Meredith scrambled through the makeup cluttered across her bathroom counter.
"Stupid makeup team..." she muttered.
She ended up having to do her own hair and makeup due to some stupid last-minute cancellation from her usual team. Which, unfortunately, currently left her in desperate search of her other earring hidden somewhere among the mess.
Meredith glanced at the polished clock on the wall.
It read 5:26— she currently only had one earring on, no shoes, hair still in rollers, Bruce was nowhere to be found, and they had to be on a red carpet in less than half an hour.
She huffed and threw her hands down. She'd find her stupid earring later.
Meredith started tearing the rollers out of her hair, reaching for her phone, and calling Bruce for the umpteenth time.
It went to voicemail as she walked out to her room and she tossed the device on her bed, nearly stumbling over her green satin dress that draped across the tile floor without her heels on. She entered her closet and found her emerald shoes.
Just as she was slipping them on, she heard the sliding doors to her bedroom open with a whoosh.
She poked her head out just in time to see Batman storming in, dragging rainwater all over her floors from the murky skies outside.
"Where the hell have you been?!" Meredith asked angrily, head still half-full of rollers. "We have to be on a carpet in... thirty-two minutes, Wayne!"
"Busy," he spat out.
She glanced down at the black duffel in his gloved hand, also drenched in water. He pried the cowl back. His hair was messy and half-matted to his head, his face covered in sweat and grime.
"Are you even going to be ready in the next ten minutes?!"
He entered her bathroom. "I'll figure it out."
She watched him pause and inspect the state of the space.
"This is a mess," he noted.
Meredith glared at him. "Well, sorry. I didn't realize I was expecting company via my balcony."
He didn't respond, instead closing the door in her face.
"Wayne! What are you doing?!"
He opened it, looking extremely irritated. "Getting ready."
"You can't be in the bathroom! I only have one earring!"
Bruce tilted his gaze towards the array of products on the counter and reached down, plucking her other diamond earring out of the pile. He handed it to her.
Meredith blinked. How the hell did he find that so fast?
He started to close the door again.
"Well, I still need—!"
He was suddenly handing her a tube of red lipstick.
She faltered. "Lucky guess."
He had barely pulled the door again before she spoke.
"W—"
"Fine," he bit through his teeth, swinging the door wide open. "Just do whatever you want."
She stepped into the bathroom and opened the tube of lipstick, beginning to strategically paint her lips.
Then she saw him in the mirror beginning to strip off his suit.
"What are you doing?!" she shrieked.
He paused, the top of the suit pulled halfway off of his body, and Meredith selectively ignored the glimpse of pale flesh and toned muscle because as much as she wanted to ogle, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
Bruce gave her probably the most annoyed look she'd ever seen on the man. "Meredith, what do you want from me? Do you want me to get ready or would you rather I go like this?"
She stared at him for a moment before rolling her eyes.
Bruce didn't say anything after that, just continued stripping off his clothes as she quietly perfected her makeup.
The sound of the shower suddenly broke through the silence.
Meredith had to stop herself from widening her eyes in surprise.
And now she had a naked Batman in her shower. Right next to her. Her shower. With glass doors that left nothing to the imagination.
She closed the tube of lipstick and set it down on the counter.
It was fine. Totally fine. She'd seen Bruce without clothes plenty of times. She didn't care. She had other things to worry about, anyway, like—
Her brain faltered when she caught a glimpse of the man washing his hair out of the corner of her eye.
—like her hair. Yeah, she needed to finish her hair.
She pulled the rest of the rollers out, grabbing a can of hairspray and coating her head to create shiny waves.
The shower shut off, but after a moment, the glass door still didn't open.
Meredith frowned, mustering up all of the courage she could and turning her gaze towards him.
He stared at her expectantly, water dripping off of his hair and down his face.
It was genuinely a struggle not to let her eyes travel downwards.
"What?"
Bruce narrowed his eyes. "Towel."
It took her brain a moment to realize what he said. She finally nodded. "Oh. Right. Okay."
Meredith spun around, completely blanking on where she kept the towels.
She shook her head. Under the sink.
The businesswoman pulled open the white cabinet and grabbed a fluffy gray towel, handing it to the man.
Meredith put her attention back on herself in the mirror to give him whatever form of privacy still existed. She put in her other earring and sprayed on some perfume.
