Two weeks went by and Bruce didn't hear from Carla for those fourteen days and nights, though that wasn't for lack of trying. He wasn't overbearing, that had never been in his nature, but a couple of unanswered texts and calls slowly started to cement just how badly he'd messed up.

He'd called round at Carla's apartment building on his way home from the office one night too, only Louis in the lobby told him that Carla had said she wasn't interested in seeing him.

Upset probably wasn't the word that Bruce would've used, but irritated was. He didn't regret his decision that night to leave and head into Gotham since the number of casualties would've been a lot higher had he not stepped in, but he wished it hadn't come at the price of pissing off a woman who was already incredibly difficult to get on side.

It seemed like a miracle in itself to get Carla to even so much as smile at him, let alone kiss him the way that she did. Bruce had thought about the hunger and the desperation he'd felt in her hands and her lips, the way she moaned when he kissed on her neck, how she clawed at his chest and ground her hips against him, being able to only imagine how much further things would've gone had a dark fate interrupted.

He'd wanted to make amends, apologise personally and attempt to make her understand that he wasn't the complete asshole he'd acted like that night, but something told her that he'd have more chance of actually catching the Joker than Carla giving him the time of day ever again.

It was a Friday evening when Carla found herself sipping warm champagne with a nauseatingly sweet aftertaste at a restaurant downtown. She hadn't attended a charity dinner in a while but the wealthy family of one of her patients was hosting a fundraiser for hospitals across the city and so she decided it was best to show her face.

Although the Scarecrow still hadn't been brought into custody, the people of Gotham changed their tune towards Carla pretty quickly, accepting her innocence in the whole ordeal and allowing things to return to the way they were before, which included being bored by dry conversation at charity dinners.

Those events weren't as tolerable as they once were. Jonathan had made them bearable with his snide comments about people's obnoxious dress sense and his dark sense of humour that resonated with her. She would've preferred to attend the dinner alone, but had been hounded by Jonathan's replacement to accompany her that evening instead.

Felix Wilson was a blonde-haired, blue-eyed puppy dog with a brain the size of Jupiter and an excitement level that would annoy even the most tolerable people. He was a kind and polite man in his late twenties with endless ideas and suggestions, thoughts about processes and things that could be changed within Arkham, though Carla didn't particularly want to hear any of them.

That wasn't because she couldn't handle change, it was because she couldn't bear talking to him for long enough for him to actually explain any of his thoughts.

"Do you recognise anybody here, Carla? Anybody you could introduce me to?"

"Nope."

Carla wasn't lying. She didn't recognise a single face in there that night, except for a couple of men she'd actively avoided after their shameless attempts to flirt with her at previous events. She even found herself wishing for Harvey to show up to provide some kind of saving Grace, and while she hadn't seen him yet, he had told her that he was planning on attending that evening.

"Doctor Fiori, fancy seeing you here."

Carla recognised the voice from behind her shoulders without needing to turn around. She visibly sighed and rolled her eyes before slowly turning, her hair swaying with the movement across her backless dress.

Bruce was stood with a smile and a tilted head, a knowing gaze echoing in his hazel eyes and somewhat of a victory melted in there too, proud that he'd finally set eyes on her after two weeks of her radio silence.

"Mr Wayne," Carla cleared her throat and gestured to her colleague, "This is-"

"Doctor Felix Wilson," he excitedly cut in and extended his hand towards the billionaire, "Pleasure to meet you."

Bruce looked the younger man up and down once before shaking his hand with a healthy smile, "Likewise."

"Well," Carla breathed and lifted her shoulders with pursed lips, "Doctor Wilson and I were actually just heading over to talk to the Senator, so if you'll excuse us."

"We are?" Felix's eyes widened.

Bruce almost laughed, "Sorry, Doctor Wilson, but would you mind terribly if I stole Carla from you? I need to speak with her about something, it's quite important."

"O-of course," Felix nodded eagerly, "No problem. I think I just saw Harvey Dent arrive, I should go and say hello."

Bruce grinned, "I'm sure he'll be thrilled. Thank you."

Felix was gone in a flash and although relieved to have some peace and quiet from him, Carla wasn't overjoyed with the replacement. She stared at Bruce with a disproving glare, tired eyes that were waiting for him to speak, clear that she wasn't going to.

"I wanted to apologise, I'm sorry for leaving you the way that I did."

Carla just blinked, "You don't owe me an apology. In fact, you don't owe me anything."

"I disagree," he said firmly, "I want to make it up to you."

She sighed and shook her head, "No need, there's nothing here to make up, Bruce. It doesn't matter, it's fine. It was just a kiss."

Raising the champagne flute to her lips, Carla's jaw dropped when Bruce snatched it from her hands and placed it down on a table beside them.

"It's disgusting and you know it. Let's go somewhere else, let me take you to dinner."

"I'm not hungry."

