Chapter Text
Edward was beyond sick of being stuck in Arkham.
Of course, he didn't expect his stay to be fun , but he never expected it to be for this long either. His cell always seemed to be cold, the guards were cruel and uncaring, and there was very little in terms of entertainment. He’d sometimes share a riddle or two with his 'friend' in the cell next to him, but that was quickly growing stale. If only his plan had gone the way he'd hoped with him and the Bat. It was clear they were perfect for each other. They had done so much together, brought Gotham to its knees, and showed it a taste of real vengeance. He still couldn't understand why Batman didn't see it the way he did.
But with his new plan, Edward could get another chance to talk some sense into him. He'd been sending letters to his most loyal followers. There was nothing complicated about them, no ciphers to decode or puzzles to solve. No, they were simple—Simple lies .
He wrote about himself and the Bat, about how they were closer than anyone could've known. And if he got too detailed, if he happened to base them on his own fantasies, it was simply to make them seem as sincere as possible. As far as he could tell, it was going just as he'd hoped. His followers didn't know any better; they couldn't help but share them around. Now all he had to do was wait until one of them slipped up and told the wrong person, someone who was willing to share it outside of their tight-knit little circle. He was sure the press would pay well for such a story.
After the flood, most of Riddler's casual followers deleted their accounts and pretended like they had no part in any of it. But there were small pockets of the internet that kept the faith. They held out for the hope that Riddler’s plan wasn’t over just because he was locked up, that there was still more to the story. It was on an obscure forum for these zealous holdouts that he first heard the rumors.
None of it was true, but that never really mattered with rumors. They’d spread like a wildfire regardless. It was mostly contained for now, with the forums being password-protected and inaccessible from the clearweb, but it was only a matter of time before the story leaked. Eventually, someone wouldn’t be able to keep their mouth shut, and Batman’s reputation would sink faster than Gotham did.
“Nashton,” Bruce mumbled, scanning the posts for more details. Someone had even posted a photo of the letter that Edward had sent them. In that messy, chicken-scratch writing of his, Edward had written detailed reports of his supposed love life with the Bat. Most of his followers were eating it up, aside from a few people who were more upset with the fact that Edward was attracted to a man than anything else. Priorities.
As much as he didn’t want to, Bruce knew that this might eventually warrant a visit to Arkham, but the last thing he needed was to add validity to the rumors by showing up.
The best option would be to wait. It was unlikely that the rumor would die out on its own, but visiting Edward would only add fuel to the fire. He could already see the headlines. Batman Visits Criminal Boyfriend at Arkham.
He logged off and shut the computer down, closing his eyes. PR was never his strong suit.
—
Just like Edward had planned, the letters he sent out were leaked within days of his followers receiving them. Gotham was still reeling from the flood and the chaos it had caused, but they would always have time for drama.
He could just barely make out what the reporter was saying through the thick door of his cell, recounting each little detail of his letters and what it could possibly mean for the vigilante the city had grown to trust. Had he really been working with the Riddler this entire time? Was everything he did to help Gotham's residents only a way to cover his tracks while they planned another attack?
Edward didn't care for their speculation. For once, none of the possible consequences mattered to him. While Batman hadn’t shown his face yet, Edward knew he had already gotten what he wanted—The Bat's attention.
—
Somehow, the news got out. The rumor had left containment, just like Bruce predicted it might. He didn’t want to look at the computer. Everything he was seeing made him want to toss the cowl away forever. How could people believe something so obviously false? Was it that easy to believe he’d throw away his morals for a guy like Edward Nashton?
Edward, the man who flooded the city. Edward, the man whose followers tried to kill him. Edward, the man currently locked up in an insane asylum. This was the man that Gothamites had chosen to believe? The words of a madman made good press, he supposed.
But going to Arkham? Now? Impossible. He’d only give the gossip more validity.
A cease and desist, then.
He sat at his desk, crafting something passable. No lawyer would sign off on it. It was nothing more than a few lines of telling Edward to fuck off, in polite legalese, of course.
‘It has come to my attention that you have been disseminating false and defamatory statements regarding an alleged romantic relationship between yourself, Edward Nashton, and me, Batman.
Let me be clear: no such relationship exists, has existed, or will ever exist. Your behavior constitutes willful defamation, identity manipulation, and a flagrant violation of personal boundaries. You are hereby ordered to immediately cease all speech, publications, riddles, graffiti, puzzles, or other media, digital or analog, suggesting or implying any form of personal, romantic, or intimate connection between us.