The ring, she suddenly remembered.
Meredith casually stepped out and into her bedroom, towards her nightstand where the ring lay in a corner of the drawer.
She slipped it into her cleavage just as Bruce walked out of her bathroom, clad in nothing but a towel around his waist.
This time she couldn't help herself— she trailed down his chest which was all muscle, and then her eyes widened. It was no longer the expanse of pale, smooth skin she remembered from all those years ago. Instead, it was littered with so many scars that it made her heart momentarily stop. They varied in size, some small and barely noticeable, and others faded, red gashes across the majority of his torso.
"Bruce," she breathed out quietly.
His stare was hard and even, unchanging as he picked up the duffel bag he'd tossed in the corner. He started to pull out pieces of a tux, a watch, and shiny black dress shoes.
"What happened to you?" she asked quietly, watching him as he changed from Batman into Brucie Wayne.
"Gotham."
"What?"
"Gotham happened."
Meredith found herself frowning, noticing a bruise starting to form on the corner of his jaw.
She left for a moment to the bathroom and came back with a compact of powder. In the meantime, he had thankfully put pants on, saving her the awkwardness of having to watch him drop the towel.
He did up the buttons of his white-collared shirt, somehow completely wrinkle-free despite being shoved into a duffel bag and flown up forty stories in the pouring rain. The work of Alfred, no doubt.
Meredith approached him and opened the compact, taking the circular puff and dabbing the powder over his bruise. "You're lucky we both desperately need a tan, or else this would look like a hot mess."
He let a sharp breath out of his nose. She smiled slightly.
After a few more minutes, Bruce was looking like he'd never put on a cape and cowl a day in his life, every bit the billionaire playboy.
He had abided by her request for a green pocket square that matched the shade of her dress.
"We don't have a car," Meredith suddenly realized as they left her room and down into the living area. Because, however cool it would be, it's not like they could exactly show up in the Batmobile.
"There's one waiting downstairs."
She furrowed her brows. "Who drove it here?"
"It drives itself."
"What?" She gave him a confused look as he opened the front door for her.
"Self-driving car. Auto-pilot?" He patronized, following her down the hall to the elevator. "Your tech division specializes in them."
She pressed the button to call the elevator. "Yes, I'm aware of what auto-pilot is, Wayne. Thank you."
There was a cheery ding! and the doors opened. They stepped in.
"Well, you asked."
"It was a rhetorical question."
"Didn't sound like one."
Meredith rolled her eyes. This argument was futile.
"Anyway, care to explain where on Earth you were before you got here?"
"Joker kidnapping at the Wharf. My apologies for saving lives. Next time I'll just let them all suffer so we can be ten minutes earlier."
"You do that, actually. My makeup needs to look as fresh as possible on the carpet— the Joker can wait, I'm sure."
Bruce tilted his head slightly in a chuckle— a real one— one that had her smiling out of habit.
"That's terrible."
Meredith shrugged. "Hey, I did my makeup myself this time. Everyone needs to see it."
The elevator finally stopped at the garage and Bruce stepped to the side as the doors opened, letting her out first.
"You do look very good."
Meredith bit back another smile as she sauntered past him. "I try."
She saw a shiny black sports car waiting for her at the end of the garage. As she got closer, she noticed it was a McLaren, as per her instructions. But as she got closer, she realized just exactly what McLaren it was.
Meredith raised her brows, halting in her tracks. "Is that...?"
Bruce didn't respond, which gave her all the answers she needed. As she started walking again and inspected the vehicle, she noticed that on one door was a small symbol that read F1.
The McLaren F1. Otherwise known as the car that Gregory Elias gave to an eighteen-year-old Bruce Wayne on Christmas Day once upon a time.
Bruce simply pulled the keys from his tux pocket and unlocked the vehicle. As the true gentleman he was raised to be, he opened the passenger door for her, but instead of helping her get in, he reached for something inside.
She frowned, watching him stand back up.
He held out a bouquet of red roses.
Meredith's eyes widened in surprise. He had on the same smile she'd seen all those years ago, the one he'd worn whenever he picked her up at her door. She got an overwhelming sense of deja vu.
"These are for you."
She accepted them gingerly. Bruce always knew how to choose the best flowers, in her opinion. She was sure he'd think the same.
