summary: Dr. Jonathan Crane isn't the only 'crazy' in Gotham City and he's about to meet his match. When confronted with an unpleasant secret from his past, he's skeptical to trust the strange young woman who calls herself Victoria Vale, the rightful heiress to Arkham Asylum (and maybe his downfall).
warnings: none yet but oh baby just you wait...
A/N: I really enjoy using the original DC comic lore so if you've been following me for a while, you'll recognize the backstories in this but I've tried to make a completely different plot line.
bury a friend- Billie Eilish 🎶
i
“Professor Crane?” You poke your head into the small office, the heavy door slightly crushing your body against the doorframe. The raven-haired man looks up from a stack of research papers on his desk and cocks an unwelcome eyebrow.
“Come back during my office hours.” He waves you off with his free hand as he grades a paper with a red pen. His voice has the strange ability to both attract you and put you ill-at-ease at the same time. You step inside and let the heavy door close behind you. You don’t need to lock it, yet. Dr. Crane looks you up and down quickly, his lip curled in displeasure and disinterest.
“It’s a quick question, I promise sir,” you lie through your teeth, your dimples showing beneath your full cheeks as you smile. Dr. Crane looks up at you from over the rim of his harsh rectangular frames. He stares at you for a moment, his blue eyes shifting as he thinks, then finally he sighs and sits back in his desk chair.
“What’s your name?” He removes his glasses and wipes the lenses clean with the corner of his suit jacket. He puts them back on as you sit down opposite of him, the desk between you. You glance down at the research papers, an action that is barely noticeable, if at all.
“Victoria,” you answer and watch as Dr. Crane sighs again, impatiently. He rolls his eyes after a moment of silence and leans forward, gesturing his hand through the air to get you to continue.
“What did you want to ask me?” He asks pointedly, losing whatever patience he had left.
“Well we’ve spoken once before but it was just a brief exchange after one of your lectures,” you start and Crane watches you, barely paying attention now. His eyes seem to glaze over. “I asked you about the chemical components of fear. I’d like to hear your answer.” You say slowly, your hands playing with the edge of your seat. Dr. Crane barely cocks his head to the side before he clucks his tongue and looks away.
“Did you not like the answer I gave you before?”
“I’d forgotten what you said,” you explain as you wipe your clammy hands on your thighs. Dr. Crane threw his gaze back to you and raised an eyebrow, his expression one of obvious judgment.
“Fear is an emotional response to a threat. It’s a basic evolutionary survival mechanism. The two primary parts of the brain that deal with fear are the amygdala and the hippocampus…” he answers dully, regurgitating what every psych student already knows.
“Respectfully, sir,” you start, your voice steady, “I’m talking about the chemical components of fear, not the anatomical.”
Dr. Crane regards you with an unreadable expression and then removes his glasses, sighing deeply again. He looks down at his glasses and then clears his throat.
“You’re interested in fear chemistry, are you?” His tone is low and dry, like he’s mocking you.
“Interested isn’t exactly the right word.” You answer with a small shrug.
“What is the right word then, Victoria?” The way he says your name is sharp, like a door closing when you aren’t expecting it. He finally looks up at you again.
“I’m…” you search for the right word and then wet your lips, “... attracted to the concept of fear. It’s almost like a passion project that can’t be satisfied.”
“Attracted to fear?” Crane repeats slowly, though his face doesn’t change.
“Fear is one of the most fascinating phenomena in the creation of our universe, don’t you think?”
Dr. Crane regards you differently, his breath shifting to a new rhythm. He wets his lips before he answers, his words measured.
“One could debate that. I’d say pleasure or desire are more complex and powerful. Why fear?”
“It’s the power of control over both the mind and body,” you respond without batting an eye.
“Is it power that fascinates you, Victoria?” Crane asks softly, his hands clenching and relaxing in his lap. “One could say that pleasure can have a similar effect.”
You allow yourself to blush, knowing it’ll look more believable if you do. “Well, it’s also about control…”
Dr. Crane looks down at his hands again and thinks for a moment before responding, his voice still calm and even despite the shift in the room.
“Do you find control attractive?”
“Well, don’t you? Isn’t that why you became a teacher? The role gives you control over the development of new minds,” you smile sweetly.
A rare smirk creeps across Crane’s face. He looks up at you and puts his glasses back on, the silver frames catching the light of the fluorescent bulbs.
