Siren's Song

When I made it to the café, I noticed that Bruce was already here. I bit my lip as I walked up to him.

“I’m sorry. Am I late?” He smiled.

“No, you’re right on time.” I smiled back, relieved.

“Oh, thank God. I’d hate to screw things up right from the get-go!” He just smiled at me.

“Shall we?” he asked.

“We shall!” I said, laughing as we started to walk. He stopped, and I looked at him questioningly.

“Something wrong?”

“No. It’s just.. Wow. Your laugh is beautiful.” I felt myself blush.

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you.”

“Hm?”

“For laughing.” I blushed again.

“Now you’re just trying to make me blush.”

“Not at all. It really is beautiful. Like music.” I smiled, thinking about the irony of the statement, but he wasn’t done. “And it lights up your face. Don’t take this the wrong way, because this is the first time we’ve been out, but you’re absolutely beautiful, and when you laugh, it makes you breathtaking.”

I averted my eyes. I wasn’t used to someone saying things like that, but, at the same time, I liked it. How was it that it seemed like when it was coming from him, it mattered?

‘Wow, I’ve just met this guy and I’m already falling fast… That could be a bad thing.’ His voice - his wonderfully attractive voice - snapped me from my thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” he said, taking my hand, “Did I embarrass you? I don’t know what got into me!”

“No.. It’s fine, really. It’s just, I guess I’m not used to someone being so sweet,” I said, still looking at my feet.

“Well, we’ll have to change that. You deserve to hear things like that all the time.” He sounded completely sincere, and I had to smile sadly.

“How can you say that? You barely know me.”

“I know,” he replied as I looked at him, “and that’s what scares me.” Silence followed this, and our gaze stayed locked. The honking of a horn in the street snapped us from our trance.

“Oh, well, we should be going,” he said. He moved to let go of my hand, but I held. He smiled at me and intertwined our fingers. We started walking.

“I was going to let it be a surprise, but maybe I should ask to make sure. Do you like dancing?” I looked up at him. “Because if you don’t, we can go somewhere else.” I shook my head.

“No. I love dancing,” I said, smiling at him.

“Well, that’s good.” We walked in silence for a while, before he led me into a restaurant. It wasn’t particularly fancy, or large, but that made it all the better. There was a group of men on stage, all with their respective instruments. I smiled again.

“I didn’t know where to take you, exactly, but I remember you saying you liked music, so I thought dancing would be nice. I figured a smaller place might be better for our first date.” I nodded in agreement, at the same time dwelling on how he said ‘first date’. Did that imply more to come?

I hoped so.

He led me to a small table near a window, and pulled out my chair before sitting down himself. I thanked him with a slight nod of my head. After a few minutes, I decided I wanted to know more about him, and told him so.

“Oh? And what do you want to know?”

“Anything. Everything. I don’t know.” A shadow of worry passed over his eyes so quickly I wondered if I’d imagined it.

“Well, what about you? I want to know who the real Isabelle Lawrence is.” Yes, I had used a different last name, my mother’s maiden name. I smiled at him, internally berating myself, and hating that I couldn’t tell him everything.

Regardless of the fact that I wanted to, badly, which scared me.

“Well, let’s make it even,” I said, “I’ll tell you something about me, if you tell me something in return.”

“Like twenty questions?” he said with a smirk.

“Sure. That works.”

“Alright, I’ll start,” he said, thinking. “What’s your favorite flower?”

“Lilacs. What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue. Favorite time of day?”

“Sunset. Same question.”

“Night.” Again, that shadow in his eyes. “Favorite book?”

“I’m not sure. Favorite… sound?” He smiled.

“Do I have to answer?”

“Naturally, if you want to ask another question.”

“Fine. Lately? Your laugh.” Again, I blushed. It was strange, because I rarely ever did. Except around him.

“Your turn to ask a question,” I reminded him.

“Alright. Would you like to dance?” I smiled.

“I’d love to.”

And this was how the night passed. We ate, we talked, and we danced. We were there for hours, until finally the manager told us they were going to close. We just laughed before leaving the building, hand in hand.

‘Wow. This is weird. I’ve never actually wanted to be around someone so much,” I said to myself.

“So,” I said aloud, “What comes next?”

“Next? You’re not tired of me yet?” Bruce asked, amused.

“Never!” I exclaimed, laughing. I caught him looking at me, obviously deep in thought.

“You know,” he said finally, “We’ve been out for,” he checked his watch, “almost six hours now, and I still hate the thought of going home.” I smiled.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” I questioned.

“Yeah.. That’s one way to put it.” He smiled.

“You know,” I said after a few more minutes, “you didn’t answer my question.”