Continued propagation of these claims will result in escalated legal action, as well as direct intervention. I strongly advise compliance.
You are being watched.
-Batman.’
It wouldn’t hold up in court, but it might be enough to scare him straight, though, knowing Edward, it might only serve to encourage him more.
He handed the letter to Alfred and told him to drop it off sometime that afternoon. Then, he sat back down at his desk and continued scrolling through hundreds of posts with his head in his hands.
—
Edward was so sure the Bat would come to see him. He was so excited to see him again, to get another chance to talk to him and finally make him understand why it was so important for them to work together.
Which is why it was a real punch in the gut when the guards came to his cell with nothing but a letter.
The first time he saw Batman's handwriting, and it was in the form of a fucking cease and desist. He barely had time to savour the fact that he'd written this for him before he was overwhelmed with pure rage, balling the letter up in his fist as he wailed.
How dare he threaten him after everything he did? How dare he leave him to rot when he'd dedicated so much of his time to him? It wasn't fair!
Just breathe.
Edward took a deep breath and let his fists unclench, the letter fluttering to the cold, concrete floor. He couldn't let his emotions get the better of him. That's what Batman wanted, right? For him to be scared, angry, and impulsive. He had to think about this. He needed to plan his next move carefully. No more relying on his followers to speak for him, no more hiding away in his little cell.
If he wanted to finish what he started, he needed to find a way out of here.
It took a month. A month of watching, waiting, trading what little he had in exchange for information. He learned the guard's shift patterns, which ones still had a bit of humanity left. Some of them pitied him. Not because he was the Riddler, but because he was Edward. Meek, pathetic Edward. They'd talk with him in hushed tones during his free time, giving him a little more leeway than the rest of the inmates.
Of course, he used it to his advantage. The day of his escape, his followers who had been arrested during the attack on Gotham Square Garden came together and instigated a riot. He'd been quietly organizing with them for weeks, telling them just how flawed the security at Arkham truly was. It proved to be enough, the riot being the perfect distraction to allow Edward to slip out and return to Gotham.
Finally, he was able to see the wreckage he caused. His old apartment block was almost completely destroyed, but he never planned to go back there. He was lucky to find an abandoned home that hadn't been ransacked or too damaged by the flood, and even luckier that it had just what he needed. A laptop.
Edward immediately got to work creating a new video and published it to his surprisingly active forum.
'To The Batman.'
—
Bruce didn’t want to click on the link.
His ribs were still sore from the shotgun blast that he’d received, courtesy of one of Riddler’s followers, and the thought of going anywhere right now was daunting. But Edward had escaped Arkham and was now on the loose, so he had to do something.
He started by clicking on the video.
For a moment, the video was entirely dark. It almost seemed like nothing was going to play at all until a small light flicked on, showing Edward sitting in an unfamiliar room. He had forgone any sort of mask, proudly showing his face as he grinned at the camera.
"I know you're watching this," he started, already struggling to contain his giddy laughter. "You have to. You can hate me, threaten me all you want, but that doesn't make this any less interesting, does it? The game we play." He leaned back, taking a deep breath. "I’ve missed this. For so long, the idea of talking to you was just that. An idea , a dream. Now you have to listen to me." He let a small laugh slip, his eyes crinkling. "It's a shame it's so one-sided." He shook his head, "After everything you said to me, I really shouldn't be giving you any hints, but… what can I say? I love our game just as much as you do."
He hunched forward, peering into the camera. "A sign of power with jewels adorned, heavier is the head when I'm worn..." he said with a giggle, "What am I?"
It was quiet for a moment before Edward spoke up again, "Come alone. I'll know." Then, the video cut off.
Bruce didn’t have to think for very long to know what the riddle meant. It could only refer to Crown Point, Gotham’s roughest neighborhood, one of the areas that had been most affected by the flood.
It came as a surprise that Edward would even want to show his face there. Bruce could only imagine the chaos that would erupt if the remaining inhabitants of the ruined apartment blocks caught sight of the man who ruined their lives.
The bruising on his ribs was mostly healed now, and while it wasn’t ideal, he could justify putting the batsuit on again for this.
He painted on black eyeshadow around his eyes until it looked like he was wearing a mask, and suited up, inhaling the familiar smell of sweat that had soaked into the suit. Getting on his bike, he started the engine and raced under the cover of darkness to find the man who’d summoned him.
Most of the area was cordoned off, but on his bike, he effortlessly drove around the concrete barriers and into Crown Point.
