(Batman fic) Speak, chapter 5
Title: Speak
Author: larissafae
Fandom: Batman, Nolanverse.
Pairing: Past Jack Napier/Harleen Quinzel, future Jack/Rachel
Chapter rating: PG-13
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: If they were mine, this wouldn't be a fanfic, now, would it?
Summary: A rehabilitated Jack Napier is brought into police custody after his wife of four years, Dr. Harleen Quinzel, falls to her death from their apartment. The only ones who seem to be on his side are Gordon and Rachel, who are haunted by the fact that 'rehabilitated' doesn't always mean 'cured'.
Previous chapters:
1
2
3
4
“Rachel, so good to see you.”
“Bruce!” Rachel whirled around in her seat and felt her face go pale. “What are you doing here?”
“Just bought the place next door,” her old friend said easily. “Mind if I sit down? Waiting for someone?” He gestured at the second peach tea on the table as he smoothly commandeered the empty chair it sat in front of. “Haven't seen you in a few months, Rachel. I missed you.”
Rachel pursed her lips and glanced at her watch. Jack should be here any minute. “So, what, you're here to apologise for effectively calling me a traitorous slut?”
Bruce's eyebrow twitched and he frowned. “Well . . . I guess I am.” He rubbed the back of his neck and had the decency to look embarrassed. “I think we obviously disagree on Napier's sanity,” and he ignored Rachel's snort at the understatement, “but . . . I'm sorry, Rach. I'm just worried about you.”
“Thank you, Bruce,” Rachel said with sincerity. “I'm sorry I lost my temper with you.”
“Yeah, well, Alfred gave me the worst talking-to I've had from him in years. I figured, if I didn't want to be poisoned slowly, I'd better apologise.” He grinned as Rachel laughed. “What are you doing tonight? If I don't bring you to dinner, I will be dead in the morning.”
Rachel tucked her hair behind her ear and stood as a familiar figure slouched around the corner. “I'm free, and tell Alfred I'd love to come over. What time? I'm sorry to rush you, but my friend will be here soon . . .”
Bruce's lips pursed, but he stood up and hugged her. “Eight's good. Give us some time to catch up. Can't have Napier monopolising all your nights,” he murmured.
“It's only twice a week, Bruce,” Rachel whispered in his ear as she returned his hug. “I'll be there at eight.”
Her friend smiled sadly at her. “You look so much happier these days,” he said simply, then kissed her forward before heading back to his new restaurant.
Rachel watched Bruce until he disappeared inside the building, then turned back to Jack with a smile as he walked up. She held her hand out and he took it, then she pulled him into one of the man-hugs she'd always teased Harvey about.
“How are you, Jack?” she asked in his ear.
He stiffened a little before returning the hug. “I'm fine. Was that Bruce Wayne?”
Rachel flushed a little and nodded. “Yes.”
“You know him?”
He was watching her carefully, and Rachel hurried to assure him that his suspicion that there was a romance between her and Bruce was far from the truth.
“We've been friends since we were kids. He was just apologising for being a jerk the other day.”
“He's handsome.”
“He's a total playboy,” Rachel returned. “Not my type.”
That mollified Jack, and he sat and reached for his tea. “You ordered already?”
She nodded. “Same as last time. It should be out soon . . . are you all right?” He was rubbing his eyes, and he looked exhausted.
“Uh, yeah. Insomnia.”
“Again?” Rachel reached her hand out and covered his briefly, and his lips twitched as he shrugged.
“Eh, it comes and goes.” He flicked his dark gaze up at the waitress as she brought their food out and Rachel thanked her. “Do you really like the picture?” he asked quietly after a few bites.
The memory of it brought a smile to Rachel's face as Jack stared at their hands, still side-by-side on the table after she'd touched him. “I love it, Jack.”
He nodded, smiling back at her just a little. He was conscious of the way his scars twisted his smiles, so he saved the real ones for private. “Good.” He cleared his throat and spoke at a normal volume. “Your friend Charles called me.”