"Wow. Are these the ones for the other woman you were originally supposed to go with?" she teased.
"I wasn't actually going to get her any," he commented passively. "But I decided to splurge for you."
"Because we all know you're so tight on cash."
"I've been budgeting these days— what can I say?"
She smiled, tucking the flowers in one arm and lowering herself into the car with the other. "Oh, you poor thing. Having to go with a lower model of the Batmobile and everything, I guess."
"It's a hard life," he agreed as he closed her door and walked to the driver's side. He got in and started the car.
The engine tumbled underneath her. "What did you even end up saying to that woman?"
"I just said I was busy."
"Busy? She's going to see you on TV walking in with me."
"Yes, I'm busy. Going with you instead."
Meredith smirked slightly. "That one's gonna sting."
"And that's your fault."
"Well— I... I suppose that's true."
Bruce snorted quietly. "That's a first."
He pulled out of the garage and onto the bustling street.
Meredith elected to ignore the dig and glanced at the clock on the dashboard.
5:57.
"Wayne," she groaned. "We're going to be late."
"Bruce Wayne is usually fashionably late."
"Yeah, well, Meredith Elias isn't."
He took his eyes off the road and glanced over at her. "And the things we all do for Meredith Elias, hm?"
She furrowed her brows as he turned his gaze back to the street.
"Wha—? Wait, Bruce, don—!"
He slammed the gas and suddenly the engine roared, the wheels squealed on the pavement, and Meredith was pressed rather brutally into the back of the leather seat as the car shot down the street.
"I hate you," she choked out, fingers digging into the sides of the chair.
"Didn't seem to hate it when it was you behind the wheel."
"That was in the Batmobile with Batman, not a McLaren with Bruce Wayne."
He took a sharp turn, eliciting a few honks behind them. "Same thing."
"Hardly."
"How so?"
Meredith thought for a moment.
"Well, for one, Batman's hotter than you."
As the darkness started to fall over the city, the inside of the car was only lit up by the dim lights of the dashboard and the yellow street lamps flashing through the windows. She could barely make out the details of him, but she didn't miss the smile that cracked on his face— just a little too crooked to be his fake one.
"Yeah," Bruce agreed. "He is, isn't he?"
They both chuckled lightly.
Meredith stared out the window as the buildings whipped by in a blur. "What do you think your parents would've said?"
"About what?"
"Batman. Do you think they would've approved?"
She only heard the grumbling of the engine.
His voice was quiet, but even. He didn't give a true answer. "Do you?"
"No."
Bruce was silent.
"If it were someone else," she explained. "They probably would've come around. Particularly your dad. But if they knew it was you, definitely no."
Meredith glanced back at him. "Then again, would you even be Batman if they were here to approve of it?"
She received nothing in response to the rhetorical question.
"You think he would've liked it?" Bruce finally asked, his voice somewhat amused.
Meredith playfully rolled her eyes. "You know your dad was a philanthropist at heart. Once he got past all the capes and cars and late-night fist-fighting, he probably would've liked what Batman stands for."
Bruce hummed in thought. "Do you like what he stands for?"
"I..." she trailed off, unsure. "In theory, I suppose I do. You'll probably take offense to this, but I just have a hard time seeing it as anything other than a mission to avenge your parents' deaths and a way to avoid your responsibilities."
"I don't avoid my responsibilities."
She scoffed out a laugh. "The conglomerate you abandoned and forced me to run for five years begs to differ."
Bruce's head snapped towards hers. "What do you mean, forced you to run?"
Meredith bit the inside of her cheek. A bright light pulled her attention and suddenly she realized they were nearly approaching the museum.
"Eyes on the road. We're almost there."
* * *
It had been a long, agonizing, painful fifteen years of waiting— but finally, finally, Dick had the Manor all to himself.
Don't get him wrong, Dick loved his siblings more than life, but sometimes he just wanted some peace and quiet. Cue him getting his own apartment in Bludhaven, probably the only place on the planet where he could go a solid hour without a new Robin showing up out of nowhere.
Today, however, the building which housed some of the sharpest minds in Gotham City was silent.
Alfred had the day off (courtesy of them forcing the butler to take at least one a month, no exceptions), Tim was on the West Coast with the Titans, Bruce was making his annual appearance at the Metropolis Museum of Art Gala, and Damian... was somewhere that Dick would probably be more concerned about if it weren't for the fact that he really just wanted to pig out on food and crash on the couch.