It was his first time heading out since the injury, and it was painful to see the city like this, knowing that if he’d been a little faster, a little smarter, maybe none of this would have happened. Most of the people who lived there had finally begun to settle into their new lives. The word on the streets was that the rioting and looting were still an issue, but after the gang war between the Maronis and Falcones had ravaged the area, people had realized that it was safer to stay inside. The remaining few delinquents who hadn’t gotten the memo yet were getting picked off by the remaining criminal organizations. It seemed that, somehow, Gotham was finally beginning to settle into a new normal.
Bruce wasn’t sure where to find Edward. The riddle had pointed him to Crown Point, but where? It was a big place. Bruce could spend the entire day riding around and still only cover half of the roads. There had to be something.
His mind formed a map, and he ran through the options.
The tunnels under the city were probably out. After the explosion, aside from the Batcave and a few other areas that had been sealed off years ago, a lot of the tunnels collapsed or became unstable. Even for someone as crazy as Edward, he wouldn’t risk putting his life in that much danger. It was unlikely that he was just hiding in a building, too. He wanted Batman to find him. He wouldn’t make the search impossible. On the contrary. Edward probably left a clue somewhere. There had to be something he was missing.
Bruce drove past the bridge that connected the neighborhood to the industrial district, and it was only a few minutes later when he skidded to a stop.
The bridge.
Bruce turned his bike around and raced back. Riddler wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to play the troll under the bridge, forcing Bruce to answer his riddle. No, he knew Edward too well. There was always a little humor to his puzzles. An inside joke, just for him.
He parked the bike and hopped over the guardrail to slide down the steep incline that led to where he almost guaranteed Riddler would be.
He was here. Edward stood up, wiping his hands off on his hoodie and looking over in the direction of the noise. There were a few agonizing seconds before he finally came into view, the city lights casting an almost halo glow around him.
"There you are," he said breathlessly, his eyes wide behind his cracked glasses. Even after his betrayal, he couldn't get over the pure admiration he felt towards the Bat. His lips curled into a smile as he stared at him, not daring to move. Seeing him was risky. He'd heard about what he'd done to one of his followers—almost caved his skull in. Somehow, that just made this all the more thrilling. "Did you miss me?" he teased, cocking his head to the side.
Bruce stared at him. Being up close to Edward again was strange. The last time he’d laid eyes on the man was just before the flood had rocked the city. He’d been locked up safely behind bars. Now…
“What are you doing?”
"I wanted to talk to you," Edward answered. "After your letter, I realised that this was the only way I'd be able to reach you." His eyes raked over Bruce's suit, taking in every little dent and scrape. "I thought I would've heard more about you after everything happened. But, as far as I'm aware, crime is skyrocketing, and you've been surprisingly absent! Why's that?" He looked back up at his face, laughing. "Was it too much to handle all by yourself?"
He looked around at the surrounding area, trying to spot a sign that there’d be an ambush of his followers, but they were alone—or at least, they seemed to be. Edward’s plan made no sense to him. He went through all the trouble to escape, and for what?
“I was shot.” He didn’t dignify Edward with any further explanation. He didn’t want to give him the satisfaction that it had been one of his own men who managed to take him out.
"You weren't meant to be there. You were meant to wait." He shook his head. "But that doesn't matter now. It has to get worse before it gets better. All of this?" He gestured broadly, his wide grin returning. "This is a fresh start for Gotham! And we did it together."
“This was all you,” Bruce said with a scowl. “I told you before. You’re insane.” He stepped closer to him, hands clenched into fists, ready to knock him out to take him back to Arkham.
Edward stood his ground. "And I'm telling you, you helped me," he said. "It's not a matter of opinion. You did what I asked, you did what I couldn't. You don't have to keep denying it." He also took a small step towards Bruce, breathing in deeply. "You have to understand it was all worth it, right?" he asked. "After we killed the rat, the Falcones and Maronis started dropping like flies! I'm sure the rest of them will follow suit soon enough. And that's just one of the things we did."
“Any help I played a part in was accidental. I’d never willingly do anything for you.” His eyes narrowed. “I wanted them in prison, not dead. Everything you stand for is wrong. You make me sick.”
"And what do you think would happen if they'd all been arrested?" Edward tilted his head. There was a fond expression on his face, but it was.. Off, like he was watching a dumb puppy trip over its own feet and not talking to a man who could easily snap his neck if he wanted to. "I'll give you a hint- No, actually, I'll just tell you." He took another step forward. "Nothing would change," he whispered. "Absolutely nothing. It all runs far, far deeper than you realise. You'd have to arrest half the city before you even made a dent in their plans. Or, you could just... Flush them out."