Rachel's eyebrows went up. “You actually answered an unexpected call? I'm proud of you, Jack.”
He flushed at her approving smile and shrugged. “I wasn't expecting him to be a her. It got me curious.”
“Still, that's great. Did you work anything out?”
He raised his gaze from their close-set fingers to her eyes, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, thirty an hour under the table, under her supervision. She'll go over everything I do, and if I screw up she breaks my neck. Great deal we've got.”
Rachel laughed and slid her hand under his, squeezing as their fingers entwined. His breath hitched and he cleared his throat, but Jack didn't move his hand away. He returned the pressure gently, his smile widening a bit as he ate left-handed. It was an easier task than Rachel would have had; Jack was completely ambidextrous. They continued eating in silence, content to let their fingers linger together as they enjoyed the sun and the company.
“Uh . . . Harleen and I never ate out,” Jack said as Rachel was signing the bill.
She raised her eyebrows. “Really? Why not?”
He shrugged. “Cheaper for me to cook, I guess. But this is nice. Thank you.”
He was slowly losing the hesitant pauses in his speech, and Rachel pulled him into a hug. “It's no problem at all, Jack.” She tensed a little and closed her eyes when he nuzzled the side of her neck gently, then pulled away with another smile. “I'll bring the second season of Scrubs on Tuesday, all right?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Okay, then.” Rachel gave him another hug as he picked his iced tea up. “Have a good day.”
“I will. You, too.” He gritted his teeth as he watched her turn and hurry across the street, and after a moment there was a barely audible crunch as hairline fractures blossomed around his glass of tea. Jack set the cup down without looking and headed to his two o'clock meeting.
~
Eight o'clock found Rachel sitting in Bruce's parlor, a glass of sherry in her hands as she laughed with him and Alfred about one of her trials that day.
“I, I feel so bad for laughing,” Rachel gasped, “but after Smith suggested her outfit was the reason she got raped, the girl looked at him and asked ---” She had to set her glass down, she was laughing so hard. “She, she told him 'Well, gee, if Donald didn't want me to stab him eight times, sir, why'd he rape me? He was obviously asking for it!' Oh, God . . .” She wiped her eyes. “She's so cute, she is . . . she's just so outraged by all the bullshit!”
Alfred set down some appetizers as Rachel got a hold of herself, and Bruce idly nibbled on one of the spring rolls. “So . . . what was the outcome?”
“Oh, we won. The judge ruled that it was self-defense, and that under the circumstances, eight stab wounds didn't count as aggravated assault. I tell you, Hideki is amazing. The judges love him.”
“Isn't he the the one you had dinner with last night?” Bruce asked.
Rachel licked her lips and shook her head. “No, that was a different friend.”
She didn't miss the significant look Alfred gave Bruce, nor the mimed poisoning of his sherry, and Bruce settled back into the couch. “I'm glad you're doing good,” he said, “and I'm sorry we haven't seen much of each other lately.” He glanced at Alfred briefly. “You look . . . happy, Rach. Really happy.”
He didn't look happy about it, and Rachel's heart pounded as she licked her lips and tried to brush it off. “What's not to be happy about?” she asked lightly. “Crime's down, we're having a beautiful summer, I've honed my team to the best lawyers in the state, and I'm surrounded by good friends.” She smiled at him before slapping his thigh. “Do you want me to crash my car? A little fender-bender? Would that make you happy?”
Her friend laughed as he shook his head. “No, because I don't want to spend the money on repairing it and try to hide it from you at the same time.” He'd slid his arm around her shoulders and Rachel leaned into his embrace.
“Oh, right. I forgot the world revolves around Bruce Wayne.”