“You’re very perceptive,” he trails off and folds his hands on the desk in front of him. “Control is a powerful and attractive aspect of fear.”
“And what’s so fascinating about fear specifically is that it is universal. Everyone has something that they’re afraid of… even you. And that’s what led me to ask myself this question: what are you, Professor Crane, afraid of? And for the life of me, I can’t figure it out.” Your eyes meet his with an obvious change in intentionality. Crane doesn’t react but feels himself leaning forward slightly like a snake rearing its head.
“I have a few guesses but it doesn’t matter for right now,” you continue when he doesn’t respond. “I read your old thesis about fear in mammalian species and it’s given me a lot of insight into my own mind.”
“You’ve read my thesis?” Dr. Crane cocks his brow again and grips his hands together painfully. His body goes cold in warning like a lightning rod in a thunderstorm. “Most of my students barely attend class, much less decide to read my work.”
This is the moment. You lean forward slightly, your hair falling off your shoulders, your eyes wide with excitement.
“Oh, I never said I was a student, Professor Crane.”
Dr. Crane freezes, his cold heart stuttering in his chest. He swallows slowly, trying to collect his thoughts before he responds.
“Then who, may I ask, are you?”
“I attended one of your lectures on radical treatment of phobias, which is where we spoke for the first time, and yes, I did sit in on one of your classes and left with additional reading materials and a better appreciation for your work. Your thesis however,” you tilt your head away in a show of shyness, “that’s available for any ‘crazy’ to find.”
“Mmm so, you’re just a ‘crazy’ then?” Crane hums cooly, “But that still doesn’t answer how you managed to get a copy of my thesis. It was pulled from circulation and all hard copies that I was aware of were destroyed.”
“I’m good at getting answers and it helps when people find you attractive…” you shift in your seat, looking away. You can feel Crane’s eyes on you as he considers your answer.
“And I guess that means you think that I find you attractive?” Crane guesses cooly, his eyes not leaving your face. You look back at him and take note of his guarded expression. Taking a breath, you fix your hair and meet his eyes.
“I think you’re attracted to my mind.”
“Who are you?” He asks again, leaning closer against his better judgment, like a moth to the flame.
“I’m surprised you’re so unconcerned with my presence here, late at night when everyone else has gone home…” your posture is rigidly still as you speak. Dr. Crane smirks softly.
“You are a very beautiful and intelligent young woman, and you don’t look very dangerous to me. Why would I be concerned?”
“Because I think I know what you’re afraid of, doc.” You whisper and Crane freezes again, his heart jumping in his chest at your thinly veiled threat. Despite his feelings of unease, Crane smiles. He studies your lips as you speak and the way your body is angled towards him.
“And what is it that I’m afraid of?”
And just like that, it’s become a game.
You smile a little, wanting him to feel safe and comfortable. He isn't intimidated by you yet and you want him to take you seriously. You lean closer, ducking your head in a whisper.
“Being found out…”
“About what, pet?” Crane asks pointedly, in a challenging tone.
“Well…,” you sit back in your chair casually and tuck your hair behind your ears. “I’ve always had a natural inclination towards crime. That’s what made me become a detective. I thought what I wanted was to restore justice in Gotham, but I’ve quickly learned that justice is a jealous mistress and maybe my interest in crime has other motives… Are you following me so far?”
Dr. Crane massages his mouth with his hand, listening intently. His lips are pursed beneath his fingers, his eyes void of any telling secrets.
“So far,” he sighs.
“You and I share something very important. It’s made us both who we are today. I just realized it before you did.”
“Oh? And what do you think we share?” He furrows his brow skeptically.
You stand and brush the hem of your dress over your thighs. As Crane watches you, you trail a finger over the books on your bookshelf, stopping at one and pretending to read one of the pages.
“Thomas Wayne.”
You toss the book in front of him on the desk. The book is open to the author bio. It’s a picture of your parents, the authors of a book on criminal psychology. The Arkhams.
"These are my parents. My name was Victoria Vale when I was born. Thomas Wayne murdered them and they put me in an orphanage. I didn’t know they were my parents until I started looking into the Waynes. And then I found you…” You keep your story short and to-the-point, not wanting to reveal too much. Dr. Crane looks between the photo and you, his brow furrowed as he works it all out in his head. Maybe for the first time in his life, he finds himself speechless.