He had on his best pajamas— blue flannel pants, a large black hoodie, and his favorite Superman slippers. Bruce really hated that last part, which made them even better, in Dick's opinion.
Dick tugged open the large fridge. The bright light made him squint as he inspected the array of foods and drinks. After some thinking, he had his arms full with two sodas and cold, leftover pizza from the other night.
He pushed the fridge closed, a slight smile on his face as he thought about all the late-night TV he could finally play without interruption.
"That's a lotta calories, ya know."
Dick jumped about a thousand feet in the air, the box of pizza and one of the sodas crashing to the floor. His heart was racing. At the end of the day, Dick was a Bat— albeit one of the more easy-going ones— and no one should've been able to sneak up on him like that.
Dick glanced at the figure that suddenly appeared at the counter, head resting in one hand and a beer in the other.
"Jason! What the hell?!"
The other boy shrugged. "All I'm sayin' is, a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips, Dickwad. Wouldn't wanna ruin that figure o'yours."
Dick scowled, willing his heartbeat to slow down as he picked up the fallen items. "What are you doing here?"
"There's a storm out," Jason said, sipping the beer. "Makes peoples at the bodegas turn into lunatics for some reason, and I wanted some food without some guy threatenin' to shoot me over a pack'a cigs."
"Cigarettes aren't food, Jay," Dick qualified as he set his things back on the counter.
"Says someone without a nic addiction. And don't call me that."
Dick decided to ignore that last part. "Well, not that I'm not happy to see you, but I was really hoping to get some time to myself."
"You got a place down in 'Haven, don'tcha?"
"Yes, but that's not the—"
"Then go there. This is a communal space."
"Really? Because last time I saw you, you were screaming that you'd never return to this 'hellhole of a mansion' ever again."
A pause.
"Fuck you. Doesn't make it any less communal."
Dick took a long inhale. "Alright, then. Well, if you'll excuse me, I have a marathon of reality TV to catch up on."
Jason opened his mouth to respond when another voice beat him to it.
"Master Jason?"
They both turned to see Alfred standing in the doorway, clothed in crisp, navy and black pinstripe pajamas instead of his usual sharp suit.
Jason raised his head in a greeting. "Alf."
"Lord," the butler muttered as he entered the room. "You look terrible, my boy."
"I fought'a fat guy over a pack of cigs at a bodega."
Dick rolled his eyes.
Alfred stared at Jason in the way that he stared at any of them when they did something the butler didn't agree with. "Lovely. You must be starving— I'll make you something."
Jason straightened up, his eyes widening slightly. "Oh, no, you don't have to. Not on your day off. I can help myself."
The fact that Jason even remembered the mandatory day off quickly tore down whatever cold-hearted reputation he had previously been trying to play up.
"Nonsense. What would you like?"
"No, Alf, really. I can—"
The butler gave a stern look that said the situation wasn't up for debate.
And Jason clearly remembered that, too, because he wisely slumped back into the barstool.
"Whatever ya got. 'M not picky."
Dick didn't miss how Jason purposely dodged his gaze.
Alfred opened one of the many cupboards and pulled out a loaf of bread, beginning to make what was presumably a sandwich.
Jason was surprisingly the one to break the silence. "Where's the old man at?"
Alfred paused what he was doing and turned towards him.
"The other old man," Jason corrected with a slight smirk.
"The M.A Gala," Dick answered.
"Right— I forgot it was comin' up. Who's the lucky broad that gets to be his arm candy this year?"
Dick frowned, but chose not to scold his brother on how to properly address women. "Some Scandinavian supermodel that's popular in the papers these days— Lana, something?"
"Oh, yeah, Lana Sicilia. I 'member seeing a Kat Grant segment about it on the news."
Dick raised a brow. "I didn't realize you kept up with Wayne family gossip."
Alfred put a rather large sandwich and a glass of water in front of the boy, who gave the butler a grateful glance. Jason then turned and scowled at Dick.
"Kinda hard not to when the man's face is plastered all over this damn city."
"It should be on right now, actually," Alfred said as he cleaned up some of the utensils he used to make the sandwich. "If you two are interested in watching."
"Oh, good idea."
"Uh, hard pass."