He laughed into her hair and she knew she was happier these days because of Jack, and she knew he knew that, and that it bothered him. It was bothering Rachel less and less. There had been a few off days when she'd been afraid that Jack might throw something at her out of sheer frustration, but those days were fewer and farther between, and she'd learned to deal with his occasional tantrums and redirect his ire into less violent venues. Dr. Morgenson had remarked the previous month that Jack was calmer and more stable than he'd ever been, and the heavy silence that had followed that remark had been full of questions Rachel wasn't ready to answer. He'd moved on to inquire about her own social life away from Jack, assuring himself that she was getting adequate exposure to the rest of the world. Rachel hadn't brought it up to Jack yet, but Dr. Morgenson had also suggested he might enjoy a night on the town with her, dinner and dancing, perhaps. It hadn't escaped Rachel's notice that the psychiatrist had stopped specifying his suggested outings as non-romantic the previous month.
“I'm sorry, Rachel,” Bruce whispered.
“What for?” she asked as she looked up at him.
“I'm sorry I couldn't be what you needed.”
Her heart clench and Rachel touched her friend's jaw gently. “Oh, Bruce . . . I'm so sorry . . .”
It was the only thing she could think to say before Alfred came back in to announce dinner. Bruce shook himself and stood, pulling Rachel up with him and escorting her to the private dining room that was reserved for more intimate dinners. The table sat up to six, and their places were across from each other in the middle. Bruce was on a Japanese and Korean kick, and sushi was mingled with chapchae and fried rice. There was shrimp tempura udon --- a favourite of Rachel's --- and bulgogi, with at least two varieties of tea to go with the meal.
“Geez, Bruce, did you hire chefs from overseas or something?”
“As a matter of fact,” he said with that charming smile of his as he held her chair out for her, “I did. Oh, it's part of the new restaurant; stop looking at me like that.” He sat across from her and leaned back as Alfred served them. “Until the place is up and running, they're training the other cooks here.”
Rachel snorted. “How generous of you.”
“I like to think I got the better end of the bargain.” He leaned forward and grinned at her. “Rachel, you do remember what I told you last year, don't you? About my restaurants and hotels?”
She took a sip of her tea --- brown, with extra sugar in it --- and didn't meet his gaze as she nodded. “Sure, I remember.”
“Well, the offer still stands. I'm not going to make my best and oldest friend pay at a place that I own.” He picked up his chopsticks and snagged a piece of sushi, talking around it much like Jack tended to do when he was excited about the dinner conversation. “Shee, mm, see, you need to get out more. I know, I know, you eat dinner with friends, but you need to get out out more.”
Rachel was blushing at the comparison between her friend and Jack. “Bruce, I ---”
“I'm not saying you need to be the life of the town, Rachel, but . . .” He trailed off and stared down at his bowl of udon, then looked back up at her. “I miss seeing you around.”
Rachel had pretty much stopped being social after Harvey's death. She'd made the needed rounds, of course, to assure friends and family that she was all right, and then when she'd run for District Attorney there had been parties and fund raisers to attend as well. Beyond that, though, she hadn't been able to bring herself to seek out new friendships and romances. She'd had two relationships in the last six years, and they'd just reminded her of why she hated dating, why she'd been so glad she'd found Harvey.
And now she was physically and romantically attracted to Harvey's killer. God, she had to be twisted to let that happen. How had it happened? He'd been so broken in the interrogation room, his wife dead, certain he would be thrown back in jail for a something he hadn't done. Now, six months later, he was laughing more freely, answering unexpected phone calls, venturing out of his daily routine . . . true, Jack still found some disturbing things to be hilarious, but she had to admit that sombreros were funny, and he made a visible effort to not laugh at things like blind babies and AIDS around her. He could be a real asshole at times, but she'd subjected him to the waitress test and approved of the results. His mood swings and tantrums were something she could easily deal with, by removing herself from the room or talking him down to a more clear-headed state. Sometimes she could see a frighteningly familiar shadow in his eyes, but the moment he realised he was unnerving her, he'd withdraw into himself until he had control of his inner demons once again.
