#Cleousesubereats

From my office window I can see the freshly-built monorail station arching high up among the Gotham skyscrapers. It will apparently be in use sometime next year, but I have been told everyone doubts that. They expect Bruce Wayne to buy it out and fix it because the original construction company was dirty.

Aren't they all?

"I'm sure you'll find this office suitable to your needs, Mrs Grayson! If not, you are welcome to take mine," the head of this branch, Perich Financial, seems to be either a suck-up or fearing for his job.

"This is fine," I tell him, turning away from the window.

He's middle-aged and slightly overweight, but there is something nice about him. Something trustworthy. He doesn't feel like a Gotham stereotype.

"Were you born here?" I ask him pacing over to my desk.

"Me?" He asks brightly, like I might be talking to Mai instead, "No, I was born in Metropolis. Your father disallowed anyone already living in Gotham to work here at this branch. The staff are from Metropolis, Central, Opal, Luna... Everywhere but here."

My father is an idiot. 

"What was here five years ago before this tower was built?"

Cyril Bradford seems afraid to answer, "A free health clinic."

The exasperated sigh I let out does not even begin to cover my feelings over that. I'm going to die in this city because the people have every plausible reason to hate my family.

"People who used that clinic in particular now have to travel to the, uh, downtown of Gotham where the next free clinic is."

Makes sense. It's the only option for some people. I picture my father walking over coughing children and elderly people with cancer on his way to cut the red ribbon.

"Downtown," Mai catches Cyril's attention, "That has a name here, doesn't it?"

Infamous. 

"Yes, the people call it Crime Alley. As you can imagine it has certainly earned its name," Cyril informs.

Overall he seems unsure of what views to present as his own; whether or not he should agree with my father's wrong doings or praise them. Whatever floats my boat, I imagine.

"Thank you for showing me around Mr Bradford," I smile. I take a seat at my desk, bare apart from a computer and stationery cup. 

"No issue at all," he nods politely. With a smile beneath his upturned moustache he also acknowledges Mai before heading out the door.

Once gone Mai looks directly at me, "If your employees think you disagree with your father-"

"My employees?" I snort, glancing at her, "I'm his employee. It shouldn't be any different. I'm just here to move around our company stock in this branch."

"Be that as it may, you have a reputation to uphold," she snaps as she stalks up to the desk.

"Yes yes, a reputation," I don't look up at her, but rather at the business program designed by the Elite Tech Corps opening on my computer, "A reputation for being a rich bitch who takes things from the less fortunate. Great advice Mai. Now, if you're not here to help, go away."

She knows if she says one more word on the matter my cup will come sailing towards her head. So she rolls her eyes and reaches into her pocket, pulling out a slip of paper.

"You are due here for dinner," she unfolds it and slaps it down on the glass desk, "You and your husband have a date. I will be in there playing your secretary."

I imagine she's pointing at the door. 

"Whatever, just get me a seafood lunch, okay?"

"Yeah yeah."

She sounds far away. Guess she's gone.

Time for a plan of action. 

The moment the door shuts I click Activate on the program. It was designed by a team associated with my own during my tours. They were working under Amanda Waller and this creation was made to deconstruct the companies foreign armies were using for terror in America.

I'm using it to look for the dirty back-burner companies hiding money and illegal deals overseas. I will remove them from Perich Inc. secretly and have them absorbed as Wayne Enterprise Stock. This takes their legality and more importantly, their money, out of my father's hands.

Out of Perich Inc.'s hands.

If anything it will cut the legs off and the company will have to drag itself for awhile. Hopefully this will teach my father that not all his dodgy problems can be fixed by a sham marriage from his daughter to a rich guy.

'Abara Holdings' is the first to appear, described as a storage company in the Netherlands. Never heard of it and after searches it does not appear in any official documents on transcripts from the company.

In other words, it's a front. There are accounts and even jobs open for the business but the business itself does not exist.

It will be the first to go.

Using the codes taught to me a long time ago, the system begins extracting anything and everything to do with 'Abara Holdings'. It will take a few hours but once the extractions is done all of the files and money from the front will be moved into legal backburners at Wayne Enterprises.

All that money and stock away from my father.

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When I get home, there is no one there. Not yet anyway.

In my bedroom I store my bag in its place like a good wife. No mess. I suppose at this time of night I should be preparing dinner before my husband gets home. 

Seeing as it wouldn't be very kind to burn down this apartment having only lived in it for a night, or poison Grayson, I opt for a safer decision.