“So you really are crazy, aren’t you, pet?” He covers the shaky tone of his voice with a sneer. You ignore him and close the book, pushing it aside on the desk.
“Tell me, what did Thomas Wayne do to you?”
Dr. Crane looks up at you and scoffs. He removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and his thumb until the pressure between his eyes fades.
“And why would I tell you that?”
“Because I already know the answer, I’m just giving you the opportunity to say it.” You lean against the bookshelf and cross your arms over your chest. Dr. Crane regards you with suspicion and shakes his head.
“You’re bluffing.”
“Am I?” You bite back. You stare at each other, eyes narrowed and blood pumping. Dr. Crane finally sighs through his nose and puts his glasses back on. His eyes bore into you, punishing you for asking him this question. He holds your gaze with a mixture of pain, bitterness and cold rage. He speaks as if the words are acid in his mouth.
“Thomas Wayne destroyed my family and my childhood. He was a ruthless and cruel man and I’m glad he’s dead.”
You stare back at him and notice the original tension between you changing, shifting as your power shifts.
“Then we’re kindred spirits, you and I. It was only a matter of time until I found you, the famous criminal psychiatrist with-” You lean over the desk, looking directly into his eyes,” startling blue eyes.” You take a breath before continuing, not waiting for him to respond.
“Because I’m a good detective, not like any of my ignorant male peers, I looked into a string of unusual robberies and I noticed that most of Falcone’s men were being moved to Arkham Asylum… on your orders.”
Crane is silent for a moment, impressed by your intelligence and deduction. He feels his heart starting to pound a little faster again. He does not deny it, but doesn’t confirm your suspicions either.
“I may have had some influence in those transfers.”
“Don’t worry, Crane, I’m not here to cause trouble for you. I just wanted to meet the man I’ve admired for so long and see if I can be of some… help.” You smile and pass your fingers over the research papers organized across the desk. You’re catching him off guard on how well you know him and he can’t tell if he likes it or not. His eyes flick across your face again, taking in the sight of your dark eyes and darker eyelashes.
“You admire me?”
“Don’t let it get to your head.”
“How does a young, beautiful girl like yourself become so interested in a man like me?” Then he pauses and wets his lips before adding with a smirk, “why, exactly, do you admire me?”
“Your work, it’s impressive. And what can I say… ” You look back up at him with a serious look on your face as you drag a finger across the research papers, pulling out a piece of scratch paper. “I like your style.”
On the corner of the paper, there is a drawing of a scarecrow. You drag it slowly across the desk until it sits in front of Crane on the desk. You don’t need to say anything else. He looks down at the drawing, swallows, then looks up at you.
“Stop acting dumb, doc. I know more than you think. Like I said, I’m good at finding information and sticking my nose into places where it may not belong.”
Crane’s pulse quickens at the edge in your voice, his fingers reaching for and clutching the paper tightly. He wants to be irritated, but somehow you’re bringing out a different, a darker and playful part of him.
“Once again, you’ve proven yourself to be a very observant and talented young woman. Maybe too talented. I think you’re too dangerous to keep around my office, Miss Vale. You’re a liability.”
“What are you going to do to me, Crane? Are you going to use your… little fear toxin on me?” You smile, leaning further across the desk where Crane hasn’t moved from his seat. He looks up at you, smirking slyly.
“Maybe I will.” Dr. Crane starts to stand, and when he does, he’s taller than you but not by much. He isn’t a very tall man, you could easily take him if you needed to. You’re still separated by the desk but you’re close enough to smell his cologne.
“Impressed by my skills of deduction?” You ask, clasping your hands behind your back.
Crane walks slowly around his desk to stand in front of you, looking you up and down intently. He tilts his head to the side, his voice distant and distracted.
“More than a little impressed, yes. You’ve figured out an awful lot about me in a very short time.”
“Now don’t you want to know why I’m here? Your survival instincts are annoyingly slow, Crane,” you tease.
Crane bristles, displeased with your slight to his intelligence. He crosses his arms over his chest and sits back against the desk, clenching his jaw. “I would love to know why you’re here. You’ve been very coy about that point.”
You nod and move away from him to continue looking at the books, organized meticulously on the bookshelf. “I have a proposition for you. I want to be… business partners.” You can see Crane watching you from out of the corner of your eye. Crane chuckles a little, stunned.
“Business partners, huh? And what exactly would that entail?”
