Authors Note: Many thanks to Alli, my cheering section, for encouraging me to get this done, and doing the beta at oh-my-god-its-early in the morning -- or late, depending on whether or not you actually sleep. Thanks also to the other BM/WW writers out there, who were very inspirational. There will be more to come, but I need to recouperate from writing this one first. =)
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Laying in the darkness of her guest room at Wayne Manor, Diana of Themyscira stared blankly at the upholstered canopy above her. Slivers of moonlight filtered in through the sheer drapes and she could just make out the paisley-floral patterns woven into the thick material. She listened as the grandfather clock on the second-floor landing chimed twice apologetically. The sound echoed through the house, emphasizing the emptiness and the silence.
Eyes still focused on the canopy, Diana tucked a hand behind her head and wondered if Bruce had returned from his patrol. The Wayne Foundation gathering that night - a fundraiser in support of troops serving overseas - had seemed to put him on edge; almost as soon as the last guest cleared out he had disappeared into the night. His abrupt departure made very clear that he didn't want any company.
Worry over Batman's return was hardly the reason for Diana's insomnia. He was a "tough guy" who had fought Gotham crime alone long before joining the League - he could take care of himself and she knew it. No, it was his constant shift in reception to her that kept her mind whirling, even now. During the course of the fundraiser, he'd gone from warm to cold and back to lukewarm quicker than a faulty water heater. And Diana knew it wasn't entirely part of his "Bruce Wayne" act.
Scenes from the evening replayed in her mind with a clarity brought only by retrospect. She'd arrived early, the Foundation VIP, providing her support not only for the fundraiser but for Bruce as well. Alfred welcomed her warmly - or as warmly as he could, being a British butler in Bruce's service - and escorted her into the study. A very dapper, tuxedo-clad Bruce Wayne awaited her, making final adjustments to his bowtie. He turned, that familiar single lock of hair flopping across his forehead. The expression on his face when she entered was one she wouldn't soon forget.
It was so rare that Diana had need of formal clothing that, when she accepted the Wayne Foundation invitation, she'd made a solid decision to find something "breathtaking." And, while her usual costuming left little to the imagination, she felt a little conservative style was in order as well. The result? An ankle-length, brilliant red, silk cheongsam, slit provocatively up to there. She'd piled her hair atop her head in dark curls, and knew, with Bruce's reaction, that she chose well; not only had his chin dropped, but the bowtie suddenly became incredibly constrictive. He stuttered, albeit briefly, to find words to welcome her as he struggled with his bowtie. "You look . . . amazing . . ." he finally managed.
Diana still felt the warm rush provoked by his comments. "I wanted to make a strong impression," she replied. "Raise a few . . . eyebrows." A mischievous twinkle lit her blue eyes.
Bruce cleared his throat, adjusting his tie once again. "That you've certainly done, Princess." He gave a familiar lopsided grin, his eyes softening ever-so-slightly. "Thank you for coming."
"Wouldn't have missed it," Diana replied. She could feel the tension between them rising to almost palpable levels. As he took several steps toward her, she allowed her eyes to drift from his, suddenly desperate to break the tension. Her gaze landed on papers left open on the desk. The letters were a blur, even at this distance, but organized in neat, typewritten columns. "The guest list?"
"Hm?" Bruce blinked. He became suddenly aware of the closing gap between them and stopped. Clearing his throat, he followed her gaze. "Ah, yes. An updated copy. It seems we had a few last minute additions."
She noted the change in octaves of his voice, the change in emphasis on his syllables. Mention of the list - of the world outside - drew his attention back to his role as Bruce Wayne. Probably without even realizing it, he'd slipped easily back into the role of the rich playboy . . . A playboy not emotionally involved with anyone, namely Diana of Themyscira.
Still, as the guests began arriving in droves she'd assumed the unofficial role of hostess. She and Bruce worked fluidly together, greeting new arrivals and "tag-teaming" them off as they tried to group attendees with similar interests; Bruce would offer a key phrase or mention an interest, and Diana quickly learned which groups hovered where.
A lull fell between the arrivals and the beginning of the festivities, leaving Diana free to seek Bruce out. She had found him collecting two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. Silently, he passed one to her. Taking a careful sip, Diana looked over the gathered crowd: a room full of the wealthiest that Gotham - and some of Metropolis - had to offer. "Looks like you've got an excellent turnout, Bruce."
