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The lights were dim, the music too loud, and the place reeked of alcohol and cigarette smoke.
Most nights, Ellie didn’t drink.
But then again, most nights she hadn’t been unceremoniously dumped, without even the dignity of an explanation.
Again, tonight wasn’t most nights.
She sat at the bar, nursing her fourth (or was it fifth?) drink. She knew she was being irresponsible, reckless, immature.
She couldn’t bring herself to care.
When a shot was sent over, she asked the bartender who sent it, and when he pointed to a handsome man a few seats over, she raised the glass, made eye contact, and smiled at him before downing it.
He smiled back but didn’t come over, instead turning to talk to the man next to him. She was secretly relieved; she was here to forget, not replace.
She sat there for several minutes, relishing the lingering burn of the shot and the way it removed the roiling nausea in her gut from the emotions she was actively trying to avoid dwelling on.
As she looked around the rundown bar, her eyes caught on the other lonely people scattered throughout. Each one had a story, a reason for being here, but all had the somber eyes of someone in pain. Eventually, she couldn’t take it anymore; the weight of the crowd of misery was too much to bear, and she motioned for her check.
After scrawling her name on the ticket, she set it down, grabbing her wristlet and sliding off the stool. She stumbled slightly, but managed to steady herself, taking a deep breath before walking out the door.
She made it half a block when she heard the man’s voice. She ignored it at first, assuming he was calling out to someone else, but she finally turned to look when she heard it grow louder.
It was the handsome man from the bar, the one who had bought her the shot, and she furrowed her brow as her drunken brain scrambled to come up with an explanation for why he was here.
“Hey,” he said, smiling at her. Although he had a nice smile, his eyes were sharp, calculating. She was immediately on edge.
“Hi…?” she said, trying to appear more sober than she was and failing miserably.
His eyes lit up at her blatant vulnerability, and her stomach twisted, uncomfortable, seeing the eyes of a predator and feeling more like prey with every passing second.
“I sent you a shot. At the bar,” he supplied in the way of an explanation, and she nodded slowly.
“Yes… you did… Thank you.”
The displeased look on his face told her that she hadn’t responded the way he had wanted, and she eyed him warily as alarms continued to blare in her mind.
“You seemed sad, and I wanted to cheer you up,” he said, trying again, and she stayed silent, unsure how to respond to that. He seemed annoyed by her lack of gratitude and her unwillingness to engage with him, and he spoke again, his voice growing sharper as he tried another approach.
“I spent nine dollars on that shot. Come on, don’t act like you don’t know how this works…”
Maybe it was the alcohol loosening her tongue, or the anger still burning from the heartbreak this afternoon, but the words came out more acidic than she intended.
“Oh, really? Why don’t you explain to me how exactly it works?” She put her fingers up, making exaggerated air quotes. “And how you clearly expect me to offer my body in exchange for a cheap shot.”
She laughed without humor, and his nostrils flared with anger, his mouth tightening.
She turned away, speeding up when she heard his footsteps following her, and in her haste to put space between them, she turned down an empty alleyway. She realized her mistake a second too late, and he quickly caught up with her, his words coming out as a hiss.
“Look, you stupid bitch, you’re not even hot enough for this bulls-” He reached out his hand to grab her arm, and she barely yanked it out of his reach in time.
A sharp clang of metal made them both jump. He whipped his head around and spotted something metallic on the ground. He bent to pick it up, his eyes widening when he recognized the unmistakable shape of the batarang, and when he looked up, a black shape loomed over him.
“Leave.”
The voice was commanding, inhuman, and the man didn’t hesitate.
When Batman turned to face her, she stood there, swaying slightly.
“Thank you.”
Her voice was flat, even to her own ears, but she was still too drunk to think properly. He seemed to notice the extent of her intoxication, and she saw his mouth tighten.
“Are you injured?” he asked, and she shook her head after a pause.
“No,” she said, for good measure, and he studied her for a long moment.
“How much have you had to drink?”
His disapproval was palpable, and she huffed out a sardonic laugh.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t judge me.”
“I’m not.”
She laughed again, the sound more shrill and manic than she realized, before waving her hand mockingly.
“Thanks for saving me. You can go now. I’ve got it from here.” She winced, knowing she was slurring but unable to help it. Her mind was sobering up, but her body wasn’t cooperating.
He didn’t move, his expression stoic as he watched her.
“How are you going to get home?”
She crossed her arms, dropping her head back as she closed her eyes to exhale heavily into the night air.
“I’m going to walk.”
The silence stretched for a long, uncomfortable moment, and her annoyance flared.
“Look, I’ve had a really shitty day.” She took a shaky breath. “I really am grateful that you were here. Seriously.” She reached up to rub a hand over her face, clenching her eyes shut. “I just… I’m tired. And I… I just want to go home.”
Her honesty seemed to ease his concern, and he softened slightly.
“I’ll walk you home.”
“You really don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
She seemed like she was about to protest, but she finally sagged slightly, letting out a resigned breath.
“Thank you.”
He nodded, and she brushed past him to walk down the sidewalk, with him following easily behind her. She was grateful that the streets were deserted, and she tried not to picture how ridiculous she must look, walking (stumbling?) along next to a man dressed like a giant bat.
“I don’t live far,” she said, and he didn’t react, his strides long and steady.
When they arrived at her apartment complex, she looked up at the two flights of stairs leading to her door. For once, she was relieved that her apartment was in the corner of the complex, with its own private entrance. It seemed the Batman wasn’t going to leave until he watched her get safely inside.
