Chapter Text
Going to Gotham’s fun fair had been Dory’s idea, and considering how much time Bruce had spent brooding in Wayne Tower, he accepted the offer in hopes to distract himself. Edward had returned to Blüdhaven two weeks prior (the number of Bruce’s worn sweatshirts had mysteriously decreased since he left) and Bruce had not put in any effort to see light of day since. According to Edward, he and Selina were very busy working on a fun, artsy project, and not able to join in at the fair. Bruce definitely wasn’t jealous, not at all.
After parking in a discrete location, Bruce, Alfred and Dory made their way to the fair by foot. They wanted to go incognito, which to their luck was not hard; the place was crowding and buzzing with people. The fun fair visited Gotham twice per year and was a spectacle of rides, food stalls, circus acts, and to Bruce’s dismay, plenty of piercing lights. He pulled the hood of his jacket deeper into his eyes.
“I don’t think anyone has it out for you right now, dear,” Dory said and patted his arm.
Bruce mumbled something incoherent.
“Right, right,” Dory replied with a smile. She let her gaze wander around and her eyes went wide. “Look there, fortunes, how fun!” and pointed at a plum-colored tent a bit to the side.
Neither Bruce nor Alfred had any objections, even though the latter raised an eyebrow. An obtrusive wave of incense hit Bruce’s nose as they stepped inside.
Looking around the tent, Dory let out a soft ‘oooh’. It had been a long-time goal of hers to deliver Bruce to such a place as she firmly believed it would help her protégé become more introceptive. Alfred looked around in silent dismay. He had little mind to spare for such banalities and thought it insult to his own, and worse, Bruce’s time.
The inside was nothing but carpets, drapes and plush, and Bruce could hear faint bells. In the very back and obscured by dim candle light, a lady sat at a table, bedraped with jewelry, and shuffled through a deck of cards.
Bruce turned to Dory with a silent question in his eyes.
“This will be fun,” she replied and sat down onto one of the ottomans.
Alfred refrained from saying anything and used one of the many little mirrors to check if his beard was still well-groomed.
The fortune-teller gave her cards one last shuffle before redirecting her full attention to the lot of them. “Greetings, dear strangers. Whom of you may I deliver a reading to? One at a time.”
“Oh my, what a delight. You should do it,” Dory cheered on Bruce. Dory herself didn’t believe in cartomancy or fortune-telling in general, but she thought Bruce could benefit from a bit of pondering if, and what, he wanted to read into those cards; And with a bit of help, would be able to draw his own meaning from them.
Talking to clairvoyants was not on Bruce’s bucket list when he went to fairs, but then again, he hadn’t gone in decades. Social situations were not his forte, they made him overly self-conscious and he didn’t know how to politely remove himself now Dory trapped him inside of one. The three pairs of eyes watching him didn’t make things easier. Sly fox, she was. “Sure,” Bruce admitted defeat and sat down in front of the cards. He could hear Alfred groan in the back.
A moment passed in which no one said anything.
Bruce cleared his throat. “Hi.”
The fortune-teller smiled back. “Good day.”
Bruce regretted his decision. A matter of decisions, really, but mostly the ones that led him into this chair.
The fortune-teller waited for him to say something, but when that did not happen, she asked: “How may I predict your fortune? Is there something you desire to know?”
“I don’t know, I’ve never done this before,” Bruce replied.
“How about the classics: past, present and future?” Dory volunteered from the ottoman.
Cold as ice, the fortune-teller turned to her and ruled: “The decision has to come from him."
“Oh yes, I will keep quiet, sorry,” Dory shushed herself, “you won’t hear a thing from me anymore.”
Bruce was embarrassed for both of them. “Past, present and future is fine.”
The fortune-teller shoved her deck of cards into his hands. Her countless bracelets jingled as they fell over each other. “Please re-arrange. And no peeking.”
Clumsily shuffling through the cards, Bruce thought about how this would be easier if there weren’t three people watching him and why he was even here.
As if she had read his thoughts, the fortune-teller raised both her palms, her jewelry clinking and drawing everyone's attention, and announced solemnly: “I must ask your companions to give us some space. Wait outside.”
After the curtains had fallen shut, Bruce continued shuffling through the deck, still clumsy but now less worried. When he was content with his work, he offered the stack of cards back to the fortune-teller who, with a graceful flick of the wrist, spread them into one line.
“Think about your past, Mister, any point is fine, and pick a card.”
