The harsh reality of the situation was that Bruce Wayne had never been much for making friends. He'd never been the social outcast, though sometimes you suspect he may not have entirely minded, he'd always been popular, but people flocked to him, threw themselves on him, and he either tolerated it or he didn't. Even in those intolerant moments he was usually polite, civil, well-bred. But not friendly. He wasn't overly friendly.
He was kind.
Bruce was usually kind. Especially to kids who didn't seem to have a great deal of people to be kind to them. If a kid was being bullied he'd have their back, if a kid was distressed he'd listen to their tale of woe and then tell them how to make it right. He was kind in his own cold and distant way.
"Harry,"
Bruce got older, he got larger. He turned into a man over seven years. All muscle and confidence and a five o'clock shadow right in place.
"Did you say cheese on your way through. I thought they'd be over playing the media circus in Starkland."
It's so flippant. He doesn't seem flustered by the scruitiny, he doesn't seem bothered. He seems a little amused even. This is what happens, this is life. If you don't like it...
Harry wasn't sure what he expected when the door opened and he saw Bruce. Pictures didn't exactly do the transformation justice. Then again, they had all changed. Harry was never going to grow the way Bruce had, he wasn't built that way, but he wasn't fifteen anymore. He'd filled out a little, grew into his height, but he still looked young.
Sometimes he wondered if that would always be the case. That he would continually straddle the line between man and child. His father said he refused to grow up. Harry figured anyone who had Goblin lairs and headed some superhero group called the fucking Thunderbolts wasn't one to mock someone's inability to mature.
"I always have a smile for the camera. Luckily for Starkland, a bunch of reporters had already made their way to see the miraculous return of Bruce Wayne. He should send you a fruit basket as a thank you."
There was a small smile and then he said in a tone of disbelief, "Wow, you're really alive. That's crazy."
This is true, in a way, he had always been the one least likely to end up drunk in public or having overdosed or whatever. His tantrums were generally private ones, hidden from the view of prying eyes. In public Bruce had always managed that sheen of infuriating perfection and composure.
And, of course, it made no sense at all that in the end he was the one who couldn't make it through college, he was the one who would just disappear.
Or perhaps it did make sense. Bruce always did what he felt he should do. There was never the sense you could influence him, sway his conviction. Not in school when teachers and kids both tried. Not in college. Not later, even. R'as found that out the hard way.
"It's not so crazy for me. I'm accustomed to the habit."
Harry had been quiet once. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but he had been. He was the quiet child who barely took a step without care because he didn't want to anger his father. He'd been a child who could anger his father by simply breathing.
Why couldn't he have been more like Bruce? Like Lex, Tony and Ollie? Those were the heirs that Norman had wanted, and Harry was not like them. Hence his psychiatric and rehab stays during his teenage years that were covered up as long vacations for a pampered prince.
"It's crazy to me. I thought you were dead, and now you're not only alive, but you're...you grew up hot." It's said innocently enough followed by the ever present Harry Osborn smile. His mother's smile. Norman hated that smile. "Where were you?" It's asked quietly and the implication is there that if Bruce doesn't want to talk about it, he doesn't have to. The inside of the home is beautiful, much more grand and even more of a museum than the Osborn penthouse. Harry couldn't help but wonder if Bruce felt as lonely growing up with all these rooms and antiques as Harry had as a child.
Bruce would express his doubts that Norman would want a kid like Lex anymore than Lionel did - and Tony, Tony and Norman may have shared some intellectual interests but they would have come to blows. Oliver maybe - but Bruce isn't sure Oliver would hit the sort of brilliance Norman coveted. Oliver wasn't Tony.
Norman probably would not have been happy no matter what Harry had been. But Harry needed to work that out for himself.
Bruce doesn't even blush.
"I was always hot."
This is true, though before it had held a sweeter and more understated quality the way these do in childhood. There was nothing understated about it now. Way over six foot and over 200 lbs, all muscle and tan and blue eyes and hard edges - there was nothing soft now.
