Chapter Text
“Your various contributions to this museum have made our collective lives so much easier over the years, Mr Wayne.” With a broad grin, the curator of the latest collection brought his second hand up to cover Bruces' own as their handshake continued. “You truly have no idea- no idea- how much it means to finally speak to you face to face.”
Stretching his lips into a kind smile, Bruce met the earnest man with respect.
“Thank you, Dr McIvor. Your display of Roman weaponry is as impressive as it is interesting,” he offered, “and I hope it will bring a new element of culture to Gotham and her citizens.”
As he spoke, his eyes swept across the main foyer of the Gotham Museum of Antiquities and the glass cabinets which housed the various shields, spears and swords which had recently been put up for auction by their previous owners in Venice. With some financial backing from himself, Gotham had been the victory of the auction, narrowly beating out Star City, and despite the opening night of the display having been several weeks previously there was still considerable interest.
“It has been a popular display,” Dr McIvor confirmed, finally releasing Bruces' hand, “our footfall has increased 200% in the last month.”
Placing his hand back in the pocket of his suit, Bruce gave a quick shrug of his shoulders.
“Pleased to have helped.”
Feeling something brush against his side, he turned his head and was immediately met with the visage of Amelie LaBoux, noted Gotham socialite and regular pursuer of his affections,
“Hey, Brucie.” She purred, paying no mind to the poor curator.
“Amelie.” He offered with a polite nod.
“How are you doing, sweetie?”
Invading his space with no consideration for his current conversation, Amelie forced his attention and Bruce threw a quick apologetic look at Dr McIvor.
“I am fine.” He paused, lips pursed, before asking. “Yourself?”
“Oh i'm great,” her voice took on a faux-giddiness as she giggled, “just enjoying the party and feeling a little lonely. How is your friend, what was his name, Harold? Harold the lawyer?”
“Harvey Dent?” Bruce blanked his expression as she brought up his ex, no doubt aware of their months-long separation. “He's doing well. Plotting out his campaign for district attorney last I spoke to him.”
“Oh,” she smiled before lying, “I had forgotten that you two weren't a 'thing' anymore.”
Plastering a false smile on to his face, Bruce felt his irritation with the woman spike.
“We are still good friends but things wouldn't have worked out with us. His new partner, Gilda, is a wonderful woman. Very forward thinking.”
“And what about you Brucie?” Her hand slid onto his shoulder and he tensed. “You got another special someone to keep you warm at nights?”
“My bed is never empty for too long.” He answered, playing to his persona and hating himself for it. “But i'm here to support the museum, and the curator and I were just discussi-”
Darkness cut him off as the overhead lights of the museum flickered off for a moment before relighting with a unmistakable tinge of green which cast the entire room in a sickly light. A murmur of interest arose from the guests in the hall as they waited expectantly for some form of performance, not uncommon for a display of this magnitude, to begin.
However, as the seconds ticked by and nothing happened, the hair on Bruces' arm stood to attention as a chill of anticipation swept through him.
Something was wrong.
A loud smash of the double doors to the rear of the rooms, perfectly timed with the opening of the side doors, caused a widespread flinch in the room as the sound of gunfire littered the air.
“GET DOWN!” Bruce cried, grabbing Amelies' head and forcing her down to the ground to take cover as he quickly signalled for the other attendees to follow suit.
However, through the panic and cries, not a single howl of pain was detectable and Bruce felt a sigh of relief take him as he realised that the gunfire was a warning and each shot was targeted at the high ceiling above.
The half-dozen men who had burst into the room were easily distinguishable by the matching dark shirts and green slacks which covered each of them and identified them as a working group. Within their grasps were semi-automatic weapons. Not easy to deal with. Particularly given the number of hostages.
Bruces' eyes were quick to zero in on the leader as he presented himself through the double doors.
Of similar height to himself, the leader held the command of his handful of henchmen with very little effort as they filed out in perfect order and shepherded the groups of attendees into small, easy-to-manage groups.
The green spandex which clad his body did little to hide the thin frame and faint muscle tone contained within it. Hardly a physical threat. Emerald shoes and a tie-around salmon pink mask finished the ensemble and Bruce felt a twinge of irritation as he sensed the development of a new criminal persona for him to deal with.
