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Bruce is trying very hard not to give into the urge to bolt.
He jiggles his leg a bit, glancing around the waiting room. The receptionist’s attention is on her computer, and the other two people here are preoccupied with their phones.
None of them are paying any attention to him.
It would be easy, he thinks. Walk out unnoticed, probably have the cancellation fee charged to his card without further interaction with the clinic, and never think about any of this again.
He could just… handle this on his own, like he always does.
It would be so much easier than trusting someone else with it, he thinks. A stranger.
He’s looked into the therapist, of course. Doctor Harleen Quinzel, age thirty. Born in New York City to parents Sharon and Nick Quinzel. Accepted to Gotham University on a gymnastics scholarship, graduated magna cum laude with a degree in psychology, then again with a doctorate. No known partner, openly bisexual according to her Instagram account. Likes the hyena exhibit at the Gotham Zoo.
All in all, she’s a fairly normal woman. No complaints against her from former or current patients.
Someone who is not Bruce would probably find her absolutely fine to talk to.
But he is Bruce. And right now, walking out seems extremely appealing.
But he promised himself he’d do this. That he would give it a try, for Clark and Dick and Jason and Conner.
He tilts his head back a bit, looking up at the ceiling. There’s a little bit of water damage on one of the tiles, creating an amorphous light brown spot. Unusual for a clinic in this part of town, but perhaps they just haven’t gotten around to fixing it yet.
“Bruce?”
He turns his head to look at the receptionist.
“Dr. Quinzel is ready for you, if you’re ready to go in.”
Bruce nods, then stands up, putting his hands in his hoodie’s pockets as he walks over to the door leading to the offices. He takes a breath, then walks through, glancing around until he finds the door labelled “Harleen Quinzel, PsyD.”
He hesitates, then, after reminding himself why he’s doing this, knocks on her door.
“Come in!”
Bruce opens the door, then steps inside and takes a look around.
It’s a mid-sized office, with a decent view of the city through the large window. It’s clean, with a chair and a couch– a perfectly normal loveseat, rather than anything harkening back to Freud. Quinzel’s degrees are on the wall behind her desk, which has a few photographs on it that Bruce assumes are of family, or perhaps friends. There are several bookshelves with various psychology texts. One of them has a small, red-and-black clown statuette on it.
Quinzel herself is sitting behind her desk, typing away at her computer. Bruce clears his throat, and she looks up, eyes going wide when she sees him.
“Oh, wow, it really is you.”
Bruce raises an eyebrow.
“I would have thought that the credit card going through would have proved my identity.”
Quinzel shrugs.
“True, but it’s still a little hard to believe that one of my patients is Bruce Wayne of all people. Sounds a bit like a tall tale, don’t you think?”
“Not a tall tale you’ll be telling, I hope.”
“Oh, of course not!” Quinzel says quickly. “My lips are sealed, Mr. Wayne.”
“Bruce,” he corrects. “If we’re going to do this, then you may as well call me by my first name.”
Quinzel smiles, then gets up from her desk and walks around, holding her hand out once she’s standing in front of him. He takes it, shaking it firmly.
“It’s good to meet you in person, Bruce,” she says.
“You as well, Dr. Quinzel.”
She smiles again, then gestures towards the chairs.
“Well, go ahead and have a seat on the couch.”
Bruce nods, then goes to sit down. The faux leather shifts under his weight, though not so much that Bruce finds it concerning. He watches her pull her phone out of her pocket, tap it a few times, then put it back.
“How would you like to begin?” Quinzel asks once she sits down in the chair across from the couch.
Bruce frowns.
“Isn’t that something you should decide? You’re the therapist here.”
“I feel it’s better to establish a rapport before getting into it. We don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to today, or any day. It’s up to you.”
Bruce leans back in his seat.
“If it’s all the same, I’d like to just get to the point.”
Quinzel nods.
“Alright. Go ahead, then. What brings you here today?”
Bruce takes a deep breath.
“I started a new relationship in January.”
“Ah, yes, I saw something about that. Congratulations, by the way.”
“Thank you. At the same time, I’d just taken in a new foster child, which, after a period of adjustment, has generally gone well.” He shifts in his seat. “I was… happy. Genuinely happy. That’s not something that I can say about a lot of my life.”
“What happened?”
“My partner wanted to make last-minute Valentine’s Day plans. We both have busy careers, and he has a young child of his own, so we weren’t able to make any plans before that. I hadn’t even realized it was coming up.” Bruce takes a breath. “Which is unusual, given that Valentine’s Day was also my parents’ wedding anniversary.”