He sits down, he waves Harry to sit down as well.
"I was everywhere."
This is true. Well, almost true.
"You name a place I was probably there. I felt like a change."
He shrugs with the same shrug Harry would recognise from when Bruce was that child. A shrug that said he felt no need to explain himself and had no intention of doing so.
And Bruce smiles and wow it is a smile. It's not his mothers, it's not his fathers, it's certainly not from Alfred. It's the smile that may not have launched a thousand ships but it certainly sank a few. Sexy, and confident, and beautiful. Charming.
"Yeah, I guess you were. You don't look like a kid anymore." That's funny though. At least if you know Harry. Because while he had a few one night stands and brief affairs with older men and women, the ones he usually keeps around are young like he is. It's a thing. Mostly because people older than him weren't into the same things that Harry was.
He was everywhere. When Harry sits, he contemplates that, and it still doesn't make sense. How does Bruce Wayne go everywhere for years and not a single reporter catches a photo? Not a single piece of evidence proving that Bruce wasn't dead surfaced until Bruce in the flesh did.
It's too hard to understand. Harry can't sneeze without it being caught on camera. At least that is how it feels most days. That said, it's clear Bruce doesn't want to discuss it in detail, and it's not Harry's business. He lets it drop.
"No thank you. I drank a lot of water on the flight back. January first is all about hydration." Especially if you ring in New Year's the way that Harry did. "What made you come back? I think if I could manage to disappear the way you did, I'd be tempted to never come back." He pauses and then adds, "I can't though. I have a kid. He's three and lives with his mom. I found out about him a few months back. Little surreal." Tilting his head, he studies Bruce carefully for a long moment. "Did you miss Gotham?"
If it surprises Bruce he doesn't show it. What a poker face he's got going, more so than when he left, this isn't just a sheen of perfection - this is something else - now he seems almost impervious.
"You're not getting married?"
Let's face it, that's what Bruce would do, he'd feel obliged to do it. He had done it. Talia and the baby - it hadn't felt like a trap, it had felt like he'd come home.
"Gotham's my home." He finally says. "I never could completely leave her. She made me. It just got to a point where I realised that, realised what my place was, where it was. You can't run forever, Kiddo."
The harsh reality of the situation was that Bruce Wayne had never been much for making friends. He'd never been the social outcast, though sometimes you suspect he may not have entirely minded, he'd always been popular, but people flocked to him, threw themselves on him, and he either tolerated it or he didn't. Even in those intolerant moments he was usually polite, civil, well-bred. But not friendly. He wasn't overly friendly.
He was kind.
Bruce was usually kind. Especially to kids who didn't seem to have a great deal of people to be kind to them. If a kid was being bullied he'd have their back, if a kid was distressed he'd listen to their tale of woe and then tell them how to make it right. He was kind in his own cold and distant way.
"Harry,"
Bruce got older, he got larger. He turned into a man over seven years. All muscle and confidence and a five o'clock shadow right in place.
"Did you say cheese on your way through. I thought they'd be over playing the media circus in Starkland."
It's so flippant. He doesn't seem flustered by the scruitiny, he doesn't seem bothered. He seems a little amused even. This is what happens, this is life. If you don't like it...
... move to China.
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Sometimes he wondered if that would always be the case. That he would continually straddle the line between man and child. His father said he refused to grow up. Harry figured anyone who had Goblin lairs and headed some superhero group called the fucking Thunderbolts wasn't one to mock someone's inability to mature.
"I always have a smile for the camera. Luckily for Starkland, a bunch of reporters had already made their way to see the miraculous return of Bruce Wayne. He should send you a fruit basket as a thank you."
There was a small smile and then he said in a tone of disbelief, "Wow, you're really alive. That's crazy."
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"I've always been the boring one."
This is true, in a way, he had always been the one least likely to end up drunk in public or having overdosed or whatever. His tantrums were generally private ones, hidden from the view of prying eyes. In public Bruce had always managed that sheen of infuriating perfection and composure.
