Bruce Wainright has (onerule) wrote in rooms, @ 2014-04-07 23:57:00 |
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Entry tags: | !dc comics, *log, bruce wayne, iris morgenstern |
[gotham city, a church: bruce & iris]
[Bruce had a lot of free time. Too much, in fact. Seeing as only three people knew he was back in Gotham he couldn't exactly go to work, and he was staying out of the cowl. He watched, of course. Keeping a low profile didn't mean he was capable of ignoring what was happening; every Batfam lock included him, and he observed. He just didn't make contact. He considered it, he thought about it, but he wasn't ready to take that step. For them, it had been days; for him, six years had passed. Years without them, without family and not feeling good enough and being plagued by inadequacy. He was still trying to figure out where he fit in this Gotham now, even if he did at all, and he wasn't prepared for their expectations. Because he knew they would expect him to come back, to be the Bat again, and he wasn't sure they would understand that it wasn't that easy. And, too, being back reminded him old hurts he didn't want to go through all over again.
The simple truth was that he wasn't the man he'd been before. He'd tasted victory. He'd seen a better Gotham, one with hope, with a bright future. Batman had gone from vigilante to murderer to hero. So much had happened. And, of course, there was the fact that he was supposed to be dead. Only Selina knew, but he wasn't sure she understood. He hadn't just chosen death; he had died. Oh, he meant what he said when he'd told her that he wouldn't kill himself. He'd considered it briefly, a passing thought, but he would never follow through. It would be a meaningless, cowardly death, and Bruce didn't want that. Living was vastly preferable to that.
And so, with all his free time, finding Iris was a sort of distraction. Something had, obviously, happened while he'd been gone, something that had brought outsiders to worlds that, to them, had once been mere fiction. And Gotham? Gotham wasn't exactly a place people chose to move to. He knew Iris hadn't always been well, and he didn't think she should be left to her own devices in a strange city, much less one as dangerous at this. A women's shelter was better than the streets but it wasn't enough, and since he considered Iris a friend, he thought it only right to help her.
Going out in public would have been more of a risk had he not looked so very unlike his usual self. Bruce traded in suits for faded jeans, sneakers, and layers; a t-shirt and a hoodie overtop. He wore a baseball cap and, having not shaved since his return, uncharacteristic stubble lined his jaw. Six years had aged him to near forty, evident in his face and the streaks of silver-grey in his hair. He wasn't an old man, no, but he was older. The final result was a man who looked just like everyone else, not like the playboy billionaire at all, and it helped that Bruce Wayne never would have been seen in this part of the city to begin with. He knew better than to try going into the shelter, so instead he scoped out the area and waited for her to leave.
It might have occurred to him that it was a little unorthodox, what he was doing, but he'd always been that, hadn't he? Thanks to memories he had from Luke he knew what she looked like; time had passed, but he still remembered. Enough that when a familiar woman exited the shelter and made her way down the street, Bruce felt confident enough in his recognition that he followed, and when she rounded a corner and entered a church, of all places, he waited a few seconds before going in himself.]