TITLE: Impressions

AUTHOR: LOTSlover

CHARACTERS: Batman / Wonder Woman

RATING: T

WARNINGS: Author Chooses Not to Use Warnings

DISCLAIMER: I love Justice League, but especially Batman and Wonder Woman. Unfortunately, I do not own the characters and, if I did, things would be much different for them.

SUMMARY: Bruce Wayne decides it's time to take more interest in his company and shed his playboy persona. Diana Prince is the newly arrived Greek curator at the Gotham Museum. Neither was looking for love, but when they meet sparks begin to fly. AU / Bruce/Diana / No Powers

A/N: So, I decided to pull this AU fic from my Wonderbat Anthology series and make this a fic all of its own. I'm loving this fic and I want to be able to update it more often. Hope you enjoy it! :)

Chapter 1

"What else is going on?" Bruce asked in mid-pushup, sweat trickling down the side of his face.

"You also have the Gotham museum ball tonight," Alfred informed him, standing with his hands clasped behind his back. He was already anticipating his young master's reaction to the reminder.

Bruce grimaced as he held his pushup for far longer than necessary, his muscles starting to quiver under the stress he was putting them under. "Didn't I just go to a museum ball last week?"

"No, sir, that was a hospital charity ball," he reminded him.

"They all begin to run together after a while," he grumbled, finally finishing the move. He stood to his feet, grabbing a nearby hand towel to wipe the sweat from his eyes. "Do I really have to go to this one?"

"I'm afraid so, sir," Alfred confirmed. "You helped provide the extra funding necessary so that the Gotham Museum could hire that new, young curator from Greece that several high-profile museums have been headhunting in hopes of getting their hands on."

"I did?" he questioned him with a suspicious look.

"I'm afraid so," he replied. "Maybe if you spent a little less time going to parties and more time paying attention to work and various Wayne charities that you support you just might recall things like this."

Bruce sighed heavily as he tossed the towel into a nearby laundry bin. "I don't want to spend an evening around a bunch of stuffed-shirt men who have nothing better to talk about then some rare artifact that's two thousand years old."

Alfred smiled to himself with his surrogate son's assumptions about the evening. "Actually, the new curator from Greece is a female."

Bruce's scowl only deepened as he stared Alfred down, his muscular arms folded against his equally muscular chest. "She's probably mousy with thick glasses and her hair pulled into a tight bun. I'll bet you a hundred dollars she'll be so timid that she won't even be able to make eye contact with anyone."

"Well, I guess you'll just have to go to the gala to find out," he informed him, knowing that his description of the Greek curator couldn't be further from the truth. He decided to let the obstinate twenty-eight-year-old find out for himself. "I'll have your tuxedo pressed and ready for you by six."

"You're going to make me go, aren't you?" Bruce questioned with a sullen frown.

"Yes, I am," Alfred firmly stated with a stern look that could only be described as fatherly bordering on thoroughly irritated. "The Gotham Museum was your mother's favorite Gotham institution and their finest patron. It wouldn't be what it is today without her contributions and donations. Besides, it is your responsibility to make Miss Prince feel welcomed in Gotham."

Bruce's shoulders slumped in defeat, clearly deflated and resigned to his fated evening of rubbing elbows with the dullest people he'd ever known as well as an uninteresting curator from Greece. "Fine," he bit out, averting his eyes under Alfred's penetrating glare. "I'll go, but I'm telling you right now that I'm not spending one more minute with the new Greek curator than I absolutely have to. I'll go…take a few pictures, shake a few hands, drink their alcohol and greet the new curator, but after that I'm gone."

"If you say so, Master Bruce," Alfred agreed with a nod and a barely subdued smirk as he turned to leave.

He made a mental note to bring a large thermos of hot tea and a good book to keep him occupied tonight while he waited in the limo. He had a strong feeling that once Master Bruce saw the stunning Miss Diana Prince that he wouldn't be leaving the museum any time soon if ever.

"You know it's a pretty low blow to bring my mother into it," Bruce yelled after him as Alfred left the training room.

"I have no idea what you're referring to," Alfred called over his shoulder, mentally patting himself on the back for another successful parenting mission. Martha would be so proud.

