Poker Face | Bruce Wayne

thirty three

22 YEARS EARLIER

"I want it so bad, Meredith. More than anything I've ever wanted in my entire life."

Meredith rolled her eyes. "Buy it then, Bruce. You're eighteen now. Put your trust fund to use— not that it's a good use— but it's a use, I guess."

He shoved a magazine in her face, showing her the image she'd seen about a million times over the last few weeks— a McLaren F1, currently one of the most sought-after vehicles in the world, which just happened to be going up for auction in a few days.

A stupid grin came over his face. "How is this not the greatest use of money you've ever seen?"

She shoved him away. "Because I don't believe in depreciating assets and I'd rather suggest you put it into something useful like stocks?"

"Meredith." He pushed himself up on the couch, features dripping with dramatics and she couldn't help but smile because Bruce was rarely so theatric. "If I don't own this car I'm going to die."

"I'm sure you'll survive with your hundred other luxury cars, Bruce."

He let his head fall forwards into a pillow and he groaned, his voice muffled by the fabric.

They sat on one of the couches in the Wayne Manor, clothed in thick layers of loungewear under a mess of blankets. It was a few days before Christmas, and the sky was a murky gray outside with fresh sheets of powdered snow covering the Manor grounds. Meredith studied the way the orange glow of the fireplace flickered across Bruce's messy black hair.

"And what exactly is so special about this car versus all of your other ones?" Meredith asked nonchalantly. She knew the answer— Bruce had only told her about fifty separate times— but it was nice to see him talk so animatedly about something for once.

"Uh, how about everything?" He said, flipping onto his back and draping an arm over his face. "It's the only one in the world, the only one that will ever be made, and it's black. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life and I will throw myself out of a third-story window if I can't have it."

She giggled, letting the book in her lap fall closed. "Well, that seems a little extreme—"

"Because it is extreme! The engine— look at the specs, I mean— my God. It's the most sought-after McLaren in the world and it will be mine. And Oliver is gonna be so fucking jealous. Can you imagine his face when I show up in this?"

Meredith hummed in interest as he pressed the magazine towards her again. She raised her eyebrow and tilted her head. "Wait, I'm sorry, did I hear you say that this was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen?"

Bruce dropped the paper, appearing confused for a brief second. She shot him a glare.

"Oh— okay, well not the most beautiful— of course it's second to you, but it's a very close second. Like, so close."

She kicked her leg out and hit his thigh.

"Okay! Okay, I'm kidding."

Meredith started to open her book again.

"Sorta."

The book was then flying towards him, narrowly missing his head. She scoffed as she started to push the blankets off of her and stand up.

"Wait, wait—" He was grabbing her hand and tugging her back towards him, giving her a playfully apologetic smile. "Don't go— I'm sorry."