In the Mind of Madness

It had been months since Kenna went jogging.

There was something freeing about it that Kenna savored, or used to whenever she could find the time. Most of the time she would get ambitious the night before, thinking of fitness and a bracing early morning run. Then the morning came and she kept resetting her alarm, feeling guilty for the rest of the day for postponing a healthy habit.

Now she had all the time in the world, as the snug ring on her ankle constantly reminded her. She was trying her best to ignore it, but the running was causing it to chafe a little. But the wind was chilly and it was getting dark, and Kenna’s muscles were pleasantly warmed by the activity, so she tried focusing on that. Her breathing wasn’t coming as easily as it used to when she would run, but she pushed through it with determination.

Wayne Manor provided more space than Kenna was used to, more accustomed to using whatever sidewalk space she could find in bustling Gotham, often having to cut through alleys when the crowds got heavy. Even at five in the morning there were people outside.

Now she had seemingly unlimited grass to run on, only having to stop at the perimeter where her anklet would alert the Gotham police to her trying to escape. And the view of the manor itself was gorgeous from around. It was massive, and built exactly as the first one was. Peaked roofing and black coils of iron around the windows, silhouetted by the rising moon‘s light. The soil was fertile after the fire, so there were multiple gardens on the grounds. Kenna inhaled as she passed a bush of bright white flowers, unsure what they were but knowing they smelled sweet and refreshing.

Almost a week now Kenna had been at Wayne Manor, and she was still surprised it had happened. Something about the way the judge barely spoke to her for twenty minutes and immediately leaned towards house arrest made Kenna think Bruce had bribed him, but when she brought it up Bruce only denied everything. Maybe Kenna was suspicious because it had really worked, because how many things had actually worked in her life?

A sort of routine had developed in her days with Bruce. Kenna would wake up and try to beat Alfred to making breakfast, though she hadn’t been successful yet, the three of them would eat (unless Bruce was mysteriously absent), then Bruce or Alfred would try to do something to keep Kenna entertained. She got tired of it quickly, hence the jogging to amuse herself. She’d already watched way too many movies on Bruce’s huge TV, played too much chess with Alfred, and seen every room in the manor. She thought about reading sometimes, but her attention span had been rather limited lately. With everything going on her mind was often on the court proceedings or a certain makeup-wearing lunatic, no matter how badly she wanted to forget all about him.

Kenna slowed to a walk, putting her hands on her hips and breathing as slowly as she could through her nose. The sky was an ever-darkening blue, stars appearing as the sun went down. Kenna watched her old tennis shoes on the cement path with the light coming from the windows, willing her legs to stop throbbing. How could she be thinner and out of shape at the same time? Well, it sucked.

She looked up, eyes unconsciously searching for the balcony outside Bruce’s room. Usually when he was home and not with Kenna or Alfred or in his basement headquarters, Bruce would be sitting out on the balcony with a book or a drink. Kenna felt a grimace grow on her face when he wasn’t there. She turned back the way she’d come and jogged to the front of the house, thoroughly tired by the time she got there. Once inside she pulled off her blue sweatshirt, guessing that Bruce wasn’t around so the fact that she was left only in a black sports bra wouldn’t be a problem.

“Alfred?” she called into the long front hall, folding her shirt over her arm. “Are you nearby?”

A distant voice replied. “In the kitchen, miss!”

Kenna made her way there, one of a few routes she was familiar with. Alfred was sitting on a stool at the large island in the middle of the kitchen, drinking tea and reading a newspaper. Kenna smiled at him and walked over to the fridge, removing a water bottle for herself and taking a long pull. The cold liquid splashed into her stomach, causing her to shiver.

“A satisfying run, Miss Archer?” asked Alfred, sipping his tea.

Taking the stool across from him, Kenna nodded. “It was alright. Did Bruce get a…call?” She was still unsure what name to use for Bruce’s nightlife.

“No, miss. He informed me he was going to bed shortly after you went outside.”

Her eyebrows raised. “Bed? It’s only eight-thirty.”

“I assumed he was very tired.” Alfred gave her a meaningful look before shrugging and returning to his steaming cup. “Or perhaps…something was bothering him.”

Kenna knew a hint when she saw one, taking a thoughtful drink of water. “Should I talk to him?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Her lips twitched against a smile. It had only been a few days, but she’d developed a rapport with Alfred. While he pretended not to know she’d caught on Kenna drained the rest of her water, then went to talk to Bruce.

She could only imagine how he was feeling with everything. The Joker, his arch nemesis, was still at large and becoming more dangerous by the day. He hadn’t asked her any questions about her time with him, and while she wondered why she sort of knew. It was probably terrifying for him.

“Bruce…” noticing that his bedroom door was open, she said his name loudly down the hall to his room. “Where are you?” The door usually wasn’t open, so she pushed lightly on it and peered inside. “Bruce?”

Right away she saw him, in a black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, laying on the bed with his hands behind his head. He raised his head as Kenna entered, eyebrows furrowed. It was obvious he hadn’t expected company. He appeared to have been deep in thought.

“Hi.” mumbled Kenna, suddenly regretting the removal of her sweatshirt, holding it across her bare stomach and trying not to blush. “Alfred said you were here…I thought I’d come check on you.”

Bruce’s expression tightened a little, defensive. “Oh, he did, did he?”

“He has a right to be worried about you.” Kenna stepped fully into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her and remembering the last time she was there. The blood and the glass, Bruce helpless on his bed.

“There’s no reason to worry.” his reply made it obvious how anxious he was about Kenna being there. He wanted to be alone, but she wasn’t going to give him that at the moment.

She walked until she was at the end of his bed, staring at him sternly. “Bruce, it isn’t healthy to --”

“Please, don’t say that.” interrupted Bruce, voice edging towards irritation with her.