He chuckled and his eyes sparkled at her aggression, "Drinks then. I know a quiet little lounge not far from here. Come on, Carla, let me do the right thing."

It was painfully shallow and she knew it, but if Bruce Wayne hadn't been so dangerously attractive, Carla wouldn't have even considered the offer. Yet as she admired the way he looked in a tailored Brioni suit with his shirt casually unbuttoned at the top, she found the answer coming from her lips a little faster than she'd have liked.

"Fine. But just so you know, I'm only leaving because the champagne is bad."

Bruce grinned and felt the weight on his chest disappear, "Whatever you say."

With a hand on her back they slipped out of the restaurant unnoticed, using a back door to avoid the paparazzi crowded around the front entrance. The air was pretty mild for March and the sun had set not long ago, a dark purple settling across the sky that turned the city magenta with its bright lights and looming shadows.

Carla didn't shiver as the wind blew across her bare legs or her neck but the sound of the safety being clicked off on a gun made the hairs on her arms stand on end, halting her feet to a standstill.

The alleyway at the back of the restaurant was dark like most of Gotham was, the same towering buildings falling over each other made it impossible to see much from the middle, shreds of light on either side of the streets running parallel being the only hope.

She couldn't see the man's face as he held the gun in his shaking hands, pointing it directly at her. Bruce was quick to slide an arm across Carla's body and stand in front of her, swallowing once before raising a hand.

"You want money? Her purse? Watch? Just tell me."

The man glanced down at Carla's purse but she was confident by the tatty clothes he wore that he didn't have a clue her choice that night had a price tag of twenty-thousand dollars. He confirmed this by edging closer to them with a shake of his head, the gun unstable in his hands and a nervousness in his voice.

"Money, all of it."

It wasn't the first time Carla had been faced with the barrel of a gun and still, there was a huge vacancy of fear that probably should've been there. Unnerved, yes, but scared? Carla was never scared.

Bruce however, the altercation had turned his stomach to dust. Sure it wasn't the first time he'd had a gun pointed at him either, but most of the times he had, he'd been in the suit. He didn't remember a lot of his nights in the shadows at Gotham's vigilante, but he remembered the way he felt as a boy with a gun aimed at him at his parents, and he also remembered the guilt that followed him ever since.

"Alright," Bruce said, one hand reaching towards the inside pocket of his blazer with the other held by his shoulder, "Take it easy."

It took Bruce exactly half a second to smack the gun out of his hand with a quick jab of his arm, kicking it to the side of the alley before snapping the assailant's arm around his back and holding him with his wrist pinned against his neck.

A kick to the back of his knees dropped him to the floor and for good measure, Bruce swiftly punched him twice square in the jaw, blood pouring from his mouth and his nose as he hauled in deep breaths and tried to scramble to his feet.

"Get out of here," Bruce yanked him to his feet and shoved him down the alley, "Go on, go."

He did as he was told, staggering in jagged lines down the darkness using the wall for support until they could no longer see him. Bruce picked up the gun and emptied the chamber down a drain, tossing the chassis into the garbage before straightening his blazer and fixing his hair.

Carla didn't know what to say. She'd seen Bruce bloodied and bruised from being pummelled by one of Carmine's boys, but if he could fight like that, it made her wonder why the hell he hadn't defended himself before.

"Bruce," she said quietly, swallowing the shock of how quickly the entire thing had happened, "Are you-"

"I'm taking you home."

"But-"

"It wasn't a question."

He said nothing more and took her hand, holding it tightly as they headed out onto the street and straight into the back of a cab. Carla didn't protest, the grip of his fingers around her palm telling her that it wasn't worth it.

She'd seen something else flash across his face in the turn of the moment, not quite fear, but not quite strength either. Usually so keen to toy with her and antagonise her with a sly undertone in everything he said made the quiet of the car ride home tense in a way Carla had never felt before.

It wasn't nice seeing Bruce so still and emotionless, it didn't feel like him. And while Carla was still new to figuring out who Bruce was beneath the expensive suits and sleazy charm, whatever had taken over his mind right then was an part of him that she didn't want to witness again.

He walked her into her apartment building and mumbled a good evening to Louis behind the desk before calling the elevator. Carla stood still in her heels and black cocktail dress, still not sure whether to say anything at all.

"I'm sorry for what happened. Goodnight, Carla."

"Wait!"

He turned back after taking a few steps, hands in his pockets and eyes tired, lips almost pulled down into a frown but from somewhere within, remained neutral.

Carla did her best to offer a smile, "Would you like a drink, Bruce?"

He kissed his teeth and scratched the side of his head, glancing back over his shoulder before shrugging and walking towards her with a nod, "Yeah, I would."

Carla kicked off her heels by the front door and Bruce followed suit, untying his shoes and leaving them beneath the hook where he hung up his blazer. He walked after her into the kitchen, keeping quiet as she tapped her nails on the marble counter top.

"Something warm. Tea?"