Crane’s eyes sweep over your figure again as he imagines what kind of ‘business partners’ he’d want to be.
“I’ll help you with your grand plan for Gotham and in return I get two things…” you keep your eyes on the spines, your fingers following the edges of each book.
“Mm?” Crane hums, listening carefully now that you have his full attention.
“1. I get to lead beside you when you successfully turn Gotham upside down and 2. I get what’s rightfully mine… Arkham Asylum.” You turn back to look at him, refusing to be intimidated by him even when he looks at you like something he’d like to eat.
Crane’s eyes widen and he almost starts to laugh. His navel warms, aroused by your attitude and threats. He chuckles softly and moves his hands to grip the desk on either side of his body.
“Gotham city flipped upside down, and Arkham Asylum in your hands. Your terms are surprisingly bold, Miss Vale.”
“What can I say, Crane? I’m in the business of retribution.” You shrug, not backing down.
Crane chuckles again and shakes his head, “Touché.” He imagines himself pinning you against the bookshelf and feels himself get hard just at the thought of it. He watches you closely, noticing your unwavering resolve. “And how can you be sure I won’t use my toxin on you?”
It’s your turn to laugh now. You smile and step closer to him, meeting his cool eyes. You let your eyes look him up and down, admiring the way his lean body hides beneath his expensive suit.
“I’ve prepared for that possibility… but I like playing with fire.” You pull a lighter out from your pocket and strike a flame. It glows between your faces.
Crane smiles in amusement at your audacity then his eyes dart between your face and the flame separating the two of you.
“You are playing a dangerous game, Miss Vale.”
“My favorite,” you respond coolly and play with the flame in your hand. Crane’s eyes follow the flame and he swallows. “So? What say you?”
He should stop you, he should kick you out of his office and ignore you, but the fire in your eyes and the confidence in your words makes him want to take a risk. He reaches out quickly and takes hold of your chin, tilting your face up so that he can see it clearly. His voice is a low whisper.
“You’re a dangerous little thing, aren’t you?”
“Oh, you have no idea.” You snap the lighter closed and tuck it into Crane’s breast pocket. “Regards from Thomas Wayne. I thought you should have it.”
Crane looks down at the lighter, dropping his hand away from your chin. His eyes dart back to your face, assessing the weight of your words. Your demeanor is cold and almost amused. Crane swallows, his skin growing cold where the lighter now sits.
“Where did you get this, Miss Vale?”
“Not only do I want what’s rightfully mine, you deserve what they took from you too. Think of this as my promise and a peace offering.” You pat his breast pocket, your face getting dangerously close to his. He flinches when you touch him and clenches his jaw. He looks down to your hand patting his pocket and raises a sharp brow.
“And you’re willing to help me get my revenge?”
“It would be mine too.”
“Against Thomas Wayne?”
“Against the whole city… but especially the Waynes.” You whisper, managing to take a step closer. Crane chuckles, admiring the way your eyes darken when you speak so severely. He leans down a little closer to your ear, his breath ruffling your hair.
“A pretty, vengeful vixen. I’m starting to like you, Miss Vale.”
“Now, now, now-” You push him back with a sly smile, your teeth showing, “We’re business partners, not fuck buddies. You’ll need to behave yourself if you want to make this work.”
Crane actually laughs, though the sound is raspy and dark, it’s still a laugh. He allows you to push him back and holds up his hands in mock surrender, sitting back on the edge of his desk.
“Feisty. Ok, I’ll play the part. No need to worry, Miss Vale… though the thought is… tempting.”
“Not intoxicating? I’ll just have to try harder next time,” you smile as you pull on your coat from the chair. Dr. Crane watches you from his desk, his eyes following your arms as you slide into the quilted coat.
“Oh you know exactly how intoxicating you are. Don’t be coy, Miss Vale.”
“Maybe I’m just a Jack of All Trades,” you shrug and move to the door. Crane crosses his arms over his chest again and nods slowly.
“Yes, I’m starting to see that now. You’re full of surprises.” He can’t help but look you up and down again, his eyes lingering on the shape of your thighs or the angular way you hold your head. He wets his lips, wetting his pallet.
“Well, here’s another one,” you smile, fully aware of his arousal, “Falcone was taken into custody today. Someone, and I’m not saying who, may have given him a razor blade. He’ll need a psych evaluation and you need to be the one to do it. I don’t trust him to keep his mouth shut if this goes to trial.”
