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While Bruce knows Edward hasn’t been leaving the house at night for the past month or so, he does wonder where the man disappears to each evening at precisely five to ten.
“Just some Ed time,” the redhead says, smiling lightly, when Bruce raises the inquiry. “Nothing dastardly, I assure you.”
“Riddle time?” Bruce asks, raising an eyebrow.
“It’s always riddle time, Mr. Wayne. But not the crime sort of late. You ought to know that.”
Bruce does know that. No neon-green graffiti on the crumbling buildings, no deadly game shows, and not a single live kidnapping. Edward’s been surprisingly acquiescent on his parole recently.
Bruce does know that. But he’s exceptionally curious, if not a trifle wary.
And so, at precisely half-past ten, he mounts the stairs and makes his way up, following the music.
Eddie likes to listen to music sometimes while he works. It's a pretty good bet.
…although it's usually better than this . The strains of a violin wafting from behind the locked door aren’t the most melodious Bruce has ever heard.
But to each his own.
Bruce slinks into the shadows and listens hard.
Edward’s definitely in there. Bruce can hear him swearing softly to himself as a note distorts itself with a violent squeak, and the noise stops abruptly.
"No, no, no! " Edward mutters. "Again, again, from the top."
Bruce nearly laughs out loud as notes begin to sound. The Riddler, an aspiring musician! That's where he'd been sneaking off to every night. Why not?
And he's… not too bad, honestly. He’s not exactly good yet, but Bruce has heard time and again how hard the violin is to play, and considering it’s been a grand total of a few weeks (he assumes, that’s when these midnight escapades began), the progress is quite impressive.
Footsteps. The doorknob turns without warning.
Bruce gets a quick glimpse of the unused room now boasting a sheet stand with a neatly arranged score on top of it before a loose green shirt and a pair of greener, furious eyes fill his vision.
“What are you doing here?”
“I live here,” Bruce replies automatically, and instantly regrets it. “You- since when do you play the violin?”
“Since when do you spy on me?” Edward hisses. His hands tremble, clenched around his instrument. “Why are you even up here? You- I said I wanted private time! You still don’t trust me? It’s been three and a half months and you still don’t trust me?”
Bruce has faced those green eyes in more situations than he can count. Frustration, anger, teasing gleams, sarcastic rolls, excitement bordering on mania- he's seen it all.
Sheer betrayal? Never like this.
He backs away. Edward takes several quick steps forward, and Bruce half-expects the man to try to hit him before the door is yanked around and roughly slammed in his face.
An explosion of splintering wood follows.
To his credit, Alfred doesn’t say anything during Bruce’s glum recital of the night’s events.
He simply pours a fresh cup of tea and pushes it across the table, raising an eyebrow and keeping it there until Bruce reluctantly takes the teacup and sips.
“What do I do now?” he asks despondently, after swallowing. The cup is warm in his fingers. “Eddie’s mad, and he has every right to be.”
“Indeed, Master Bruce.”
Bruce stares into the deep brown liquid. It contains no answers. “He broke his violin, Alfred. I went up there after he left and his violin was in pieces on the ground, and the bow was snapped. What do I do?”
“Are you addressing me, or your drink?”
“Whichever has the better idea.”
“In that case, I should not like to be shown up by a creation of my own making.” Alfred smiles slightly. “Nor you yours. Why don’t we discuss this a bit."
Bruce knows little about musical instruments, but the man behind the counter is very patient.
An elegant leather case with rich, green velvet lining is absolutely essential, of course, and Bruce browses through several music books before he finds a few that he's sure will please.
A few other supplies are suggested and procured, and Bruce hands over an astonishingly high payment without batting an eye.
"It's all rather expensive for a beginner," the man says, somewhat doubtfully. "It's a lovely set you've chosen, of course, but-"
"That's what I'm after," Bruce replies. "Thank you for your help."
He visits a florist next, choosing carefully and occasionally consulting his phone for reference.
Alfred looks everything over, running his fingers gently over the fine materials and soft petals. "You've chosen very well, Master Bruce."
"I hope so," Bruce mutters.
"Would you like me to arrange it for you?"
Bruce thinks for a moment, opens his mouth, and then closes it.
He nods. "That would be good. Thanks."
"But you will ask him yourself. And apologize."
"...I know."
Alfred smiles, and gently touches the other man's shoulder.
After dinner, Bruce asks Edward to accompany him upstairs.
"I fear I must decline," Edward's response is clipped.
"Please, Eddie."
"I'm not interested, Bruce. There's no reason for either of us to be going to that room, and frankly, I-"
"Eddie. Please. Just for a few minutes."
Green meets blue. Neither waver.
"...five minutes. Not a second more."
"Thank you."
Upstairs again. Bruce goes in first, holding the door for Edward. Alfred’s done a very nice job.
Edward looks over the small arrangement, and then Bruce.
“Blue hyacinth,” he says finally. “Apology.”
Bruce nods.
“Purple verbena. Intelligence. I assume you’re attempting to butter me up- that’s the intelligence at play, very astute if I do say so myself.”
Bruce nods again, and Edward eyes him sharply before dropping his eyes back to the bouquet.
“And a single white magnolia. Perseverance. You’ve got some nerve, Bruce, you know that?”
“Yes,” Bruce says. He pauses. “I do. And the magnolia has another meaning as well.”
A single eyebrow arches. “Do enlighten me.”
“You don’t know?” Bruce teases cautiously.
“Of course I know. I want to hear you say it.”
…he does deserve that.
Bruce nods, and inhales. “Nobility. Purity. Dignity.”
“The latter two of which you have not afforded me.”
“I know. Hence the blue hyacinth. And- I know it hasn’t been easy for you.”
“You’ve heard my playing.” Edward’s laugh is brittle. “It’s not easy, no. I’m told the violin is the most difficult of all instruments to master.”
“I mean these past few weeks.”
“Those haven’t been easy either.”
Bruce nods again, and gestures for Edward to open the black leather case.
"...words fail me."
"Do you like it?"
"Ah, the words are back." Edward's tone is expressionless. "It's far nicer than my old one."
Bruce grins hopefully. "I got this one for you just for now. I'm having another one made custom- it's going to have question mark cutouts instead of the Fs on the sides."
"Sound holes," Edward corrects. He runs his fingers over the polished wood, almost hesitantly. "Some call them F holes, but I find that slightly vulgar."
Bruce snorts.
"So… question mark sound holes. For riddle time."
"Exactly. And you’ll have complete privacy. I won't walk in on you again, Eddie. I promise."
Edward smiles a little. "The flowers were a nice touch."
"I chose them myself." Bruce traces the edge of the violin, brushing Edward’s hand as he goes. "Can I hear what you've been working on?"
"Not yet. You know I’m a perfectionist. Nothing personal."
Edward lifts the violin out of the case, taking the bow in his right hand. He tilts his head, watching Bruce carefully, and purses his lips. "But if you absolutely must listen…"
Bruce grins. "Thanks, Eddie."
"…do stay out of the shadows this time."