“Oh? You’re absolutely right,” he said. “Well, I suppose that, next, I offer to drive you home.” I smiled.

“I can walk, but thank you.”

“Are you sure? This is Gotham.” I nodded.

“Really. I’m fine.” He looked uncertain.

“What is it you aren’t saying, Belle?” He had started calling me “Belle” earlier in the evening, insisting it was perfect, as it meant “beauty”. I bit my lip, and he stopped walking, our linked hands bringing me to a halt as well.

“Why are you against me taking you home? Or, for that matter, picking you up?” I looked away. He had realized that I had lied when I said I was in town today. Finally, I looked back up at him.

“I guess… I guess I’m just a little embarrassed.” He looked at me, urging me to go on. “I mean, you’re Bruce Wayne.”

“No,” he said before I went on, “I’m not. Not with you. With you, I’m just Bruce.” I smiled.

“Okay, you’re right. I haven’t let your position affect anything else… but this is different.” I paused. “I told you I lived with my father, right?”

“Yeah, you said you moved in when your mother… passed.”

“Yeah… Well, we don’t exactly have a ‘house’, per se.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“We kind of move around the city a lot… Hotels, old buildings…” He was silent, and I looked up at him. His face was stern. I looked at him both nervous and expectant.

“And you were… embarrassed?” he asked finally.

“Well, yes.” He said nothing, but the stern look faded.

“Fine, then. Where can I drop you off?”

“I can get there from the café.” He still looked unhappy, but his words didn’t show it.

“Okay, then. Then we’ll skip that step.” I looked at him questioningly. “You asked what was next,” he said in answer. I smiled, glad that he had dropped the subject of my housing.

“Well, what comes after that, then?” I asked as we stopped in front of the café.

“Next, I ask you how soon I can see you again.”

“Soon. Very soon, I hope.” He gave a small smile.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“Next?”

“Next,” he said softly, taking my hands in his and coming closer, “I say goodnight, until we meet again.” One of his hands left mine, and moved to stroke my cheek, before our eyes met, and we both leaned in.

It wasn’t long at all until his hands moved to my waist, and mine to his neck. In those moments, the busy streets of Gotham faded into nothingness. Slowly, regretfully, we pulled apart, but stayed close, with his forehead resting on mine.

“You know,” he whispered, almost conspiratorially, “I don’t usually kiss a woman on the first date.”

“I’m not like other women.”

“No, you aren’t,” he agreed, a smile gracing his lips. After a moment, he furrowed his brows a little.

“I forgot to ask,” he said all of a sudden, “When is your birthday?”

“The thirteenth of June, why?” I replied, suddenly very nervous about the next question he would doubtlessly ask.

“Because, I wanted to see if it was close, so I could take you out if you didn’t have plans.” I smiled a little. June thirteenth was less than two weeks away. He looked at me, and it was as if he saw what I was dreading.

“Belle?” I gulped.

“Yes?”

“I can’t believe I didn’t ask before… How old are you?” I found myself unable to look away from his questioning gaze, and closed my eyes. When I didn’t answer, he went on.

“You’re… younger, than I thought…” It was a question, formed when I didn’t answer.

“Yeah,” I answered softly, lowering my eyes to the ground.

“How much younger?” he asked. I could hear a small tension in his voice. I took a deep breath.

“Promise me… promise me it won’t affect how you look at me?” He seemed to think about the question before answering, which hurt more than it should, considering this was our first date.

“I… I promise,” he finally said.

I didn’t believe him.

“The thirteenth… It will be my twenty-third birthday.” I could hear his breath come in sharply, and felt a sharp pain run through me that only intensified when he spoke.

“Twenty-two? You’re twenty-two?” I nodded, and he released my hands, backing up. “God! You’re barely even an adult!” Again, the sharp pain, and I was surprised to find myself near tears. How was it possible that his opinion mattered so much to me? “I’m old enough to be your father!”

“Don’t you think I’ve realized that?” I finally shouted. He stopped moving for a second. “You see, this is why I didn’t want to tell you! I didn’t want you to look at me like that - like I’m a child! I’m not, Bruce! And I was hoping that you’d be able to see that!” I leaned against the wall, my head down so that he wouldn’t see the tears shining in my eyes, slowly trickling down my cheeks. There was silence, and I felt his hand on my chin, lifting it, making me look at him. Still, I averted my gaze. He sighed.

“Listen, Isabelle,” I cringed. He’d used my full name, something he hadn’t done since we met. “Can you… Just come with me, okay? We’ll sit down, and we’ll talk about this.”

“What is there to talk about?” I asked, the crying now evident in my voice.

“Please,” he said. I sighed.

Even when he’d made me cry, it seemed I couldn’t say no.