Something in Quinzel’s eyes softens.
“I see. You forgot their anniversary.”
“I did. I’d… never forgotten before.” He looks down. “And I didn’t… handle forgetting very well. Ended up having a panic attack in my mother’s library.”
He takes a breath.
“My… younger ward saw. He was briefly convinced that I was dying, which, considering that his mother passed away a few months ago, scared him more than it would have otherwise.”
“And you, understandably, feel bad about that.”
“I do. He puts on a front of being tough– comes with the territory of having grown up in the Narrows– but he’s an eight-year-old at the end of the day. It affected him deeply, and I… I had trouble reassuring him in the way he needed, because I couldn’t honestly tell him that I was fine.” Bruce swallows. “I don’t– I want to avoid lying to him where I can. I found out about my parents’ issues in the worst possible way, and I never want that to happen to any of my children.”
Quinzel hums.
“How honest do you want to be with them?” She asks. “I’m going to guess you don’t want to get into the nitty gritty of your mental health with your children.”
Bruce exhales.
“Mostly what I want is to not have panic attacks in front of my children.” He shifts a bit. “I’d… also like to be able to give Valentine’s Day to my partner. I know it’s just a day, but… it would be nice.”
Quinzel looks up at him.
“Why did you put it like that?”
Bruce blinks.
“Like what?”
“You framed Valentine’s Day as something you would give to your partner rather than something you share with him. That’s not usually how people frame it.”
“I… don’t really see the difference.”
“Well, is sharing a holiday with him something you want?”
“Of course.”
“And do you want that independently of him, or because it would make him happy?”
Bruce blinks again, frown deepening.
“Why wouldn’t I want to make him happy? What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. I just think you should consider what you want too.” She turns back to her notepad, writing something down. “Something to think about, and something we can definitely work on.”
Bruce keeps frowning.
“I don’t remember getting homework from my therapist when I was younger.”
“No? Then what have your previous experiences with therapy been like?”
Bruce regards her for a moment, thinking over how much he wants to share. It’s not as though she can tell anyone anything, but it’s not something he’s discussed with anyone except for Alfred and Clark.
But, he did promise himself he’d be as honest as he could be. This is part of that.
“... I was in speech therapy as a toddler, if that counts,” he finally says. “My parents had me assessed for autism at three, since I hadn’t started talking yet, then put me in it after I was diagnosed.”
Quinzel’s eyebrows rise a bit.
“You didn’t mention that in your intake paperwork,” she notes.
“It’s not something I share. And given that I hadn’t fully decided that I was going to go through with this, I figured it was best to be as vague as possible.”
Quinzel frowns.
“I see.” She writes something down. “Do you remember it being helpful?”
“I don’t remember much about it at all. I’d forgotten it completely by the time I found out about the diagnosis at eight.”
“Do you know why your parents waited so long to tell you?”
Bruce resists the urge to clench at the chair’s arm.
“They… didn’t tell me at all. I found out from the therapist I went to after they were killed.” He leans back a bit. “If I had to guess, I’d say they didn’t tell me out of some desire for me to ‘lead a normal life.’”
He smirks.
“Rather ineffective, I suppose.”
Quinzel hums.
“And how do you feel about that decision?”
Bruce falters a bit, then looks down.
“... I don’t know,” he admits. “I’ve– obviously, I’ve learned how to handle it, but I had to learn how to on my own.”
He exhales.
“I’m sure they thought they were doing what was best, but…” He clears his throat. “Well. Them doing what they thought was best has caused no end of trouble for me.”
“You’re referring to the renewal fund.”
“Mm. Getting our name– the Wayne Foundation’s name especially– out from under that dark cloud took a lot of work. People didn’t trust that I wanted to do good at first.” He shrugs. “I suppose I can’t blame them. I don’t know if I would have been able to trust anyone either were I in their shoes.”
“But you still believe they had good intentions?”
Bruce blinks, then frowns.
“I do. My parents were… extremely flawed, even I can admit that. My father especially was flawed. But I know that they were well-intentioned, if short-sighted.”
Quinzel hums, then writes something down. Bruce thinks about calling her out, but decides that he doesn’t need to get into another fight about his parents. God knows he’s gotten into enough over the years.
“You were in therapy after their deaths?” She asks after a minute.
