Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You were furious. Beyond furious if there was a word for that. You could feel the crescents of your finger nails pressing painfully into your palm.

“What do you mean you had to give away our table?!” you seethed at the smug looking waiter.

“An important guest, has arrived and requested a table. Naturally we are the accommodating sort and strive to meet the consumers needed,” he responded eye running across a list that rested on the podium.

“Just not our needs?” you question folding your arms.

His dark eyes flickered over your form, and with a roll of his eyes, you could tell that he had all but dismissed you. That made you angrier. You and your friends weren’t rich in any sense of the word, and your clothes perhaps weren’t made of the same fine materials as some of their more frequent clientele but you had reserved this spot six months in advanced, you even had to put down a deposit in order to get this table held for you.

“It’s okay, we can go somewhere else to eat,” a soft voice stated.

You look over your shoulder to see your friend Camille with a soft smile resting on her face. She rubbed a hand over her heavily pregnant belly. You met her green eyes, and felt the fire spark. This was meant to be a going away present for her as she went on her maternity leave. You and several of your other co-workers had thrown a small office party for her, but this was supposed to be the real present. Since she announced her pregnancy you all had taken up a collection to take her to the nicest restaurant in Gotham. While you had been able to raise a substantial amount of money, that anywhere else would have fed the whole office floor, however it was nowhere near enough for more than two people to go and experience a full course meal at this restaurant. Being that the two of you were closest, it was decided that you would be the one to take her.

“Go sit down Cam, I’ll deal with this,” you state. You watch as she shakes her head with a smile, but waddles slightly to one of the chairs in the waiting area. You turn back to the maître d’, “I want to speak you your manager.”

“I manage the establishment ma’am,” he states with a smug smile.

“The owner then!”

“The owner?” he questions with a raised eyebrow.

“YES! Give me the number and I’ll call right now!”

“I’m not sure why your making such a big deal about this, we can reschedule your reservation.”

“Reschedule!” You screech. This shifts the entire atmosphere of the restaurant. Patrons who were only mildly paying attention to your spat, were fully giving you their attention now. Who was this commoner making all that noise?

“You see that woman,” you start pointing a finger at Camille. She awkwardly tucked a strand of her dyed blonde hair behind her ear before waving at the man. “She’s full on almost ready to launch pregnant, and this” you pause pointing to the restaurant, “was a gift before whatever little critter she pops out gets here and you are fucking it up!”

“No need for such coarse language,” he remarks smiling amusedly. You feel your eyes buck in anger.

“Listen You-,”you start pointing your finger in his face. You feel a hand rest on your shoulder and you swatted away, “Not now Camille.”

“I didn’t do it” she calls sweetly from the chair that she hadn’t bothered to stand up from.

You see that the maître d’s eyes have gone slightly wide and his smug mouth had twisted slightly. You turn around and see a tall man with dark hair and blue eyes looking at you slightly amusedly. One of his long arms is wrapped around a thin but well-proportioned brunette whose looking at you clearly perturbed.

“What seems to be the problem, miss?” He questions and despite the entertained smile on his face you feel like he’s genuinely asking. However, that doesn’t do enough to assuage your anger.

“This asshole gave away our table,” You start hand on your hips and brows furrowing, “We saved for six months to come to this place and we get treated like shit because we aren’t important enough.”

The man looks at you sympathetically and he makes a motion toward the host. You hear the pompous waiter awkwardly cough.

“We could put two table’s together if you’d like, sir.”

“Why don’t you come have dinner with us, and I’ll pay for your trouble,” he offers with a pearl white smile.

“That sounds wonderful!” Camille pipes up from her chair.

Your raise an eyebrow at her eagerness and look between the man, Camille and his date who hadn’t said a word but is staring off into space looking utterly disgusted. You feel your eyebrow raise skeptically, did you really want to spend your time with some stranger? He may be nice looking but that doesn’t mean he isn’t a total douche like the waiter.

Out of the corner of your eye you seem Camille’s expressive green eyes peering at you hopefully. You aren’t sure why she’s excited, her husband was handsome enough, so staring at this guy all night didn’t seem like any real treat. However, this being her night, you relent.

“Fine,” you say crossing your arms over chest.

The squeal of excitement that comes from Cam startles you and you look at her strangely only to see her slap her hands over her mouth.

“Follow me,” the man’s deep voice chuckles out as he and his date sweep glamorously in front of you.

You wait until Camille is in front of you, excitedly shuffling behind the couple. As you pass the waiter you stop, a flash entering your mind.

“Hey,” you say pointing your finger at the headwaiters chest, “I expect my deposit to be back in my account in three to five days, pal, or I’ll be back.”

Chapter Text

You were a master of the shifty eyes and there was no question about that. And being a master, you were able to take the scene in more objectively now. Past the vestibule of the restaurant, where you had been stuck for the previous half an hour, you could see the appeal of the restaurant. The high modern windows, chandeliers, and the tinted lights that reflected off of the white curtains and table cloths and the glass floor, giving the place a slight golden hue. You imagined the idea was that people who came here would literally be eating in the lap of luxury.

The décor wasn’t the only luxurious thing about the restaurant. The people were something else. Diamonds and furs were everywhere, and if there weren’t so many eyes on your table you probably would have gaped even more. You looked at the red wine in the glass in front of you and frowned. You didn’t think anything else could go into your stomach right now. The anger you had conjured up had left your stomach twisting and your sensitive nose was picking up the various perfumes around the restaurant was not making it any easier.

“You know what you want?” Cam’s soft voice called breaking you out of your thoughts.

“Uh, Prime Rib I guess,” you say off handedly. She hums softly.

“What about you, Mr. Wayne?” She questions looking over at the man across from you.