“It’s not my place to take a life. It’s not yours, either.” Bruce stepped forward, finally close enough to put his hand out and touch Edward. “If it were that easy, I’d kill you, too.”
Edward's breath hitched when Bruce moved further towards him. His mind was racing, screaming at him to leave. Nothing good would come from this, and he knew it—But he was too far gone.
"You wouldn't," he said quietly. "I brought you into the light. I made them realise what you're capable of. There would be no Batman without the Riddler." He slowly lifted his hand, setting it over the symbol on Bruce's chest. "Just like there'd be no Edward Nashton without…" he trailed off with a giggle.
Bruce grabbed Edward’s hand and tightened his grip.
Edward was nothing without his followers. Just a weakling who relied too much on tools. There was no muscle, no strength to be found in him. The only thing that was holding Bruce back from breaking his arm right then and there was the simple fact that he didn’t need to.
“Careful,” Bruce whispered. “Choose your next words wisely.”
Edward leaned forward, his lips inches away from where Bruce's ear would be under the mask. He was silent for a moment, the only interruptions being the sound of his breathing and the city around them.
"I know who you are," he whispered, "Bruce Wayne."
Bruce didn't move. It wasn't a panic freeze, but a cold-hearted, calculated pause. He kept his eyes forward. Inside, Bruce's mind raced to find an answer to the problem, and it never seemed to surface. How long had he known? Back in Arkham, when Bruce had been so sure that Edward was talking about him—had that been more than just an awkwardly phrased monologue? Had he been testing to see his reaction?
Now there was no doubt about it. Bruce had been found out.
He grabbed Edward by the back of his head, keeping him pressed close to his body, and Bruce brought his lips to Edward's ear.
Edward felt his heart hammering in his chest as Bruce grabbed him, the hand still on his chest being crushed between them as he was held tight against him. He had to strain to listen as Bruce spoke.
"If you really knew who I was," he began, keeping his voice impossibly quiet, "you would have kept your mouth shut."
He shoved Edward backwards, letting him fall at his feet. "You think saying my name makes us equals. It doesn't. It makes you my target."
He scrambled to catch himself, falling back on his elbows instead of smashing his head against the earth. The rough ground digging into his arms and legs still hurt, but it was far better than a concussion.
"Your target?" Edward repeated with a laugh, "You're in no place to be threatening me. No matter what you do, I have the upper hand. One wrong move and I can ruin everything you worked so hard to achieve." He paused, his smile growing smug. "If only there was something you could do to get me to stay quiet." He hummed. "But you don't make deals with lowlifes like me. I guess that's too bad."
Bruce towered over him like a dark storm cloud, primed and ready to strike. “You’re right. I don’t.”
"Then why aren't you hauling me off to Arkham already?" Edward asked, sitting up. "Are you waiting for me to name my price?" He laughed, pushing himself up off the ground. "You'll have to ask nicely first."
Bruce just stood there, looming. The silence was evaluative. Measuring. He counted every breath Edward took.
Then, his voice broke through, low and hard. "You seem to think this is a negotiation. It’s not.” He knelt down to Edward's eye level, but there was no doubt that he wasn't still the one in control of the conversation. "You want me to beg? Ask nicely? You’re mistaking my restraint for mercy. Don’t." A long pause. "No one would miss you."
"Stop trying to act all intimidating, Bruce," Edward scoffed, shaking his head. "It's not going to work. I know you won't kill me." He smiled. "I don't think you could handle the guilt. Even if killing me meant nobody would know your secret, you'd still be putting a stain on your family's legacy. Do you remember when you and your parents visited the orphanage?" he asked. "I do. It was when I finally got a chance to talk to the Thomas Wayne. He thought I was going to do great things." He giggled. "Think about how disappointed he'd be if you killed me for your own selfish gain. Wouldn't that go against everything he supposedly stood for?"
For a moment, Bruce faltered. He knew it was possible that Edward would call his bluff, but he just hoped that wouldn’t be the case.
He didn’t offer a hand to help him up, but he took a few steps backward.
“What do you want, then?” The anger in his voice hadn’t gone away, but it was clear that he was done with threatening Edward. It clearly wasn’t going to work.