Bruce’s past was a behemoth and not something he wanted to think about. Where was he supposed to start? Why was this important if the woman was supposed to tell his future? Still, they were already playing this game, so he used one stiff finger to prod onto one of the cards.
As the fortune-teller saw that Bruce wasn’t going to flip it, she turned it over herself. “Death. Upright.”
That wasn’t much of a surprise. Bruce said nothing.
The fortune-teller waited in vain for Bruce to show any kind of reaction, and then another minute, and when she did not get any out of him, she continued: “Next up, think of the present, and pick a card.”
Bruce obliged, even though he was not sure what to make of the present. I give my all to serve Gotham, he thought, as it needs me. That’s got to be good for something, right?
“Chariot, Reversed.”
Bruce didn’t like her tone. “What does that mean?” he asked.
“Lack of direction, feelings of disempowerment. There are obstacles that you cannot overcome.”
Bruce felt his mouth pull into a smirk. “Lovely.”
“It is your hand that picked the card, and now that you know, you might do something about it.” She shrugged, triggering another avalanche of jingles. “There are worse omens in the Major Arcana. At least it’s not… Well. Please think of the future, and pick a card.”
Bruce reluctantly hovered his finger over the cards. Why am I wasting my time here, he thought. He didn’t really have any concrete questions for the future, but pressed on it, just hoped it held something good in store. He tapped down onto a card and pulled it towards himself, then looked up at the fortune-teller, again questioning if it had been a good idea to set foot in this tent. She raised her eyebrows at him. Bruce suppressed a sigh and flipped the card onto its back.
The image depicted some sort of lighthouse with a storm in the background, and the fortune-teller hissed, lips curled and eyes squeezed into thin lines. Possibly not the good news Bruce had been waiting for.
“The Tower, Upright,” the clairvoyant announced, “the cards must be after both of us tonight. This is a warning, now pay it heed: Radical change is upon you. Paired with your Chariot… I suggest overcoming whatever is troubling you now, or I am afraid the future will hold great tragedy for you. Disaster,” she added, jabbing one finger to the sky.
Great. Bruce had thought things were looking up, and now he was told he was holding himself back with a crisis at the door. Maybe she has a deal with a prepper supply line, he wondered.
“How much do I owe you?” Bruce asked.
The fortune-teller didn’t look him in the eye. “It is up to your own heart,” she replied, “I wish the cards had better things in store for you.” She fumbled around with one of the many bracelets on her arm. “If you want, you can pick another card, free of charge; this time for love. Maybe this time will turn out better.” She looked pitiable.
This was a new low for Bruce. “If you insist.”
Bruce’s hand hovered above the cards.
Edward had taken off to Blüdhaven. For that he was probably smarter than Bruce, moving on with his life. Making friends. Being healthier now, happier than Bruce had ever seen him.
Moving on from me?
What do you think about me?
Who are you to me? Who am I to you?
Bruce’s finger settled down onto one of the cards, pulling it towards him, and he wasn’t fully aware that he was doing it. The fortune-teller observed him avidly. This was her best-case scenario: Her client being so lost in thought, so entangled in his mind that he fully let it guide his hand. She hoped it would repair the damage she had done.
A bit surprised that it was there, Bruce stared down at the card in front of him. It was as if the card was staring back, reminding him of the bad omens already received.
She’s going to say he hates me. She’s going to say he’s moved on.
“I think I’ll pass,” Bruce resigned and stood up, “thank you for your kindness.” Alfred and Dory were waiting outside.
They had made their way a couple steps back into the crowd when a voice made them turn back. The fortune-teller had moved one of the heavy fabric curtains aside and beckoned: “Mister, give this card a chance. It will not disappoint you, I am sure of it.”
Bruce was reluctant to return, and after receiving both superstitious and bad news, was even less inclined. He turned to his right to Alfred for advice and saw him scoff.
“I think you’ve wasted enough time today,” Alfred said, “let’s get going, shall we?”
“Mas-, Bruce,” Dory chimed in, drawing Bruce’s attention to his left, “I think it wouldn’t hurt to give it a chance.” Her eyes twinkled up to him. “You should go in. We are here to have some fun, aren’t we? Why walk out in the middle of it?”
Again, Bruce sat down on the chair too soft for his taste. Dory had refused to wait outside (“It is bad for my old bones!”) and watched both Bruce and the fortune-teller closely while pretending she didn’t. Alfred had made himself more than clear that he’d rather be anywhere else, so he had settled for waiting in front of the tent. Bruce envied him for not having to sit in the middle of incense fumes.
