Feed The Children

Bats Really Are Blind

Bruce has to give himself credit for the attempt he's made at staying away from Edward. He didn't think it would be as hard for him as it is. It's even harder knowing that the mistake he never should have made is one he can't keep making after what happened between him and Edward the last time.

Even that day in the alley, the very first time they met, Edward treated Bruce in a way Bruce never thought he'd be treated. Edward hates him. Bruce has experienced hatred towards the Batman, but that isn't him, realistically speaking. If he'd known Edward would end up reacting the way he did, Bruce would've waited a little longer before confronting him. Or perhaps he never would've done it at all, because now this stranger knows his identity, and the way he treated Bruce makes him feel as though he has no right to be upset about it. He hates to admit it, but their game used to be fun, looking back. Bruce doesn't miss it. But he wishes things would've gone differently.

He feels like he should apologize, though he doesn't know what he'd be apologizing for—maybe for being who he is, causing the man to react that way, stalking him, going to his apartment unprompted. There's a lot he regrets, the most how Edward treated him, as if that's something he has the power to just change. He wishes he knew what caused Edward to react like that. He wishes he could apologize. But he doesn't.

He does everything except bother Edward, following his wishes. The fights he gets into are increasingly dangerous, Bruce biting off more than he can chew on too many occasions, and it shows on his body. He earns himself a few new scars and more bruises than he can count. He doesn't know why he does it. It's an easy enough distraction. Alfred just says he's being reckless.

He makes himself busy helping Gordon, working for the past two weeks to catch a man that killed a woman during a mugging. It makes Bruce think of Edward. When they bring the man in to book him, the other officers at the station give him nasty looks, but he ignores them, just like he ignores their catty whispers, and just like he ignores Edward.

Crime is especially high toward the south end of the city. The biggest banks, the court, the city hall, they're all common targets. He's gotten his worst injuries there, broken ribs, scars—he's been shot there. So Bruce focuses his attention there. There's nothing he does that would give him a reason to stray from that area, so he doesn't know how he ended up in the northeast again. He finds himself saying that too often.

It's raining hard, the beginning of spring bringing the heaviest downpours. It bounces off the pavement and makes the road dangerously slick. Bruce weaves through what little traffic is left on the street a little too boldly, and he notices that the cars left on the streets are cautious, slowing down much further from red lights to avoid sliding into oncoming traffic and taking the speed limit signs as unrealistic suggestions. Rain and wind sting his eyes, and he wishes he'd taken his car instead as he feels water penetrate each of his layers and eventually hit his skin.

Bruce doesn't have an excuse to be up here. Maybe paranoia, maybe anxiety, maybe the urge to talk to Edward again, to pick his brain and find out who he is and why he acted the way he did both times they spoke. He never planned on actually doing it, though. Edward told him to stay away, and Bruce has done just that. He's stayed away, as far away as he could get.

As he rides through the streets, he drifts and planes every so often, becoming a little unsteady, and he knows he shouldn't be driving so carelessly. He hasn't serviced his bike in a while, and in the rain is a terrible time to test his tire pressure.

Still, he rides around the area, avoiding Edwards apartment, and imagines what a conversation, a real conversation, with him would be like. Would Edward treat him the same as he did the past two times, or would he be more willing to talk to Bruce? From what few words they'd spoken, Edward had seemed to be warming up to Bruce, if only a little bit, but Bruce had ruined it without thinking that what he said would be taken any way but genuine.