“I was. I didn’t find it helpful,” he says. “The therapist… wasn’t a good fit, and I wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened. Trying to talk about it felt like… like it was happening all over again.”
He shifts in his seat.
“Talking at all was difficult. I drew into myself after, and speaking… speaking felt like an unbearable burden.” He exhales. “I’m not sure I spoke more than a hundred words total the year I was nine.”
“Do you often go long periods without speaking now?”
Bruce shrugs.
“Not nearly as long, but yes. When I’m alone, or occasionally when I’m with my partner.”
“Have you shared much with your partner?”
“He’s well aware of my issues, if that’s what you’re asking. We were friends for three years before we started our relationship.” Despite himself, Bruce smiles. “It’s how we met, actually. Both Clark– my partner– and I were at an event shortly after the flood. He recognized that I was overstimulated and directed me somewhere where I could decompress.”
He still remembers the sheepish little grin Clark gave him when he admitted he didn’t have anything to ask him and just wanted to make sure he was okay. It was probably the moment Bruce fell in love with him.
“That’s very sweet. It sounds like you have a very caring partner.”
“He is. He’s been very supportive throughout the time we’ve known each other.” Bruce shifts in his seat. “He also encouraged me to try therapy again. I might have come to the decision on my own regardless, but that helped.”
“I’m glad to hear that you’ve got some support, then. Though I hope he’s not the only one you’ve got.”
Bruce frowns.
“Who else would I confide in?”
“Friends, perhaps? It’s important to have multiple you can go to for support.”
Bruce does his best not to grimace.
“I… don’t know if I have someone like that,” he admits. “Besides Clark, I mean.”
“I’m not saying you need to start sharing your feelings with all of your friends right away, but you might want to consider it. Sharing a burden makes it lighter.”
Bruce huffs.
“You sound just like him,” he says just as he hears an alarm go off. He watches as Quinzel pulls her phone out of her pocket, tapping it once to make the alarm stop.
“That’s time.”
“Already?”
She gestures toward the clock, which indeed shows that it’s already been an hour since they started.
“You can schedule your next appointment at the front desk if you’d like,” she tells him. There’s no pressure in her voice, just a hint of suggestion.
An out, if he wants one.
Bruce looks at her for a moment, then nods.
“I’ll be sure to do that,” he says before getting up from his seat. He walks over to her and holds out his hand. “It was nice to meet you, doctor.”
Quinzel smiles at him.
“You too, Bruce.”
Bruce drives himself home after the appointment. It’s one of the ways he keeps a low profile– the hoodies, the inexpensive car, shedding all the things that make up the “Bruce Wayne” persona.
He can’t drive the way he likes, of course. Bruce Wayne getting a ticket in this car would be bad.
Which means he’s stuck in Gotham traffic for about an hour. It’s grueling, and reminds him why he prefers his other vehicle– no one cares if Batman drives aggressively.
When he finally gets back home, though, it’s to the sound of three young voices laughing. He raises an eyebrow, walking into the living room to see Jason and Dick crouched in front of Conner.
“Jaaaay-sun,” Jason sounds out. “Like that, Conner.”
“Gaaaaah-ee-yah,” Conner replies.
“No, Jay. Juh. Like that.”
“Bah.”
Jason makes a face while Dick laughs.
“I think he’s a little young to be saying much of anything,” Bruce comments as he walks up to them, “let alone anyone’s name.”
Conner squeals, reaching up and making grabby hands. Bruce smiles, crouching down behind him and scooping him up into his arms.
“Did Clark drop him off?”
“Yeah, like ten minutes ago. He said he texted you,” Dick says, reaching out to let Conner grab his finger.
Bruce purses his lips, then pulls his phone out of his pocket to check.
Clark/ 5:14 PM
Hey, baby! Just letting you know that I’m dropping off Conner at your place real quick, I’ve got something to take care of. Be back soon!
Judging from the news alert Bruce got about a bridge collapse in Mississippi, he can guess what Clark’s up to. He smiles, pressing his lips to the crown of Conner’s head. His eyes slip over toward the kitchen, just in time to see Alfred disappear inside. He frowns, then gently puts Conner back down on the mat; Conner, being preoccupied with his game of tug-of-war with Dick’s finger, doesn’t notice.
“Keep an eye on him for a minute, will you?” He asks as he stands up.
“Kay. Conner, I need that back…”
Bruce puts his hands in his pockets as he walks into the kitchen, clearing his throat.
“Hey.”