Edward slowly stood up, dusting himself off. Even with the thick layers covering him, he still felt filthy after being on the ground.
"Protection," Edward answered simply. "I'm not going to ask you to get your hands dirty for me—" not yet, at least, "—but I'm going to need somewhere safe to stay. Somewhere that the GCPD won't think to look."
“No. It doesn’t work that way.” Bruce took his cowl off. “If you want to tell the world who I am, then just do it. You killed innocent people, and now you expect me to do anything but look at you in disgust? I’m not helping you. Your move.”
Edward took a deep breath as he watched Bruce remove his cowl, revealing his messy hair and streaky eyeshadow. He still felt conflicted about his hero's true identity, but he was undeniably attractive. Pretty, in his own weird way.
"As long as you protect me, I won't do anything," he added with a smile. "I have a whole list of targets. You could save their lives."
“I’m not going to give you what you want.” Bruce closed the distance between them. “Your. Move.”
He was betting a lot on the idea that Edward wanted to be the only one to know the identity of the Bat, something he was very unsure of. But it was his only option. He couldn’t back down now.
"I know it's a tough decision to make," Edward said, reaching out and setting his hand on Bruce's shoulder. "I'll give you some time to think about it."
Surely Bruce felt it too. There was something that pulled them together. He just needed Bruce to stop denying himself. It was only making things more difficult for both of them. He dragged his fingers up Bruce's suit, over the collar of his cape, and, finally, to his jaw. He held him still as he leaned forward, pressing his lips to the corner of his mouth.
"I'll give you two days," he whispered. "If I don't get an answer, I'll tell everyone who you really are. Your move, Bruce."
Bruce pushed him away once again, trying to give himself space to think. He barely registered the kiss. He'd been too focused on the rush of adrenaline that flooded his nervous system as he heard those words repeated back to him to notice anything else.
Edward wouldn't dare, would he?
Who would crack first between the two of them? Which one of them had more to lose? Bruce would lose his job, his money, his freedom, but Edward... Edward was sick. He had something very wrong with him on a fundamental level. Maybe it didn't matter who would actually lose everything. Maybe it only mattered which one of them felt like they had more to lose?
Edward would lose him. Their game. Everything. Maybe that was too much for Edward to bear.
Or, Bruce was over-inflating his own self-importance and risking everything in the hope that he mattered to a madman.
Bruce placed the cowl back on. "I look forward to it."
Edward practically beamed, his expression all too innocent for a man like himself. There was something so exciting about dangling blackmail over Bruce's head and watching his confidence crumble. All he could hope for was that he would take his threat seriously. No matter how much he wanted to keep this little secret all to himself, he would stick true to his word.
"Perfect," he said, clasping his hands together. "Meet me back here in exactly forty-eight hours. If you keep me waiting, I might get bored. Who knows what I'll do then?" He giggled, flipping his hood back up. There was nothing else he wanted to say to Bruce, having gotten everything he needed out of this conversation. "See you soon!" Edward smiled as he brushed past him, starting back the way he came.
Bruce grabbed him by the shoulder. He wasn't going to let him walk away from this. "No."
Edward stopped in his tracks, looking back at Bruce. He felt his stomach drop, anxiety twisting inside of him. Did he really not care if Edward shared his secret? There was no way. He was sure he'd been lying.
"What now? What's your plan?" Edward asked.
"I don't know." And that wasn't a bluff. Bruce couldn't take him to the Batcave. Even though Edward knew his secret identity, showing him where his hideout was would be a mistake. But bringing him to the tower would be too. It was almost on par with the Batcave. Both places were too personal. Edward was a stalker, nothing more. Letting him into Bruce's life would only serve to make him worse.
"Come with me," Bruce growled as he turned to climb back up the embankment. He didn't turn around. He knew Edward would follow.
Edward's brows furrowed. Even though he knew he'd given Bruce so few options, it was strange to see him genuinely stumped. Defeated. It wasn't as fun as he thought it would be.
Still, he followed him up the incline, his breathing heavy and his cheeks red by the time he reached the guardrail. He'd never been very fit, and his time in Arkham had only made it worse.
"Where are we going?" he asked suspiciously, eyeing the bike parked close by. He hoped Bruce didn't expect him to get on that thing.
Bruce was already climbing onto the bike by the time Edward got over the rail.
“I don’t know. I’ll think of something. Looks like you got what you wanted.” He started the engine and waited for Edward to jump on.
Edward grimaced, tensing up as he walked closer. "I guess I did," he muttered, clearly unhappy about Bruce's method of transportation. He didn't even have it in him to make a smug remark.