I only have two bathing suits with me. A bikini and a one piece. The one piece is black with gatherings at the side. Not too flashy and not so boring that my sisters start screeching.

Not that it matters now.

Our too-expensive towels are stored in the laundry. I take the first one and head through the den to the balcony. It has towering doors that slide open to the pool deck. I step out into the Gotham night.

My view is a city of lights. This apartment faces the rich suburbia rather than the poor downtown. Though I'd imagine just as much crime happens in both spaces, just different types.

Far to my right is a vertical garden against the wall where the outdoor bathroom is. To my left is the alfresco, the fake grass, the spa...this is not a balcony. This is a rooftop garden stuck to a penthouse.

So, so unnecessary.

Cookie and Luscious brush past me as they head out, having been inside all day. They move over to the grass patch. I should really get another kitty litter for them.

The pool automatically starts heating depending on the temperature. Seeing as we're pretty high up, it's cold enough already, so when I sit on the edge with my legs in, it's warm.

When I actually plunge into the water with my eyes closed I feel the stress wash away. I can pretend here. I can just feel the non-existent emotions and pretend I'm in the water. I'm home, swimming in the sea or my pool balcony that doesn't look like it belongs to a family of ten.

Just home.

I'd come up to see the house sitting their on the beach. Mai would be on the sand, shaking her head as she waits for me to come in. When I do she shoves pills in my hand before it's time for dinner. I'd sit with the kids and ignore my parents and having staring competitions.

I curse my lungs as I have to submerge. Back into the real world.

"Hello."

I nearly slip on the pool floor. Turning away from the city, I come to find my husband standing on the deck wearing civilian clothes. He's smiling and I pretend to have to push water off of my face.

"Yes?"

This is a mirror image of when he returned to Paris. That time, I was in the pool and he was on the deck. I pulled him in and one thing lead to another... Not tonight son. 

As per our contract we both know we have to go out for dinner tonight. I'm reluctant to get out because it has literally been mere minutes since I got in.

"We've got reservations at a restaurant down the street," he chirps, "Half an hour."

A part of me wants to ask if he booked it, or if it was done by his lawyer. Instead I head over to the pool steps and exit the water. He turns around and grabs my towel off of the deck chair as I head over.

When he hands it to me his eyes go elsewhere.

"Why are you acting like you haven't seen me naked before?" I mumble, wrapping the towel around myself.

"I'm a gentleman," he says.

"Right, well a gentleman can go and get the clothes lying at the foot of the bed and bring them out here. And another towel thanks."

With that, I turn and head to the outdoor bathroom.

"Yes ma'am," is all he says as I hear the doors slide open.

This bathroom means I won't have to cross stupidly expensive carpet and flooring to get to the en suite. It has a door for the toilet but the shower is merely a separating wall. It's far too fancy for its purpose but I turn it on anyway.

I jump when a towel is swung over the wall.

"Want your clothes on the bench?" He calls out.

"Yeah, just leave them there." And go away.

I peel the bathers off and it feels like a wasted opportunity. Not about taking them off, because I said no more sex, but because I hardly got to use them.

My confidence comes from the water. If I had a little more time to swim then perhaps I'd feel up to the challenge of another fake date in a city with every right to murder me in the gutter.

Once done, I put on the plain black dress. It'll do for wherever we're going. I didn't even look at the slip of paper Mai gave me about the actual location but I assume it's somewhere fancy. 

"That was quick," he says when I step inside. He's holding a remote and standing by the end of the doors. "Watch this."

With the press of a button and a series of soft clicks, the lights outside switch off and the electric walls start skirting around the penthouse, shielding the entire outdoor area from 'weather'. 

Weather and criminals.

Cookie and Luscious come sprinting through the cat door, obviously spooked by the noises. We watch them run away to the bedroom with their tails stuck high in the air.

"Is that...bad?"

I glance at him, completely blank.

"Did I scare them?"

What on Earth...

Without responding, I turn around and head to the bedroom to finish getting ready.

"Cleo?"

What an idiot.

When I'm finally done with dry hair, a painted face and some uncomfortable shoes, we head out into the elevator. This time he doesn't say anything and I have to admit, I feel a little guilty.

"So..." he begins awkwardly. Oh, never mind.

Like I said in the last chapter; square one.

"Ask me what I think of the city," I suggest.

"Oh! Good idea. What do you think of the city?"

"I hate it."

A moment of silence, and then, "Cleo..."

Ding! 

I reach for his hand as the doors slide open. At the same time the hand I reach for is moving behind my back to curl around my waist. As a result I nearly swing my hand into his crotch which I manage to just avoid by swinging my arm up into my own chest.