Right. He and his date, Liza, were here. You probably should have asked if you could have separate tables, it would have been rude to ask now. To be honest the thing that was bothering you most wasn’t his presence, it was how awkward you felt about your blow up. It wasn’t often you blew up, but when you did you were always able to retreat to a place where you could calm down in peace. Being here meant you had to stew in the mess you caused.

“I’m not sure,” he started kindly, “Did you have something in mind Camille?”

You and the brunette snorted. Both of you were very irritated for different reasons. You felt bad for the poor thing. Her honey eyes looked wondered over the patrons of the restaurant and her full lips were pulled down. This probably wasn’t the date she imagined she would be having with her rich boyfriend.

“I was thinking maybe pasta, but I’m not sure,” she said with an airy sigh. “What about you, Liza?”

“A salad,” the woman said curtly.

“Right.”

There was an awkward pause. You peaked up from your wine glass and met blue eyes and you felt a burn come to your cheeks.

“So, what do you do?” You ask.

Dark eyebrows rose in surprise, and your two female compatriots looked at you startled, and for the first time, Liza looked you in the eye.

“This is Bruce Wayne,” she said pointing a long-manicured finger at the man.

“Ok?” you question, “I’m sure he can tell me what he does.”

He chuckled.

“He’s a Wayne, [Your Name]” Camille stated shaking her head, looking slightly embarrassed.

“Can you tell me what that means? These two can’t seem to answer the question” You say sighing in frustration.

“You’re not from Gotham, are you?” He questions, taking a sip from his glass.

“Not at all.”

“I own Wayne Enterprises, and we have holdings in…various fields.”

“See,” you say looking at the women, “a concise answer.”

“What about you?” he asks with a smile.

“Cam and I are accountants.”

“[Your Name] is the best on our floor,” Camille pipes ups. “Always gets her quarterly reports in first.”

“Boring,” Liza chimes knocking back her flute of champagne.

“Can be,” you say not at all offended, “but it plays the bills.”

“Where did you live before this?” Bruce asks conversationally.

“Look, buddy,” you say shaking your head slightly. “Thanks for the table and everything but I don’t want you to know anything else about me right now.”

The two women choke on air, and he raises an eyebrow.

“Why not? It’s just friendly conversation.”

“Yeah, well you know how that can go,” you say. “In this city, you tell someone that you like the color blue and they somehow find your apartment and place a dead blue jay on your door mat.”

There was a pause.

“That’s happened to me twice,” Liza adds, “Canaries though. I like yellow.”

“Well,” Cam interjects, “Let’s go ahead and order.”

Chapter Text

You felt Camille rest her head on your shoulder as you helped her waddle out of the restaurant.

“You’re the best,” she murmurs quietly.

“I know” you state with a smirk and you feel her chuckle.

You look up and down the street before you spot a yellow car parked not too far away.

“There is our cab,” you say walking.

“I can’t believe you called a cab, are you refusing to live in the 21st century?” She chuckles.

“You honestly trust Uber in this town?”

“You have a point.”

You open the cab door and let Camille slide in first.

“Excuse me?”

Your head turns to look the ever so important Bruce Wayne. Hands in the pockets of his suit, he offers you a kind smile. Your heart flutters slightly. Nice smiles were a bit of a weakness.

“What do you need?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to grab a cup of coffee?”

Cam gasps and you raise an eyebrow.

“Weren’t you just on a date?” You question watching as he rubs the back of your neck a little bashfully.

“You’re a bit of a sleazeball aren’t you?” You say crossing your arms.

“I prefer to think of it as the two of us not being particularly compatible,” he says with a shrug. “Besides, it was our first date.”

“And last I assume? She didn’t seem particularly happy about your generous nature.”

“Didn’t seem like it. So, coffee?”

“Pssssttt, Pssssstttt” Cam tries to call you discreetly.

You lean down into the cab.

“What do you want?”

“Fuck him!”

“W-what?” you snort out.

“Fuck him, have fun. I mean he seems like a nice guy.” She peaks around you to look at Bruce who seems thoroughly amused and seems like he obviously heard your usually quiet friend’s lewd comments.

“You know you could be sending me into the arms of a potential stalker?” you say with a smirk.

“Eh, if its him you’ll like it.”

“You are a twisted woman.”

“Husband tells me that too.”

You smile at each other before you step back and close the cab door.

“Be safe!” She calls before the cab starts to pull away.

“So that’s a yes?”

You turn and look at him and take in his form. He’s big and muscular, but in a way that doesn’t feel like he’s been roided up. And as appealing as you find him, he could be trouble if it turns out he’s a loon. You bite your lip and palm the bottom of your purse, feeling for your full can of pepper spray. You’ve gone through two in the last three months. As much as you loved your job and your friends, you weren’t used to the unending surprises that the Gotham streets provided. However, you also really wanted to get a drink with this guy.

