Just Breathe

Chapter 12

"How's it going with my apartment?" Beth asked.

She was sitting cross-legged on the chair he'd brought down to the lair for her. She never sat normally; it was one of the things he'd learned about her since they'd started living together. If she was reading, she'd curl into the chair with her feet on the cushions and her legs bent to prop the book against; if she was watching something on her phone, her back would rest against one of the arms of the chair and her legs would hang off the opposite one, her feet swinging in the air. The other night, he'd spent more time watching those sock-clad feet than reading the Wayne company financial statements Alfred had foisted on him.

Right now she was bent over the suit resting in her lap, repairing a tear in the arm with neat stitches. He'd gotten too close to a knife-wielding thug last night who'd sliced a 3 inch gash in the leather. She'd offered to sew it for him before he went out again tonight.

"And not because this is classed as 'woman's work'," she insisted. "I just miss stitching things up. I used to find it almost therapeutic sewing up the bodies after autopsies. Putting things right again..." She'd shrugged and grabbed the suit from his hands.

It wasn't the first time she'd mentioned missing her job. She'd explained her absence to the M.E. by way of a family emergency and was using up the leave she'd accrued over years...but it was obvious she wanted to get back to work as soon as possible.

And now she was asking about her apartment.

"Alfred says the decorators are almost finished," he replied. She'd taken the news of her damaged home surprisingly well, but he'd purposefully downplayed the extent of the destruction. She didn't need those images in her head when she eventually returned to it. He'd offered to find her a new place, but she'd settled for him arranging for repairs and refurbishment.

"So when do they think I can move back in?"

He sighed and swivelled on his stool to face her. "Beth, you know its not safe to go back yet."

"It's been two weeks, Bruce. I can't hide here forever."

The sentiment was repeated by Alfred the following morning. "How long is that poor girl going to be holed up here?"

He told him what he told Beth. "As long as it takes to find Newsome."

"And just how hard are you looking?"

"What do you mean? I've got facial recognition software running on cameras set up around Beth's apartment, the GCPD are monitoring the bus and train terminals, every informant in the city is on the look out..."

"Hmmm," was the only reply.

"What are you getting at, Alfred?"

"I'm just wondering if you aren't subconsciously trying to keep her here."

That got a glare in response. Alfred threw his hands up in surrender. "I'm just pointing out that for someone with an intense fear of losing people, keeping them locked away from the world would be a convenient coping mechanism."

"Enough with the amateur psychology, Alfred. I'm not subconsciously - or consciously - doing anything."

Newsome was in hiding - completely off the grid - and there wasn't a way to flush him out that didn't put Beth in danger. Bruce was sure he was still in the city, biding his time, waiting for his opportunity...and Bruce wouldn't give him that.

So Beth had to stay here.

He knew she was starting to chafe against her confinement, but there was no alternative. He wasn't manipulating events to make her stay, and he never would - no matter how much he liked living with her.