To the guard and the two people talking to him, it must look like I am being touched without permission, positioned in his arm like a prisoner.

Without another choice I turn in his arm and lean up to kiss his jaw before side-stepping and clutching his fingers. Stunned but keeping it together, he merely follows my lead past them with a small greeting.

"We need to work on the shift from private to public," I tell him.

Unfortunately we are fine-print contracted to walk to city locations for exposure. The restaurant is only a few blocks away and to take either of our cars out tonight would be pointless and against set rules.

It's dark and there is a bustle, but all these people seem surprisingly normal. I assume it's because of where we are in this part of the city, but it doesn't seem any different from Sunset bar the lack of waves crashing in the distance.

"This is like that time we ran into each other," he points out.

Mai had stolen my keys before I went for a walk. I ran into him and he carted me home.

"I suppose it is."

There are car horns, the low murmurs of people, squealing breaks and music blasting from every shop we pass. In some ways it's refreshing because it makes things seem normal, these basic and lively factors around us.

Our restaurant has some fancy name I don't even bother reading. I just plaster a fake smile on my face as Grayson gives his name. The waiter gives his respects before leading us to a secluded table in the corner. 

As we pass by tables people start whispering. Maybe they knows us, or maybe we look familiar. People who eat here have probably never used a Free Clinic in their life, but that doesn't mean they aren't apprehensive of someone whose family took such a thing away.

Once seated with our menus, the waiter reads the specials with a crispy clean English accent (one un-bought for an authenticity front) and leaves us to it.

As soon as he's gone I can't help myself, "Did you know about the Free Health Clinic my father pulled down?"

Clearly stunned by the question, Grayson blinks dumbly with the menu unread in his hands, "Yeah," he catches himself, "I knew. You didn't?"

"Of course not," I frown, "I knew nothing about the branch until Bradford told me today. I didn't know about the bar my father put on Gotham-born workers or the original location."

He acts surprised but I think he's more disappointed in me, as I am. I should have known.

"People were mad but I doubt they'd blame you," he continues, holding his menu up, but not high enough to obscure those eyes staring at me, reading me, "But you don't care about that."

I shake my head and divert my eyes to my own menu, "I'm more ashamed than concerned. Is there anything else I should know?"

He takes me in again for a moment, as if weighing the seriousness of my question. He seems to decide there is more to tell me. With a heavy sigh like he's preparing for a strenuous task, he shuts the distracting card and pushes it aside.

"The people who built the tower and demolished the clinic were workers from Lightway City. He didn't give anything to the local businesses. High school graduates thought jobs would go to them when the tower was built in four years, so many of them went to college for accounting and finance positions. They graduated, the tower was done just after and none of their applications were accepted. As you know he has no philanthropy so when the Wayne Foundation works with other companies people know Perich Inc. doesn't contribute."

My head collapses into my hands with a groan.

It goes without saying that when a business moves into an area, that area should benefit. To import work instead of using local companies is like taking someone's organ when you don't need it.

No wonder this city has such a terrible reputation. The people trying to make it better live there, and the ones making it worse don't. 

I've heard stories about the belief and the strength they have, but also of the psychosis happening in the minds of the people who grew up without a Batman. 

"Are you ready to order?" The waiter reappears.

Neither of us have really looked at the menu, just used it for cover.

"What is your best seafood main?" I ask. 

"Our boiled lobster with seafood salad or our sizzling herb prawn platter," he lists brightly.

"Beautiful, I grin charmingly, "I'll have one and he'll have the other. Can you suggest an entrée?"

With our meals set, Grayson suggests champagne, but after last time I'd rather not. I opt for sparkling water instead.

"You ordered angry water when we could have had a nice bottle of Moet?" He pouts when the waiter leaves.

"Angry water?" I laugh. It feels good to do that when it's not in vain.

It falls silent again. We seem to have an agreement to not pull out our phones. I will have to though, to get a picture for the idiots online, just to prove we're 'insta-goals' according to my sister.

I'd rather not sit in aching silence though.

"I had a squad member from here," I find myself saying. I would rather not bring anything to do with the Elites up, but I guess it's happening. 

"Oh yeah? Bet he had stories about how horrible this place used to be," he chuckles.

"Oh yeah," I nod, "When we told scary stories during camp gaps he'd just give us something from his childhood here. A gas that made him see clowns everywhere, a looney who put car bombs under every green vehicle, asking yourself every night if you're hearing gunshots or illegal firecrackers."

Dick nods enthusiastically, "That's right! Everyone would argue over which one was worse like bullets equal a couple of poppers."