“All right, moneyman, show me what you’ve got.”

~~~

“Uncomfortable slummin’ it?” you ask as you sip the hot tea in your large ceramic cup. He looks like he’s going to refute but the fact that he hasn’t stopped twitching since he sat down and your raised eyebrow tipped him of that you knew it.

“Just uncomfortable in new places,” he says truthfully. “I don’t like not knowing how to get out in case of an emergency.”
“I get it,” you say with a nod of your head, “I’m paranoid too.”
He chuckles.
“This your fault though,” you say with a smile. “You ask me to coffee and you didn’t even know where to go. Are you sure you’ve lived in Gotham your whole life?”

“Aside from the time I lived abroad,” he says stirring the straw of his iced coffee. “Though I am ashamed that you know more about this part of the city than I do.”

“It’s the paranoia. I’ve never actually been in here, but I pass this shop on the way to the office every day. I take note of every building, just in case it’s a late night and someone is following.”

“Did something happen?” He questions. You notice that his eyebrows furrow with concern and his blue eyes become a little more alert. A part of you likes the concern.

“No, just like to know all my exit strategies, you know?”

It goes silent for a moment, but it’s not awkward. You like the silence. You look around the coffee shop. The clock on one of the walls read 11 when you walked in and that was almost about twenty minutes ago. You look at the people still the shop, tired college students, artists, and kids trying to shake of a high from a party. You and Bruce must have looked odd. Bruce being at least a good 10-15 years older than the usual demographic and the both of you dressed a little more than causally.

“Kids?” You ask.

“One permeant the rest rotate.” He says with a slight upturn of his lips, not quite large enough to be a smile. “Sometimes I’m dad the rest of the time I’m just Bruce.”

“Got it. They adopted?”

“You’re good.” He says taking the last sip of his coffee.

“My mom, took in foster kids, so I get it.” You look at the tea in your cup. “Are you one of those cheating rich guys? Looking for a thrill because things at home are boring even though your wife is doing her best?”

“Not at all. Never been married.”

You lean back in your chair and examine the handsome man. It would be nice to spend time with someone who wasn’t from work. Cam will be off the table soon. You aren’t the needy type of friend, the type to get jealous of her family of her life. Bruce Wayne might be a fun distraction, at least for a little while.

“All right. I’m ready to go.”

“Ok, I’ll take you home.”
“Slowdown, cowboy. First,” you pull your phone from your purse, “I’ll take your number. If I call you’ll have mine.”

“Fair enough.” He said standing up. He offered a hand and you shook your head.

“No dice, dude. I think your nice and you’re probably not a creep but I don’t know you. I’m gonna wait here for a cab, kay?”

He examined you, not seemingly put off by your denial but more worriedly.

“Will you be safe?”

“Don’t worry about me, nut shots are my specialty.”

Chapter Text

Your accounting firm was in a large building situated nicely in downtown Gotham. Its location made for a beautiful view of the Gotham skyline as well as a dangerous journey home for anyone who didn’t watch their surroundings at night. Your bosses were pretty lenient as well. You supposed they fancied themselves the ‘modern’ sort. They opted for a set up without cubicles and instead built office floors with standing desks and the occasional bean bag chair, and kept the kitchen stocked with an abundance of free-trade artisan coffee.

As you leaned carefully on of the thick glassed window-walls that allowed you to see the skyline, you flicked through your phone. Taking a sip of the cardboard cupped latte in your hand, you opened your Instagram app. Camille had been officially on maternity leave for two days, and while from the pictures she posted showed that she couldn’t have been happier, you were slightly miserable. It wouldn’t be right to say you were completely lonely, you’d gotten used to being alone and dealing with the reality of the alienated city life, but it was her that you missed. More accurately what you missed was quietly giggling to each other while the two of you people watched, mostly in a judgmental fashion. It was all in good fun for the most part through, most of the people that worked on your floor you liked. You may not have been the most social person, but you appreciated the fact that many here would have been willing to listen if you had told them your problem.

You feel your lips pull down in a pout as another picture of Camille and her husband pops up on screen, this time his large hand placed lovingly on her rounded belly while she kissed his cheek and slyly peeked at the camera.

“All right, this is sickening,” you say as you hastily put your phone to sleep and slip it into the pocket of your blue blazer.

You turn your gaze out to the window again as you sip your coffee. Your eyes scan over the tall skyscrapers and then something out of the ordinary clicks in your mind. A familiarity works its way to the front of your brain while the word weaves itself deftly to the back.

‘smack’

It was involuntary really, the contact that your free palm made with your forehead, but well deserved.

“Oh, I’m an idiot.”
***

Majority of the time Bruce Wayne would say that he tried his best to run his company, well as well as he could, given his double life. He remembered the names of his secretaries for the most part, but he supposed that was from doing thorough background checks on the people whom worked so close to his office rather than actually caring anything about them personally. The people whose names that he couldn’t quiet remember he would greet with a charming smile and enough attention throughout the year that many of his employees thought that working for Bruce Wayne “wasn’t so bad.” He even did his best to keep his eyes open during board meetings, he didn’t succeed most of the time but he always gave an effort.

However, there was one thing that he could care less about, paperwork. Hold up in lavish office, with a stack of files that needed his signature or documents that needed proper reviewing, he could not begin to give one iota of a fuck about what they said. In fact, for the past ten minutes he’d been hypnotized by the bouncing screensaver on his computer, something that he found vastly more appealing than the work he had to do.

So, it was a relief when he felt the vibration of his cellphone on his thigh. He pulled the phone from his pocket and felt his brow furrow at the unknown number, however he answered it anyway.

“Hello?”

“So, you’re a pretty big deal, aren’t you?”

His eyes widened at the voice before he let and easy smile slide its way across his lips. When he left the coffee shop the other night he hadn’t been expecting a call, and was happy that he hadn’t given his number out in vain.

“Oh, what makes you say that?”