“I wish I could make you smile like that.” Bruce's voice interrupted her thoughts and Rachel's eyes went wide as she blushed. Her friend --- her first love --- was watching her wistfully.
Rachel dipped some shrimp tempura into her soup broth and took a quick bite to both cover her embarrassment and give her time to think. Daydreaming about the former Joker while eating dinner with Batman was just idiotic. Especially when Bruce knew who it was putting this smile on her face.
She cleared her throat. “So, uhm . . . your Vegas trip, when's that, again? Or did I miss it?”
Bruce slurped the chapchae like it was spaghetti as he shook his head. “It's next month. Want to come with me? You could use a vacation.”
Rachel laughed as she shook her head. “I'd love to Bruce, I would, but I have so much going on at work right now that I can't leave.”
Bruce shrugged as he crunched on his tempura. “Suit yourself.”
“You're such a baby,” she scolded him. “You are not going to guilt-trip me into abandoning my job for a week of gambling!”
“There's lots to do in Vegas other than gamble,” Bruce defended himself.
One delicately shaped eyebrow arch. “Oh? Tell me one. Something legal.”
He thought about it, then pursed his lips. “You can eat.”
“I can eat in Gotham! For free, if I crash one of your joints!”
“See the sights?”
Rachel laughed. “That's not going to take me a whole week, Bruce.”
He chewed the inside of his lip, another gesture reminiscent of Jack. “Buy things?”
She sat back and crossed her arms over her chest as she gave him a stern look. “Like what?”
“Hotels?”
“Bruce!”
“What?” he asked innocently, grinning at her. “Hotels are fun to buy, Rachel.”
She shook her head and rubbed her temples before going for the last piece of edamame. “Bruce, you know I don't have enough money to buy a Vegas hotel. Any hotel, for that matter.”
“It's not my fault your parents weren't rich,” he sniffed. “No need to take it out on me.” They laughed for a few moments, then Bruce took the last sip of his tea. “No, really, let me know when you have a week free and we'll go somewhere. Anywhere,” he added, anticipating her next question. “My treat.”
Rachel popped her last bit of sushi into her mouth and chewed for a moment before nodding. “All right. All right, fine, I'll check my schedule and see if I can't squeeze in a free week. No promises,” she admonished him, waving her chopsticks at warningly.
Bruce leaned back and folded his hands across his chest, smug. “Understood,” he nodded.
“Although,” Rachel said, “if you wanted to treat me, you could always buy me stock in Jamba Juice.”
Bruce stared at her, then rolled his eyes. “Uh . . . yeah. I'll think about it.”
She was still laughing when Alfred cleared the plates away.
~
Rachel was exhausted as she climbed the steps to her apartment building. Bruce had convinced her to stay longer than she'd intended, watching campy old movies, and her watch read two-thirty-four when she pressed the elevator button. She was glad it had gotten fixed the previous day; walking up ten stories of stairs was not on her list of things to do at the moment. Or ever, really. God bless whoever invented elevators, truly.
Once safely ensconced in her apartment, Rachel pulled her clothes off and flopped back onto her bed, too tired to shower or even wash her face. It took all her strength to crawl under the covers and pull them tightly around her as she curled into a ball, idly brushing the fingers of one hand across her cheek as her thoughts returned to Jack. She had to admit, the way he looked at her when he thought she couldn't see was an ego boost. A more confident man would have begun to seriously try to get her in bed by this time, but for all of Jack's leering and innuendos, he was far too insecure to make a genuine move on her.
Not that Rachel minded. Her body warmed along with her sleepy thoughts and she wondered how it would feel to kiss him, to hold his face in her hands and feel his scars against her palms, how it would feel when he pressed into her touch, rather than pulling away from it. Was he a good lover? Rachel's heart skipped a beat and she smiled to herself as she stretched out, cuddling into her pillow and wondering, as she slipped into dreams, what Jack looked like without his shirt on . . .