“After telling me that I am a mess with a crisis approaching,” Bruce rose to speak, “you say my love life is not screwed?” and felt silly saying it.
“The cards only mean what you want them to mean, Mister,” the fortune-teller said, “the truth may sit uncomfortably, but it’s a better dinner guest than a comfortable lie. But that is not why I called you back.” She quickly rapped her fingers onto the card laying face down on the table, then impatiently gestured Bruce to flip it on its back.
Bruce looked over to Dory in hopes she would tell him what he was supposed to think of this. Dory was gesturing him to flip the card, too, so he bit his tongue and did what was asked of him. On the card was a funny-looking little guy in a robe holding something up.
The fortune-teller did not leave Bruce much time for thought. “The Magician,” she proclaimed, “in the Upright position. Picked by your own hand.”
Okay, and? Bruce asked himself.
“That is good news.” The fortune-teller prepped her arms onto the table and clasped her hands, making the many bracelets on her arms clink. Bruce didn’t like that she was closer to him now and leaned back in his chair.
The fortune-teller didn’t seem to notice his discomfort as she breathlessly continued: “It would be greatly helpful for my reading if you were so kind to let me in on the secret if there is a person in your life, a some-body” – she pulled the last word apart – “that you would consider your love?”
Bruce felt found out. Of course this had to be one of the most standard questions asked in this tent, he figured most people walked in here to inquire about their love life. And yet he felt uncomfortably reminded of two things:
His celebrity status in Gothamite society left him only as much privacy as he actively created by being a recluse. If the press got word that Bruce Wayne was in a relationship, they would eat it up and rip him apart. Second, that Edward was the first person he had thought of when asked about love, that he thought again of him now, and that Dory was observing Bruce from behind.
Looking up through greasy strands of his black hair that had fallen in front of his face, Bruce glared at the clairvoyant. Not one bit intimidated, her hungry expression turned into satisfaction and her mouth curved into a triumphant grin.
“Do not worry, Mister, what is said in this tent will stay in this tent. None of these hawks will hear about it.” She made an uncouth gesture towards the wall and shot it a dirty glance. “Anyway.” She turned back to Bruce “You are very lucky.”
“Am I?” The part of Bruce that was adamant about not believing in any superstition was scolding the part of him desperately craving good news.
“Very much. It means you complement each other very well. Whatever your relationship is now, it will grow deeper,” the fortune-teller promised with glee.
Bruce could hear Dory gasp behind him and felt his face grow hot.
“The object of your desires must be very intelligent… It will help even out the chaos of that intensity. Magicians are said to be very intense,” she prodded further, “do they happen to be a little mischievous?”
Bruce flew to his feet. “Thank you. Goodbye.” And with that, he was out, moving through the layers of curtains in one swift motion and barely making them stir.
Dory followed behind shortly after, looking quite composed and content, if not amused. “What a fun evening,” she chirped, “I think I might come back later for my own reading if you allow me the time off, Sir.”
“You’re free to do as you please, Dory.” Bruce wanted to hide his face in his hands.
“Well, if I may,” Dory beamed, “then I will catch up later with you two.” Her rosy, wrinkly cheeks were glowing as she quickly made her way back up into the tent. Bruce looked after her. As she was gone, his thoughts returned to the mixed signals he’d gotten until the impatient tapping of Alfred’s feet told him that the latter was more than eager to leave.
---
“Okay, we need to think big!” Edward exclaimed and gesticulated around with his hands, “if we want this thing to work.”
He and Selina sat in their open kitchen, where Edward had taped a table-sized sheet of paper to the wall and written ‘TOPIC: CRIME’ in big, green letters onto it. Jumping back up from his chair and grabbing his pen, Edward went back to the poster and underlined his headline twice before he continued: “I consider our last operation a big success. Honestly. Imagine what we can do if we put a little bit more thought into it.”
Sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter, Selina threw peanuts into her mouth and chewed on them. “I thought we already did a good job on the thinking.”
“Yes, for such an entry-level affair, it was pretty good,” Edward agreed. “Think about what we can achieve with a little more-“ He tried twirling the pen between his fingers, dropped it, but managed to catch it before it hit the floor. “-effort.” Full of eagerness, Edward tapped against his chin before realizing he had done so with the open pen. “All right. First ideas?”