“Your big stupid name plastered on the tallest skyscraper in the middle of downtown Gotham.”

“Oh, so you noticed that, did you?” he said as he leaned back in his computer chair, paperwork forgotten. “If it makes it better, I didn’t design the building this way. My dad did.”

“So, then your dad was the egomaniac.”

“Precisely.”

“Hmm, and you willingly admit this?”

“I’m not one to hide things about my family.”

“What about yourself?”

“That’s a completely different story.”

“I Imagine, maybe I can work out some of the things you’d like to hide about yourself over dinner.”

He stood up and left his desk, slightly startled by the forwardness of the suggestion.

“Why not?”

“Good you can pick me up from work, I get off at 6.”

“You aren’t going to tell me where to pick you up from?”

“Use that brain of yours. I told you what I do and you know that I can see you or your building at least, it shouldn’t be that hard.”

The smirk was so present in tone that the only way that it could have been more real would have been if he could see it in person.

“Let’s see then.”

Bruce walked over to one of the large paned windows that opened to give him a more than lovely view of the city. While there were many accounting firms that dotted the city, there were few that garnered an unobstructed view of Wayne Enterprises. He caught the glimpse of a building that laid off to the right. A tall dark building decorated with gargoyles on its ledges. Ledges that he had often used to het a vantage point on the city. He also recognized it from a time when his father took him their when he was younger. Wayne Enterprises had its own accountants but Thomas Wayne had taught him the need to interact with the establishment, if only so you don’t piss them off.

“You don’t seem like the type of person who’d work out at Wessler and Burns,” He said with a hint of playfulness in his voice. “To many suits.”

“You’re right. I went in for an interview and I left with a restraining order. They call for new blood but when that blood has a cleavage the old farts can’t seem to keep their eyes to themselves. No offense, I know you’re not too far behind in the age range.”

“I’m wondering if I should be offended. The youngest person with any value there is sixty.”

“What are you? Fifty-Five?”

“I’m definitely wondering if we should be going on this date.”

“Don’t worry Bruce, I’m sure your old bones to can keep up with this young’un.”

“The question is can you keep up with me?”

“Who knows, I’ve been out of practice for a while.”

“Don’t worry I haven’t.”

“You old dog,” she said with chuckle in her voice, “Have you figured it out yet?”

“I think so,” he stated as his eyes caught a glimpse at relatively new building that faced his own.

“Good, because my break is over and flirting with an old man doesn’t pay the bills.”

“I imagine it doesn’t”

“Bye Bruce.”

“Goodby-“

The phone hung up.
***
Carlisle and Preston accounting was a young firm for the city, having been there for about two years. It had sprung up on the west coast about ten years ago, and with an unusual swiftness for an accounting firm, opened multiple branches up and down the coast. This branch was the first on the east coast, and had likely brought Bruce Wayne’s date with it to the city. He’d found their unusual productivity strange, but there was nothing obvious or seemingly hidden that could be attributed to the success of the firm. Research had only turned up, that the CEOs Michael Carlisle and Jonathan Preston, regularly showed up at firms across the country and interacted as much as they could with their clients on a personal level. A relaxed working environment dedicated to the needs of the needs of workers in the 21st century made the seemingly boring profession more ‘sexy.’

He leaned against his car, parked in front of the entrance of the building, hoping to catch a glimpse of the form that captured his interest.

“So, you actually found it with your old man eyes.”

The snarky familiar voice caught his attention as he saw the woman that he had been waiting for. He looked to his right and saw her approach, seemingly coming from a side exit rather than the front entrance.

“Well, my building is the tallest in the city so even I can see something.”

She smiled and then he noticed that her eyes flicked over his outfit.

“I hope we aren’t going anywhere too fancy I am slightly underdressed.”

He looked at her, blue blazer with a white blouse and jeans to match. If he took her to any of his usual establishments she would stick out like a sore thumb, they’d think he took her out as a charity case.

“True,” he said thinking about their situation.

“There’s not an Olive Garden in Gotham, is there?”

“What is that?”

She stared at him blankly, eyebrow raised lips quirked down at the ends.

“You may be too rich for me.”

“That has never been a problem for me.”

“I imagine,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Listen, for now coffee will be our thing. And over said coffee we will eat small pastries and half-cooked microwaved breakfast sandwiches while I extol you the value of cheap carb loaded cardboard tasting Italian food and the like.”

“Sounds thrilling.”

“Trust me, when I’m done with you you’ll be addicted to breadsticks the same way most of middle America is.”

“That doesn’t seem factu-”

“Shhh, don’t question it,” She said as she made her way to the passenger side of his car. “Just let it happen.”

Chapter Text

Bruce Wayne’s hands were large, but not in a scary way. He has slight scars on them but for the most part they were as well maintained as could be expected of a billionaire. You watched as his hand dwarfed the cardboard coffee cup as he brought it up to his mouth. You took a sip of your own drink as you watched him carefully from the corner of your eye. If he turned out to be a crazy, those large hands of his could be around your neck in an instant.

“I’m surprised you didn’t want to sit in the shop like last time,” he remarks.

“It was a totally different vibe from the other place,” you say looking out the scenery. “Total assholes in there.”

“How could you tell?”

“Bright but agitating lighting, small uncomfortable hard chairs, clinical white walls with a hint of red, all signs that they want you to come in and buy their shit but not actually sit down and enjoy it.”

“You’re perceptive.”

“No, I’m paranoid and a more than a little self-conscious, so over the years I’ve picked up on clues that show when I’m not wanted.”

“Does this mean you’re comfortable with me then? You did agree to come to a park at night with a guy you have personally described as a sleaze-ball.”

It was true. After you noticed the atmosphere at the coffee shop you wanted to still spend time with Bruce. There were a few signs outside the store the pointed to the location of a park, when he suggested that the two of you walk their you took him up on his offer, despite the fact you were sure that if he wanted he could crush you if he wanted too. So now the two of you are watching the sun set, on a small dirty bench, in a slightly secluded park.