He hesitantly climbed onto the back of the bike, already feeling unsteady. His arms subconsciously wrapped around Bruce, holding him tight.
Bruce tried to take his mind off the arms that were holding onto his waist. Even through the suit, he could feel the other man pressed up against him.
Maybe he should have taken the car.
He revved the engine. Edward had seemed hesitant to get on the bike, and now that he was on it, Bruce was going to have some fun.
“Hold on tight,” he said, and without waiting another second, he shifted gears and took off speeding down the road.
It did help him feel a little better to know that Edward was hating every second of it.
Edward squeezed Bruce's waist as the bike started moving, already going at a dizzying speed. He kept his head down, tucked against Bruce's back, in an attempt to hide his identity from any possible onlookers.
He had to dig his fingers into whatever he could get a grip on every time Bruce turned a corner, the force almost throwing him off the bike. This had to be on purpose, satisfying whatever part of Bruce's mind that decided he deserved some sort of payback. Or he was genuinely just a horrible driver. Edward wasn't sure which was worse.
After some time of weaving through the streets of Gotham, Edward could no longer contain his curiosity. He had to know where they were going.
He carefully lifted his head from the comfort of Bruce's cape, taking a look around. While they were obviously still in Gotham, the specific district was unfamiliar to him.
"Are you going to tell me where we're going yet?" Edward asked, having to shout to hear himself over the loud rumble of the engine.
Bruce didn’t respond. Edward wouldn’t be able to hear him anyway, and he still hadn’t figured out where to go. He just knew that they couldn’t stay in Crown Point.
He drove out and eventually found himself in one of the areas that had been spared from the worst of the floods. It wasn’t doing much better than the rest of the city, but it was at least mostly in one piece.
Eventually, they passed a shady motel. He glanced at the familiar establishment and slowed the bike down.
It would have to do. This place was notorious for being a hotspot for drugs and prostitution. It wouldn’t have any cameras, and it accepted cash by the hour. Sketchy, but in this situation, that was a good thing.
But he couldn’t show up as Batman. Not without bringing far more attention to himself than was safe.
“Stay here,” he ordered.
The moment the bike stopped, Edward was climbing off, his legs shaking. He hunched over and rested his hands on his knees, taking deep breaths in an attempt not to vomit. Thankfully, it worked.
After a moment of pulling himself back together, he looked up at the building Bruce had stopped in front of. A motel. While he wasn't exactly happy about it, he couldn't find it in himself to be too surprised. There was no way Bruce would've let him into his home.
Bruce picked up his duffel bag off the bike and walked over to an alleyway in the back and scanned the area for cameras with his cowl. When he was reasonably confident that he wasn’t being recorded, he took off the mask and began to take off the rest of his suit, stuffing the pieces into the duffel bag.
When he returned to Edward, he was wearing simple thermals. The eyeliner around his eyes was still there, but more smudged. He tried to wipe most of it onto his clothes.
He looked dirty, but at least he didn’t look like Bruce Wayne or Batman.
It took Edward a second longer than he would've liked to actually recognize him. "Huh. I guess that's why there aren't more pictures of you online." He hummed. "You look like a normal person."
“Don’t talk to me,” Bruce mumbled as he walked to the front office.
He didn’t have eyes on Edward, and that fact made him nervous. Riddler did want him to put him up for the night somewhere, and he had to hope that their disastrous conversation hadn’t made the man change his mind.
He took the keys out of the bike, right?
Regardless, Edward seemed motion sick from the ride over. He wouldn’t dare get back on that thing, and he probably wouldn’t get very far if he tried to run.
Bruce refocused himself on the task.
The uninterested clerk didn’t bat an eye as Bruce stepped up to the counter.
“I need a room.”
“Okay. By the hour or by the night?”
“By the night,” he replied.
“That’s a hundred.”
“A hundred? For this place?” He’d pay regardless, but it was a shocking price to hear.
“Lotsa people need a place to stay right now. We’re just keeping up with demand.”
He slid the cash over. The clerk surprisingly asked for ID, and Bruce showed her one of his more convincing fakes.
He left the office a few minutes later with a key in hand and returned to Edward, walking to the room.
The silence was agonizing. With anyone else, Edward would have been fine, but with Bruce, talking was the only thing that stopped him from feeling so tense around him. He hated not knowing what was going on in Bruce’s head.
