat Walter away from jumping on the chair to sneak a bite. You wanted to think it was cute, but your mind raced. How could they be so supportive? Unquestionably? "It's Gotham, Mom," You took her hug not in celebration, but in an effort to commit the feeling to memory.

"How much is the pay?" Your dad pulled in the chair so he couldn't jump and walked over to the sink to put his plate away. You shut your eyes and hid a sigh. Once they know how good the pay is they won't let me stay. "Good, I guess."

"What, 15, 16 an hour?" Your parents eyed you expectantly and you shrugged. "A little more. Than that." You followed the linoleum's vertical lines to where it met the carpet. "And a housing stipend." You cringed. They weren't going to let this opportunity go.

"Wowza, honeybee!" Your dad called you that when he was particularly pleased, which only served to coil your stomach lining. Gotham? Gotham. This was over Gotham. The place we got into screaming matches over me going to only a handful of years ago. "I don't know,"

"Why not? It sounds perfect." Your mom was a foot away from you boring her eyes into your soul. Did she really have no idea why you wouldn't want to leave? "Mom,"

"If this is anything about my cancer," So she did.

"Don't say that," You tried to play it off and stuttered something about how you didn't particularly like Gotham anyway, you could keep looking for jobs here, but she wasn't having it.

"No no. I want you to live your life, sweetie. This is a spectacular opportunity!" Her singsong tone was back and you suddenly wanted to throw up. You wanted to blurt HOW MUCH TIME IS LEFT WITH YOU? I CAN'T MISS IT! But, you didn't say anything and walked out of the kitchen back to your room. You didn't quite slam the door, but didn't make it silent. While your mother's selflessness was admirable, it was also frustrating. I only get one mom. You sat on the edge of your bed with your head in your hands. Whispers wafted from the kitchen but you couldn't make them out. The sound of footsteps, a pause, and then knocking on your door. "Hun, let's talk." It was your father.

"Dad, no, I'm tired,"

"You just woke up honeybun, I'm not buying that." He sat beside you on the end of your bed. It sagged a bit, not used to the extra company. He placed a hand on your shoulder. "What you're feeling about your mother, I've felt it too. I had the same conversation with her before going back to work."

"I'm sure she was receptive." You rolled your eyes. He squinted at you. "Now, where is this attitude coming from?"

"I don't want to tell her because it'll make her sad. But. I. I have no idea how much longer she has left. And working would just take time away from her."

"Have you thought about how that might make your mother feel? Her life has changed enough. She's already reminded enough about her... illness."

"Cancer, Dad. Cancer." He never said the words. He shuddered but continued on.

"Her life has been turned upside, over, and back around. She does not need more reminders of how sick she might be."

"How sick she is." You shot a glare at your father, just then realizing how much contempt you felt toward him. It came rushing out of you. "You didn't even think to tell me her mobility changed. I had to see her frail and in a fucking wheelchair,"

"Now, calm yourself!" He snapped at you and took his hand off your shoulder. You scooted a little further from him, annoyed. Your voice was softer but the rock in your chest remained. "You didn't even tell me. She's lost so much weight. Her hair changed. You didn't even tell me. You won't even say the word 'cancer'." Your voice was starting to raise and he stood up. "Talk to your mother."

"Why? Didn't you say that'd just add extra stress? Remind her of her 'illness'?" You stood up and watched him walk to the door. "You weren't in the room with the doctor when he told me. He said it's this trial or fucking nothing."

"Don't use that language in my house!"

"It's my house too." By this point your mind was racing and your palms were sweaty and clammy and head hot, hands shaking. "If she doesn't get into this trial and this medicine doesn't work she's fucked."

He paused with his hand on the doorknob. "If you brought it up to her... maybe you'd see she's come to more peace than you have about it." With that, he left.

