Chapter Text
University libraries are always more intimidating than they should be, in Bruce’s opinion, and it’s for that reason that he lets Harvey shove him in the rough direction of the med section with a roll of his eyes. Not one to be outdone Bruce rolls his back, but Harvey has long since established himself as the adult in this relationship (he’s older by like four months and Bruce is capable of looking after himself) so as expected ignores him completely. Hesitance to actually start a conversation won’t help him in the long or short run to make friends, which he needs because the two of them are on their own here, too far from home in Gotham for Alfred to have their backs. Screw up thy courage to the sticking place, he orders himself, and go ask if you can sit with that med-looking student over there.
“Hey, I’m Bruce,” he says quietly, immediately cringing internally at himself. The girl – well, young woman, since she has to be at least 18 – smiles up from her note-taking.
“Harleen, or Harley, or Harls, I guess, sorry, I’m rambling.”
“It’s fine.” Not cool, Bruce, get it together. He gestures at the seat opposite hers on the round table.” May I sit?”
“Of course, here, let me– there,” says Harleen, shuffling papers aside and stacking closed textbooks, “Sorry. Sit down.” She waves a pale hand towards the space now cleared, red nails catching the light.
Make conversation, but not awkward conversation, Harvey had told him. Well. He can probably manage that. “You’re a second year?” he asks, recognising some of the books she has in her stack.
She leans back in her seat, thankfully still smiling, pen tapping her cheek. The nails on this hand – her left – are black, with the fourth nail a bright silver. “Second year, heh. Where you from?”
“I know, I know. I’m American, but my...” Alfred, but how can he talk about Alfred and keep his identity from a woman who sounds like she’s from downtown Gotham? “Foster dad, I guess,” eugh, close enough, “is British so I have a lot of Britishisms and honestly I’ve never wrapped my head around universities anyway.”
“Homeschooling does that to ya,” agrees Harleen shrewdly. She sounds very wise, in an older-student way. It’s a little intimidating, so he hurries to correct her assumption.
“Oh no, I’m not home schooled. Not since I was thirteen.”
“Mm?”
Interest caught by that tidbit, Harleen fixes her sharp eyes on him again. He’s noticed she tends to rove her eyes around her surroundings more than most people would in the peace of a library. “I spent the last two years in England, though.” That’s true, yet he hasn’t given her enough clues for her to see he’s that particular Bruce from Gotham, whose parents have been dead this last eight years. He hasn’t yet said he’s Gothamite, but he can hear it in her voice and knows it won’t take long for her to hear the blur of the Bristol accent developing behind his teeth. Usually his accent is quite vague, even unnoticeable, but talking another Gothamite really draws it out of him.
“Yeah, I thought I could hear that. You’re Gothamite, right?” Not quite vague enough, it seems, given the friendly curiosity in her voice. She’s patient, kindly, and now that she’s learned a little about him she seems happy to continue the conversation.
“Yes, you too I hear.”
“Damn right I am,” she states proudly, “You should keep that nice polite English boy voice though; people like that.” There’s bitterness in her voice, not so much that Bruce can deduce why but enough for him to know that something must have happened to her fairly recently.
Frowning at the advice, he assures her, “There’s nothing wrong with your-”
“Sure, I know that, but these guys are snobs.” Harleen flicks her pen into the air and catches a few times as she contemplates him. It takes more effort than it should not to shuffle under her gaze – it’s like being seen through by Alfred. They’d probably get on. “You stick with me, okay? I’ve got enough respect here that people leave me alone, and I’m always ready to demonstrate my many varied talents to the bullies.”
“I’ve got my brother, Harvey. Well, we’re not actual brothers, but we’ve been together for so long we might as well be.”
“Sweet. You should introduce us at lunch,” grins Harleen. Her teeth are straight, skin healthy if more weathered than most of the model-like women studying here would tolerate, and while Bruce isn’t usually this self-conscious he feels all his flaws – the scars, crooked nose, the way his teeth don’t quite align. She’ll know he’s a bit of a fighter just by looking at him but he doesn’t want that, he wants to make a good impression, he wants desperately for he and Harvey not to be alone here so far from all they’ve ever known. They don’t even have somewhere to properly stay yet.
Heaving a sigh, she turns back to her notes, twisting her hair up in one hand. Following her lead, he draws his thick workbooks out and sets about scribbling labels with his name, email, return information, so on and so forth, to tack into all of the resources a student accumulates. Colour-coding his timetables and rotas fills in the two hours or so until Harvey would come get him for lunch. Maybe if Harleen agrees they can eat together today.
“Hey Rob,” Harv says, “Ready?”
“I didn’t hear you come over. This is Harleen,” says Bruce as he stuffs his books into his backpack.
“Heya,” she waves with a grin. “You guys have somewhere to eat?”
Bruce glances at his friend. They don’t really, they have no other friends at all – never mind in this uni. “Not as such.”
“Come on, I’ll look after y’all,” she says as she stands. She’s quite tall, about Harvey’s height or maybe a bit more, but her black heeled boots make her tower on eye level with Bruce. Her whole ensemble gets more chaotic every time she reveals a new detail.
They trail side by side after her, through the courtyards and passages and old stone arches. It feels a little like home – not enough to be homesick, but architecturally reminiscent of the old streets and homes of Gotham in a manner that is more like saying “oh sweet same carpet” to a friends than feeling the soul-crushing aloneness. An optimistic frat boy whistles at Harleen, who flicks a round stone from the path his way with a sharp kick from the toe of her boot. Bruce gasps in awe as it nails the catcaller between the eyes without leaving a scratch. His new idol barely grins at the silence falling over the frat boys. He’s definitely got a case of hero worship now – Harvey has the manic grin which means he’s hatching one of his madcap schemes.