Dearly Beloved
Summary: You were the reason Bruce enjoyed his birthday, but then he lost you
Warnings: heavy angst no comfort (I literally cried multiple times writing this), character death, slightly suggestive
Bruce always hated his birthday. Every year, it felt like there was nothing to celebrate. Being a year older meant he was closer to the age his parents were when they died. Soon enough, Bruce would have spent more time alive than his parents did. That always sat wrong with Bruce. Why did he get to live a long life when they didn't? Then Bruce fell in love with you, and you made birthdays special.
You made Bruce's birthday feel special in a way that only you could. You didn't try to do anything extravagant, a huge surprise birthday party, or a frivolous gift he didn't want or need. Bruce had always been adamant that he did not want to celebrate his birthday, so you respected that, to a certain extent. You made his birthday feel intimate, special. Now, instead of feeling like he was chasing a marker, a milestone his parents could not get pass. Bruce felt like every year brought something new for him to live for.
Bruce's day had been wonderfully normal. He woke up next to you, went to the office, came home, and was now in bed waiting for you. Alfred wished him a happy birthday, and he got text messages from his children expressing the same sentiment, but that was as far as his birthday celebrations went. Bruce was happy this way, and he hoped to keep it this way.
"Baby, come to bed already. I miss you," Bruce calls from his spot in bed. He was sitting against the headboard, looking longingly at the ensuite bathroom, waiting for you to emerge. A few seconds later, you come out wearing a sexy slip he had never seen before. The color and the lace complement your skin perfectly. In your hands was a cupcake with a candle in it. Bruce is immediately confused as he watches you walk towards the bed.
"What are you doing? What is this, my love?" He asks as you get into the bed next to him.
"I know you didn't wanna do anything big for your birthday, and you don't like celebrating. But it felt wrong for me to do nothing, to get you nothing. So, I bought this new sexy slip for your eyes only, and I'm gonna sing you happy birthday," you state with a smile. Bruce can't help but smile while you sing him happy birthday. During your song, Bruce pulls you into his lap, causing you to giggle. You hold the candle in front of his face when you are done, and he gently blows it out.
"This was incredibly thoughtful, my love, thank you," Bruce says, taking the candle out of the cupcake and pressing a kiss to your lips.
"Anything for my favorite guy. Now c'mon, have a bite," you urge, holding the cupcake to Bruce's face. He smiles and takes a bite to appease you. After sharing the cupcake, Bruce rolls you to your back. His hands immediately explore your body.
"Now, I'd like to enjoy my other birthday present," he says against your neck, causing you to giggle. Bruce has his way with you that night and it is the beginning of a new birthday tradition.
Then you died. All of a sudden, Bruce's world shifted. For all his money, his wealth, his connections, he couldn't save you. He brought you to see the best doctors in the nicest facilities, none of it mattered. You were dying, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Bruce was entirely helpless. After his parents died, Bruce swore he would never feel that way again. He spent his entire life trying to make sure he never felt like that helpless little boy again. But watching you die, that was the hardest thing he's ever had to witness. He was once again unable to save the person who mattered most to him. He could beat up villains all night. He could rough up Bane, outsmart Riddler, and throw Scarecrow in Arkham, but none of it made things better. Every punch, every bloody nose, prisoner, bad guy, none of it alleviated the pain of losing you.
Today was Bruce's first birthday without you. The first one in a long time. When he opened his eyes, he stared at the ceiling. For hours, he lay there, in his massive bed, and stared at the ceiling. When you were here, you would roll over, press sleepy kisses to his shoulder while whispering happy birthday. Bruce rolls over and looks at your side of the bed. It had been months since you lay next to him, but sometimes he still reached out, expecting to feel you under his touch. Hear you whine that it was too early to be up or giggle when he touched one of your funny spots.
When he finally got out of bed, Bruce shuffled to his office and closed the door. He made his way to his desk, grabbing the top-shelf liquor he kept there. He poured himself a glass of amber liquid and downed it in one go. He quickly poured himself another and drank this one slightly slower. Alfred usually had wise words during times like this. Encouragement that would push Bruce out of his funk. But this time, he felt it was important for him to sit with his grief for a little while. Allow himself to feel everything, even the stuff that hurts.
Bruce drinks until his thoughts are muddled. Until all the images of you blur into one. Bruce's pain is temporarily numb. For half a second, he feels weightless, the pain of losing you not weighing him down. Then he remembers. Remembers that you aren't here, that he couldn't save you, and he drinks some more. He drinks into the night when Alfred comes through the door. It pains him to see Bruce in this condition. Bruce is about to dismiss him, believing he was here to try to force Bruce to eat or perhaps do anything besides wallow in his loss. Before he could be sent away, Alfred spoke up.