Normal criminals did not have a tendency to play dress-up when on jobs.
“PEOPLE OF GOTHAM,” throwing his arms out in dramatic fashion, the criminal in charge drew every eye in the room to his presence, “TONIGHT YOU ARE MY SPECIAL GUESTS AND PRIVILEDGED WITNESSES!”
Lowering his tone a touch, he continued.
“Many of you will be wondering who I am but fear not, my luddites, all questions will be answered!” He paused. “I am The Riddler! The prince of puzzles! King of conundrums, and you all will be participating in a game of my choosing while I attend to some business within the museum!”
As all eyes stayed on the oddly-dressed criminal, Bruce spotted two of the henchmen disappearing into the closed-off door which led to the items which the museum kept in storage.
A robbery.
That's what this was.
“So, on to the game!” Riddler bounced down the few steps before him with a childlike enthusiasm. “I am going to put some very simple, almost too easy, riddles to you all and for every one which you fail to answer there will be...consequences.”
As though on cue, every henchmen holding a gun cocked it and the series of clicks sent a collective shudder through the crowd at the implications.
“Riddle me this,” he clicked his heels against the stone floor and turned fully in place, “I can be written, spoken, exposed and broken. What am I?”
Eyebrows furrowing, it took Bruce a moment to reach the solution.
News.
This one liked attention, it seemed.
The few in the crowd who were not too frightened to think wore matching expressions of confusion and determination as they attempted to work out a solution. Bruce would have offered it up, but he needed to remain as hidden as possible to exploit any potential opportunity of disappearing and bringing in the Batman to crash this situation.
“No one?” Feigning surprise, Riddler tutted and shook his head. “That is disappointing. Truly. Perhaps I will give you one more minute before I begin to punish the foolishness.”
A whimper of fright escaped Amelie again and Bruce was forced to place a comforting hand on her arm as his mind whirled with possibilities. He could whisper the solution to her but that could put her in further danger if this lunatic took notice of her.
“Five.”
A countdown.
“Four.”
“Three.”
“Two.”
“News.”
Voice strong and confident in his answer, Bruce threw it out with little regard for his own desire to stay hidden. These people were more important.
“Who said that?” Eyes squinting into the crowd with quick, darting movements, the glare on Riddlers' face softened as he recognised his winner.
“Bruce Wayne!” He cried, showman voice projecting with very little effort. “Gothams' most prized and beloved son. What brings you here, Mr Wayne? This is a home of culture and learning, there are no bars or airhead socialites for you to accost within these walls.”
Pausing for a moment, his attention darted to Amelie and Bruces' hand on her arm.
“Or perhaps I am mistaken.”
Amelie released a high-pitched noise as she was spoken to directly and shielded her gaze with her jewel-covered hand.
Gesturing to Bruce with a lazy hand, Riddler spoke to two of his henchmen.
“Bring him up here.”
Pulling his grip from Amelie, Bruce stood fully and brushed dirt off the chest of his suit as he was flanked by two muscular goons and led up the small staircase towards the Riddler. It would do no good to fight at the moment and at the very leasy, this would afford him an opportunity to understand this new criminal better.
From this close position, Bruce was able to pick out more details about the man calling himself “Riddler” as he allowed his gaze to linger on him.
The shade of his dark brown hair was suspiciously even across the scalp and the lack of natural high or lowlights suggested a dye job but the pink tie-mask covering his eyebrows was making it difficult to guess as to his natural colour, so Bruce moved on.
His eyes were blue and the intelligence radiating from them as they absorbed everything within their range gave the azure shade an almost shining quality as they finally locked on to Bruces' own.
As he pulled himself from his judgements, Bruce was surprised to note that a similar look of judgement graced the face of the man before him but with the addition of the beginnings of a blush high on his cheeks.
Blushing?
Why?
It was not until the look of judgement had passed on Riddlers' face, only to be replaced with a knowing smirk, that Bruce understood his sighted investigation had been mistaken.
Riddler thought that Bruce had been checking him out.
Ah.
“So Mr Wayne,” Riddler opened the dialogue with a predatory smile, showcasing a row of pearly-white teeth, “you seem to possess more intellect than I initially gave you credit for.”