She took a deep breath, holding onto the handrail as she started climbing, and he followed a step behind her. She paused and looked back at him, her annoyance bleeding into amusement at his dedication to ensuring she arrived safe and sound at home.
“Don’t you have anything better to do than help me upstairs?” she said, the comment sounding less sarcastic and more sad than she intended.
“No.”
The word was simple. The meaning was anything but, and her throat was suddenly full of emotion.
“Thank you.”
This time, the gratitude in her voice was apparent, and he took in the sudden sheen in her eyes before she turned back to finish climbing the stairs.
Her buzz was fading, leaving her feeling hollow, and her footsteps were becoming heavy, her heart weighing her down. Of course he noticed.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes,” she lied, opening her wristlet and yanking out her key. He stood there, steady and silent, watching her struggle to get the key in the lock for several long moments. She eventually leaned forward, dropping her forehead against the door, defeated.
He finally took pity on her, gently moving her aside and taking the key out of her hand. He slipped it in the lock on his first try, adding insult to injury.
“Thank you,” she said again, and he nodded, already turning to leave.
He paused when he heard her breathing hitch and lunged forward, catching her by the shoulder as she stumbled over the threshold. He wasn’t able to stop her completely, and her knees struck the floor with a painful thud.
He crouched next to her, looking her over as she hunched over with her palms flat against the floor.
“That was stupid,” she groaned, and the corner of his mouth lifted almost imperceptibly.
“Are you alright?” he asked, and she stood up shakily, leaning into him as he helped her up. After a moment, she huffed out a breath, her eyes coming up to meet his, hidden behind the white lenses of the cowl.
“I’ll live,” she said, and he straightened slightly, helping her limp down the hall into her bedroom. Once inside, she flopped down onto her stomach in the middle of the bed, burying her face in a pillow.
He hesitated for a moment before disappearing down the hallway. She groaned into the pillow, convinced he had left, but when the air shifted, she cracked open an eye and saw him leaning over to place a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers on her bedside table.
This time, when he turned toward the door, she knew he was leaving. A sudden, irrational panic seized her at the thought of being alone.
Maybe that’s why, when he clicked the lights off, the words slipped out before she could stop them.
“Have you ever had your heart broken?”
He stilled, standing in the doorway, and she rolled onto her side to face him, the sharp outline of his silhouette framed by the hallway light. He was silent for so long that she thought he wasn’t going to answer.
“Yes.”
She sucked in a breath.
“Have you ever broken someone else’s heart?”
This time he answered more quickly.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He seemed to consider his words carefully, his back still to her.
“I didn’t know how to let her love me.”
She nodded, and though he couldn’t see it, he heard the rustle of the sheets beneath her head.
“I had my heart broken today,” she said, her voice cracking on the last word.
He turned to face her then, his posture softening as he took in her tear-streaked face and the way she curled in on herself.
She sniffled, unable to stop the tears now that they had started. “I just don’t… I don’t know what I did.”
He took an involuntary step closer before stopping, and she quickly scrubbed at her face with the heel of her hand.
Ellie knew she was a mess, and she knew she would be mortified when she remembered this night tomorrow. But right now, he was here, and he was listening, and somehow, that was enough.
She choked on a sob. “No explanation or anything. He acted so distant, and I just…”
She trailed off, emotionally drained.
“I’m sorry.”
His words cut through her haze of despair, and she blinked at him with unfocused eyes, as though she had forgotten he was still there.
“Don’t apologize. You didn’t do it,” she said, her words a whisper. “I just wish he… I just… wish things were different.” She sniffled softly, her eyes closing.
Her eyes snapped open, and she sat upright. “Should I call him?”
He blinked, but she was already reaching for her phone.
“Even if it doesn’t change anything, I need… I need him to know…”
He stood there for a moment, listening to the soft taps of her fingers against the screen. Two. Seven. Eight. Then he turned away, his voice low.
“I hope you find whatever you’re looking for.”
She didn’t respond, too focused on her task, and as he slipped out, he heard her voice, brighter, more sure than it had been all night.
“Hey, it’s me…”
---
He returned to the Batmobile eight minutes later. When he got in, he took a deep breath before finally looking at the notification on the screen.
New Voicemail
With a sigh, he clicked on it.
Her familiar voice filled the space, quiet at first, but becoming more certain as she spoke.
“Hey, it’s me… I just wanted to tell you… that I love you.”
He sucked in a sharp breath.
“And I know that you ended things for a reason, and maybe I’ll never know what it is, but… I needed you to know. I love you, Bruce.”
His head fell back against the headrest, his eyes closing.
He listened to the message again. Then again.
And finally, he sent a message.
---
Ellie woke with a pounding headache, her stomach roiling with nausea. She had never drunk so much in her life, and she was paying the price for it.
When she rolled over, she found the glass of water and bottle of pills on her bedside table. The memory of the night before came rushing back, and she groaned, burying her face in her pillow at the humiliation of it.
She blindly reached for her phone, only to find it wasn’t plugged in. After scrabbling around beneath the sheets, she finally found it tangled in the covers and unlocked it. It was after ten.
But the time wasn’t what caught her eye.
Her stomach dropped when she saw the text from Bruce.
Then she remembered, and horror washed over her.
She opened her call log, physically recoiling when she saw the outbound call from 3:17 a.m. It had lasted only 22 seconds.
She knew what she had said.
The first time she'd told him she loved him…and she had said it to his voicemail.
She stared at the notification for far too long before finally tapping it.
Can we talk?