"Wow," Bruce's eyes widened when Carla walked out onto the patio later that evening, "You look beautiful."

She'd changed out of her swimsuit and opted for a black mini dress with short sleeves, a leather jacket draped over her shoulders for when the temperature dropped after sunset. Stilettos lifted her four inches higher and she clutched the top handle of a white Saint Laurent leather purse, her hair pushed back out of her face by the same sunglasses she'd worn earlier.

"We're late, let's go."

Bruce chuckled to himself and followed her as she started walking towards the gate. He wasn't sure if he'd ever get a thank you for any of his compliments, or if she'd ever give him one in return, but it didn't really bother him at all.

He wore dark jeans and a white shirt that evening, mirrored aviators tucked down the front of his shirt and he clutched a nylon biker jacket to wear later on. His hair was looking a lot more presentable than it did after the ocean and the wind had caught it and his skin held the scent of musk and spiced rum with a hint of citrus to match the freshness of the Italian air.

They walked for a little while, weaving down cobbled streets and passing small cafes where owners and patrons alike nodded their heads in politeness, music and warmth filling the skies until they reached a beautiful square.

The floors were polished marble and an old church stood intact in the centre, a washed red door was propped open and a circular stained glass window glittered light inside and across the walls that they could catch just a glimpse of.

Restaurants and bars lined the edges of the square and violinists sat on the steps by the church, playing beautiful classical music with passionate smiles.

Carla hadn't said anything about who exactly she'd made dinner plans with that evening, but Bruce had never been shy when it came to meeting new people and so, hadn't given it much thought.

They headed towards a restaurant on the south side of the square, Carla saying something in her native tongue to the owner before walking across to a table outside, a man and a woman occupying two of the six chairs looking out across the square.

They were both engaged in deep conversation with full glasses of wine, only to fall silent completely when Carla's high heels drew closer.

"Carla! Finally!"

The woman with deep auburn hair and brown eyes jumped up and pulled Carla into a hug with enough enthusiasm that Bruce thought Carla might push her away, only she eventually gave her a light squeeze in return.

The other guest stood up next, a six-foot-three, god-like creature with wavy black hair that reached past his shoulders and piercing green eyes. He kissed Carla's cheeks with a smile and whispered something in her ear, coaxing one of the only genuine pieces of laughter Bruce had ever heard from her.

"Carolina, Angelo, this is Bruce," Carla said, taking a step back and standing by his side with a hand resting on his shoulder.

Neither of them questioned who he was to Carla, and Bruce was thankful since he wasn't sure what answer she would've given them, nor what answer he would've given himself.

"So nice to meet you," Carolina smiled and hugged him warmly.

"It's nice to have you here, Bruce," Angelo reached across to shake his hand, nodding with a firm smile.

They sat down at the table, Carolina and Angelo on one side and Bruce and Carla opposite. A scent of rich tomatoes and basil filtered through from the kitchens and two more wine glasses were filled with Pinot Grigio, the sunset turning the beautiful square a shade of dark orange.

Carla frowned when she glanced over Angelo's shoulder, her face unable to hide her distaste, "You invited Francisco?"

Carolina winced, "We bumped into him earlier and he asked what we were doing tonight, do you mind?"

"Well, it's too late now." She grumbled.

Bruce followed Carla's stare from behind her dark sunglasses, landing on a gentleman strolling across the square without a care in the world. He was tall and broad, perfectly muscular with a long face and a sharp jaw, black quiffed hair with two strands messily strung across his forehead, round sunglasses over his eyes and a pale blazer slung lazily back over his shoulder, one hand in the pocket of his tailored trousers.

He looked as if he'd stepped fresh off the runway in Milan, and the way he walked...well, Bruce wouldn't have been surprised if he had. Carla didn't fidget in her seat, didn't turn up her nose or scowl any more than she usually did, but her initial reaction had pulled questions into Bruce's mind.

"Carla, you look even more beautiful than you did the day you left me."

She swallowed and rose to her feet, turning her head with her hands on the gentleman's shoulders while he kissed her cheeks.

"Be quiet, Cisco. Your arrogance doesn't suit you."

Cisco grinned and looked her up and down before greeting his friends, then finally reaching a hand across the table towards Bruce.

"Bruce, this is Francisco. Cisco, Bruce Wayne."

Shaking his hand, Bruce noticed a confident curve of a smile tug on the Italian's lips. He removed his sunglasses and revealed eyes that were almost turquoise, so clear and so blue that he almost didn't look human.

"Bruce Wayne," Francisco repeated in a thick accent, leaning back in his wicker chair, "Are you the big bad wolf that whisked Carla away from Sicily, hm?"