“Sure, let’s go with that.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have been offended if you said no.”

You looked at his blue eyes and found sincerity in them. Your eyes flick across the entirety of his face and you notice the gentle curve of his smile and you feel a rush of hot blood not only make it way to your cheeks but your nose as well. You could feel a slight sheen a sweat formed from the heavy blush and you brought your coffee back to your lips to disguise your embarrassment.
You really hoped he wasn’t crazy, he was so nice to look at.

“You ok?” He asks concerned at your silence.

“Y-yeah just wanted to finish it before it got cold,” you say as you slightly shake your cup.
He looks at you with a slightly raised eyebrow, but he lets it go as he finishes his own.

“So,” he starts, “Carlisle and Preston, how did that happen?”

“Oh, I’ve worked for them for a while now, about five years.”

“You like it?”

“Yeah,” you say with a shrug. “They’re cool guys, I mean as cool as CEOs of an accounting firm can be.”

“Five years,” he muses, “They’ve only been here for two, so you must have come from the West Coast.”

“Pick up on that, did you?” You say with a raised eyebrow. “Hope we didn’t step on anyone toes.”

“Not mine,” he says with a shrug, “Those guys at Wessler and Burns, though, they tend to hold a grudge.”

“Oh, I know, when I threatened them during that interview they tried to turn the tables on me, told me that they would get their lawyers to pursue me.”

“What exactly did you say?”

“Like I told you on the phone, threatened for the restraining order and I may have probably implied that they could possibly look like pedophiles.”

He stared at you blankly for a moment.

“That would get the lawyers to come out,” he started. “But if you have a job, why did you go to the interview.”

You looked at him for a moment, lips puckering at the idea of telling him the truth. It wasn’t a large secret, but you also weren’t sure it was completely legal. You didn’t want Bruce to think less of you.

“I was spying,” you say after mulling it over.

“Spying?” he questions with a furrowed brow. “For your job?”

You huff and instinctively lean in closer to the man, as if you were guarding some sort of top secret.

“We’ve had a lot of success, you know?” you start. “I’ve been with these guys for a while, for half of the firm’s life. We’re successful because we aren’t the squares you envision when you think accountant.”

“I’ve heard that,” he remarks has he listened to you intently.

“Each floor takes care of its own like a little family. That dinner I took Camille to? We all chipped in so we could send her off in style. The benefits are great, and for those of us who came from California or Washington or Oregon, the set up for these buildings was so similar to what we were used to, we were happy to come and help the guys expand out here. We felt like it was our duty to help our family grow.”

“What happened?”

“About two months back, employees started leaving.”

“To work at other firms?”

“That what I thought. But they just started not showing up to work. And it wasn’t just one or two we’ve lost about twenty. About two for every floor.”

Bruce sat back, hairs on the back of his neck standing slightly on end. There had been no chatter about twenty missing people.

“Strange, right?” you say looking in his eyes and taking in his reaction. “I asked Michael-“

“Michael Carlisle?”

“Yeah, he swings by sometimes. I asked him if he knew what was happening. He just said that we were being poached for talent. At first I believed him.”

“What changed that?”

“One of the people that went missing was a guy from the San Francisco branch, like me. His name was Spencer Weisman. We weren’t the closest, hell the only person I’ve gotten super close to is Camille, but he was nice. Back when we worked out in SF he used to give me rides to corporate events or home if it was late, and he was never creepy about it. He was just a good person.

“He got transferred at the same time I did and he worked on the same floor I did. He was one of the ones that went missing. So, I did some asking around and I found out that majority of those who were gone were from out west.”

“That’s strange especially considering what you told me about the family atmosphere. It doesn’t seem like the type of place where a person up and leave.”

You nod your head, glad that he followed your train of thought.

“So, I thought, if they really were getting poached, that you’d see them somewhere, out for coffee, dinner, at another firm.”

“You went to look for them.”

“Uh-huh, well at least look for Spencer so I could have any sort of truth, but I never found him or anyone.”

“Did anyone else know about this? About what you found out?”

“Just Camille. She thought I was being paranoid though, but she hasn’t been here as long as I have, you know? She just got here about a year and a half ago, she doesn’t get the ‘family’ aspect.”

He pauses for a minute and observes your face, almost as he’s making sure that you aren’t reading too much into something that could be coincidences. When he found whatever he was looking for he took his phone from his pocket. You saw him quickly type in something before he turned back to you.

“I hope that your friend pops up. I’m sure its nothing to worry about.”

“I hope so, too,” you say.

“It’s getting late,” he looks at you apologetically. “I can take you home now if you want.”

You look at him skeptically. While the two of you had missed the sunset and it was now dark outside, it wasn’t anything you’d considered close to late. However, you were in an area where you weren’t completely sure of your surroundings and you wouldn’t want to be caught outside too late.

“You can take me to the nearest train station.”

“Still don’t trust that I’m not out to hurt you.”

You look at him and shrug, “Maybe next time I’ll let you drop me off somewhere in my neighborhood.”
***
Bruce dropped you off at the train with a wink and a smile, he’d also promised to call you to set up your next date. After you got out of the car you waved to him as he drove away from the station.
You headed down into the tunnel, and paid your fair. As you waited on the platform you couldn’t help to feel a little nervous. You never liked the underground stations, the only escape route was either through the tunnels or back up some stairs, and neither were good for traversing in a panic.

“You okay, miss?”

You jumped at the sound of the voice and looked up to see one of the attendees looking at you worriedly, dark eyebrows furrowed with concern.

“Oh, yeah sorry just lost in my thoughts,” you say with a small smile.

“Oh ok, just making sure,” he said shoulders relaxing, “you looked lost.”

“This isn’t my normal station, so I was just a little confused.”

“Understandable,” he said with a nod. “All right, have a good evening ma’am.”

You watched as he walked away further down that platform before he turned the corner, like heading back to his booth.