Crane raises an eyebrow, impressed by your thoroughness.
“Falcone in custody. Hmm. A razor blade? What a coincidence...” he starts to wonder exactly how far you’re willing to take this revenge of yours. He can feel himself getting excited in more ways than one.
“You’ve got the right idea, Miss Vale. I’d be more than happy to take over his evaluation.”
“Good. I’ll arrange for you to administer it between your lectures. You’re such a busy man. Professor by day, psychopath by night. I don’t know how you do it.”
“I’ve made a lot of sacrifices,” he answers cooly, calmly, “As have you, it seems.”
Something passes between you, something shifts once again in your eyes.
“Goodnight, Dr. Crane.”
You start to leave but turn around briefly to speak, your eyes growing softer. You’re actually capable of feelings too, not just well-worded threats. “Don’t lose the lighter… it’s the one he used…”
You leave the sentence in the air between you, hoping he’ll understand what you mean. Dr. Crane seems to freeze again as he processes what you’re saying. He puts his hand against his breast pocket to feel the outline of the lighter. He clenches his jaw and finally nods.
“Goodnight, Miss Vale.”
You nod once and open the door, pushing against its heavy weight.
“I’ll be in touch,” you say over your shoulder and Crane fixes his glasses.
“I’m sure.”
Only when the door closes behind you and you’re walking down the dim hallway do you allow yourself to exhale. Dr. Crane was so much more impressive in person… and so much more attractive. You had almost faltered on your plans until you remembered how much you needed him, and how important it was that the two of you meet. Though you must admit, acting unbothered has never been harder. You run your hand through your hair and slip out of the science building on campus. You’re wearing a quilted coat, more for professionalism than warmth. It’s late Spring in Gotham and it’s too warm for a coat. In fact, there’s a heatwave coming in the next week. But you keep the coat on because the color is dark, helping you blend into the shadows of every building in the city.
The moment the door closes, Crane finds himself almost unable to breathe. He’s nearly shaking and feels strangely off-balance like you’ve completely turned his world on its head. He walks back around his desk to his chair and slowly lowers himself into the seat. He exhales shakily and pinches the bridge of his nose above his glasses. Part of him wants you, the other part wants you gone. With a sigh, Crane pulls the lighter out of his pocket and places it on the desk, looking at it while his thoughts run wild.
You hadn’t needed to say the words for him to piece it together: this was the lighter that Thomas Wayne used to kill his mother, and by extension, his father. The knowledge of what you’ve given him finally sinks in and he takes a deep breath, his jaw clenching again. He feels a cold shiver rush over him, a thousand thoughts running through his mind at once. He can’t tell if he wants to cry or scream or laugh. Crane reaches out and grabs the lighter, his knuckles turning white. He thinks of you, of your audacity to crash his carefully constructed life with your own plans of revenge. He plays with the lighter, his lips pulled into an unhappy snarl. But the longer he thinks about you, the more he feels himself growing to like you. As much trouble as you could cause him, he liked how fast you thought on your feet and how good you looked in that dress.
Hours seem to pass before he can slowly regain control of himself enough to clear his head a little. He’s trying to understand you… he wants to trust you but there’s a very loud part of his mind that’s screaming not to. He can’t deny the fact that you’ve completely enthralled him, in fact, the thought of seeing you again makes his heart pound in perverse excitement. He tosses the lighter back on the desk and runs a hand over his face.
I just came up with the best idea ever. Christian Bale’s Batman is Robert Pattinson’s Batman father. Pattinson is a teen cousin from the Wayne side that Bale’s decided to adopt and become Batman after him. Then he also adopts Dick and the two of them are siblings. :)
Summary: You'd been dating Bruce for a little over a year now. One afternoon while helping Alfred with laundry you notice a cape was stuffed in with his things.
A/n: This can either be read as male or ftm reader since he/him pronouns are used when referring to the reader. I also have another fic in the drafts.
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The rhythmic hum of the washing machine filled the air, a mundane task made slightly less so by the occasional banter with Alfred. "Quite a week, wouldn't you say, Alfred?" he remarked, tossing another shirt into the machine.
"Indeed, sir," Alfred replied, his voice a steady baritone. "Quite a week indeed."