XXX

Bruce sat in the back of the limo dressed in his tux glaring daggers at the cell phone in his hand. He'd already made up his mind that was going to have a horrible time tonight and no one was going to convince him otherwise. Not even Alfred bringing up how much this meant to his mother could lighten his mood at this point.

Glancing at him in the rearview mirror, Alfred smiled to himself. He really couldn't blame Master Bruce for not looking forward to tonight's event. It was one far more suited for his parents, but with them gone, it fell on young Bruce's shoulders to carry the Wayne name.

It was a terribly heavy weight to carry as his age especially with the horrifying way that he had lost his parents right in front of his eyes. He did hope that maybe Miss Prince would somehow manage to bring a glimmer of happiness back to his life even if just for one evening.

Alfred pulled the limo to a stop in front of the stairs that led to the museum's grand entrance. A red carpet awaited the guests' arrival along with several reporters from various newspapers and magazines. "I do wish you would've allowed me to find you a date for tonight," Alfred told him.

"I can find my own dates and I won't be here long enough for it to matter, Alfred," Bruce assured him. "In fact, you can keep the motor running if you'd like. I won't be that long."

"Master Bruce! I will do no such thing," Alfred scolded him. "You're going to march in there and make your parents proud, young man. I expect nothing less from you."

"Yes, sir," Bruce grumbled, having the decency to look chagrined as he slipped his cell phone into his jacket pocket.

"I should've put that boy over my knee more often when he was growing up," Alfred murmured to himself as he exited the limo to open the back door.

As if flipping a light switch, Bruce's demeanor completely changed as Alfred opened the back door and Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy and most eligible bachelor, stepped out. He had his patented grin firmly in place, his azure blue eyes sparkling with mischief of every imaginable kind. He immediately charmed and captivated the gathered crowd as he waved to them, flashing them that dashing smile that melted more than a few hearts.

If Alfred could've, he would've rolled his eyes at that moment, but proper breeding and decorum caused him to refrain…but just barely. He was almost done getting the young man through his twenties. He could only imagine how much more trying his thirties and forties were going to be. Entering the limo to park the car, Alfred was more than certain it would garner him more than a few gray hairs on his poor head.

Bruce paused and turned at regular intervals, smiling and waving for the cameras. If there was one thing in his life that he refused to do, it was to disappoint his parents or tarnish their name. He adored them far too much to give anything less than his best for them despite how trying the event might be.

He smiled suavely as he headed inside the museum, sighing in resignation. The vast majority of people that attended the museum galas were his parents' age with a small group of attenders around his own age. With any luck, his friend Clark from Metropolis would be here tonight. It would be the only thing that would make this night a little more bearable.

He immediately grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter's tray the second he entered the main hall of the museum. He quickly began to scan the room as he downed the glass of bubbly, trying to keep the boredom he felt from reaching his face.

He saw all the usual attenders, none of them of any particular interest to him. It actually caused his heart to clench in his chest, reminding him of his parents and how deeply he missed them. It was a constant ache that he carried within him, one that he feared would never heal.

Spotting another waiter, Bruce exchanged his empty glass for a full one, tipping his head back slightly to down the fortifying liquid that would hopefully begin to numb a measure of the pain he felt. With any luck, he'd get drunk enough that the entire evening would be nothing more than a forgettable blur of oblivion.

"You might want to slow down a little there, friend."

Bruce rolled his eyes as he gulped down the last of the champagne in his glass before turning to face his friend. "Thank you, mother, but I think I know how to handle my alcohol."

Clark Kent chuckled with his friend's words. "Heaven knows you've had a lot of practice," he pointed out.

"Actually, I'm relieved you're here," Bruce replied as he searched for another waiter to replenish his supply.

"Really?" Clark responded with a frown. "Why? This is more your thing than mine."

"This…this is not my thing," he bit out with a bitter tone. "This is my parents' thing, but they're not here so it has to be my thing by default…which I don't want…at all."

Clark's blue eyes softened, knowing how difficult it was for his friend even twenty years after the fact. It was still a fresh wound that seemed ready to bleed at any given moment. He placed a reassuring hand on Bruce's shoulder, giving it a squeeze before just as quickly retracting it. He knew he didn't appreciate sympathy or attempts at comfort in any form.

