The drive back from the hospital was silent. Not comfortable silence, but cold, tense silence. Anxiety pulsed through Lennox's veins, causing her to overthink every move she made. Seeing Alfred lying in a hospital bed, tubes and wires attached to him, made Lennox's skin crawl. But it also reminded her just how dangerous this was. An attack like this, one so close to home, caused her to wonder if the Riddler knew of their identities. The package was addressed to Bruce, but the card was addressed to both Batman and Ghost. If the Riddler knew, it meant a whole new level of danger for both herself and Bruce.

     Shortly after returning to the tower, Bruce disappeared. Lennox, who was now left alone with her thoughts, decided to do some digging. She opened her laptop and searched every archive she could for information about the Waynes and the Arkhams. Every major news source in Gotham must've been paid substantially because the woman found nothing. After two hours of nothing but campaign ads and philanthropy updates, the woman gave up and opted to shower.

      The hot shower was absolutely needed for Lennox's aching body. She wasn't able to relax under the stream, but she relished the comfort of scalding water and sweet-smelling soaps. The dirt and blood caked under her nails washed away easily and she wished the memory of Annika's cold, broken body would wash down the drain with it.

     It felt like some sort of fever dream, seeing her like that. Lennox couldn't bring herself to think of the word. Annika had always been such a vibrant girl and Lennox loved her dearly. The two had met shortly after Lennox moved to Gotham City, Annika was 20 and Lennox was 25. They had grown apart in the last few years, Lennox became occupied with her double life, and Annika made no effort to stay in the woman's life. Perhaps that was Lennox's regret; that she hadn't fought to keep her friend close. The thought brought tears to her eyes, and soon, sobs racked her body until the water ran cold.

—

     Descending the stairs, Lennox caught sight of Bruce standing in the middle of the great room. Shirtless. He had laid all the photographs and stills along the floor and spray-painted clues amongst them. The woman said nothing, only observed the items on the floor with curiosity.

     "It doesn't make sense, Len." Bruce turned to face the woman, running a hand through his hair. "I can't figure out the connections between any of it." She would be lying if she said she didn't blush at the sight of his bare abdomen.

     Lennox sighed and leaned against the bannister. "When was the last time you slept, Bruce?" His blank stare was all the answer she needed. "You need sleep."

     "How can I sleep when all of this is happening, Lennox? Gotham is being torn to shreds by a psychopath and somehow it relates to the death of Annika Kosolov." She understood the argument, but at the same time, it was invalid.

     "You can't save Gotham on the half-hour of sleep you got days ago. If you don't sleep, you'll never be able to figure this out." Lennox crossed her arms and lifted a sculpted brow as if daring him to argue her point. Bruce frowned. "Gotham needs a hero who can function." She added.

     "I can function just fine," he said indignantly. Lennox huffed and folded her arms across her chest. Since they'd met, Bruce always had a tendency to act as if he was a child. Only around Lennox would he pout and whine and all but throw a tantrum over the most minute aspects of his life. So Lennox, who had long since become accustomed to this behaviour, stood and walked to where he sat in the chair.

     "Bruce," she said in a gentle voice. "You have come close to death two times in the last twenty-four hours. So please, for my sake, can you rest?" Her hands cupped his face tenderly as she pleaded with him.

      He sighed and pulled her close, resting his head against her abdomen. "I'm just worried, Lennox. About all of it." She said nothing, only ran her hands through his dark hair. It smelled of vanilla. He peered up at her with tired eyes and her heart fluttered. "You're beautiful, Lennox Berkshire," he whispered softly.

      It was so out of character that Lennox was caught off guard. But she was completely shocked when he stood and leaned down to her face. "Can I kiss you?" She was so surprised by the notion, but she managed a nod before he pressed his lips to hers.

     Bruce tasted of apples and cinnamon, she noted. He held her waist tightly with one hand, and with the other, he cupped her face. Lennox's heart soared. In the years she'd known him, she had wanted nothing more than to kiss him, to hold him, and here she was, in his own home, lips firmly against his. He pulled away far too quickly for Lennox's liking and grinned. A genuine smile from Bruce Wayne.

     "Lennox," he started, "you don't know how long I've wanted to do that." He chuckled before capturing her lips again. It was sweet and light, and Lennox decided she could stay right here in this moment forever. But she knew she couldn't.

     "Bruce," she whispered after pulling back. "You need to sleep. We have much to do tomorrow."

      He nodded gently but didn't let go of Lennox's hand as he walked off. He must have noticed her confusion because he turned to her and asked, "Will you stay with me?"

      The breath hitched in her throat at the notion of curling up in his dark room, his ever-present scent of vanilla and teak mingling with her sage scented hair. His arms would wrap around and pull her close to him, and he would bury his head in the crook of her neck. As if she snapped out of a daze, Lennox looked at Bruce and nodded, "I'll stay.

03/15/22