Bruce grinned, though the expression didn't reach his eyes. "But you're the star attraction tonight, Princess," he said. His voice seemed an odd mixture of the flippant Wayne and the coarse Batman. He leveled dark eyes at her.
Dianna swallowed at the memory. She'd been aware then - and keenly aware now - that she'd crossed some invisible line he had constructed. Instincts told her it was the casual way in which she referred to him as Bruce. Surely, even in a business relationship, "Bruce" was acceptable? Even if he couldn't appear too "chummy" with members of the JLA? "Well, if even half make donations, you'll have done some good . . . Mister Wayne."
The princess could see the taut lines around his eyes relax. "You're too kind, Princess," he said. Diana merely offered him a weak smile and finished her champagne.
As he studied her profile, Diana could sense the frustration and confusion radiating off him in tidal waves. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him finish his own drink. He dropped his hand to her forearm and his voice had lowered once again to that perfect median between the Bat and Bruce Wayne. "Diana," he began softly, apologetically.
This isn't any easier for him than it is for me. He appeared to be wavering constantly between secret lives, and she was an anchor to that darker, costume-clad life so few knew about. Added to that was the complicated nature of their relationship: nothing had been said officially. In fact, Batman had made a point of addressing the very reasons they shouldn't date. But the fact he'd had reasons - excuses, really - showed Diana he'd thought about it... and more than a little.
She realized that little nagging detail, combined with his split personality routine, was what was causing her a sleepless night. It was clear they needed some resolution, some guidelines, especially if the two worlds were to intertwine as they had tonight. She had to understand more about the fine line between Bruce Wayne, playboy, and the Bruce she'd come to care for.
Diana shook her head. Staying in bed was pointless. If she was lucky she might find some leftovers in the manor kitchen. She tossed back the covers and reached for the dressing gown across the foot of her bed, slipping into it even as she made her way to the door.
***
The black and white ceramic tiles were cold against her bare feet as she entered the kitchen. Expansive windows to the back of the breakfast nook cast geometric shadows as moonlight poured in through the panes and stillness hung in the air. Suspecting that Alfred kept rooms nearby, Diana decided to stay quiet and keep light to a minimum. She bypassed the wall switch and padded to the refrigerator.
A quiet pop sounded as she broke the seal of the refrigerator door; electric light spilled from the inside, bright compared to her surroundings. She frowned, shielding her eyes until they grew accustomed to the change. She then returned her attention to the contents of the unit. The wire shelves were full of food - fruits, fresh vegetables, eggs, bottles of milk, and a package wrapped in brown paper she suspected might be steaks. The numerous platters offered at the fundraiser were nowhere to be found. Perhaps they had spoiled, sitting out all those hours, she wondered. Sighing, she reached in to the second shelf, withdrawing an apple. Before she could close the refrigerator, however, she was startled by activity in the doorframe of the kitchen. She became suddenly aware that the overhead lighting had been switched on and Alfred, clad in pajamas and his own robe, stood before her. "Finding everything you need, Princess?" he asked.
"I - I was just looking for a snack," Diana admitted. She gave a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry if I woke you."
An impish gleam danced in the elder man's eyes as he moved toward her. He reached past her for the carton of eggs and a stick of butter. "Perhaps I may prepare an early breakfast? I seem to be a bit hungry, myself."
Diana beamed. It was hard not to like Alfred. He had a way of saying exactly what he thought...without saying exactly what he thought. "I think that would be lovely, Alfred."
"Very well, Miss...so long as you don't mind me joining you?"
"Not at all." Continuing to smile, Diana stepped out of the way, permitting Alfred full access to the open refrigerator. She watched as he removed a few more items and closed the door. Drawing a stool to seat herself at the counter island in the center of the cooking area, she settled in, retying the sash on her robe.
She caught Alfred casting a sidelong glance in her direction. "Trouble sleeping, Miss?"
Diana frowned. "Some."
Alfred nodded, carefully withdrawing several eggs from the carton. "I do hope it's not the bed."
"No, Alfred, the bed is fine. Very comfortable as a matter of fact." The princess smoothed her hands over the marble countertop. Like so much of Wayne Manor it was dark and cold, even isolating, but warmed quickly to the touch. Her lips twisted into a rueful smile. "It's my mind I can't seem to shut off tonight." She glanced back up, looking to Alfred. "Do you ever have nights like that?"