Ten minutes passed and then the train arrived with gust of wind that was simultaneously refreshing and revolting. It relieved some of the hot air that was trapped in the station but the smell made you want to gag.

The 10-minute train ride turned into a 45-minute odyssey. It was just your luck that a sewer main burst as soon as the train passed its first stop.

You took a deep breath and relished in the fresh air as you came up top side from the station. Slipping your phone from your pocket to check the time, you see that it ‘9:00 p.m.’

You grip your phone tightly, before slipping it back into your pocket. Sliding your hands carefully over your pockets, make sure that all of your belongings are in places that are easily accessible, specifically your keys and your pepper spray. Satisfied you leave the safety of the station and begin to make your journey home.

“Stoooppp!!!! SOME ONE HELP ME!!! LET GOOO!”

The screams of a woman made your heart stop. You could hear ringing in your ears and your stomach started to tighten up in fear. You run a hand down your back-right pocket feeling for the can of pepper spray. Arming yourself, you swallow thickly before you make your way to the voice.

It’s an alley, dark, wet, and heavily graffitied. The lamppost at the entrance of the alley lights enough where you can see that its filled with trash, mainly old newspapers and empty food containers.

Approaching slowly, you see the woman who screaming and the heavy visage of her attacker. Her small hands tried to beat him a way, but it was no use. The man had a large, seemingly gloved hand across her mouth stopping her from screaming the way she was before. He had her pinned against the wall at the end of alley. A large leg pressing his body on hers trapping her while he tried to pry the purse away from the struggling woman.

“H-hey!” you say readying your spray, but he doesn’t stop. You don’t blame him. You wonder if he even heard you. You had meant to get his attention but the words seemed not to travel too far from your own mouth.

“I SAID ‘HEY’ ASSHOLE!”, you say this time, louder and more clearly. It had the desired effect as he turned his attention away from the woman. He seemed startled and whipped his head around seemingly spooked. However, once he saw your slightly trembling form her relaxed.

“OH!” he starts, “I thought you was one of those bat bitches.”

“What does that even mean?” you question with a shake of your head. “Anyway, let that woman go.”

He stops and looks at you genuinely confused about why you thought you had any ability to make him stop. Without the pressure of the man’s body on hers the woman falls to the ground and catches her breath. She looks at you worriedly, but you can’t offer any strong words or a glance that would say the both of you would get out of this encounter unharmed.

“What exactly are you gonna do, lady?” He says as he stalks toward you. You steel yourself. The panic that you had before is still there. Your body feels lighter than it was before and you knew that if you took off running right now, there would be no way in hell that he would be able to catch you.

“I-,” you start, but don’t finish. A gust of air zooms past you catching you off guard and making you snap your eyes shut. When you open them, the threatening man was on the ground, with a small boy in a fighting stance standing over him.

“Heathen,” the small boy spits out before relaxing. You watch as he flips the man’s body over and cuffs him.

He looks at the woman down the at the end of the alley, whose looking at him with wide almost adoring eyes. He turns his attention to you. He walks up to you rather authoritatively and you feel slightly intimidated. He’s wearing a green mask, with a red and black outfit that has a large R on the chest as an insignia and a yellow and black cape. He puts his hands on his hips before he speaks.

“Your friend is likely going to go into shock, call the authorities and have them send an ambulance.”

You don’t say anything as you stare blankly at the boy. You can feel the blood rushing to your head and you feel slightly dizzy. The adrenaline that made you brave earlier is gone and you can feel the rush of anxiety feeling you as you realize what you had just done, how much danger that you’d put yourself in. You felt light headed and suddenly your knees hit the ground, but before you could fall over completely and hit your head the boy caught you and mad sure that you spilled over gently instead of just falling over.

“Or you can do that.”

Chapter Text

When your mind focuses again you can see the red and blue glare of police lights. Looking around you realize that you are sat in the back of an ambulance with a large blanket around your shoulders. Watching, you notice an officer back in the alleyway taking pictures of the crime scene. Your movement catches the attention of the EMT who standing next to the ambulance, writing notes down on her metal clip board.

“Hey honey,” she says with a smile. “You ok?”

You nod your head as she approaches the doors of the vehicle and places her clipboard down next to you.

“Do you remember what happened?” she asks as she proceeds to wave a finger in your face, prompting you to follow the finger with your eyes.

“A woman was getting robbed,” you start.

She nods her head and then quickly rubs her hands through your hair looking for a contusion. Once she’s satisfied she pulls back to smile at you.

“You seem to be ok. No injuries just a bit of shock. What you are going to want to do is hurry and give your statement to officer Sanchez so he can take you home. Then get a good night rest ok? In the morning, you should probably call a therapist, you don’t want this to cause you any trauma, ok?”

You nod looking at her with somewhat wide doe like eyes, “Is the woman, ok?”

“She sure is,” she said taking up her clipboard and writing down her assessment. “She says you saved her life.”

“There was a little boy in a weird costume, he saved us.”

“Red?”

“Yeah”

“It was probably Robin then, him and Batman do that. You new here, honey?”

“Relatively.”

“You’ll probably here more about them now that you are aware. Don’t worry too much, they’re good guys.”

“Ok, I guess.”

“How she doing?” a voice from behind the woman called. The officer who was taking the pictures of the back wall, Officer Sanchez, had approached.

“She’s okay she’ll just need a ride home, after you question her.”

“Understood,” he turns his attention to you. “Ma’am my name is Officer Sanchez and if you can tell me what happened tonight that would be great.”

After giving him your name and repeating the story, the officer nodded and seemed content with the information. He loaded you into the back of his car and five minutes later you were in front of your apartment building.

“Call me if you need anything, ma’am,” he stated as he gave you his card.

Once inside of your apartment you found yourself laying in a bit of a daze on your couch. Letting the exhaustion of the night hit you, you fell asleep.