Edward managed to stay quiet until they reached the room. He turned to Bruce before he could unlock the door.
"You can just hand me the key. I’ll take it from here.”
Bruce ignored him, putting the key in the lock and twisting it. It jammed, and he slammed his hand on the lock until eventually it opened.
Edward waited for a response, scoffing when he didn't get one. Whatever. He just had to wait a little longer before he could get some much-needed rest.
Inside the room, it smelled of cigarette smoke and mold. The carpet was threadbare, the design so faded that it was no longer visible. Even in its prime, the hotel was clearly always a discount one, but the state it was in now made it look like it ought to be condemned.
Edward walked inside. As disgusting as it was, he couldn't help but feel almost comforted by it. The stale scent in the air and the peeling wallpaper reminded him of his old apartment, which had been in a similar state. He wondered what was going to happen to it, if his landlord would simply tear everything down and rent it out to someone who didn't know it was once the Riddler's hideout.
Bruce glanced around, his face darkening as he noticed that the clerk had given them a one-bedroom.
“Fuck. Just… just sit here for a moment.”
He turned to leave Edward once more and walked back to the clerk.
Once the other man left, Edward started to sweep the room. He had to make sure it was safe, that there weren't any secret microphones or cameras planted by previous scummy patrons or similarly awful staff. He was still looking around by the time Bruce returned, on his knees and practically glaring at an electrical outlet.
There was a scowl on Bruce’s face. He’d tried everything. A bribe, a vague threat, desperate pleading, but the answer never changed. This was the only room available. Most of Gotham was desperate for a place to stay. He couldn’t leave Edward. Not when there was a chance that he could leak his identity or escape. If this were the only place available for them, they’d have to make do.
“You’ll have to sleep on the floor.”
At his words, Edward whipped his head around. So, Bruce was staying. And he expected him to sleep on the floor.
"No," Edward said bluntly, standing back up. "You're the one who dragged me here and decided that I needed to be babysat. You sleep on the floor." He took a step forward, narrowing his eyes—Almost like he was daring Bruce to argue.
“You asked me to put you somewhere for the night. This is what you get.”
"You think you're so smart, don't you?" Edward snapped. "Get over yourself. Either I sleep in the bed, or I bang on every door here and tell them exactly who you are and what room you're in. People are desperate right now, Bruce. They'd do just about anything if there's a chance they'll get some cash out of it."
Bruce ran over to Edward and slammed him against the wall. His forearm was pressed against Edward’s throat. He leaned in close. “Stop threatening me. I could send you back to Arkham in a coma, if you prefer that option. You’re not in charge of how this goes.”
A gasp was forced out of Edward's mouth as he was shoved against the wall, although it got cut short by the pressure on his throat. His hands automatically moved to Bruce's arm, clawing at it in an attempt to pull it away.
Bruce was already coming up with a plan for Edward if he refused to start listening. Or, Bruce could just accept that he’d been found out. Maybe it was time. Edward would end up in Arkham, and Bruce… maybe he’d end up there too.
He was pressing just enough to irritate Edward’s vocal cords, and he eased up to hear his reply.
Like many times before, Edward found himself hating how weak he was. He couldn't rely on strength alone like Bruce did. He was forced to listen to what he had to say, unable to do anything but glare and dig his nails into Bruce's skin. He hoped it at least left a mark.
But maybe it was worth it, just this once, to try. The moment Bruce let up slightly, he used all of his strength to yank at his arm. As soon as his hand was close enough to Edward's mouth, he lunged forward, biting down as hard as he could.
Bruce immediately swung his other fist into Edward’s jaw in response.
Edward yelped in pain, quickly pulling back. He cradled his jaw, glaring up at Bruce.
Without the gauntlet on, Bruce felt the impact on his knuckles, but Edward had let go, which was all that mattered.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he spat. “A room to lay low in? I’m not going to put you up at the Ritz-Carlton. I’ve seen your place. It’s not like you’re not used to slumming it.” Bruce rubbed the hand that Edward had bitten, pressing down on it slightly. The bite had broken the skin barrier. He’d have to wash it.
"You think just because I've been 'slumming it' that I'm fine with sleeping on the floor like a dog?" he laughed, ignoring how the movement caused pain to shoot through his pulsing jaw. "I shouldn't have expected anything else from you. You're just another rich boy who couldn't care less about people like me." He scoffed.
“People like you? Terrorists, you mean. No. I don’t care. You’re sleeping on the floor.”