・。。・・。。・・。。・・。。・

At 1:13pm the next day the phone rang. You hadn't talked to your mom about it as she was already headed out the door to see Debra, and didn't come back until late in the evening when she was visibly exhausted. Your dad helped tuck her into bed and she fell asleep quickly. Breakfast the next morning was fine, but tense; you were all anxiously awaiting this phone call. Your dad had stayed home from work just in case, and now your mom picked up the phone. "Yes, that's she. Yes. Yes, that's correct." And just by some small miracle, she'd gotten in.

Debra joined the party that evening. After a tearful raucous she was the first one your family called. Not ten minutes later she had arrived with a pie. "I baked it this morning. I figured we'd want something sweet no matter what."

The logistics were as-follows: your mom was going to be receiving her first shot of the drug (or, terrifyingly, a placebo) the following Friday. She would keep a diligent record of any side effects, even if they didn't seem related. Two weeks later she would receive her second dose and turn in the side-effect sheet, and that would continue for the following month until switching to once a month injections for the rest of the year. The first week of the new year your mother would get another scan, and that would be the first check-in. "They told me if everything goes how it should with the medication, I could not only see growth stunted, but be on the road to remission." Seeing how happy your parents were the rest of the evening only made the offer in Gotham more inviting; she'd been accepted, and if the results were, god forbid, horrendous in the new year, you would come home and help with the money you'd saved.

Clutching the laptop with white knuckles, you sent the acceptance email at 4:50pm the next day, ten minutes before the deadline. Half an hour later you were booked for your flight that Sunday at noon. Saturday was filled with laundry and packing bags; now Walter didn't want to leave your side. That night you hardly slept, staying up to pet him on the couch while your parents nodded off to a TV movie. The phrase mutually assured destruction came back to haunt you—you hadn't meant that to be a threat, but what if it was? You'd planned on never having to see him again… but the city was big. You could avoid him. And if you were going to trust him, he had said that even if you had written the exposé he wouldn't have hurt you.

You planned to come back once a month, leaving Thursday night and returning Sunday night. It fit well with her trial schedule for the latter portion of the year, and you'd be able to come with her to her appointments. When you got on the plane and tucked your carryon under the seat it didn't feel so terrible. It felt less like leaving and more like a weird vacation. But as soon as you woke up in Gotham a rock hit the pit of your stomach. Fuck. I'm back.

The W was the hotel Dr. Vry had set up for you, only a floor below where you'd stayed with your parents the last time. You had one week to find an apartment, and Dr. Vry said to list her on any applications to 'speed up the process'. While waiting on the Uber to pick you up in the airport you'd sent one application to a place in North Gotham, a gorgeous gem of a spot with a full-size tub and in-unit washer dryer. Just as you pushed the key into your room at the hotel, you received a confirmation email with the date to retrieve your keys. Fuck, they made it too easy.

With a lot of time on your hands and a new neighborhood to explore, you abandoned your room and wandered around the blocks surrounding. You went more north this time, to avoid any fleeting memory of Bruce and whatever the hell he'd been up to.

Northern Gotham was certainly more family-friendly. You saw couples taking their babies out on walks instead of throngs of people clustering around the various clubs on every block. There was only one club you'd seen so far, and that one allowed minors until seven pm. You'd lived more downtown, central city, and never had reason to go further north until now. The apartment you'd been in was less than a thousand a month, which made sense how riddled it was with crime. It wasn't even close to Washington, but this didn't quite feel like the Gotham you knew close to campus.

You noticed a cute themed coffee shop on the corner ahead and went in. There were a few people and a couple sitting around the small room, working on their laptops or reading a book. It really felt like it wasn't Gotham, like you'd been transported back home for a quick moment. You went on Maps and saw that your new apartment was only three blocks east of the cafe. Safety. Serenity. Never thought I'd find a crumb of it here. You resigned to coming here as often as possible. You ordered a macchiato and sat on a leather loveseat as you waited. Your jeans bit into your stomach and you adjusted uncomfortably, the leather loud as you wiggled. I guess this is why this seat was empty. You were called up for your drink quickly and thanked them as you walked out back from whence you came. Though you hadn't been in the store for five minutes, it was already raining. Even Washington didn't rain in August, but you couldn't be too pressed. The rain was nice when it wasn't forcing you to be locked in the city mansion with the... no.

