The Hand That Feeds

                                    

                                          
Alfred always looks amused whenever he sees you both after those sessions. You're both cleaned up, relaxed, refreshed. He's in the living room reading a book. "You're looking better," Bruce says as he sits on the couch, pulling you into his lap. Alfred smirks, "I'm not as good as you two." You laugh, relaxing in his embrace. Maybe it's the easy day, the sex, or Bruce is being affectionate. It doesn't ease your heart. "Your dinners are in the kitchen if you're hungry," Alfred says, closing his book. Neither of you makes movements to go, content with each other. "What did you do today?" He asks. "We went to a cafe and a thrift store. Nothing too fancy," Bruce explains, waving the question away. "No one recognized us, so it was nice." Alfred nods before checking his watch. "Good, good. Well, I'm going to retire for the evening. Call if you need me." He stands slowly but takes his time leaving without his cane.
Bruce lets out a breath when he's gone, closing his eyes. "I know we should eat, but what if we slept here?" You sit up, looking down at him. What flipped in his brain?
"What?"
"You're scared."
"Scared of what?" He asks, his brows lowering.
"Scared I'm going to leave."
"You are going to leave." Bruce retorts, his easy mood gone. You regret it only momentarily. You had to make sure he was still Bruce, not replaced by some fantasy version made up by some dream gas.
He stands, going to the window. His shoulders droop slightly, turning to the couch, his knuckles turning white. "It's a cloudy night." You want to rewind, bring him back to the fun Bruce who held you in front of Alfred, asked about Alfred's day. "You should get your dinner, and then please stay in." You wonder what he's seen that got him shook up, but you nod. He tilts your head up before pressing his lips against yours. There's urgency behind it, but you can't place why. "Is everything okay?" You ask. He stands straighter with no response. He hurries up the stairs to his room, slamming it. Your head rattles with the sound. You don't know what he could have done to be so scared.
You go to the window and see the bat-signal, reality finally snapping. You could never be in Gotham as long as he has to exist. 
You can't sleep, checking your phone rapidly. There's no new news, just memes from your friends and other various celebrity news. You're glad there's nothing about you and Bruce. There's some chatter about his hand on your shoulder at the conference and your red sweater, but nothing more.
You wonder how Bruce feels about Batman and do a quick search of "Batman Bruce Wayne" to check if there's something more. Why did he get so scared? You know he won't tell you, shrug it off and ask you about something else. You're surprised to see threads about this already starting from last year. The popular opinion is that Bruce owes Batman for his life and pays him out. Batman is his security guard, but no one knows who he is outside of the suit. It's enough for you, chalking his fear to worry about his friend's life.
It doesn't calm your thoughts enough for sleep, and you decide to look at your books. What did he mean by your alias name? There's a book about plants and legends. It's a thick book, making a soft thud on your bed as you climb back in. There are highlighted two pages: lilies and peonies. You start on lilies first, remembering your mural. "Lilies mean purity and fertility, but colors can morph the meaning." You skim until you reach red, unsurprisingly love and passion. You mark the page again, seeing different stories with them. You'll come back to them later.
You move to peonies, taking in the information surprised you're retaining it this late. You can't make out Bruce's handwriting in the margins as he highlights good luck and prosperity. You chuckle to yourself, thinking if he made a bouquet on the bathroom wall to bring these traits to his home. He couldn't have had time to finish it for you. At least you don't think so. That'd be weird, you consider making a face.
You flip to the index, going to daffodils. You might as well check. The dog eared page is to a story. Oh! You roll your eyes reading Persephone and Hades. Pretentious ass. You close the book deciding not to delve further. So clever. You get up and put the book back. You're still restless, returning to your phone. 
You drop it, your eyes betraying you. Maybe you read it wrong. You could have read it wrong. You quickly wipe your face and take a deep breath, suddenly shaking. It's not true. You pick up your phone, your ears ringing as you reread the article title.
"Newly Elected District Attorney Harvey Dent and Wife Elvira Dent's home ransacked. Couple missing."
How can this happen? How can this happen? You put your phone away, suddenly aware of your room, your surroundings. You have to get out of here. Tonight would be too dangerous. The police need to focus their efforts on finding them, which means there may be a blind eye to others. You can't leave during this, but you can't be alone either.
You knock on Bruce's door. No answer. You wait only a few seconds before you slam your hands against the wood, hands stinging. You don't let up, seeing red, so angry, so frustrated that the closest things to friends since that Gala, to justice, is so easily harmed, taken away! You tucker yourself out, sinking to the floor. He's not in there. No way he could sleep through your ruckus.
Sobs rack your body as Alfred, Lucy, and Dory come up with flashlights. Your eyes are too bleary to see, but you don't think Alfred holds a flashlight. "Oh, darling!" Lucy says, wrapping her arms around you. You cry into her shoulder as Alfred and Dory come near.
"What in the bloody hell is going on?" Alfred demands, bewildered. You can't say it. Saying would make it real. Lucy hushes him. "Go check on Master Wayne. We'll deal with (Y/N)." Dory says, helping you up with Lucy. He pauses, looking you over, realizing it's grief, not anger taking over you. He disappears down the steps without a word.
You still can't tell them, refusing it. Finally, Dory clears your bed, and Lucy lets you lay down. Dory gasps as she puts your phone down, your lock screen coming up with the news notification.
"Not Harvey!" She covers her mouth. You hope it's the same notification you saw and not that he's gone.
You don't want him dead. You don't wish Elvira dead either. You sit with the older women, no one saying a word. What is there to say? You have to leave. You can't end up like the Dents.