The Horror and the Night

Dreams - part 2

      Bruce was used to sleepless nights. To nights of stillness, without words, without needless conversations, by himself alone with his thoughts, in suspension listening to his surroundings. Gotham spoke to him every night, sometimes with gratitude, but more often with a warning. It whispered quietly in trepidation, telling him what he needed to know, directing him, giving him purpose. He knew the hum of its blood, the beat of its heart, every sigh, every quiet murmur, so familiar and so distant. Lying on the couch with his eyes wide open staring at the ceiling, he could not help but listen. How foreign every quiet breath was, how forlorn every soft sigh was, how startling each rustle of the bedsheets was every time she shifted. For years the only one he listened to, the only one in whom he found understanding was Gotham, now on a restless autumn night Bruce discovered how much he had forgotten what it was like to have someone so close.

She was so near. Within his sight, at his arm's reach, so close and yet so far away. And so was he. Every day he saw her, even when she didn't see him, he saw her sincerity, her truthfulness, her courage, her strength. He saw the passion in her eyes, the joy in her smile, the strength in her demeanor and the secret in her eyes. A secret hidden deep, hidden beneath the precariously crafted version of herself that she presented to the world, that she presented to him. He could discover it. He had the ability and the tools to do so, he could have learned all he wanted about her and yet, he consciously chose not to. He was attracted to her, he had to admit it even if only to himself, she drew him with a magnetic force of genuine humanity he hadn't seen in a long time. Her smile seemed contagious, her attitude made him smile more often than ever, and in her eyes he saw a reflection of himself. Not a version of himself, but the real him as he was, every version of him and all of them at once. For no matter in what circumstances he met her, no matter if in a restaurant or on the edge of a bridge, in the glare of flashes or in the darkness of sewers, whether in a cavlar suit or a silk shirt, she was the same, and he longed to be close to her.

He got up quietly from the couch as she rolled to the other side snapping him out of his reverie. The sun was slowly rising over Mentropolis bringing the cool morning brightness. Another quiet night in Metropolis was coming to an end, another restless one in Gotham was also fading into the sunlight. He threw a sweater over his shoulders, put a receiver into his ear, and cautiously so as not to wake her, went out onto the balcony. A few clicks on the phone and he was connected to the Batcomputer. With each finger swipe across the screen, he fought within himself the urge to abandon TechX and return to Gotham. The case file from the night before presented a further fragment of the pattern. Gotham had another supervillain and it was only a matter of time before he would strike again only to show up in full glory shortly thereafter.

"Shouldn't you sleep? Two days away from Gotham wouldn't hurt you," a message displayed on his screen. Not thinking much, he activated his voice connection to Nightwing's commlink.

"You've had a rough night," he said quietly as soon as he heard the familiar beep in the receiver.

"Strange more like it," Dick corrected him, "did you read the whole report?"

"I did."

"Why aren't you sleeping?"

"Strange night."

"Strange or interesting?" Dick's playful tone implied.

"Strange. Dick, you noted in the report that before throwing himself off the roof the man said he had no fear in him. Explain."

"I noted as it was," he replied, abandoning his attempt to extract details from Bruce, "he had no reason to jump. It wasn't suicide. He had a gun, a full clip, and a bag full of money. He could have tried to get away. Or fight back. I was alone with him. Jason was dealing with the mess in the bank."