Alfred glances up at him from where he’s chopping up some vegetables. Bruce can’t quite read the look in his eyes.
“Hello, Bruce. How was therapy?”
“Fine, I think. It was mostly just talking about what I want from this whole thing.” He leans against the counter. “I have another appointment in a couple of weeks.”
Alfred looks up at him.
“You’re sticking with it, then?”
Bruce glances over at him.
“I think so. At least for now.”
Alfred looks at him for a minute, then sighs and puts his knife down.
“Alfred?”
“I want to apologize.”
Bruce blinks, then frowns.
“For what?”
Alfred sighs.
“I… made many mistakes, when I first became your guardian. One of my worst ones was not trying to find a way for you to continue therapy after the first attempt went so poorly.”
Something in Bruce softens.
“Don’t blame yourself for that,” he says. “Even if the therapist had been perfect, I wasn’t– I didn’t want to go. I wasn’t ready.”
“Then I should have tried again,” Alfred replies. “When you were older, and there was more distance from it.”
Bruce sighs.
“Alfred, when do you think I would have been ready? Because I genuinely don’t think there was a time that I would have been even slightly receptive to therapy in the last twenty-three years.”
“There must have been–”
“No, Alfred, there wasn’t.” He turns his head away. “I wasn’t ready. I wouldn’t have cooperated, no matter how many therapists you dragged me to. It would only have been a waste of time.”
“Still. I should have done better by you.”
Bruce exhales slowly.
“Maybe,” he admits. “But I’m not going to stand here and pretend I made it easy on you. I was a nightmare.”
“You were a child who went through something no child should have to.” Alfred takes a breath. “And it should have been better. I should have been better.”
Bruce looks at him for a moment, then sighs.
“I won’t dispute that you didn’t do the best job,” he starts, “but after having been through it myself with Dick, I don’t think I’m as inclined to blame you as I used to be. You were put in an impossible position.”
He looks over at him.
“And for what it’s worth, Alfred, I’m glad I had you.”
Alfred looks up at him, eyes shining. After a moment, he looks back down, clearing his throat.
“You… said you weren’t ready before.”
“Yeah.” Bruce smiles a little. “But… I think I am now.”
“Good. You deserve peace, Bruce.”
Bruce glances over at him, but before he can say anything he hears Jason call out from the living room.
“Hey, Bruce? Conner is doing something weird.”
Bruce frowns, walking back in. He sees Conner on his mat, lying on his stomach. He opens his mouth to ask what’s going on, only to see Conner pull himself forward with his arms.
Bruce’s breath catches in his throat.
“See? He keeps doing that thing soldiers do in movies,” Dick says.
“Army crawl,” Bruce says as he gets his phone out. He quickly taps on the camera app, setting up to record a video. “Conner.”
Conner looks up, smiling at him. He turns a little, dragging himself forward with his arms, and Bruce huffs out a small laugh.
“Good job,” he says before ending the recording. He sends it to Clark, then sends him a text.
sent/ 5:46 PM
We’re going to need to get the apartments babyproofed faster. This is the last step before proper crawling.
Once that’s done, Bruce puts his phone back in his pocket and walks over to Conner’s mat, crouching down in front of it.
“Conner,” he says, holding out his arms. Conner giggles, then pulls himself toward Bruce. Once he’s close enough, Bruce scoops him up into his arms, holding him close.
“You okay, B? You look kind of… emotional.”
Bruce glances over at Dick, smiling a little.
“Just… remembering how I felt when you started middle school,” he admits.
“Huh?” Dick asks before blinking. “Oh, like… because he’s getting older, right?”
“Mm,” Bruce confirms, turning his gaze back to Conner. “He’s growing fast.”
He shifts Conner around a bit, then tugs Dick in close.
“Just like you.”
“Ugh, B, c’mon, I’m thirteen now!”
“Really? I couldn’t tell cause you’re so short,” Jason comments.
“I’m still taller than you!”
“For now.”
“Boys,” Bruce says before they can start bickering. They both grumble, but disperse a bit just as Bruce’s phone buzzes. He looks down to see a notification that Superman has averted the bridge collapse, as well as a text from Clark.
Clark/ 5:55 PM
Tell him he’s not allowed to crawl until I get home!!!
Bruce huffs out a soft laugh.
sent/ 5:56 PM
I’ll make sure he knows.
sent/ 5:56 PM
I can’t wait to see you.
Seconds later, he gets another text from Clark– a simple heart emoji.
Bruce smiles.