Dick located the remote to the small TV that sat in the corner of the counter and turned it on. After flipping through a few channels, he found the one broadcasting the gala.
Unsurprisingly, Kat Grant was the head reporter currently on the screen. Behind her, several of the rich and most famous walked on a red carpet, dressed in their finest clothing that was probably expensive enough to put a dent in even Bruce's bank account.
"I can't believe they let all these skeezeballs walk at this thing," Jason commented, slightly muffled by the sandwich currently in his mouth. "I mean, look, there— I saw that guy at the Iceberg Lounge with a chick that wasn't his wife, like, three days ago."
"Why the hell were you at the Iceberg Lounge?" Dick asked.
Jason swallowed another bite. "I like the ambiance."
Dick gave his younger brother a puzzled stare.
"And arriving next is the man we've all been waiting to see," Kat spoke into the mic as cameras flashed behind her. "Gotham's most eligible bachelor— Bruce Wayne! Who so charitably donated a hefty sum of five million dollars to this year's fund, which will go towards..."
Kat went on to talk about all of the charities to which the gala benefited, and Jason snorted.
"He is such a loser. The guy doesn't even give a shit about charity."
Dick glared at him. "He does."
"Yeah, right. If he cared, he would actually try to do something to help this city other than running around at night in a costume."
Dick scowled, but chose to drop the subject. Getting into it with Jason— especially about Bruce— only caused problems in the end.
"And, of course, an exciting highlight of tonight is always seeing the lucky lady who gets to be Mr. Wayne's date— last year, it was Metropolis socialite Anna Koscinski, though fans online speculate that this year it may be Scandinavian supermodel Lana Sicilia. That seems to be a good bet considering the two were seen together four months ago at..."
"Why aren't you there?" Jason asked. "You went a few years ago."
Dick shrugged. "Too many cameras. Gets exhausting after the first three hours."
"You love gettin' your picture taken."
Dick rolled his eyes. "Why don't you go and see for yourself, then?"
"Uh, hello? I'm s'posed to be dead, Dickwad. I'm not a shiny, sparkly Wayne orphan anymore like you are."
"That's not tru—"
"Here he is, the man of the hour, Mr. Bruce Wayne!"
Dick glanced back at the TV to see Bruce getting out of a sleek, black car— one Dick had never even seen in the garage before.
Jason apparently had similar thoughts. "Where the fuck did he get that?"
"I... don't know. It looks like a—"
"McLaren F1," Jason finished. "They only make, like, three'a those in the world, or somethin.'"
Dick peered closer at the screen. The cameras were going crazy and Bruce drifted past them to the passenger door with nothing more than a casual smile, like he'd been doing this his whole life. It was funny, because they say the camera adds ten pounds, but Dick always thought that they made Bruce look ten years younger. Maybe it was magic. It was probably just editing.
"And it's..." Kat commentated as Bruce opened the door. The camera zoomed in to get a better look.
Inside was a woman with dark hair.
Dick immediately furrowed his brows. "I thought Lana was a blonde?"
Bruce offered his hand, and the woman accepted it. She stepped out of the car, smoothed down her dress, revealed her face to the camera, and then all hell just broke loose.
"No way," Dick muttered.
"...Meredith Elias?" Kat's voice fell out of her monotonous, cheery reporter tone and into one of shock.
Alfred spun around from his spot at the sink. "What did she just say?"
And Jason, for the sole reason of being himself, exploded into laughter.
Alfred joined them as they crowded around the screen, which was more or less in utter chaos.
"Did you know about this?" Dick asked the butler.
"I..." Alfred had one of his rare moments with raised brows and a speechless face. "Most certainly did not."
Sure enough, it was definitely the Businesswoman of the Century, clad in a stunning emerald green gown and glimmering heels. And, judging by the matching colored pocket square that Bruce wore, this was apparently a premeditated decision.
"You know," Jason commented as he grabbed one of the sodas Dick had placed on the counter. It opened with a crack and a sizzle, Jason's eyes still glued to the screen. "I should really come over more often."
The three of them watched the couple make their way down the carpet, cameras flashing wildly. Meredith had accepted his arm, offering the cameras a pearly smile with her usual red lips.
"Well, uh," Kat's commentating was back. "In this surprising turn of events, Bruce Wayne has revealed his date as none other than Gotham CEO and billionaire Meredith Elias!"