***
It was the vibration of your cell phone that woke you.

“Hello?” you answer not looking at the name, there’s only one person who would call at six in the morning.

“Babies are jerks,” Camille states, her lips smacking indicating that she was eating.

“Your kid isn’t even here yet and your already mad?”

“I want them out, every time I go to the bathroom I wonder, if they’re just going to slide out of my vagina like in ‘Oops I forgot I was Pregnant’.”

“That show is trash.”

“But sooo good! One lady gave birth in a port-o-potty.”

“Again, trash. Why are you up so early?”

“It’s six thirty shouldn’t you be getting ready for work?”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“The baby won’t stop kicking and Eric is asleep. I figured having some yogurt would calm them down, but now I’ve been up since four.”

“Oh God,” you say sitting up rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, “You need to rest, rest so when the baby is ready to come you’ll be strong.”

“I know,” she says pouting. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, the office is so boring.”

“Really? Haven’t you been doing more investigations?”

“No, and I’m not sure I’m going to look anymore. I go to all these firms and I see no one who looks like our guys. Its liked they vanished.”

“Spooky.”

“Yeah,” you say standing and walking to the kitchen to grab yourself a bowl of cereal. “Plus, there was a robbery last night.”

“Did you get robbed?! Are you Ok?!” She panics.

“I’m fine,” you say watching the colorful pieces fall into the bowl. “I wasn’t the one who got robbed, I just stepped in.”

“What a hero,” she responds somewhat annoyed. “But you could have gotten hurt, or worse.”

“I know, bu-“ you stop mid- sentence. “Hey, why didn’t you tell me about the little guy running around saving damsels in distress?”

“Little guy?”

“Yeah little, all red outfit, no older than ten, only reaches up to my waist.”

“Who Robin? Did you get saved by Batman?!” She asks animatedly.

“No just the little one.”

“I think he’s new, a couple of years ago there was definitely a Robin that was older, used a staff or something. One of the girls at my old job got held hostage in a bank robbery and they saved her.”

“So,” you start as you pour the milk into the bowl and walk back to your couch. “You guys just have guys running around beating people? Do they have superpowers, like the guy in Metropolis?”

“Nah, I don’t think the Robins do, Batman though he might.”
“And he helps people?”

“Yeah for the most part,” she says nonchalantly. “I mean I’ve never heard of him trying to hurt someone that wasn’t a bad guy, but I have heard that he’s scary to see, even if you’re the one who’s in trouble.”

“How does he know when people are in trouble?”

“Sometimes, if you look, there’s like a light in the shape of a bat that comes from the GCPD building. Other times though I think he’s just, I don’t know, there. Like ever present ass kicking all black Santa, minus the presents.”

“GCPD?” You question as you put the bowl down and reach in your pocket to finger the card that Officer Sanchez gave you last night.

“Yeah, I think they got in trouble when they first put it up a few years ago, but everyone is used to it now.”

“I see.”

“Yeah, hey you aren’t going to work, are you? You should at least take the day off, call a therapist.”

“I’m going to call in, but I’m not sure about the therapy. I feel fine.”

“For now,” she warns.

“I know, I know,” you say shoving spoonful of the sugary breakfast in your mouth. “If I can’t handle it I’ll go.”

“Alright, just make good choices, ok?”

“I will, you go back to sleep.”

“I will. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“Bye.”

The phone hung up.

***

“Master Damian, he-”

“I know Pennyworth I’m going,” the young voice of a green-eyed boy stated annoyed.

He didn’t understand why he was getting in trouble, he saved people.

Down in the bat cave he nearly rolled his eyes when he saw not only his father, but the tell-tale outline of a tall form leaning over the chair his father was sitting in.

“Grayson,” he greets begrudgingly.

“Damian,” Dick Grayson returns with a smirk. “Interesting night last night?”

“Interesting and fulfilling,” he says with his chest poked out.

“I thought we were over the sneaking out, Damian” His father starts, but he doesn’t move his eyes from the screen.

“I was restless, you know I don’t like being trapped in this house. Besides I saved two women last night. If I didn’t go out they could have been dead or worse.”

“I don’t think anyone is saying that you couldn’t have gone, Damian.” Dick says trying to make sure that things don’t get heated. “You Just have to let someone know, I could have gone with you since I was here.”

Damian looks between the two before he begrudgingly let out a, “Sorry, I guess.”

Bruce grunts and Dick rolls his eyes with a smile. Damian shifts his eyes to the Bat computer and examines the items that are up on the screen.

“Twenty people?” he questions. “I haven’t heard about any missing person’s cases.”

“I know,” Bruce says hitting a few keys. “Someone is keeping the disappearances a secret.”

Bruce opens a document and two images of the CEO’s of Carlisle and Preston.

“It’s like they just sprung up overnight,” Dick comments as he crosses his arms across his chest. “Any reported instances of abuse or suspicious activity?”

“None, and neither of the two have any criminal history. I’m running a background search on the Board of Directors now.”

“All of the people were from outside of Gotham, here for two years or less, no family ties, no one who’d notice or miss them.”
“Human trafficking?” Damian proposes.

“Could be, but there is no specific type. Young and old, all genders, all ethnicities.”

“So, unlikely then,” Dick adds. “Could they have just changed jobs? Moved on from the company?”

Bruce shakes his head, “From what I know the targets were unlikely to be poached, and even if they were they wouldn’t leave without informing someone.”

“How do you know that?” Dick questions.

“A source,” Bruce states flatly.

Dick stares at Bruce thoughtfully furrowing his dark eyebrows as the man continued to type. “It’s a woman.”

Bruce doesn’t pause at the statement, but he also doesn’t respond.

“It’s the one you left Liza for, isn’t it?”

Again, no answer.

Damian blinks at his father, “If it’s the same woman, doesn’t your file on her state that she has an admitted case of paranoia?”

“You went through her file?”

“Why are you keeping a file on the woman your dating?” Dick asks as he rubs the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

“Should we really be taking the word of someone who may be making the whole thing up?” Damian questions.

“That too,” Dick adds.

“She’s not lying,” Bruce says flatly. “Aside from her word, the retention rate for the company is high. In the past five years only three people have quit.”

“So maybe there is some truth to what she said.”