Bruce doesn't own this city. There's millions of people here. With your coffee in hand you made the trek back to the hotel, and after hopping into the giant bed you sat with your thoughts for a moment. Challey Hall... that wasn't the journalism department. The term started the following week and alongside the fifteen-hundred stipend for rent and utilities, Dr. Vry had emailed you with an extra thousand in the form of a digital check. In her words it was a 'settle-in fee'. Monday would be the meeting and then Dr. Vry would give you a tour of the places you'd be frequenting. You'd receive your schedule, and Tuesday through Sunday would be reserved for settling into the apartment and getting items for it so it wasn't an empty box. Why are they being so generous with the money? It didn't feel right, not when there was so much inequality in the city. You'd make sure to cut some costs and offer whatever was left after your first paycheck to the houseless people around campus.

As you walked back you couldn't help but think about how gigantic the city was. When considering whether or not to accept the position, you had vastly underrepresented the impact of the sheer size of the city on your psyche. It made you feel completely unimportant and equally as lost. It only served your insecurities, making you feel like even more of an outcast than you already felt in your small town just outside of Seattle. Mar. You could call Mar. She could come over, and you could tell her about Bruce. That would be a good icebreaker. Open up to her about why you'd been so MIA, about your mother's cancer, about why you left and why you came back. You needed someone to talk to.

An hour later you and her were sitting on the hotel bed eating takeout noodles. "So you're saying you stayed in Bruce Wayne's HOUSE, then he helped you pack up your apartment, then dropped you off at the airport," Her face was scrunched together, deep in thought as she recounted the last hour of conversation. Some broth from the noodles was on the top of her lip. "Then he was the commencement speaker at your graduation, he talked to your parents after, then later that night he found you again and talked to you?"

"When you say it like that it sounds like stalking." You shrugged and took another chomp of noodles. Mar stared at you. "If it sounds like stalking,"

"It's coincidence, I promise." You hadn't completely kept out the part where you two hated each other, you made sure that was clear, but you sure as hell kept out the why. Mar was trustworthy, sure, but you didn't even want to remember he was Batman. It made you anxious and nervous to think about him in the suit. Then you would've had to explain that you and Bruce were now circling each other with ammo pointed at the other's chest if one of you stepped out of line.

"I don't know, it sounds creepy. What if he shows up here in the middle of the night..." Mar trailed off when she saw you look away. You hadn't told Mar about your mom yet, and didn't know if you wanted to for fear of it becoming more real. You wanted to leave that out of Gotham. Leave the trauma, leave the guilt, leave it for the weekends when you would fly back. You shrugged and made a joke about getting to be associated with a billionaire. "Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he got papped here. Might boost my journalistic impact." The conversation moved away from Bruce after that, and you and Mar spent the rest of the evening talking, eventually laying in bed scrolling Scypher on your respective phones. The second you loaded the app, however, you saw a Dior ad everyone in Gotham was swooning over, and couldn't hold back your gasp.

He had not only been photographed often by paparazzi, it seemed, going on regular walks to downtown shops and local charity events, but this was his first official campaign. Mar leaned over and nodded, saying 'everyone' was talking about the photo. "I thought you'd already seen it, that's why you brought him up."

"No, I haven't." You scrolled through the comments trying to hold back a cringe.

He can top me

BARK BARK BARK

y did he keep his BEAUTY FROM US FOR SO LONG?

daddy

when is the rest of the campaign dropping asking for a friend

You turned your phone off and rolled over in bed. You told Mar goodnight (she decided to spend the night since she hadn't seen you in so long), murmuring something about having to be up the next day for your orientation. Bruce Wayne. Billionaire playboy. What the fuck happened with him?