Incoming

It was harder than Bruce would’ve expected to be at the museum opening as ‘himself,’ for lack of a better term. He was adept at being ‘Bruce Wayne’… throwing off suspicion, gladhanding people, just foolish enough to be harmless, just competent enough for his company to be a good investment. It was an easy act to put on by this point.

But tapping into how he really felt, accompanying Shayera without any bullshit on tap to paper over all the… everything. That would’ve been a disservice to her. But she wasn’t as understanding as Diana, so he couldn’t quite express himself in that sense either. He was left not quite playing a role, but trying to figure out which role to play.

Sometimes he did feel very ‘Bruce Wayne,’ being with these beautiful women, pleasing them, enjoying them… he guessed people called that happiness. He didn’t know how they kept it up.

“Relax, would you?” Shayera asked him, bringing over two flutes of champagne. Velvet gloves held her arms almost to the shoulder, and both wrists were banded with bracelets. They glimmered even in the soft evening light, but seemed dull compared to the brightness of her eyes. “You look like you’re able to collapse into a black hole.”

“And wine will help?” Bruce asked her.

She pushed a glass into his hand. “It tends to. C’mon, Bruce, unwind. Or don’t you know how? Oh, God, you don’t know how…”

“It’s not been something I’ve been called on to do much.”

“Okay then.” Shayera slugged back her wine. “Try… getting something off your chest. Something that’s bothering you. Just… get it out in the open.”

“Crime. Injustice. Corruption…”

“Anything more specific?” Shayera asked, signaling a waiter with a tray of drinks. “C’mon, just a pet peeve. Something that bugs you. It doesn’t have to be an actual problem—“

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “There are too many heroes in Gotham.”

“You mean like people you can’t vouch for? That won’t take orders for you? I can see how that would be a problem…”

“No, they all want to be part of the ‘family’. It’s just that there are too many of them. It used to be just the Robins, the Batgirls, the Birds of Prey, maybe one or two others. Now there’s Gotham, Gotham Girl, Nightwing, Batwing, Nightbat, Batnight, Nightman, Knightman-with-a-K, the Dark Knight-with-no-K…”

“Really?” Shayera asked. “I didn’t think there were that many…”

“You don’t have to keep track of them. I do. Azrael’s back, and all he does is sit outside Arkham all the time, catching villains as they escape. He’s smug about it too. Keeps bragging about he caught the Joker and the Riddler and Two-Face, but it’s not like they had henchmen or a hide-out or were pulling off a heist. He just tripped them while they were slipping under a fence. That shouldn’t count.”