And, of course, it made no sense at all that in the end he was the one who couldn't make it through college, he was the one who would just disappear.
Or perhaps it did make sense. Bruce always did what he felt he should do. There was never the sense you could influence him, sway his conviction. Not in school when teachers and kids both tried. Not in college. Not later, even. R'as found that out the hard way.
"It's not so crazy for me. I'm accustomed to the habit."
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Why couldn't he have been more like Bruce? Like Lex, Tony and Ollie? Those were the heirs that Norman had wanted, and Harry was not like them. Hence his psychiatric and rehab stays during his teenage years that were covered up as long vacations for a pampered prince.
"It's crazy to me. I thought you were dead, and now you're not only alive, but you're...you grew up hot." It's said innocently enough followed by the ever present Harry Osborn smile. His mother's smile. Norman hated that smile. "Where were you?" It's asked quietly and the implication is there that if Bruce doesn't want to talk about it, he doesn't have to. The inside of the home is beautiful, much more grand and even more of a museum than the Osborn penthouse. Harry couldn't help but wonder if Bruce felt as lonely growing up with all these rooms and antiques as Harry had as a child.
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Bruce would express his doubts that Norman would want a kid like Lex anymore than Lionel did - and Tony, Tony and Norman may have shared some intellectual interests but they would have come to blows. Oliver maybe - but Bruce isn't sure Oliver would hit the sort of brilliance Norman coveted. Oliver wasn't Tony.
Norman probably would not have been happy no matter what Harry had been. But Harry needed to work that out for himself.
Bruce doesn't even blush.
"I was always hot."
This is true, though before it had held a sweeter and more understated quality the way these do in childhood. There was nothing understated about it now. Way over six foot and over 200 lbs, all muscle and tan and blue eyes and hard edges - there was nothing soft now.
He sits down, he waves Harry to sit down as well.
"I was everywhere."
This is true. Well, almost true.
"You name a place I was probably there. I felt like a change."
He shrugs with the same shrug Harry would recognise from when Bruce was that child. A shrug that said he felt no need to explain himself and had no intention of doing so.
And Bruce smiles and wow it is a smile. It's not his mothers, it's not his fathers, it's certainly not from Alfred. It's the smile that may not have launched a thousand ships but it certainly sank a few. Sexy, and confident, and beautiful. Charming.
"Did you want a drink?"
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He was everywhere. When Harry sits, he contemplates that, and it still doesn't make sense. How does Bruce Wayne go everywhere for years and not a single reporter catches a photo? Not a single piece of evidence proving that Bruce wasn't dead surfaced until Bruce in the flesh did.
It's too hard to understand. Harry can't sneeze without it being caught on camera. At least that is how it feels most days. That said, it's clear Bruce doesn't want to discuss it in detail, and it's not Harry's business. He lets it drop.
"No thank you. I drank a lot of water on the flight back. January first is all about hydration." Especially if you ring in New Year's the way that Harry did. "What made you come back? I think if I could manage to disappear the way you did, I'd be tempted to never come back." He pauses and then adds, "I can't though. I have a kid. He's three and lives with his mom. I found out about him a few months back. Little surreal." Tilting his head, he studies Bruce carefully for a long moment. "Did you miss Gotham?"
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"A kid, huh?"
If it surprises Bruce he doesn't show it. What a poker face he's got going, more so than when he left, this isn't just a sheen of perfection - this is something else - now he seems almost impervious.
"You're not getting married?"
Let's face it, that's what Bruce would do, he'd feel obliged to do it. He had done it. Talia and the baby - it hadn't felt like a trap, it had felt like he'd come home.
"Gotham's my home." He finally says. "I never could completely leave her. She made me. It just got to a point where I realised that, realised what my place was, where it was. You can't run forever, Kiddo."
And it's a long look Harry gets then.
"You can't."
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