They stood there in stunned silence.
"Why would Bruce go with Meredith?" Dick asked out loud, crossing his arms.
"I believe the more pertinent question," Alfred said. "Is why would she go with him?"
"I'll do you all one better," Jason interjected. His eyes were alight with mischief. "What the hell is that on her hand?"
Dick felt his face contort into absolute confusion. With his hands flat on the counter, he leaned in as close to the screen as he could. The two were posed for a picture, Meredith's left hand resting on Bruce's chest, and on one of her fingers was—
"Bloody hell," Alfred muttered.
Dick's jaw was on the floor. "Is that... is that a ring?"
Jason burst into chuckles once again.
"This isn't funny, Jay!"
That only seemed to make the younger man laugh harder.
"It definitely is not." Alfred's face was dark and somber. "Because that is not just any old ring—"
Dick scowled.
"—that is Martha Wayne's wedding ring."
* * *
Falling back into the old comfort of being seen next to Meredith Elias in a pretty dress was surprisingly all too easy for Bruce.
With the barrage of flashing camera lights, dark skies, red carpets, and incessant reporters practically drooling for a scoop. Where every eye was on Meredith— after all, how couldn't they be— and he simply had to stand there as company.
Bruce never thought he'd again see the day when he didn't mind being "the company."
But it was just like he was a teenager all over again, back in the days when he and Meredith were the most famous couple in the city, back when they used to attend events like this every weekend because Meredith "wanted to network" and needed a date, making Bruce the unfortunate victim.
It was at this moment, after forty years of knowing the woman, that Bruce realized he enjoyed people seeing him next to Meredith Elias.
Her hand was now softly curled around his bicep, her smile was blinding, her shoes glimmered from every angle. She smelled like the perfume she always wore to special events and it irritated Bruce how he felt lucky because Batman wasn't lucky— he didn't rely on hope or good fortune— Batman was calculated and logical and perfect and—
Meredith angled her body, rested her left hand on his chest, and with one glance at her face the perfection of Batman suddenly paled in comparison to the woman next to him because wow—
And then, as it always happened between the two of them, just when Meredith seemingly had Bruce right where she wanted him, all starstruck and heart-eyed and stupid, she somehow managed to absolutely shatter the entire world around them in one fell swoop.
"Is that a ring?"
The faux smile Bruce had perfected over the years almost faltered for the first time.
It was no secret that photographers shouted a lot of outrageous things, most of which Bruce thought he had heard before, but apparently not, because... a ring? What did they mean, a ring?
The photographers started to clammer. The lights got brighter. Faster. Louder. Bruce kept the smile on his face because, after all, Batman was calculated and logical, and Meredith seemed to be doing the same.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the startled stare of Kat Grant, gaze pinned directly on them.
He resisted the urge to furrow his brows.
Bruce glanced down at Meredith, who tilted her perfect little head up with a charming, award-winning smile.
He finally looked at the hand placed on his chest.
Something shiny was on her finger.
His whole body started to go numb with confusion, shock, and about a thousand other emotions at the same time.
He locked eyes with Meredith again.
Just go with it, she seemed to say. Her whole face read panic.
Now Bruce was no longer Bruce, he was Batman, and he tried desperately not to let it show as they were quite literally the center of everyone's attention.
Meredith never panicked. Were they in danger? Was someone watching them?
Bruce scanned the crowd as he turned back to face the cameras.
No guns. No dangerous weapons. No suspicious people. Security cameras at eight and three, guards posted at every door. This was the most highly anticipated gala of the year, it would be difficult for even the best to break in, and that was saying a lot, coming from Batman himself.
Meredith gently tugged his hand and moved them down the carpet, Bruce following suit purely out of habit.
They passed Kat, who immediately had a microphone shoved in their faces.
"Ms. Elias! Ms. Elias! Care to comment on the ring you're currently sporting?"
Meredith shrugged politely. All of a sudden, the panic was nowhere to be found, replaced with only joy and cheery excitement. She held her hand out to Kat, revealing the ring, and Bruce's heart fell to his feet.
It was his mother's ring.
Martha Wayne's wedding ring.
How the fuck did Meredith have that?
Bruce wasn't sure what his face looked like anymore.
"You tell me, Kat," Meredith giggled politely.
Giggled.