It was fun to scheme together like this. Edward already had a plan laid out in his mind, but there was no reason to boss Selina into it. Maybe she had some good ideas on her own that he hadn’t thought of. At the minimum, they’d be in for a laugh.
“Hmmmm.” Selina tilted her head to the side. “How about credit card fraud? You already taught me that, so upscaling should be easy.” Her hair had gotten longer since Edward moved in, but not long enough for the silky strands hanging into her face to get into her eyes. With her pixie hair and thin frame, she reminded Edward of the fairies on his lost postcard collection.
“Too small,” Edward said, “we can fry bigger fish. Have bigger fish to fry,” he corrected himself. He still made a bullet point and wrote ‘CREDIT CARD FRAUD’ onto the poster.
“Already picking up on the puns,” Selina teased, “my agenda is working.”
“What agenda,” Edward snapped back, but caught himself. “Good start, keep ‘em coming.”
One of the cats, a black ragdoll named Caine, jumped up onto the counter and next to Selina. She reached down to pet it. “How about extortion?”
“Excellent.” Edward added it to the list. “For example?”
Caine purred as Selina scratched it under its chin. “How about we take a rich man’s wife,” she began.
“Mhm.”
“Cut off her ear and mail it to him.”
Edward turned back around to her in full.
There was a dark twinkle in Selina's eyes. “Express delivery. Or scratch her up, send some pretty pictures. Or maybe we just … keep on chopping, send her back bit by bit, until he pays up.” The cat had moved onto her lap, two voids grinning at Edward.
Edward cleared his throat. “You know, a year ago I would’ve been all for it. But I think we should maybe not do that. It’s a bit too extreme for what we are going for. I-I’m not trying too, be too brutal, you know. Let’s not get too medieval. I’d tell you not to stay alone right now, but I already live here.” He noticed that he trailed off. “Anyway. No chopping. Please.”
Shoulders falling down, Selina let out a defeated sigh. “That was your thing, though. I’m just trying to fit in.”
“We’re getting off-topic. So far, we got credit card fraud-“ he jabbed at the word with his pen, “-and extortion slash kidnapping. More?”
“Why do I have to come up with everything? I thought you are the criminal mastermind.”
“What, me?” Edward scratched his head with the hand that held his pen and realized his mistake too late yet again. “I already have a plan. A good one. Need you to be on board though. You’d be the one going in.”
“Ooh, ‘go in’. That sounds fun.” Selina started snacking again. “Theft again?”
Edward added ‘THEFT’ to the list, face close enough to almost touch the paper. “Almost. You’re real close.” When he turned back to Selina, he couldn’t suppress a smirk. “Remember all the ads around town about the art exhibit at M.U? The M.U.A.E.?”
“Best word,” Selina joked through a mouthful of peanuts, “emyuoaeh. myuaeh.”
“Well. I want us to go there.”
“A heist?”
Quick learner, Edward re-assessed happily, scribbled ‘HEIST’ onto the poster and underlined it twice. “Go big or go home. And home we already are.”
His own word hit Edward in his chest. An arrow with a tip made of lead. Incredibly heavy, incredibly profound.
I am home, aren’t I?
I have a home.
I am
home.
Across from him, he saw the cats sleep on his make-shift bed. Black, grey, orange fur entangled on his blanket.
“Mission Impossible has ever been possible,” he heard Selina say and saw her raise her hand for a high-five. “Ed, are you okay? You look a bit…” She made a vague gesture with her hand. Edward struggled to decipher it. “…sick. Ed? Big frog man?”
“No. Yes.” Ground under Edward’s feet, spinning. Wall behind his back, stable. He leaned against it. “We need to do some prep work before we go in.” His heart was burning with joy.
He had a home.
“Need scout the place. Get all the info we need, the layout, patrol schedules. See what’s-, what’s accessible.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah.” Edward felt his face glow. He could not stop his face from pulling itself apart, not stop the giggle escaping his throat, no matter how hard he tried. He probably embarrassed himself, but he didn’t care.
He saw Selina clicking the heels of her untangled legs together as she focused on the words on the wall, then dragged one thumb across her lower lip. A common gesture when she was weighing her options, Edward had noticed. The corners of her mouth twitched up. “So it’s a field day?”
“Hmhm.” Edward crossed his arms. “I-, I already have a plan. It’s Miskatonic University’s exhibition, isn’t it?” Thank you, Bruce. “I can forge us our way in.”