Bruce turned away and went to the washroom, running his hand under the tap. He left the door open in case Edward tried to make an escape.
The water stung as it hit his skin, but he ignored the pain.
Edward didn't say anything as Bruce walked off. If he was sleeping on the floor, then the least he could do was get clean.
He took his glasses off, carefully setting them on the nightstand before kicking off his shoes. He approached the door to the washroom, leaning against the frame. "Hurry up," he said impatiently. "Water isn't going to do much for that anyway."
Bruce didn't try to correct him.
Eventually—because he was done, not because Edward told him to—he turned off the tap and walked over to the bed.
Edward was quick to shut the door once Bruce left, locking it and tugging off his clothes.
He finally let himself relax once he was in the shower, closing his eyes and taking his sweet time scrubbing at his skin with the tiny bar of soap provided. The water was lukewarm, and he had nothing he could use to wash his hair, but that was nothing he wasn't used to.
He only dragged himself out when his fingers were pruney and his skin felt raw, tugging his pants back on and snatching a ratty old towel so he could dry his hair. He stepped back out into the bedroom, finding a spot on the floor that didn't look like it had any weird stains and sitting down.
Bruce closed his eyes as he lay on the bed, but he didn't sleep. That would be a mistake.
Instead, he listened to the sound of Edward's movements as he walked around the room.
Edward tried to ignore Bruce's presence entirely, blocking out the sound of his breathing and the occasional rustle of sheets. Instead, he worked the towel through his hair, combing his fingers through the occasional knot. It'd grown longer than he preferred during his time in Arkham, which meant more tangles.
This was less than ideal. Neither one of them was happy with the arrangement, though, which helped to make Bruce feel a bit better. It meant that Edward hadn't fully beaten him. But there was one nagging question in the back of his mind. A question that Bruce didn't yet know the answer to, but was desperate for.
"How did you figure it out?" he asked, opening his eyes and finally looking at the man on the floor. "Who I am?"
Edward sighed as he heard Bruce speak, glancing up at him. Without his glasses, he was more of a blur than an actual person.
"Your eyes." He answered with a shrug, looking back down at the floor. "They're your most prominent feature. That, and it was obvious you had to come from some amount of money to be able to afford such a fancy suit."
Bruce thought for a moment. He’d have to figure out a way to fix that issue. Maybe colored contacts?
“And you haven’t told anyone?”
Edward smiled, continuing to dry his hair. He was still sour about all of this. Being dragged here, sleeping on the floor, getting punched in the face.. He thought that was enough of a reason to toy with Bruce a little more.
"Why don't we wait and find out?"
“Who am I kidding? You haven’t. Then you’d lose the only leverage you have against me.” Bruce closed his eyes once again.
“I should have asked you about what happened at Arkham. What was going on with those letters you were sending?”
"I needed to get your attention somehow. I wanted to talk to you." Edward shrugged, "If you'd actually come to see me, I probably wouldn't have needed to escape at all." He set the towel to the side and laid down. The thin carpet did nothing to prevent the lumpy floor from digging into his back. "And I was bored," he added with an amused huff. "You're far more interesting than anyone else in that shithole.."
Bruce knew there was more to it beyond those words. Choosing to spread a rumor that they were dating was unusual. He could have called in a bomb threat or said he'd kill a politician. Instead, he told his followers that they were in love.
Edward turned onto his side, sighing when it was even more uncomfortable than lying flat. "Can I at least have a pillow?"
Bruce threw it at Edward's head. It hit him with a dull thud. "Catch," he said, after it had already landed.
Edward rolled his eyes, laying his head on the pillow. It smelled faintly of mildew. "You would've gotten along great with some of the boys in the orphanage." He mused, "They were just as stuck up as you."
"I'm sure I would, considering they're probably all good people," Bruce mumbled, turning over in the bed.
Bruce's words shocked a laugh out of Edward. "You can't seriously mean that." He said in between stifled giggles. "Maybe it was for the best that you grew up in that fancy tower. They would've eaten you alive."
"Better than you, at the very least."
He hated every minute of this. The conversations, the unease, and he hated the fact that he was doing the wrong thing. Bruce should have brought him to Arkham, his identity be damned. But he couldn't. His body would not let him give himself up, and for that, he was ashamed. This was the price of his cowardice. He made the wrong choice, and this was the cost.
"Sure." Edward shook his head, turning away from Bruce. As fun as bothering him was, he wanted to try and get some rest. "Goodnight," he mumbled. "If you snore, I'll smother you in your sleep."