Author: larissafae
Fandom: Batman, Nolanverse.
Pairing: Past Jack Napier/Harleen Quinzel, future Jack/Rachel
Chapter rating: PG-13
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: If they were mine, this wouldn't be a fanfic, now, would it?
Summary: A rehabilitated Jack Napier is brought into police custody after his wife of four years, Dr. Harleen Quinzel, falls to her death from their apartment. The only ones who seem to be on his side are Gordon and Rachel, who are haunted by the fact that 'rehabilitated' doesn't always mean 'cured'.
Previous chapters:
1
2
3
4
“Rachel, so good to see you.”
“Bruce!” Rachel whirled around in her seat and felt her face go pale. “What are you doing here?”
“Just bought the place next door,” her old friend said easily. “Mind if I sit down? Waiting for someone?” He gestured at the second peach tea on the table as he smoothly commandeered the empty chair it sat in front of. “Haven't seen you in a few months, Rachel. I missed you.”
Rachel pursed her lips and glanced at her watch. Jack should be here any minute. “So, what, you're here to apologise for effectively calling me a traitorous slut?”
Bruce's eyebrow twitched and he frowned. “Well . . . I guess I am.” He rubbed the back of his neck and had the decency to look embarrassed. “I think we obviously disagree on Napier's sanity,” and he ignored Rachel's snort at the understatement, “but . . . I'm sorry, Rach. I'm just worried about you.”
“Thank you, Bruce,” Rachel said with sincerity. “I'm sorry I lost my temper with you.”
“Yeah, well, Alfred gave me the worst talking-to I've had from him in years. I figured, if I didn't want to be poisoned slowly, I'd better apologise.” He grinned as Rachel laughed. “What are you doing tonight? If I don't bring you to dinner, I will be dead in the morning.”
Rachel tucked her hair behind her ear and stood as a familiar figure slouched around the corner. “I'm free, and tell Alfred I'd love to come over. What time? I'm sorry to rush you, but my friend will be here soon . . .”
Bruce's lips pursed, but he stood up and hugged her. “Eight's good. Give us some time to catch up. Can't have Napier monopolising all your nights,” he murmured.
“It's only twice a week, Bruce,” Rachel whispered in his ear as she returned his hug. “I'll be there at eight.”
Her friend smiled sadly at her. “You look so much happier these days,” he said simply, then kissed her forward before heading back to his new restaurant.
Rachel watched Bruce until he disappeared inside the building, then turned back to Jack with a smile as he walked up. She held her hand out and he took it, then she pulled him into one of the man-hugs she'd always teased Harvey about.
“How are you, Jack?” she asked in his ear.
He stiffened a little before returning the hug. “I'm fine. Was that Bruce Wayne?”
Rachel flushed a little and nodded. “Yes.”
“You know him?”
He was watching her carefully, and Rachel hurried to assure him that his suspicion that there was a romance between her and Bruce was far from the truth.
“We've been friends since we were kids. He was just apologising for being a jerk the other day.”
“He's handsome.”
“He's a total playboy,” Rachel returned. “Not my type.”
That mollified Jack, and he sat and reached for his tea. “You ordered already?”
She nodded. “Same as last time. It should be out soon . . . are you all right?” He was rubbing his eyes, and he looked exhausted.
“Uh, yeah. Insomnia.”
“Again?” Rachel reached her hand out and covered his briefly, and his lips twitched as he shrugged.
“Eh, it comes and goes.” He flicked his dark gaze up at the waitress as she brought their food out and Rachel thanked her. “Do you really like the picture?” he asked quietly after a few bites.
The memory of it brought a smile to Rachel's face as Jack stared at their hands, still side-by-side on the table after she'd touched him. “I love it, Jack.”
He nodded, smiling back at her just a little. He was conscious of the way his scars twisted his smiles, so he saved the real ones for private. “Good.” He cleared his throat and spoke at a normal volume. “Your friend Charles called me.”