Kenna nodded, understanding. Instead of leaving like Bruce expected her to she set her sweatshirt down at the end of the bed before climbing on and flopping onto her back next to Bruce. God, was his bed comfortable. How could anyone stay out all night fighting crime when they knew this was waiting for them at home?

They were silent for a while, Bruce slowly relaxing as Kenna didn’t try to counsel him. She had her lips pursed, attempting to think of a way to start that wouldn’t make Bruce think she was analyzing him. Sometimes it was hard to be a psychiatrist as well as a friend. Eventually she rolled her head on the pillow, surprised when Bruce was already looking back at her.

“My dad was a firm believer that everything happens for a reason,” she began, even more shocked to find herself whispering. “and for a long time I was, too. Even when he died I told myself it was to give me purpose, to give me the passion for my job that I…had.”

Bruce watched her face with nervous anticipation, wondering why she had changed her passion to past tense. “What do you firmly believe now?”

“Nothing.” her voice was barely a breath, heavy with stress and uncertainty. She kept eye contact with Bruce even though her heart was aching with the truth in her words. “I don’t know who to trust or what to believe.”

His green eyes that were a few shades darker than Kenna’s, almost hazel, were burning into hers. “That’s not healthy.”

Kenna felt a distant impulse to smile, but she couldn’t. Bruce didn’t either. They were so close she could smell the cologne clinging to his skin from the day, their shoulders almost touching. Kenna blinked reluctantly, only to stem the tears she didn’t want to shed in front of Bruce or anyone.

“I think that you out of anyone in this godforsaken city can understand.” she whispered, eyes darting to Bruce’s chin and then back to his eyes. “I need to believe that there’s good left here.”

It was like a switch had been flipped. Bruce rolled onto his side and reached for her, pressing his lips against hers so forcefully that Kenna almost drew back. Another pair of lips flashed through her mind, covered with cracking red paint and crushing to hers with enough pressure to draw blood.

But just as quickly as he’d reached for her Bruce stopped. Kenna opened her eyes, just realizing she’d closed them. She stared at Bruce again, unsure what to say or do. Her breath was coming very shallowly, Bruce’s doing the same. She could feel his chest rising and falling deeply against hers, warm and solid.

“I’m sorry.” he said after a moment, but he didn’t look very remorseful. His hands had come to rest on her body, one on her throat the other on her hip. Kenna blinked, because she had rolled onto her side as well. Why hadn’t she noticed?

“That’s okay.” was her reply, eyes on Bruce’s unwaveringly.

A little bit of guilt had worked its way onto his face now. “I know exactly what you mean. About having to believe there’s some good here. Good in the world in general. You’ve probably seen worse things than I can imagine, and I just…”

“I understand.” And Kenna did. To know that someone was feeling the same way as her made her want to be closer to Bruce. She gathered all her courage and scooted on her hip so their bodies were molded together. For the first time she dropped her gaze, staring at Bruce’s muscular throat. “But you’ve seen as much as I have, Bruce. I…I know about your parents.”

When there was a silence Kenna winced, knowing she’d said the wrong thing. Someone had told her about it once. She couldn’t even remember who. Bruce sighed. “I know about your father, too.”

“You do?” Kenna asked, looking back up to find Bruce staring at her again. “How?”

“I read the file. After that night when you told me you were working with The Joker I looked up everything there was to find. I know your high school P.E. teacher’s name.”

Kenna’s eyes widened. “Wow. I guess I see why you did that.”

“Sorry.” And Bruce did look sheepish about that. “Is he why you wanted to be a psychiatrist?”

Kenna nodded, tentatively placing her palm flat on Bruce’s chest. She had no clue where all of this honesty, this openness was coming from, but to her surprise it didn’t feel all that bad. She was imagining Bruce’s lips on hers again. They had been soft and hot.

“Yes.” she swallowed hard and glanced at his mouth again.

He seemed to have the same thing on his mind, moving closer to Kenna minutely, so their foreheads touched. “From what I’ve seen you’re an amazing psychiatrist.”

If Kenna had any inhibitions left they were pushed aside, the hand on Bruce’s chest using his t-shirt to pull him even closer, her other hand laying on his cheek as she kissed him again.

It was desperate and they both knew it, but it had been building since Kenna moved into the mansion. There was a basic attraction, combined with their need to find something solid to cling to. Kenna didn’t know it, but Bruce had gone through a nearly unbearable amount of turmoil while he thought she had switched sides. In that restaurant bathroom when she had told him it was all The Joker’s ploy Bruce had wanted to kiss her right then and there, just out of relief that it wasn’t true.

Kenna had to consciously loosen her fingers and tell her muscles not to tense. This wasn’t a fight for dominance, she was reminded of that every time Bruce would tenderly stroke her hair or wrap an arm around her to bring her closer. Kenna felt a surge of hate towards The Joker. He had brainwashed her in a way, so that she felt every physical touch was a threat. If she really concentrated she could enjoy the kiss, but having to really concentrate at a time like that was irritating.

She couldn’t think. Kenna cupped Bruce’s face with both hands and willed herself to separate from him, thankful when he allowed her to do it. Their eyes met again and Kenna smiled hesitantly.

“Is this something we really want?” she asked, voice low with both desire and apprehension.

Bruce looked distant for a moment, replying in a grumble. “Sometimes the truth isn’t good enough. Sometimes…people deserve to have their faith rewarded.”

Emotion shot through Kenna like a bullet, and she knew he was right. She deserved whatever outlets she could find at a time like this, and if she tried to be rational for one more minute she was going to scream herself hoarse.

Kenna rolled over again only long enough to turn off the light, then losing herself in warm skin and panting breath. She deserved this.