“I just answered the question,” Bruce answered, his jaw tight as he kept himself hyper-aware of his situation, “and I did not want to see innocent people hurt, Riddl-”
“Edward.” Riddler interrupted, tilting his head. “You may call me Edward, Mr Wayne.”
Well that saved a considerable amount of detective work and Bruce filed the information away for use by his alter-ego.
“If it's all the same to you, i'd like to stick with 'Riddler'.”
“”I must insist.” The same pleasant smile but with a newly dangerous edge.
“Edward,” Bruce tested out, slightly uncomfortable by the familiarity, before launching into his previous spiel, “I couldn't let you hurt these innocent people.”
“Innocent.” Edward snorted as his gaze swept the room which had grown louder as people murmured amongst themselves as the henchmen kept a keen watch. “Not a clean hand among them,” he continued, “but to make a small confession to you, Mr. Wayne, I have no intention of harming these people. I just wish to make a small withdrawal from the museum and to announce my presence to the people.”
“You're a criminal.”
“It would seem that way wouldn't it.” Tilting his head, Edward appraised Bruce again. “But then things are not always what they seem, are they Mr. Wayne?”
The accuracy of the statement leaving the hairs on the nape of his neck shifting, Bruce ignored them in favour of a smile.
“Meaning?”
“Of all the dimwitted fools in this city, I would never have anticipated yourself as being one of the very few who could actually answer one of my riddles. It would appear that you do possess some brain to back up that considerable brawn.” Edward finished his comments with a none-too-subtle sweeping gaze across Bruces' muscular arms and thick chest, hidden as they were beneath his suit.
Having the distinct feeling that he was being flirted with left Bruce off-kilter as he considered how to approach the situation.
Edward was handsome in his own way.
His mannerisms and appearance possessing many of the qualities of the old showmen and actors who had graced Bruces' television as a child, giving him an almost familiar feeling which Bruce was loathe to admit to.
But he was a criminal who had a touch of charisma, nothing more.
“You don't need to do this.” Bruce urged, changing the subject in the hopes that he could influence events. “You don't need to hurt these people or steal. Just walk away and you won't be hunter or arrested.”
“Arrested,” Edward snorted his disbelief, “and, again, I have no intention of hurting these people but I am in desperate need of a new centrepiece for my office and this museum houses the perfect item.”
Blinking, Bruce was certain he misheard.
“All this for a new office trinket?”
Edward laughed and it surprisingly pleasant compared to the laughs of the costumed criminals he tended to deal with as it lacked a true sadistic edge.
“Surely you of all people understand that sometimes it is necessary to indulge in the finer things in life.” Edward grinned.
“I can help you-” Bruce started but was cut off.
“And I could kill you,” Edward interrupted, “but both things are wholly unnecessary in this current situation.”
“So you don't plan on killing me then?”
“Oh goodness gracious no,” exclaiming the words with exaggeration, Edward shook his head quickly, “you have made yourself far too interesting, Mr. Wayne. Not only have you answered my riddle but here you stand before me and I cannot sense even the slightest hint of fear or hesitation when you speak to me, despite the situation. You are...interesting.”
Sensing the word held further meaning than it should, Bruce stood as still as possible as he absorbed the potential meanings.
A scream of smashing glass interrupted the moment as a small, dark item flew through one of the high windows and started to issue its contents among the henchmen and crowd.
Tear gas.
“AND THAT IS OUR CUE TO LEAVE! Riddler announced over the panicked screams and choking of the various individuals caught in the gas as the front doors of the museum crashed open with various shouts of “GCPD” being audible over the chaos.
Eyes darting past Edward, Bruce caught sight of the two henchmen from earlier escaping out the back door with a rounded package which he heavily suspected may have been one of the older Roman shields which had been placed into storage to make way for the new display items.
Halfway up the stairs and towards his escape, Edward paused long enough to meet Bruces' gaze with his own again.
“Until next time, Mr. Wayne.”
The words were muttered but Bruce caught them easily as he spun in position and made his way back over to the liberated hostages and Amelie, her eyes streaming and face reddened as she fell victim to the tear gas.
Until next time.
However, Bruce had a sneaking suspicion that Edward “The Riddler” would be meeting the Bat long before he encountered Bruce Wayne again.