Before Bruce could speak, Carla interjected, "Has anybody ever told you to shut up, Cisco?"

"Only you, farfalla."

Carla scoffed and drank her wine while Cisco watched with a grin.

"How do you know each other? Do you work together?" Angelo asked, steering the conversation away from a direction he was afraid of it going in.

"Something like that," Bruce replied with a nod, "Mutual friends, if you can use the term friends, anyway."

He didn't look at Carla but Bruce noticed her smile from the corner of his eye. She was sat with one leg crossed over the other and had her wine glass hanging delicately from her fingertips, swirling it around mindlessly while she gazed over the menu in front of her.

Perhaps lust would've been a better word to sum up Carla and Francisco's relationship, since love certainly would've been the wrong choice. He was new to the area when Carla was twenty-eight, knowing Angelo through a cousin that lived in Rome, and the longer they began spending weekends together as a group, the more they began spending week days together alone.

It happened quickly and thoughtlessly, easily, too. Francisco was charming and outgoing while Carla was brutal and reserved, though the balance seemed to allow them to walk a fine line perfectly, drawing them to each other without hesitations or distractions.

She liked Cisco, nothing bad ever happened but she simply woke up one day and felt nothing for him, and was never sure that he'd ever felt anything for her, either. They agreed to return to being friends and for the last two years of her life in Italy, things went back to normal. Except for Cisco's shameless attempts at flirting and the one or two nights they'd ended up in each other's bed, that was.

"How is life now in Gotham, farfalla?" Cisco asked once they'd ordered their food.

Bruce must've looked confused because Angelo raised a hand to cover his face, mouthing the translation butterfly across the table to him.

Carla sighed and pursed her lips, "It's fine. It's dark and it rains a lot but...I don't hate it."

"Sounds awful," Cisco raised a brow before diverting his gaze to Bruce, "How about you, Mr Wayne? How do you like living in Gotham?"

"Gotham has a lot to answer for," Bruce replied, "But it's my home and it's always been my home."

"Your parents chose to raise you in a place that sounds so...sad?"

Carla's attention spiked and she instantly leaned forward to block the flow of conversation between the two men, slamming her wine glass down before turning to Francisco and pulling off her sunglasses, staring at him with a playful gaze.

"Why don't you tell us what you've been up to, Cisco? Bruce is far too boring to be the topic of conversation tonight."

Despite being wrapped in an insult, Bruce felt his veins flood with warmth at the knee-jerk reaction from Carla. They had never once discussed his parents but he just assumed that everybody in Gotham knew his tragic story, and that had included Carla. He'd been right, clearly, and although the amount of kind things she'd done for and said to him were few and far between, saving him from a conversation he most definitely didn't want to have had been the most gracious so far.

He didn't thank her but he didn't need to, she wasn't looking for his appreciation and most of the time he was convinced she wasn't looking for anything from him at all, but the way she had so eagerly interjected without having to think at all told Bruce that somewhere, deep inside of her cold heart, his name lingered.

The rest of the evening turned out rather pleasantly. Delicious food and multiple bottles of wine kept conversation flowing and jokes spilling, stories about old times that were a joy for Bruce to hear, too. He had never imagined Carla spending her summers out on a boat in a bikini, mixing cocktails with her friends and diving into the ocean or riding on Vespas through mountain ranges and laughing while she did it. To put it simply, Bruce had never imagined Carla having fun, thinking it somewhat impossible from the way she carried herself in Gotham.

Although still firm and unmoving in the warmth of Sicily, Bruce observed as Carla slowly started to unfold around her friends. He watched her start conversations and recall old memories, poke fun at them and tease with smiles. It was like her soul had been released, like she was free to be herself rather than what Gotham had forced her to be. She was still the same blunt, honest and difficult to please powerful woman he'd gotten to know, but Bruce understood then why her move away from Sicily was never going to be forever.

It was around midnight when the friends decided that they'd had enough wine, the owner of the restaurant apologising when he had to tell Carolina that their table had actually finished all six bottles that they'd had in stock.

It was probably for the best since Carla's vision was a little hazy when she stood up, the small bowl of pasta doing no good at soaking up any of the Pinot they'd had. Still, she managed a goodbye hug and kiss to all three of her friends, struggling to not slap Cisco round the face when he whispered an old intimate memory in her ear when they embraced.

Carla didn't hate Cisco and didn't actually mind that he'd joined them that night in the end, even if his confidence did trip him up sometimes. She loved him as a friend underneath it all, even with the cocky smirk and angelic good looks, and so she'd meant it when she'd told him that it was good to see him again.

"So," Bruce said as they headed out of the square, "Butterfly?"

Carla looked down at her high heels as she walked, not because she was shy, but because she didn't trust herself to not fall off the curb if she wasn't looking where she was placing her feet.