"I know this is hard for you, Bruce, but—" Clark began.

"So, what are you doing here tonight?" Bruce asked, interrupting his attempt to console him. He didn't need nor want it. What he needed was his parents back with him where they belonged.

Clark sighed as Bruce threw another wall up in his face. He'd run into more of them than he could begin to count over the years that they'd known each other. "Perry felt this was big enough of a story that he sent me to cover it," he explained. "Have you met her yet?"

"Miss Prince?" Bruce uttered her name with an air of disdain. "Not yet, but I can tell you right now it's one that I'm dreading."

"Alfred made you come, didn't he?"

"You're going to march in there and make your parents proud, young man. I expect nothing less from you," Bruce mimicked in his best Alfred impression as he sullenly grabbed another glass of champagne.

Clark couldn't help but chuckle in response as he too reached for a glass. "You know without Alfred you would've been dead long ago," he reminded him.

"Maybe it would've been for the best," Bruce grumbled, more to himself than to his friend.

"You know that's not true, Bruce," Clark sternly retorted.

"Have you met the new curator?" Bruce asked, changing the subject.

"Not yet," Clark revealed. "Perry sent me a bio on her with a picture, but I haven't even had a chance to look at any of it yet."

"Lois?"

Clark gave him a sheepish grin as he brought the champagne flute to his lips. "You know me so well," he responded before taking a drink.

Bruce gave him a sardonic look as his gaze drifted over the crowded room, wondering which corner the new curator was hiding in…or under which artifact. "Too well sometimes," he murmured. "I'm sure our newest curator is probably a boring bookworm who couldn't make the time to pull her nose out of a dusty old tome to give anyone the time of day."

"Wow…you have a real good impression of her already, and you haven't even met her yet," he decided. "You never know, Bruce. She just might surprise you."

"I doubt it, Clark," he stated. "I've attended too many of things. I know what curators are like. Boring with a capital B."

Something out of the corner of his eye suddenly caught his attention, causing Bruce's head to snap to the left. A flash of red material captured his interest, causing his brow to furrow in thought. No one ever wore red to these galas.

It was always earth-tones or black…dreadfully boring colors for boring people, nothing as racy as red with all the old money flowing through these halls. He knew that it couldn't have been Veronica Vreeland. She was out of the country, traveling the plains of Africa on some sort of safari.

Clark's forehead creased as he studied his friend, noticing the abrupt change in his demeanor. "What's the matter?"

"I…thought I saw something," Bruce muttered as he continued to scan the crowds for the source of the dress, catching another glimpse but not nearly enough for his liking.

"Like what?"

"I don't know yet," Bruce murmured, handing his empty glass to Clark. "I'll see you later."

Bruce walked away from his friend, lost in his thoughts as he searched for the mysterious woman who had arrested his attention. He muttered excuses and apologies as he worked his way through the throngs of people, his searching gaze locked on the last spot he had seen her.

"Bruce! It's so good to see you here tonight," Missus Henry greeted him, grasping hold of his forearm. "I know your mother would've loved this. It's such a shame she's not here."

Bruce forced a smile to his face, one that didn't reach his blue eyes as he bit back the biting retort that danced on his tongue. "Yes, she would've, Missus Henry," he politely replied instead.

"I do miss her something fierce," she tisked with a shake of her head. "Of course, I'm sure you do too, my dear boy."

"I do," he admitted. "If you'll excuse me, I need to see someone."

He didn't wait for a response as he pulled his arm free to continue his pursuit. The crowd seemed to part at that moment, his eyes falling on the object of his hunt. It was only the back of her, but what an amazing view that he beheld.

The red material hugged her tall, feminine frame, the backless dress revealing nearly the entire length of her spine. Raven hair was pulled into an intricate updo that exposed the slender column of her graceful neck, leaving him more than anxious to see the rest of her…to meet her and know her name.

A familiar voice stopped him dead in his tracks, keeping him from meeting her. "There you are, Bruce."

He turned to find the director of the Gotham Museum walking towards him. "Good evening, Mister Clements," he greeted him.

