Scars & Hearts: The Batman Fanfiction

Chapter Twelve

Having a crush was humiliating. Granted, it was a small crush. A teeny, tiny crush on a man who was way out of her league (and tax bracket for that matter). 

She'd never been one for crushes. She'd spent those formidable teen years and early twenties reserved for dating and flirting with strangers, studying for SATs and MCATs.

She'd dated before, of course she had, but her last date had been years before back in medical school. She grimaced even thinking of the fact she'd ever given Dr. Hortence a chance. 

Seeing him at the med school gala, well, it just solidified that people never changed: He was still a huge douche. 

She held her breath, raising her fist up to the door, and knocked three times. 

The door opened nearly instantaneously, much to her surprise.

A man dressed in a white shirt and black vest stood before her.

"May I help you?" He asked. 

"Um, yes. I think I have the right address." She'd checked the Google map directions several times; this definitely was the right address. It didn't exactly blend into the Gotham skyline with its architecture. "I'm supposed to be meeting Br- I mean Mr. Wayne. I'm Dr. Flores." She added. "From Gotham General."

Recognition flooded the man's eyes. "Of course. Master Wayne told me he was expecting company."

Master Wayne. She almost rolled her eyes at the title.

"Please, do come in."

Anya stepped into the manor. 

She'd heard rumors that the manor was all but annihilated after the Riddler's attempt on Bruce's life.

It seemed Wayne Manor was back to its formal glory, however: As gothic and dreary as an Edgar Allan Poe novella. She kept expecting a raven to crawl out of the duckboard and scream "Evermore."

The man led her away from the foyer, down a dimly lit hallway. It seemed the entire manor could be described as "dimly lit."

Perhaps Wayne Manor was incredibly conscious of their carbon footprint, hence the reduced electricity? She doubted that; something told her all the rumors of just how broody the billion-dollar heir was, were incredibly true.

Finally, the man stopped at the end of the hall. He knocked on a large lunette door, waited a moment, then pushed the door in.

Bruce sat behind a large mahogany desk. Large floor to ceiling bookshelves lined the walls housing hundreds of dusty, leather-bound books. 

The room was well lit in comparison to the other areas of the manor. A large arch shaped window with an intricate pattern of web like wooden designs flooded the room with light.

"Thank you, Alfred." Bruce nodded.

The man bowed his head, exiting the room, closing the doors behind him with a thud.

Anya stood just inside the room's entrance, unsure of herself.

"Hi." She greeted, lamely.

"Hello." He responded.

Anya walked over to the desk, taking the seat across from the man. 

"Not really sure how we should do this," she admitted.

"It's not that hard." Bruce assured. "Essentially, these meetings with the board are just presentations. We'll tell them why we think the hospital's community clinics deserve our funding. We'll explain how the money will be used. We'll need personal statements from people who would be directly affected by the opening of the clinics."