"Master Bruce. This was left at the door for you, I believe you should open it," he says simply, giving Bruce a sad smile before walking out again, closing the door behind him. Bruce is immediately confused as he inspects the small box with the decoratively tied ribbon. His confusion quickly turns into anger. Who the hell would send him a gift? Why the hell should he care what moron sent him a birthday gift? He finds the tag on the box and reads it.
To the love of my life, Bruce
Bruce drops the box when he realizes the words are in your handwriting. His blood immediately goes cold, and a chill runs through his body. He stands up so quickly that the chair makes a sound as it scrapes against the hardwood. Bruce starts anxiously pacing the room, never taking his eyes off the box. Irrationally fearing that if he took his eyes off it, it would magically disappear. He paces so long he feels himself beginning to sober up. When Bruce checks the time, he realizes not only that hours have passed, but also that his birthday is almost over. The day is almost new. He takes a deep breath and finds the courage to open the box on his desk.
When Bruce sits before the package, his mind is mostly free from the bottle of liquor he consumed today. He carefully removes the bow and opens the box. The first thing he sees is a neatly folded piece of paper. He opens it to find a handwritten letter from you. Underneath that letter is a singular cupcake, with a lighter and a candle. Bruce can already feel the tears well in his eyes. You weren't here, yet you made sure the birthday tradition you started continued. Bruce picks up the letter to read it,
To my love, Bruce,
By the time you receive this, I will have left you. When I realized I would not live to see your next birthday, I was absolutely heartbroken. Because I know how much you love your birthday (wink, wink :) ), even though I can't be there physically, I wanted to continue our birthday tradition.
As I write this, I know my fate is sealed. It would be a lie for me to say I wasn't scared or I have made peace with what is coming for me. I am actually petrified. I'm not scared of death, or what may be next; I'm scared of the things I'm going to miss.
I'm going to miss Gotham's snowfall. You know I loved to walk through the gardens after a snow. The beauty of undisturbed snow is one of my favorite things in nature. I'm going to miss the way the sun feels on my face. How it warmed my skin and caused me to sweat. I'm going to miss our kids. Their faces. The sound of their laughter or bickering meant, at the very least, we were together. Most of all, I'm going to miss you, Bruce.
Having you by my side as I navigate this journey has brought me immense peace of mind. I am still going to miss the way you pretended not to laugh when I said something stupid or corny. The way you brought me gifts when I was having a bad day. It was never the monetary value of the gift, but the way I knew you poured over every single one, wondering if I would like it. I'm going to miss holding you. The feel of your skin on my hands, the warm planes of your chest, the soothing sound of your voice.
But today is about you, Bruce. It is your birthday, and as much as you would hate to say it, today should be all about you. I don't want this whole letter to be sad, and I don't want you to be sad. Not on today of all days. I want you to remember the good things, too. I want you to remember the time we were both sick and lay in bed together. Alfred bought us soup. Oh, we ate so much soup. And enjoyed being in each other's company. Remember the way we made love. How we always connected in the most beautiful ways. It felt like our souls became one. Remember our wedding day, surrounded by our closest friends and family. We were so happy (and you looked so handsome in your suit!). We had so many good memories together, Bruce. Please remember those as much as, preferably more than, the sad ones.
Bruce, I hope this next year brings you growth, love, and happiness. Please remember to be kind. Not only to others, but yourself as well. There are a lot of people who care about you. They can only help you if you lean on them, if you ask them for help. Take care of our kids. They always saw me as the soft one, the person they could turn to. I need you to remind them how much you love them and that you are there for them. They are grieving too, and they need you now more than ever. It is important that you all lean on each other in my absence.
I want you to love again, Bruce. I know you have closed your heart to love in any form. But, my love, I need you to open it up again. I need you to be willing to love again. I don't want you to become the hollow, angry man you always feared you could be. I know how hard Bruce Wayne can love, and I don't want my absence to rob the world of that.
Happy Birthday, Bruce. While I might not be there with you, I am here in spirit. I am always watching over you, at your side, and in your heart. For all the words I could put on paper, none of them would come close to describing how much I love you.
Your Beloved,
Bruce reads your signature at the bottom, then starts at the top and reads the letter again. And again. And again. To the point where he feels like he can quote it from memory in one sitting. He places the letter down and inspects the cupcake. It was in his favorite flavor (which was really your favorite because he always shared with you and wanted it to be something you enjoyed). Bruce places the candle in the soft frosting. When he picks up the lighter, there is an inscription etched on it.
When you use this lighter, let this be a reminder of the spark we had
Bruce laughs sadly. He can imagine the words in your voice, as if you were next to him and whispering them in his ear. You loved to say corny things around him because it always brought a smile to his face. He lights the candle and whispers to himself,
"Thank you, my love. Happy birthday to me. I love you, and I miss you dearly. I wish you were here," before he blows out the candle. As the smoke from the candle rises, Bruce lets everything go. Everything he has been holding in since you passed leaves him. He doesn't cry; crying is for those who haven't lost what Bruce lost. Bruce sobbed.