Rachel's eyebrows went up. “You actually answered an unexpected call? I'm proud of you, Jack.”
He flushed at her approving smile and shrugged. “I wasn't expecting him to be a her. It got me curious.”
“Still, that's great. Did you work anything out?”
He raised his gaze from their close-set fingers to her eyes, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, thirty an hour under the table, under her supervision. She'll go over everything I do, and if I screw up she breaks my neck. Great deal we've got.”
Rachel laughed and slid her hand under his, squeezing as their fingers entwined. His breath hitched and he cleared his throat, but Jack didn't move his hand away. He returned the pressure gently, his smile widening a bit as he ate left-handed. It was an easier task than Rachel would have had; Jack was completely ambidextrous. They continued eating in silence, content to let their fingers linger together as they enjoyed the sun and the company.
“Uh . . . Harleen and I never ate out,” Jack said as Rachel was signing the bill.
She raised her eyebrows. “Really? Why not?”
He shrugged. “Cheaper for me to cook, I guess. But this is nice. Thank you.”
He was slowly losing the hesitant pauses in his speech, and Rachel pulled him into a hug. “It's no problem at all, Jack.” She tensed a little and closed her eyes when he nuzzled the side of her neck gently, then pulled away with another smile. “I'll bring the second season of Scrubs on Tuesday, all right?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Okay, then.” Rachel gave him another hug as he picked his iced tea up. “Have a good day.”
“I will. You, too.” He gritted his teeth as he watched her turn and hurry across the street, and after a moment there was a barely audible crunch as hairline fractures blossomed around his glass of tea. Jack set the cup down without looking and headed to his two o'clock meeting.
~
Eight o'clock found Rachel sitting in Bruce's parlor, a glass of sherry in her hands as she laughed with him and Alfred about one of her trials that day.
“I, I feel so bad for laughing,” Rachel gasped, “but after Smith suggested her outfit was the reason she got raped, the girl looked at him and asked ---” She had to set her glass down, she was laughing so hard. “She, she told him 'Well, gee, if Donald didn't want me to stab him eight times, sir, why'd he rape me? He was obviously asking for it!' Oh, God . . .” She wiped her eyes. “She's so cute, she is . . . she's just so outraged by all the bullshit!”
Alfred set down some appetizers as Rachel got a hold of herself, and Bruce idly nibbled on one of the spring rolls. “So . . . what was the outcome?”
“Oh, we won. The judge ruled that it was self-defense, and that under the circumstances, eight stab wounds didn't count as aggravated assault. I tell you, Hideki is amazing. The judges love him.”
“Isn't he the the one you had dinner with last night?” Bruce asked.
Rachel licked her lips and shook her head. “No, that was a different friend.”
She didn't miss the significant look Alfred gave Bruce, nor the mimed poisoning of his sherry, and Bruce settled back into the couch. “I'm glad you're doing good,” he said, “and I'm sorry we haven't seen much of each other lately.” He glanced at Alfred briefly. “You look . . . happy, Rach. Really happy.”
He didn't look happy about it, and Rachel's heart pounded as she licked her lips and tried to brush it off. “What's not to be happy about?” she asked lightly. “Crime's down, we're having a beautiful summer, I've honed my team to the best lawyers in the state, and I'm surrounded by good friends.” She smiled at him before slapping his thigh. “Do you want me to crash my car? A little fender-bender? Would that make you happy?”
Her friend laughed as he shook his head. “No, because I don't want to spend the money on repairing it and try to hide it from you at the same time.” He'd slid his arm around her shoulders and Rachel leaned into his embrace.
“Oh, right. I forgot the world revolves around Bruce Wayne.”
