Chapter Text
“I have to say, this isn’t what I expected from you, Brucie,” Clara giggled, slender fingers wrapped tightly around Bruce’s arm as he led her through the crowd towards the big top. She waved casually at the press, flashing them a perfect smile before turning back to him.
Bruce laughed, wrapping an arm around her waist. “I’d hate to disappoint. What were you expecting?”
“Some fancy French restaurant, maybe a bedroom?” She punctuated her sentence by raising her eyebrows. Bruce tried very hard not to grimace.
Haly’s Circus was supposed to be a marvel, and, even though it was bound to be packed full on its first night in Gotham, anything would be better than another stifling dinner with a girl - or guy - whose name he could barely remember. The suit sat heavy in his mind and the back of his wardrobe. It would be cruel and dangerous to drag anyone else into his plans, so he had begun to play up his reputation. Whereas before he’d used partying as a coping mechanism, now he built on it. Brucie Wayne was kind and gentle, but equally naive and clumsy, as likely to be found with another person in the morning as he was alone. It was important but exhausting work.
Clara, at least, wasn’t the worst person he’d been on a date with. She was a little… much, but she was honest and intelligent (when she decided to stop hiding it). When she flirted, it was for fun instead of trying to get anywhere with him, unlike most of the other models and journalists and whatever he’d gone out with in the past. Clara was in her first year of a law degree; Bruce wouldn’t be surprised if she’d only agreed to go on a date with him to get her family off her back about it.
“I wouldn’t take you as a one-night sort of girl,” he commented as they made their way to their seats directly in front of the ring. The walls stretched high above them and the air was filled with the sweet smell of caramel.
She smiled slightly, leaning closer to him. “I guess I’ve always liked subverting people’s expectations of me.”
Before he could reply, the tent was plunged into darkness. A single spotlight followed a middle-aged man into the ring. His red coat-tails hung tidily down to his knees as he strode forwards, lifting his cane dramatically and turning to the audience with a showman’s smile.
“Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, welcome!” he bellowed, turning and slowly surveying the audience. A roar of applause crashed through the viewers as he waved. There was a thin sheen of sweat already on his forehead and his voice may have trembled a little, but that was only to be expected in a new city. “It is my greatest pleasure to have you here tonight and to show you the marvels of the circus. You see, ladies and gentlemen, in just two hours, you will be taken on a journey unlike any other. Sit back - or cling to the edges of your seats - and allow us to show you the most daring escapes, the most terrifying leaps, and the most breathtaking wonders the world has to offer.
“Now, for an act famed around the globe for their skill and daring. Watch, as they redefine gravity itself with their death-defying stunts. Without further ado, allow me to introduce: the Flying Graysons!”
Again, the tent was plunged into darkness before the lights came back on, focusing not on the ground but on a series of platforms high above, near the top of the tent. Three women and five men, all in matching white and blue leotards with a bird emblem on their chests. A few members of the audience gasped as they raised their arms. They seemed ethereal as they held themselves above the crowd, eyes glittering with blue eye shadow and bodies perfectly poised. A little boy - probably no older than two or three - clapped his hands together excitedly as they stepped forward as one.
He was sat cross-legged on the floor just past the barrier in a smaller version of their leotards, looking up at the acrobats with wide, vivid blue eyes.
One of the women stepped forward, clasping a trapeze in one hand and the rope ladder in the other. She leant out to the side, holding her trapeze out to the audience with a flourish. She glanced down for a moment and offered the boy a small smile before looking forward again, her shoulders set. The music rose in tempo and she sprung forward.
For a moment, she seemed to simply hand there, suspended in time, before her body curved seamlessly and she fell, down and down and down- before the slack caught and she swung upwards to the gasps of the audience. She seemed to fold as she neared the top of her arc, tucking in on herself only to stretch her legs out again at the last moment, pushing herself even higher. She swung back just as another acrobat leapt forward, her hands clasping those of yet another artist as she flew between the ropes of the first trapeze.
Bruce’s eyes widened and he couldn’t help the childish gasp of wonder as he watched, enthralled. Already, there was something uncannily graceful above their swoops and dives. With the lighting, the acrobats looked less like people than… artwork, sinuous and curving lines.
The first acrobat reached the top of her swing again and seemed to twist in the air, releasing a hand and turning to face the audience with a smile. She seemed entirely at ease for someone so high up as she stepped easily onto the platform again, caught by the waiting hands of two other acrobats with matching grins that, despite the makeup and spectators, looked entirely genuine.
No sooner had she landed than was Bruce’s attention drawn to the other side of the set-up. A man had his legs hooped through another trapeze and had barely released the ropes before a woman dove backwards off a stationary trapeze above him. She spun for what felt like an infinity, hands outstretched above her.
The man swung up, catching her easily before she curved with him, swinging higher yet. Opposite them, the other acrobats released the first trapeze. Just when she reached the top of her arc back, the woman released her hold on her partner, flying upwards.
Clara tightened her grip on Bruce’s arm, both keenly aware of the lack of nets. It would be so easy- but the acrobat simply did a twist in the air and caught the trapeze, transferring her weight seamlessly. When it swung closer to the first platform, she, just like the first acrobat, stepped forward onto it with a wave.
The boy glanced back to the audience, a grin stretching across his face before he resumed his vigil.
Looking up at them, Bruce could understand the appeal. They looked weightless as they leapt and flipped between platforms and trapezes, easy and comfortable despite the showmanship. There was one pair in particular - a man and a woman, probably in their early thirties - who seemed to fly higher than the rest. If the others ignored gravity, they acted as though it simply did not exist. Every time they made a jump or trick, the little boy would light up and clutch his toy elephant closer.
His parents, Bruce realised with a start. When he thought about it, they looked similar, too. His eyes followed where the boy was looking, back up to the acrobats.
The first woman - the one he was sure was the boy’s mother - had just jumped again. She swung freely upwards then down, gaining momentum. Finally, she reached the peak of her swing again and released…
Bruce’s breath caught as he watched her tuck in, her legs bent close to her chest as she flung herself backwards. He’d been amazed by their previous tricks, but this was something else entirely. She spun not once, but three times - Mary Grayson, Bruce’s mind filled in. The sole female gymnast capable of performing any move like it. At the last moment, she straightened, just as her partner swung up to meet her. Their hands linked together smoothly to a roar of applause but- suddenly they were falling, not flying. Where the air had held them a second before now it let them go. The trapeze came away as they tumbled down, no longer fluid and graceful but all sharp, deadly angles.
The boy screamed, rushing forward to them with wide eyes already brimming with tears. His elephant tumbled, forgotten, out of his hands.