"I'm so happy you could make it this evening, Bruce," Mister Clements said, immediately grasping his hand and shaking it appreciatively. "I know how much this important event would've meant to your mother."

Bruce swallowed hard, trying to keep the heartache from reaching his voice as he spoke. "I know she would've loved it," he softly agreed.

Mister Clements grasped Bruce's shoulder, giving him an understanding look. "We wouldn't have been able to hire such a prestigious curator as Miss Prince without your help and your generous donation," he continued. "I'm anxious for you to meet her."

Bruce tried to hide his disappointment, glancing at the woman in the red gown to find her walking away from them. He was desperate to meet her, but Mister Clements was intent on him meeting this Prince woman that he was hoping to avoid at all cost.

"I'd love to, but—" he began.

"It'll only take a minute…I promise," Mister Clements assured him, taking hold of Bruce's upper arm as he guided him.

Bruce was relieved that Clements was leading him in the same direction as the mysterious woman, wondering which dark corner Miss Prince was hiding in with her nose in a book. "Diana!" Clements called as they approached.

Bruce was stunned when the woman in the sexy red dress paused and turned towards them only to be struck dumb when he came face to face with none other than the new curator Diana Prince. Her lips spread into a dazzling smile that seemed to light up the entire room, her sapphire eyes sparkling like the rarest of diamonds.

"Mister Clements," she said. "This gala was not necessary, but I appreciate the warm welcome to Gotham."

"Nonsense," he replied. "It's our pleasure to honor your arrival in our city. It's the perfect way to meet the great people of Gotham and get to know some of our finest patrons."

"Still, this is far more than I had ever anticipated," she graciously responded.

Bruce stood there as they talked, rendered speechless by the beautiful woman standing before him. The sound of her voice was hypnotizing, her think Greek accent only adding to her mysterious allure and charm. He felt ridiculous standing there, not uttering a single word. It was so unlike his typical playboy image that he was so notorious for.

He couldn't help it, though. He found all of his confidence slipping through his fingers as Mister Clements introduced them, Bruce unconsciously extending his hand as he lost himself in the sheer blueness of her eyes. "Hi," he murmured. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Prince."

He silently berated himself for sounding so positively lame, wondering where all his debonair and charm had disappeared to. He'd wooed and bedded plenty of women with far less effort and yet he found himself at a complete loss in front of this vision before him.

"Please call me Diana, Mister Wayne," she responded, shaking his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you too."

"Bruce's mother was one of our greatest patrons," Mister Clements informed her.

"Was?" Diana questioned with a confused glance at Bruce only to notice his face growing pale.

"My parents were murdered twenty-years ago," Bruce revealed, the muscles of his jaw tensing.

"My deepest apologies, Mister Wayne," Diana softly expressed her sorrow, her eyes glistening with sudden, unshed tears that took Bruce completely by surprise. "I'm very sorry for your loss. I can only imagine how difficult it must have been for you."

"Thank you," he murmured, stunned by her reaction. She was truly hurt by his loss and yet she didn't even know him, making him even more curious about this enigmatic woman that seemed so unlike any other he'd ever known or met.

She didn't try to comfort him with clichés or platitudes meant to bring comfort that he had no hope of ever fully grasping hold of. There was nothing that could ever happen that would take away the pain or ease the bitter anger that dwelt inside of him. She'd simply expressed her sympathy for his loss, her compassion taking him off guard.

"Well, I'm going to leave you two to get acquainted," Mister Clements interjected, spotting another patron that he needed to greet.

Recovering some of his faculties, Bruce managed to get some control of himself once more. "Can I interest you in a drink, Diana?" he asked.

"That would be lovely, Mister Wayne," she agreed.

"Please, call me Bruce," he told her.

Bruce offered her his arm with a charming smile, Diana slipping her arm around his and allowing him to escort her. He could hardly take his eyes off her as they approached the bar, the hundreds of museum guests fading away into nothingness as they made small talk.

Miss Diana Prince had made a significant impression on him, leaving a mark that would never fade. He found himself wanting to know everything about her—where she came from her, her childhood, her favorite color and what song put a smile on her face, what movie made her cry and what food she couldn't get enough of. There was nothing that he didn't want to know, and he was more than determined to find out one way or another.