Having a crush was humiliating. Granted, it was a small crush. A teeny, tiny crush on a man who was way out of her league (and tax bracket for that matter).
She'd never been one for crushes. She'd spent those formidable teen years and early twenties reserved for dating and flirting with strangers, studying for SATs and MCATs.
She'd dated before, of course she had, but her last date had been years before back in medical school. She grimaced even thinking of the fact she'd ever given Dr. Hortence a chance.
Seeing him at the med school gala, well, it just solidified that people never changed: He was still a huge douche.
She held her breath, raising her fist up to the door, and knocked three times.
The door opened nearly instantaneously, much to her surprise.
A man dressed in a white shirt and black vest stood before her.
"May I help you?" He asked.
"Um, yes. I think I have the right address." She'd checked the Google map directions several times; this definitely was the right address. It didn't exactly blend into the Gotham skyline with its architecture. "I'm supposed to be meeting Br- I mean Mr. Wayne. I'm Dr. Flores." She added. "From Gotham General."
Recognition flooded the man's eyes. "Of course. Master Wayne told me he was expecting company."
Master Wayne. She almost rolled her eyes at the title.
"Please, do come in."
Anya stepped into the manor.
She'd heard rumors that the manor was all but annihilated after the Riddler's attempt on Bruce's life.
It seemed Wayne Manor was back to its formal glory, however: As gothic and dreary as an Edgar Allan Poe novella. She kept expecting a raven to crawl out of the duckboard and scream "Evermore."
The man led her away from the foyer, down a dimly lit hallway. It seemed the entire manor could be described as "dimly lit."
Perhaps Wayne Manor was incredibly conscious of their carbon footprint, hence the reduced electricity? She doubted that; something told her all the rumors of just how broody the billion-dollar heir was, were incredibly true.
Finally, the man stopped at the end of the hall. He knocked on a large lunette door, waited a moment, then pushed the door in.
Bruce sat behind a large mahogany desk. Large floor to ceiling bookshelves lined the walls housing hundreds of dusty, leather-bound books.
The room was well lit in comparison to the other areas of the manor. A large arch shaped window with an intricate pattern of web like wooden designs flooded the room with light.
"Thank you, Alfred." Bruce nodded.
The man bowed his head, exiting the room, closing the doors behind him with a thud.
Anya stood just inside the room's entrance, unsure of herself.
"Hi." She greeted, lamely.
"Hello." He responded.
Anya walked over to the desk, taking the seat across from the man.
"Not really sure how we should do this," she admitted.
"It's not that hard." Bruce assured. "Essentially, these meetings with the board are just presentations. We'll tell them why we think the hospital's community clinics deserve our funding. We'll explain how the money will be used. We'll need personal statements from people who would be directly affected by the opening of the clinics."
Anya nodded.
The duo began working. Anya found it easy to list reasons the clinics deserved funding, the most compelling (in her opinion) being many citizens affected by the Riddler's attacks had not received proper care for their chronic pain and injuries.
Anya rambled. She worried she was talking too much, but Bruce didn't seem to mind. He was passive, simply scribbling Anya's ideas in a notepad.
"Sorry," Anya responded after a moment of silence.
Bruce looked up from the notepad. "For what?"
"I tend to talk a lot."
"Isn't that the point?" He added, "I want to hear your thoughts."
Anya cracked a smile. "You may be the only one."
"I find that hard to believe."
***
Bruce enjoyed hearing Anya talk.
Anya was passionate about change in Gotham City just as he was, but unlike Bruce, she didn't have to dress up and fight mad men to be a part of it.
Anya leaned back in her seat, eyes roaming the office.
Bruce never used this space. It had been his father's office. He preferred to do all of his "business" ventures elsewhere. However, he couldn't risk Anya relating anything to the Batman, at least that's what he'd told himself and Alfred when the man had asked.
"Are you a big Shakespeare fan?"
Bruce was surprised by the question. "Hmm?"
Anya looked pointedly behind the man. On a pedestal next to the window sat a bust of the playwright.
"My father was. I prefer American literature."
Anya nodded. "You look like an Emerson guy. Actually, I take that back, Emily Dickinson is your girl, isn't she?"
He cocked an eyebrow. "How'd you know?"
Anya rolled her eyes, a smile playing on her lips. "You live in the gothic mansion of my pre-teen emo phase's dream. I know a Dickinson enthusiast when I see them."
Bruce couldn't bring himself to be offended. Not only because it was an accurate take, but because Anya hadn't seemed ill intentioned. It was lighthearted, and Bruce couldn't help but feel a bit pleased at the idea Anya was comfortable enough to tease him.
A knock on the door startled the two. Alfred entered the room.
"Apologies, I've brought tea."
Bruce suppressed an eyeroll. No doubt Alfred wanted an excuse to gauge Bruce's first guest in years. He wouldn't have been that surprised if Alfred had been standing outside the door, a glass pressed against his ears, trying to hear their conversation.
Anya smiled at the man as he placed a cup in front of her. "Thank you, sir."
"Oh, please, call me Alfred."
Alfred placed a cup in front of Bruce. "Thank you, Alfred."
"Do let me know if there's anything I can get you," He was still speaking to Anya. He turned to Bruce. "Master Wayne." Then he exited the room as quickly as he'd appeared.
"Master Wayne."
"He insists on calling me that." Bruce defended.
"I'm sure he does, Master Wayne."
"Indeed, Dr. Flores."
"Not the same. I spent eight years studying for that title."
"Fair enough, Dr. Flores."
"You know, you can call me Anya."
"And you can call me Bruce."
"I feel like we've had this conversation before."
Bruce shrugged. "Maybe."
***
"I have to get going." Anya finally said, looking down at her watch.
"Of course."
The day was drawing to a close, and he was due for a patrol anyway.
"I'll walk you out."
The duo made their way to the foyer.
Alfred sat on a chair near the front entrance, a book in his lap.
"Gone so soon?" He asked.
Anya nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. I'm working the night shift at the hospital."
"What a shame. You must join us for dinner sometime."
Bruce shot Alfred a glare over Anya's turned head.
"I would love that." Anya turned back to Bruce who's gaze immediately softened upon meeting hers. "It was good seeing you, Bruce."
"It was good to see you, too, Anya."
Bruce twisted the doorknob, and Anya stepped out.
He waited for her to disappear before closing the door.
"She seems nice." Alfred commented.
"She's a friend."
"I never suggested she was anything more." Alfred defended.
Bruce sighed, exasperated.
____________________________________________________________________________
Author's Note: Let it be noted that I cannot for the life of me, remember what Wayne Manor looked like in The Batman. I feel like it was like the top of a skyscraper, right? I'm imagining Wayne Manor in this fanfiction as a regular gothic mansion like in The Dark Knight trilogy, to be honest.
As always: leave a comment with your thoughts, heart the chapter, and add to your library. Next chapter will be up soon! I'm literally writing it right now. Lol. - C