Alfred gave a chuckle. "Frequently, Miss. Insomnia is a common affliction in this household."
"Well, when you have someone keeping Bruce's hours, it's almost impossible not to pass it on..." Diana muttered. She glanced to the wall clock. Ten after two. "I don't suppose he's returned yet?"
"Not as yet, Princess." Alfred poured a scrambled egg mixture into a warm skillet, then placed the bowl and whisk into the sink. He offered Diana a warm smile. "I can only assume he'll return soon. He does still have a corporation meeting tomorrow."
A lopsided grin twitched across Diana's lips. "No rest for the wicked?"
"Something like that." Alfred returned the grin.
The grin had barely faded from the butler's kindly face when the door to the silver pantry opened. Knowing there was an entrance to the cave behind the shelves, Diana showed no surprise when Bruce stepped out from behind the door. He blinked quickly at the unexpected lighting and idly finished buttoning his sleeve. "Alfred," he said by way of greeting. His eyes drifted over to meet hers. "Diana."
Diana nodded. In her peripheral vision, she saw that Alfred became suddenly very attentive to the scrambled eggs. "Bruce." She paused. "No silver missing?"
"All in order. Though I might suggest that the tea service needs a bit more polish." He cut a sideways glance to Alfred. "Trouble sleeping, Princess?" He tried to keep his tone light, but his alter ego crept in.
"I wasn't worried about you, if that's what you mean," Diana shot back. "You're a big boy. I know you can take care of yourself."
Folding his arms across his chest, Bruce stood with his feet shoulder-width apart. He lowered his chin and regarded her with an arched brow. Inwardly, Diana sighed. It was almost easier dealing with him as the Bat - at least then she couldn't see his eyes; she'd learned to read them far too well. The amused glare he gave her now indicated he was settling in for a verbal sparring match. His body language indicated it might be an uphill struggle. "Could I get that in writing?"
Diana narrowed her eyes at him. She wasn't in a mood to play. "Would you like that addressed to Batman or to Bruce Wayne?"
He furrowed his brow, relaxing his stance, then took a cautious step closer. "What was that for?"
"That," Diana started, "was for inviting me here to play your little game and not giving me a copy of the rules before I got here. You forget Bruce - I don't play this game. I don't have an identity to hide behind. What you see is what you get." She sighed. The expression of vulnerability that flickered across his features reminded her that she hadn't been the only one off-balance. "I know this isn't easy for you. I just... I noticed the shifts. No one else might have been able to, but I noticed. And maybe I'm the reason. Maybe..." Here, she paused, drawing in a deep breath. "Maybe it would be better if Batman were the only one to see me. At least then there wouldn't be any confusion."
A long moment of silence followed. Afraid of what she might see in his eyes, Diana diverted her expression to the floor. The silence ended, however, with his quiet footsteps on the tile floor as he approached her, stopping as his toes came into view. "There is no confusion, Princess." The intensity of his voice brought her attention directly to him. Looking up, she saw his expression matched his tone, square jaw locked and the muscle ticking. "I know exactly what I feel. And what I feel isn't appropriate to Bruce Wayne."
Placing her palm against his cheek, Diana brushed her thumb across his cheekbone until she felt his jaw relax. "Then let's make it appropriate." Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Bruce frowned. "Diana -"
Diana shook her head, silencing him. She placed an index finger against his lips. "If this is something we both want, it will work out. We will work it out." An impish grin curled lazily across her lips. "Whatever it takes."
The muscle in Bruce's jaw ticked slightly - this time for an entirely different reason. He slowly allowed his hands to come to rest against her narrow hips, pulling her closer. Her arms wound their way around his neck, and she could feel his lips move against hers as he spoke. "Whatever it takes," he echoed.
***
Alfred Pennyworth -- loyal servant to Bruce Wayne and sometimes-accomplice to Batman --ducked gracefully from the room as soon as he recognized the direction the conversation was careening toward. The decision to either continue their...relationship... or end it here and now was entirely up to the two of them. He had his opinion on the matter, and Master Bruce would have his. As a friend, he hoped the two would coincide. Drawing in a deep breath, he readjusted the sash on his robe and crossed toward his quarters. His voice echoed in the empty foyer. "And the bloody eggs are going to get cold..."