He laughed into her hair and she knew she was happier these days because of Jack, and she knew he knew that, and that it bothered him. It was bothering Rachel less and less. There had been a few off days when she'd been afraid that Jack might throw something at her out of sheer frustration, but those days were fewer and farther between, and she'd learned to deal with his occasional tantrums and redirect his ire into less violent venues. Dr. Morgenson had remarked the previous month that Jack was calmer and more stable than he'd ever been, and the heavy silence that had followed that remark had been full of questions Rachel wasn't ready to answer. He'd moved on to inquire about her own social life away from Jack, assuring himself that she was getting adequate exposure to the rest of the world. Rachel hadn't brought it up to Jack yet, but Dr. Morgenson had also suggested he might enjoy a night on the town with her, dinner and dancing, perhaps. It hadn't escaped Rachel's notice that the psychiatrist had stopped specifying his suggested outings as non-romantic the previous month.
“I'm sorry, Rachel,” Bruce whispered.
“What for?” she asked as she looked up at him.
“I'm sorry I couldn't be what you needed.”
Her heart clench and Rachel touched her friend's jaw gently. “Oh, Bruce . . . I'm so sorry . . .”
It was the only thing she could think to say before Alfred came back in to announce dinner. Bruce shook himself and stood, pulling Rachel up with him and escorting her to the private dining room that was reserved for more intimate dinners. The table sat up to six, and their places were across from each other in the middle. Bruce was on a Japanese and Korean kick, and sushi was mingled with chapchae and fried rice. There was shrimp tempura udon --- a favourite of Rachel's --- and bulgogi, with at least two varieties of tea to go with the meal.
“Geez, Bruce, did you hire chefs from overseas or something?”
“As a matter of fact,” he said with that charming smile of his as he held her chair out for her, “I did. Oh, it's part of the new restaurant; stop looking at me like that.” He sat across from her and leaned back as Alfred served them. “Until the place is up and running, they're training the other cooks here.”
Rachel snorted. “How generous of you.”
“I like to think I got the better end of the bargain.” He leaned forward and grinned at her. “Rachel, you do remember what I told you last year, don't you? About my restaurants and hotels?”
She took a sip of her tea --- brown, with extra sugar in it --- and didn't meet his gaze as she nodded. “Sure, I remember.”
“Well, the offer still stands. I'm not going to make my best and oldest friend pay at a place that I own.” He picked up his chopsticks and snagged a piece of sushi, talking around it much like Jack tended to do when he was excited about the dinner conversation. “Shee, mm, see, you need to get out more. I know, I know, you eat dinner with friends, but you need to get out out more.”
Rachel was blushing at the comparison between her friend and Jack. “Bruce, I ---”
“I'm not saying you need to be the life of the town, Rachel, but . . .” He trailed off and stared down at his bowl of udon, then looked back up at her. “I miss seeing you around.”
Rachel had pretty much stopped being social after Harvey's death. She'd made the needed rounds, of course, to assure friends and family that she was all right, and then when she'd run for District Attorney there had been parties and fund raisers to attend as well. Beyond that, though, she hadn't been able to bring herself to seek out new friendships and romances. She'd had two relationships in the last six years, and they'd just reminded her of why she hated dating, why she'd been so glad she'd found Harvey.
And now she was physically and romantically attracted to Harvey's killer. God, she had to be twisted to let that happen. How had it happened? He'd been so broken in the interrogation room, his wife dead, certain he would be thrown back in jail for a something he hadn't done. Now, six months later, he was laughing more freely, answering unexpected phone calls, venturing out of his daily routine . . . true, Jack still found some disturbing things to be hilarious, but she had to admit that sombreros were funny, and he made a visible effort to not laugh at things like blind babies and AIDS around her. He could be a real asshole at times, but she'd subjected him to the waitress test and approved of the results. His mood swings and tantrums were something she could easily deal with, by removing herself from the room or talking him down to a more clear-headed state. Sometimes she could see a frighteningly familiar shadow in his eyes, but the moment he realised he was unnerving her, he'd withdraw into himself until he had control of his inner demons once again.
