I Bet On Losing Dogs

Oblivion

You flip through your clothes, realizing you didn't pack anything more formal than that simple dress from last night. You debate wearing it again, going against it. You grab your red knitted sweater, a black corduroy skirt, black tights and plan on your white boots. You hope it matches, seeing that you burned fifteen minutes being indecisive. You feel unwarranted pressure to look stylish since you've been upgraded to a fashion icon from the now silent notifications from your accounts. You decide to break your silence early, taking a quick and blurry selfie in your bathroom. You keep it obscure, hiding your face. You've seen some celebrities take pictures like that before and want to emulate them to keep your mystery. It feels silly to post, you think, as you brush your hair. You decide to keep it down. You check the time frowning. Twenty minutes left. Did you really take that long for that messy pic? You hesitate before choosing to do a quick cat eye with your eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss. Keep it neutral. You stand out enough with your sweater. You leave your phone in the room as you cross to grab your jacket. You pause, wonder if you should have matched with Bruce, but see you're cutting it close with only minutes to spare.

He's already downstairs, pacing. He's in a regular suit and tie, frown in place. "I found these cufflinks," Alfred says, coming in the view as you walk down.

He shakes his head, "I don't like those."

"You don't have time," Alfred responds quickly, helping Bruce put them on. His eyes meet yours, traveling to your shirt. "It's bright." Heat rushes your body as embarrassment takes over. "I didn't bring my fancy clothes." He shares a look with Alfred, and he nods as if Bruce shared a telepathic message.

"No time to waste," Alfred says, finishing the cufflinks. "Be aware of your surroundings."

His car waits in the driveway, and he doesn't bother opening the door for you. You try not to let it bother you as you get in. Silence fills the car, louder than the little car's engine. His focus gaze doesn't waiver from the street, and he doesn't make any conversation. As you get on the highway, he revs his engine, gaining more speed than necessary. You grip the side of the door and the armrest in the middle, saying silent prayers. He smirks at your reaction, slowing down. "We're not going to get into a car accident." You don't return his smile, sick to your stomach. There's not that much traffic towards the city hall beside a small crowd. You can't make out the faces as Bruce heads towards the parking garage.

He parks close to the entrance in the restricted parking. It looks like it'll rain, but you didn't check the weather. You stare out your window, anxiety building in the pit of your stomach. You don't even notice that Bruce got out. Though the crowd is about twenty feet away, you can hear the flashes, cameras clicking and people talking as they wait. Your door suddenly opens, Bruce snapping you back to reality.

"We don't have time." He helps you out of the car but steadies you before heading to the conference. His hands rest on your shoulders, running them down your arms. The sudden warmth and care make you shiver. His gaze softens as he brings you in for an embrace. You notice the flashes behind you; your cover blown. Bruce grimaces towards the commotion but keeps you near as he leads you to the press conference, ignoring the journalists' questions about you, the attempted robbery, and the Gala pictures. You also get questions about your whereabouts, your parents, and your clothes. You follow Bruce's example and say nothing. You're also too scared to say anything, teeth chattering from the pressure and anxiety.

The hall is cold, but you see Mayor Real and Harvey. They're standing close, exchanging a tedious conversation. She's keeping her face up; Harvey's back to you. As you get closer, you hear the tail end. "You've been elected because the judges need someone to lead this investigation. It's not a handout." Her voice is stern. "You can take it or leave it, Mr. Dent, but we're going after..." She stops seeing Bruce. She smiles, touching Harvey's shoulder. "Mr. Wayne. Glad you made it. We almost went out there without you." She shakes his hand and then yours. "Glad to see you're okay (Y/N)." Harvey shakes your hand next. You wonder where his wife is until you turn back to the door. She is standing by in a black fur coat, boots, and black glasses. She's dressed for a funeral.

Your fingers interlace with Bruce's. You expect him to let go, but he gives a reassuring squeeze. He doesn't provide the media with the shot they want as he continues to his spot. He stands behind you, keeping your hand in his. It's more for you as you're blinded not just by the flashes but the bright lights they set up. They're shouting questions at you as well, primarily repeats. Your hands are hidden from view behind Harvey and Elvira. As your eyes wander across the crowd and around, you notice there are plains clothes police in the group as well as people in the building across from here. Your heart races as you think of the millions of things that could happen. Bruce rests his other hand on your shoulder again, giving a gentle squeeze. He provides the onlookers just that. You want to see his face, but keep yourself still. His hand drops as the Mayor steps up to the podium.

"When I chose to run for Mayor of Gotham, I wanted to change Gotham into a place where our children can grow up and know they can achieve their dreams, not worry about if they'll have their parents at the end of the day. This is not the Gotham that we can be, not the Gotham I promised. Though I was elected due to unfortunate circumstances, I will follow through with my promises. We lost many people last year through the extension of the tragedy, but we are resilient and will rebuild. Gotham, let me be the first to introduce you to our new District Attorney, Harvey Dent!" The crowd claps as Harvey steps forward. It's the first time you've seen him nervous, but he flashes that charming smile.

"Gotham! I pledge to serve you and bring all corruption to an end. My first issue is for the arrest and trial of Mr. Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot for his attempt on not just my life, but of those who attended the Mayorial Gala and the countless others." He pulls out a folder with some papers and slams it on the podium, keeping his smile. The crowd claps, but there's tension—your hearts in your ears. There are more speeches, but you're not there. It's almost as if you're not within yourself, watching yourself from above. Harvey's confronted your attempted kidnapper, and all you can do is stand and look pretty. Your hand aches, bringing you back to yourself. Bruce keeps his face emotionless, but your grip on him is tight.

As it ends, Bruce does not stay for chatting. It's not safe. Shockingly, no one tried to assassinate anyone tonight. He helps you into your car this time as he hurries on his side. You don't mind his speed this time; the sooner to his home, the better. He looks back at the city in his rearview mirror. "This went too well." He admits as he goes up the ramp to his garage. You've never seen it before, but wonder what kind of cars he may have and if this is his favorite. To your disappointment, it's shabbier. There's a Jeep in the corner and a motorcycle in the other. He opens your door, helping you out. He closes the door carefully. You rest against the car, holding his hands again.

"How are you feeling?" You squeeze his hand.

"Happy it's over."

"It's not over," Bruce says quickly. "The press conference is over, but something is planned. I don't know what," He admits before leading you up to his mansion.