As he reached for another load, his fingers brushed against something unusual. It was sleek, black, and oddly familiar. Pulling it out, he realized it was a cape. A cape. The cape. The one that had been making headlines, the one belonging to the mysterious figure known as Batman.
A surge of adrenaline coursed through him. He'd seen the news reports, the hushed whispers, the awe-inspiring feats. And now, here it was, in his very hands. A tangible link to the legend.
With a mixture of disbelief and a growing sense of unease, he excused himself, the cape clutched tightly in his fist.
He strode towards the living room, his mind racing. He couldn't wait to confront Bruce, to demand answers, to understand the enigma that was his boyfriend.
The door clicked shut behind Bruce, who shrugged off his coat and tossed it over a chair. He looked up, his face falling as he saw his boyfriend standing there, the cape still clutched tightly in his hands.
"I can explain," Bruce offered, a hint of desperation in his voice.
His boyfriend's expression was unreadable, a dangerous sign. "You'll do more than explain, Bruce," he said, his voice low and menacing.
Bruce ran a hand through his hair, ushering his boyfriend to a seat before summoning Alfred to bring them some tea. An awkward silence settled over the room, the tension palpable as Bruce struggled to find the right words. He'd always been terrible at expressing his emotions, a flaw he'd promised to address early in their relationship.
"I had to keep you safe," Bruce whispered, his voice barely audible. "No... I had to keep myself safe," he admitted, his voice growing stronger.
His boyfriend knew Bruce's reluctance to confront his feelings, but he'd never called him out on it. "You don't trust me?" he asked, his voice cracking.
Bruce's emotions were starting to boil over, the weight of his mistake heavy on his shoulders. "I do trust you," he began, but was cut off.
"Do you?" his boyfriend demanded.
"Of course I trust you," Bruce sighed, "I just can't risk anything happening. I don't know what I'd do if someone came after you, if anyone ever found out you knew Batman." For once, Bruce seemed genuinely vulnerable, truly grappling with his emotions.
The room fell silent, the only sound the gentle clinking of teacups as Alfred set them down. He stared at Bruce, his expression softening. He understood the fear that had driven Bruce to such lengths, the desire to protect the one he loved. But he also understood the pain that secrecy had caused, the strain it had put on their relationship.
"Bruce," he began, his voice gentle, "I understand. I understand the fear, the need to protect yourself and me. But you can't keep secrets from me. We're a team, remember? We face everything together."
Bruce looked at his boyfriend, his eyes filled with gratitude and relief. "I know," he said, "I'm sorry. I'll try to be more open, more honest."
"I know you will," his boyfriend replied, reaching out to take Bruce's hand. "From now on, we face this together. No more secrets, no more lies. Just us."
As they sat there, holding hands, the weight of the past seemed to lift. The future, uncertain as it was, held the promise of a stronger, more honest love. And as they sipped their tea, the rhythmic hum of the washing machine faded into the background, replaced by the comforting sound of their shared silence.
The next day, Bruce led his boyfriend through the hidden passages of Wayne Manor, each twist and turn revealing a deeper layer of the secret world he inhabited. Finally, they stood before the massive, imposing door of the Batcave.
"This is it," Bruce said, his voice filled with a mixture of pride and apprehension.
With a heavy sigh, he opened the door, revealing the cavernous space bathed in the eerie glow of computer screens and advanced technology. The Batmobile, sleek and powerful, stood sentinel in the center of the room.
His boyfriend's eyes widened in awe as he took in the spectacle. "This is incredible," he whispered.
Bruce smiled, a sense of relief washing over him. "I know," he said. "It's...a lot."
As they explored the Batcave, Bruce explained the purpose of each piece of equipment, the challenges he faced, and the dangers he encountered. He spoke openly and honestly, revealing a side of himself that he'd rarely shared before.
His boyfriend listened intently, his heart filled with a mix of admiration and concern. He knew the toll that this life took on Bruce, the constant fear and the overwhelming responsibility. But he also saw the passion that fueled Bruce, the desire to make a difference, to protect the innocent.
As they stood in the Batcave, surrounded by the symbols of Bruce's secret identity, a sense of unity grew between them. They were a team, a partnership forged in trust and understanding. And as they walked back to the manor, hand in hand, they knew that their love was stronger than any secret, any fear, any challenge.
You know what? I love this movie. I think about it honestly an unhealthy amount. I know the filmmakers behind it will likely never see this but I want them to know that my life is better bc this movie exists.