“I wish I could make you smile like that.” Bruce's voice interrupted her thoughts and Rachel's eyes went wide as she blushed. Her friend --- her first love --- was watching her wistfully.
Rachel dipped some shrimp tempura into her soup broth and took a quick bite to both cover her embarrassment and give her time to think. Daydreaming about the former Joker while eating dinner with Batman was just idiotic. Especially when Bruce knew who it was putting this smile on her face.
She cleared her throat. “So, uhm . . . your Vegas trip, when's that, again? Or did I miss it?”
Bruce slurped the chapchae like it was spaghetti as he shook his head. “It's next month. Want to come with me? You could use a vacation.”
Rachel laughed as she shook her head. “I'd love to Bruce, I would, but I have so much going on at work right now that I can't leave.”
Bruce shrugged as he crunched on his tempura. “Suit yourself.”
“You're such a baby,” she scolded him. “You are not going to guilt-trip me into abandoning my job for a week of gambling!”
“There's lots to do in Vegas other than gamble,” Bruce defended himself.
One delicately shaped eyebrow arch. “Oh? Tell me one. Something legal.”
He thought about it, then pursed his lips. “You can eat.”
“I can eat in Gotham! For free, if I crash one of your joints!”
“See the sights?”
Rachel laughed. “That's not going to take me a whole week, Bruce.”
He chewed the inside of his lip, another gesture reminiscent of Jack. “Buy things?”
She sat back and crossed her arms over her chest as she gave him a stern look. “Like what?”
“Hotels?”
“Bruce!”
“What?” he asked innocently, grinning at her. “Hotels are fun to buy, Rachel.”
She shook her head and rubbed her temples before going for the last piece of edamame. “Bruce, you know I don't have enough money to buy a Vegas hotel. Any hotel, for that matter.”
“It's not my fault your parents weren't rich,” he sniffed. “No need to take it out on me.” They laughed for a few moments, then Bruce took the last sip of his tea. “No, really, let me know when you have a week free and we'll go somewhere. Anywhere,” he added, anticipating her next question. “My treat.”
Rachel popped her last bit of sushi into her mouth and chewed for a moment before nodding. “All right. All right, fine, I'll check my schedule and see if I can't squeeze in a free week. No promises,” she admonished him, waving her chopsticks at warningly.
Bruce leaned back and folded his hands across his chest, smug. “Understood,” he nodded.
“Although,” Rachel said, “if you wanted to treat me, you could always buy me stock in Jamba Juice.”
Bruce stared at her, then rolled his eyes. “Uh . . . yeah. I'll think about it.”
She was still laughing when Alfred cleared the plates away.
~
Rachel was exhausted as she climbed the steps to her apartment building. Bruce had convinced her to stay longer than she'd intended, watching campy old movies, and her watch read two-thirty-four when she pressed the elevator button. She was glad it had gotten fixed the previous day; walking up ten stories of stairs was not on her list of things to do at the moment. Or ever, really. God bless whoever invented elevators, truly.
Once safely ensconced in her apartment, Rachel pulled her clothes off and flopped back onto her bed, too tired to shower or even wash her face. It took all her strength to crawl under the covers and pull them tightly around her as she curled into a ball, idly brushing the fingers of one hand across her cheek as her thoughts returned to Jack. She had to admit, the way he looked at her when he thought she couldn't see was an ego boost. A more confident man would have begun to seriously try to get her in bed by this time, but for all of Jack's leering and innuendos, he was far too insecure to make a genuine move on her.
Not that Rachel minded. Her body warmed along with her sleepy thoughts and she wondered how it would feel to kiss him, to hold his face in her hands and feel his scars against her palms, how it would feel when he pressed into her touch, rather than pulling away from it. Was he a good lover? Rachel's heart skipped a beat and she smiled to herself as she stretched out, cuddling into her pillow and wondering, as she slipped into dreams, what Jack looked like without his shirt on . . .