Who: Follow the creed What: Reveal~ Warnings/Rating: None.
This hadn't been his first hotel party, so he was far from surprised to find himself back in familiar territory as the night faded. Beneath his feet were rooftops, not of his imagination but of reality, the false warmth of Italy replaced by a chill which spoke of what was to come in the following months. He belonged to no Order, and he was not an assassin. Once, he'd had the opportunity to be, but he'd burned that road to ashes himself and never looked back. Compared to past experiences, admittedly, his time aboard the ghostly ship had been tame. He'd killed no one and there hadn't been any repeat performances of basements and women, but somehow he knew what had transpired would stay with him just as long.
Wayne Tower offered one of the highest vantage points in the city for those skilled enough to reach the top, and Bruce was one of the few who was. From there he could look down upon the entirety of his city and he often thought, though he would never confess such a thing to anyone else, that Gotham looked beautiful from that high up. The lights shone and sparkled at night, darkness shrouding the crime and corruption that wound like cracks within its foundation, and while it was a little more worn during the day, the distance did wonders. Now, it offered a breathtaking view of the rising sun, and for the first time in a long time he actually took the time to watch.
He remembered every moment of his conversation with the movie star, every word spoken, every confession passed between them. It unsettled him, that he had gotten so personal with someone he'd only known for a night, but there was nothing to be done about it now. Bruce considered finding her, but he made no decisions, settled on no concise course of action. What bothered him, too, was that he'd left her to die, despite knowing that none of it had been real and she was probably perfectly fine and healthy at present.
But he never accepted death. Even when he pretended to, he didn't. He fought against it with every fiber of his being, did all that he could to thwart it. How, then, could he have left the woman to die alone? He hadn't tried to save her, hadn't pushed, and the least he could have done was held her hand until the sun rose. He knew better than anyone that such a simple gesture could make all the difference. Maybe, in the coming days, he'd apologize. Or maybe he wouldn't. He was horrible at reaching out, that much had been true, and while he'd been more honest with her than he'd been with anyone else in a while he had no desire to reveal his true identity to her; bad enough that he'd already revealed so much.
Why had he? That was the question he mulled over as the sun rose higher, but the more he thought, the less willing he was to accept the answer.
He had family. He even had those he might call friends. He wasn't alone, not anymore, but while circumstances had improved they were still far from perfect. Bruce wasn't the man most had fought alongside, and he felt no more deserving of being a father than he had when he'd first found himself in this new world; he was no better at it either. And, if he'd made so much progress, then why was he only capable of opening up to strangers when he was barely himself at all?
Bruce rose, balancing carefully on the edge of the building. Morning, now, and he could go home. Alfred might be there, Selina too if she hadn't already left, and they would listen. He could try to reach out, to take the woman's advice, but he didn't.
Instead, he crossed. It was a selfish thing, maybe, but he'd been introspective enough. Getting out of his own head for a while would be a relief.