 "Idiots," I agree, "Sergeant Kelly had the same view."

It isn't a good choice of words. His head tilts to the side a bit.

"Has, I should have said has. He survived but he never came back here."

But he might now. 

Dick carries on talking about Gotham. Not his experience specifically, but Gotham in general. He includes things the Waynes have done and how much the city has changed with Batman.

I listen, though I'm still a bit stuck on thinking of Eric. He blames me for Jack and some of the others and has tried to kill me twice. He's paranoid, homeless, and every time I prevent his murder ploy I set him up with money and and a home but he just falls out again.

Our entrée and drinks arrive and the two of us seem to take that time to retreat. I drink my 'angry water' and try to think of something to say. 

That's stupid- there is lots to say. There is lots to ask. I can ask about his time in the circus before Gotham. I can tell him about the companies I'm going to transfer to Wayne enterprises. We can plan the rest of the week. We can play 21 questions or something stupid like that just to show that we're communicating.

But it doesn't happen. Neither of us say a word until our mains show up.

And...it's okay. It isn't uncomfortable. It isn't preferable to having an actual conversation but it'll do compared to how we used to be.

"Smile," I say quietly holding my phone up. My lobster and the steam from his prawns, plus him grinning in the background, make for an Instagram worthy post with the caption 'Dates <3'.

"This is just as quiet as our first date," he speaks out of the blue as he digs in, breaking the silence of me breaking open lobster shell and the soft crackling of his prawns.

"In a different way," I agree, "Before we didn't know each other. This time it's a little better."

He chuckles down at his plate, "Because we know each other now."

When he says that he almost seems nervous. I smile and he catches it just before I can wipe it off my face. Suddenly my lobster is very interesting.

The seafood tastes like home. My dad used to take us to catch crabs and they were my favourite, but one day he explained that crabs were quite cheap and it would be better if we paid people to bring us expensive lobster instead.

Eventually Dick signals for the cheque when we're both finished. I realise how much I want to be in my bed, curled up alone hidden from his eyes that seem to worry and read me at the same time. As well as the eyes of this city.

"We should come back here," he suggests lightly as we walk out, an attempt at furthering whatever conversation we were having before.

"Sure."

There are less people out. When he offers his arm I curse as I move into him. He wraps it around my shoulder and only then do I realise how cold my uncovered shoulders are. Because he's so...warm.

We handle our presentation to the security guard much better this time. He gives a soft Goodnight, Mr and Mrs Grayson, before the two of us step into the elevator.

I swallow thickly the moment the doors close, "This was fun," I begin, "But you're still sleeping in the guest bedroom."

With an over-the-top pout, he gives a little 'aw'. I quickly glance away to avoid smiling. I'm being serious; I don't want him in my bed.

Neither of us say anything about his arm still being around me.

Ding!

Only when our apartment it laid out before us do we separate. He stops at the table to put away his keys and hang his jacket on the coat rack.

"Goodnight," I bid, pretending I don't miss his warmth.

I shut the door behind me and take a deep breath. This wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. I was dreading another tedious dinner with him but it just turned out to be quiet, tasty and comfortable.

Even though I had a shower before we went out, I decide to take another one. As I stand beneath the scalding water I realise I'll need to dig to the bottom of one of my bags where I hid the leather cuffs. It's just like Paris again in some way.

I know I'm supposed to be loving it up as per Rip's orders, but I don't want to be the girl who puts so much work into a relationship that when it crashes things come apart where they shouldn't. Life, work and goals.

On top of that my own investment in him concerns me. The guy saves people every night but there I was complaining in Paris about his absence like we're actually in love.

If he has to be somewhere how bitchy am I going to be if that's not with me when I need him? And what if he dies on the job? I already lost one loved one like that, need I lose another?

With all these thoughts racing through my mind I highly doubt I'll get any sleep. I pick my pyjamas up from the bathtub and put them on, feeling trapped by the shower steam, the room stuffy.

As soon as I open the door I know something is wrong because the bedroom light is off.

There are clothes dumped at the foot of the bed revealed by the light streaming from behind me.

More importantly, a Dick shaped lump lays beneath the blankets to the left.

"Asshole," I sigh, switching the bathroom light off and shutting the door.

The idea of moving to his bed so we don't have to share is only a small thought in my mind, as I peel back the covers and slip in beside him. 

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Major edit (literally): Cleo's public rank is Major now instead of Commander. Her team were also not Marines, but Elites, branded for public consumption as Marines

...why is this 4000 words long :|