"The first time he tried to kiss me, a butterfly landed on my nose. That's why he calls me farfalla."

Bruce nodded with pursed lips, unable to imagine anyone having the nerve to call Carla anything other than her name. She struck him as the type of woman that despised pet names and perhaps any kind of affection at all, yet she didn't correct Cisco's use of language once all night.

Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe she just didn't mind the nickname, but either way, Carla was swaying with each step that she took and had no problem answering a question that she probably would've ignored if Bruce had pried a month ago.

"Come here, I'm not having you break your damn neck."

Bruce swept Carla up off her feet, one hand beneath her knees and the other resting around her back.

"I can walk you know," she said sternly, though draped her arms loosely around his neck anyway as the pain from her heels delightfully vanished.

"You're not making it up this hill, Carla, we both know that."

Bruce probably wasn't wrong and although she had a determination to prove that she was always right, Carla stayed quiet and let him carry her home without any further arguments.

Her mind was a little dizzy from all the wine and she rest her head against his shoulder silently, closing her eyes and sighing gently as she felt the cool evening breeze tarnish her skin the higher up the hill they went.

Bruce felt her relax into his chest, the soft tickling of her breath on his neck making him smile to himself. It was a rarity in itself for Carla to even voluntarily look in his direction, let alone touch him of her own accord, and yet there she was, finding comfort and safety in his arms without even a mutter of sarcasm or insult to blindside it all.

He said nothing as he walked up the hill and eventually back into the house. All the lights were off except for the hallway and Bruce carried Carla into her bedroom, setting her down gently on the bed where she sprawled out sideways across the covers, stretching her arms above her head.

"Help," she said, lifting one foot in the air and staring at Bruce who was closing the curtains.

"Excuse me?" He said, hiding his amusement.

Carla rolled her eyes and lifted up her other leg, crossing her ankles in the air, "Undo my shoes for me."

"Are you serious?"

"You just carried me up a hill, Bruce, it won't kill you."

He let out a deep sigh and walked around to the other side of the bed, sitting down and pulling Carla's legs into his lap before tugging at the tiny metal buckle secured around both ankles.

Carla watched him through narrowed eyes with a sleepy smile, noticing how gentle he was with her yet remembering just how rough he could be, too.

"Anything else, Doctor?" He mused with a waiting grin.

The list of things Carla wanted from Bruce was endless right then as he stared at her from above, his body barely a shadow in the dark room yet his presence the heaviest thing she'd ever felt, consuming her thoughts entirely.

Still, Carla felt her mind race from the alcohol and draw to the conclusion that she'd had a little too much, and so reluctantly shook her head.

"That's it."

She scampered into the bathroom and heard Bruce chuckle to himself as he wandered out of her bedroom and into his own, both bathroom doors remaining closed. She cleansed her face and got ready for bed, leaving on her panties and pulling a red tank top over her head, her black hair in natural waves from the heat down her back.

Carla called for Bruce to come in after he'd knocked quietly on the door, ignoring his presence as he brushed his teeth on one side of the bathroom and she found the sobriety to complete her skincare routine on the other.

"Goodnight," she said after brushing her hair, taking a step towards her room.

"Hold on," Bruce said, splashing water on his face before drying his skin with a small towel, tossing it onto the vanity and strolling across the dark room towards her in nothing but his boxers.

She stood in the glow of the moonlight through window, waiting for him to speak as tiredness pulled on her eyelids and sent a shiver down her spine.

Bruce looked down at her and brushed hair delicately from her face, his hand resting on her cheek as his dark eyes searched her own, a hint of a smile teasing the corners of his lips.

"Stay with me tonight."

The offer was undeniably enticing and the silver light from outside cast sharp shadows across his strong shoulders and muscular arms, an intensity in his gaze that snatched any other thoughts straight out of her head.

Even then with his touch setting her insides alight however, Carla shook her head.

"I'm tired."

"Just to sleep," he whispered, taking hold of her hands and brushing his thumbs across her knuckles, leaning forward to place a kiss against her forehead that coaxed a sharp inhale from her lips, "That's all."

Carla wasn't sure she'd ever met any man that she preferred sleeping beside rather than having a bed to herself, but there was something about the strength of Bruce's arms and the way he'd held her as he'd carried her home, no deliberation in his actions to care for her and ease her pain, keep her safe, that made her wonder whether perhaps sleeping beside him wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

"Only to sleep," she reaffirmed, feeling herself growing more tired the longer his suddenly soft aura comforted her when it usually did nothing of the sort.

He nodded once and pulled her by the hands into his bedroom, letting her slip past him as he closed the door behind them and turned out the light.