Giggled.
When did Meredith Elias giggle?
Meredith continued them down the carpet, Kat, as well as every other reporter there, hollering after them.
The Gotham businesswoman moved with the elegant strides of an elitist. Bruce was confused. His steps were choppy and sudden, awkward and uncoordinated. Why did she have his mother's ring? Why was she giggling? How was Meredith seemingly panicked and composed and beautiful and dangerous all at once?
Amongst the sea of bustling workers trying their hardest to shuffle the celebrities down the carpet, two figures turned around. Bruce met the blinding smile of Oliver Queen, who had a look on his face that Bruce could only describe as utterly flabbergasted. Next to the archer was Dinah Lance, dressed in red sequins that matched her lips.
Oliver was immediately in Bruce's face, beaming and laughing boldly. "You absolute loser...!"
* * *
Meredith was utterly, absolutely, and unequivocably freaking out.
She could've passed out from relief when she saw Oliver, with his eyes practically falling out of his head and face lit up like a Christmas tree.
"You absolute loser!" The blond jeered, pressing his palm into Bruce's shoulder and playfully shoving the man back. "You were just telling me the other day not to propose so you could beat me to it, huh, jackass?"
Bruce was unmoving next to her. Meredith's heart was pounding out of her chest. She turned her gaze to the stunning bleach blonde woman next to the archer— anything to distract herself from having to sit in silence with Bruce.
The woman's sharp features contorted into confusion. She tilted her gaze up towards Oliver. "Propose?"
The Star City billionaire faltered, realizing his mistake. "Wha— propose? No! I just, I mean—!"
Bruce's bicep was tight and strained under her hand.
Meredith's mouth beat her brain to the punch. "You must be Dinah. I've heard a lot about you."
The woman's face flickered with recognition, proving Meredith's theory correct. Dinah smiled and extended a hand. "Meredith Elias— I can say the same."
Meredith clasped her hand around Dinah's. She hoped that her face was returning the gesture.
Dinah then turned to Bruce. Panic flourished deep in Meredith's stomach.
"And... I suppose congratulations are in order!" Dinah sounded like she was having to put in a genuine effort to sound excited. "I didn't realize you two were so... serious."
Bruce chuckled unevenly. Cautiously. Meredith could feel her feet sweating in her heels.
"Me neither," Bruce spoke evenly, a smile still on his face but his eyes looked like they were elsewhere.
Meredith's hand was suddenly waving passively. Damage control. Damage control. She needed to do damage control. Why did it feel like everything was spiraling? "We just like to keep things private if we can. You know, since very few things in our lives are."
Dinah's eyes flickered to Bruce with an unidentifiable stare. She glanced back at Meredith. "Yeah, I know how that can be. Mind if I take a look at that ring?"
Meredith smiled tightly and offered her hand. Dinah studied the large diamond. It was obviously beautiful, but still needed to be cleaned after sitting in a safe for however many years. Meredith hadn't had the time— stupid stupid stupid. Such a dead giveaway. Bruce Wayne would never give a woman a dirty ring. Well, Bruce Wayne would never give a woman a ring period, but that was beside the point.
"Wow," the blonde woman murmured. "Very pretty. It looks familiar, too—"
"My mother's," Bruce interjected, his voice so calm and collected Meredith had to gulp down her nerves. "It was my mother's."
The group fell into silence. Reporters and cameras and fans roared in the background.
Meredith looked at Oliver, who appeared like he had gotten over his bout of adrenaline and was just now realizing the severity of the situation.
She and Bruce spoke at the same time.
"Well, I—"
"We have to—"
They made eye contact. Bruce, for the first time in her life, was truly unreadable.
Meredith chuckled quietly. She turned back to the two blonds. "We'll see you around, we have a few people inside that we promised to see."
"Right..." Oliver muttered, his stare on Bruce. "Well, have fun, you two."
Meredith plastered her award-winning grin back on her face, tugged Bruce's arm, and the pair strode in through the doors of the museum.
* * *
Hello again everyone! It's good to be back!! I've been really swamped with work as well as starting school, and I also had a horrible case of writers block with this chapter :( I went back and forth on how to end it for a few weeks but I think I like how it turned out! How have you all been? Thank you so much for over 125k and, as usual, I'd love to hear your thoughts on the story so far!
xo Alexa