"Do you have any whiskey?" Bruce asked, wandering over to the window and looking down at the city below.

A short glass with once cube of ice and a measure of Irish whiskey was handed to Bruce a minute later, Carla with one for herself too. He nodded in thanks and poured the whole thing past his lips in one go, not even so much as wincing at the hot taste.

Carla raised her brows and grabbed the bottle, pouring him another measure before sipping slowly on her own drink.

"Are you alright?" He asked her eventually.

Carla nodded, "I'm fine, but are you?"

He nodded too, looking down at the knuckles of his right hand and seeing dried blood staining them.

"Maybe I should've just given him the money," Bruce thought out loud.

Carla could see him rethinking things behind his eyes, picking apart his past decisions from not only that night, but years gone by. She knew about what had happened to his parents and the trauma he'd experienced as a child, and while she could've quite easily sat him down and talked him through everything that still haunted him like she did with patients at Arkham, Carla knew that was the last thing Bruce needed.

"Let me clean your hand."

He didn't object, following her across to the sink and setting his glass down on the counter. She grabbed a clean cloth from a cupboard and soaked it with warm water, taking his wrist between her fingertips and gently swiping the cloth across his knuckles.

Her touch was lighter than it was the last time she'd cleaned blood from his skin, Bruce remembered. He could recall the way she twisted and turned his head without too much of a second thought in the glow of a street light beside her car, but that night, she was gentle with him.

He watched as she dabbed at his skin and rinsed away the blood, scanning her face and noticing that she wore no eyeliner that evening, her eyes shimmered with a bronze shadow that matched the mauve tone of her lipgloss. Her hair was straight instead of curled and her dress was a halter neck number with a draped back that exposed her spine, the soft fabric pooling lowly past the ends of her hair.

"I would never have let him hurt you."

She threw the bloody cloth into the trash and dried his hand with a towel, glancing up at him just once as she washed her own hands.

"I know," she said, recalling the way he'd not hesitated to step in front of her and into the line of fire.

Bruce was telling the truth about not letting any harm come to Carla, and while part of that was because he wanted to protect her, the other part was because he couldn't bear to carry around the weight of not doing something to stop the danger like when he was a child.

It was a ridiculous way to torture himself, thinking about what a small boy could've done differently when faced with a situation that most adults wouldn't know how to diffuse, but as Bruce looked down the barrel of the gun that evening, there was never any outcome where he didn't act.

"But you still didn't owe me that," she continued, leaning back against the counter, "You don't owe anybody in this city anything. Not an apology or a life."

He drank the rest of his whiskey before locking his hands either side of her waist on the countertop, weight resting into his arms as he looked down at her and she looked up at him.

She wasn't flirting with him or batting her long lashes, curving her eyes in a way that weakened men's knees or tilting her head just enough to entice a kiss. Carla was still, she was poised with lifted shoulders and a gaze that was genuine, that wasn't searching for anything, but that recognised how he felt instead.

Perhaps that was what made Bruce light up with the urge to kiss her again, the sincerity in a woman that was so often anything but. Or maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was something else entirely, but at that point, it didn't matter.

"Maybe," he said quietly, glancing down from her eyes to her lips and letting his gaze linger there for far too long before he met her eyes again, noticing then how they'd curved a little, "But I told you, I disagree."

Bruce kissed her gently, his lips barely meeting hers as they grazed across each other's with a breath between them. He didn't touch her, not yet, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the counter with such force to hold himself back.

Carla felt relief at his kiss, a redemption and a serenity that she'd lost since she'd walked away from him. She hated him for it, though as deep as the resentment ran, it became drowned out by the desire to seek it out once more.

His lips were softer that time, kissing her like he wanted to just kiss her rather than because his adrenaline was pumping with an urge to rip her clothes off. He was slow and passionate, not teasing but holding back just enough to make Carla's skin grow hot and thoughts turn wild.

She eventually grabbed the sides of his shirt and tugged him closer, his body falling against hers and his hands grasping at her waist, one slipping down across her back and curving her body against him, her nails scratching at the fabric of his shirt through to his skin.

The kiss became more desperate and Bruce dragged his lips across her jaw and down her neck, burying his fingers in the roots of her hair again as he gently pulled her head back to expose more skin, relishing in the softness of her high pitched moans.

His mind turned red and his hand dropped to her thigh, grazing beneath the hem of her dress and crawling up to her hips, fingers toying with the thin band of her lace panties while his teeth pulled at her sweet spot.

She pushed him back once more, hand on his chest and equally as breathless as she had been the first time, only Bruce was quite sure there was nothing interrupting them that night.

His dark eyes danced hungrily across her face, aching to kiss her again and feel her claw at his shoulders, to touch her the way his conscious was screaming at him to.

"Bruce, I swear to God if you leave..."

Her eyes flashed with residual anger and Bruce was quick to shake his head, lips parted with his heart beating hard to level him out.

"Nothing could tear me away from you right now, Carla."