Bruce opens his mouth to respond, but the vibration against his thigh catches his attention. Slipping the phone out of his pocket, his eyebrow raises at the coincidence.

“Hello?”

“Hey, moneybags, do you have time to take me on an actual date today?”

“Right now?” Bruce questions looking at his watch which showed that it just turned noon.

“Around 1 if that’s okay?” Her voice, was a little off. “If that’s too much then it’s okay. I know we just saw each other last night.”

“Is something wrong?” Bruce questions astutely.

“Uh, no, maybe, I just need to get out of the house.”

“All right, you know this means that you’ll have to give me your address, right?”

“I know, I thought about that before I called you. I’ll text it to you.”

“All right, I’ll come as soon as I can.”

“Just don’t upstage me with your outfit, okay? Its embarrassing.”

“I’ll try my best,” he said with a chuckle. The call ended in empty silence, something Bruce was getting used too.

“I’ll be right over?” the teasing voice of his eldest son mused. Bruce looked at the boy was smirking at him with a raised eyebrow and an amused playful smirk.

“She sounded distressed,” Bruce reasoned.

“Uh huh sure, I’ll just pretend that your face didn’t light up when you saw her name of the phone.”

Bruce didn’t respond and instead pushed back from the desk, standing up to go change his outfit to something more appropriate.

“Father, make sure that you gather more information while you’re there. This isn’t just a date for frivolities sake.”

Bruce peaked over his shoulder to look at the young boy who was calling out to him. As his blue eyes met the boys green he couldn’t help but feell conflicted about the intense nature of them. The boy was so serious, so focused, and mission driven that it was hard not to feel proud of all of the things that Bruce knew he would accomplish if he kept on the right path. However, he had hoped his first biological child that he had would have been at least able to experience the childhood that he experienced when his parents were alive.
“I’ll keep an eye out.”

Chapter Text

Thumping at your front door caused you to jump from your place in front of the mirror. You twisted your head around to make sure that not a hair was out of place. You felt the you looked better than you usually do. You’d been more careful applying your makeup then you usually were when going to work. Your white blouse and black jeans blended well with the red cinched-waist leather jacket and fit your figure quite nicely.

Walking out of the bathroom and quickly shuffling to open the door you were greeted by smiling blue eyes.

“Hello,” Bruce greets with a heart stopping smile.

You wave in response awkwardly.

“It’s weird that you’re here right now,” you say not looking at him in his eyes. “The only person who has ever come here is Camille.”

“Well, at least your expanding your circle of friends,” he says trying to lighten the mood.

You nod and close the door behind you and follow him down stairs to his car.

“Where did you want to go?” he questions.

“Well, today we at least look like we belong in the same tax bracket,” you say eyeing the black shirts and slacks he had chosen to wear. “So, I suppose anywhere is fine. Like I said on the phone, I just needed to get out of the house.”

“Something happen?”

“Just got a little shaken up on the way home,” you say lightly tapping the button for the windows up and down to keep your hands busy. “Normally when something like this happens I-”

“You’d call Camille.”

“Right,” you say with a smile. “But pulling her away from relaxing and forcing her to traipse around town with me until I felt better, doesn’t seem like the sort of thing that you put a pregnant woman through.”

“Oh, so I’m being used,” he responds playfully, not taking his eyes off the road.

“Most definitely, I don’t usually spend my time with old men for no reason, after all.”

You watch the traffic fly by as he turns onto the freeway, not many people on the rode during the middle of the work week at just after one, so when a motorcycle catches your eye, you find it strange how it seems to be following you.

“Something wrong?” he questions.

“No I just thought I saw something,” you state rather absently. Your eyes widen slightly when you notice the severe change in scenery. “Where are you taking me?”

“What?” he questions but there is a playfulness in his voice. “You said we matched today so I figured that meant that you wouldn’t mind going to places my friends and I usually eat.”

“Only if they aren’t judgmental assholes like the ones at the restaurant,” you say through slightly pursed lips.

“Unfortunately, most of them are like that.”

“Then this should be miserable.”

Despite your rather morbid idea about where he planned on taking you it turned out to be a rather nice Bistro that was optimally situated in the pleasanter part of Gotham, but most of the patrons to seemed to be rather normal.

When you were shown in you opted to sit outside and enjoy the day. As you were sitting waiting for your order you noticed something.

“Hey Bruce,” you start voice slightly nervous.

“What’s wrong?” He questions as a he places the glass he’d been drinking out of down.

“I just, I may be imagining things, but that bike was on the freeway behind us,” you say pointing at that the bike that was parked slightly down that block.

He turns to look at the vehicle and you notice he visibly tenses but when he turns back to look at you he looks more annoyed than fearful.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” he says trying to brush it off, hoping that you would let it go.

You bite your lips worriedly, looking at the bike once again before grabbing at a piece of bread the waiter left for you. Tearing off a piece, you throw it in your mouth in an effort to bring your attention somewhere else.

“You’re right,” you say after a short pause. “I’m just paranoid, really, thinking about what happened to my co-workers. Can I tell you something Bruce?”

“Anything,” he says but his tone is slightly absent and you notice that his eyes are wandering slightly.

“Are you all right?” you ask.

“I’m fine just thought I saw something strange.”

You observe him with a raised eyebrow. If you were normal you probably would have ignored the slightly flighty behavior or maybe not have picked up on it at all but you were you, and him being odd made your feel uncomfortable.

“I’m going to go to the restroom,” you say pushing back from the table.

His brow furrows and his blue eyes dim with worry as he watches you hurriedly stand, but he just nods and lets you go.

*** 

When her shoulders disappear into the main dining room of the restaurant Bruce let’s out an irritated sigh.

He pulls his phone from his pocket and see an alert of a text from Dick.

‘Damian stole my bike.’

Bruce rubs the bridge of his nose in irritation and then focuses on the roof of the building that was obscured by his date. He raises his hand and waves it, summoning the boy that he knows is watching.

His gaze narrows as a black speck starts to move after a long pause. He closes his eyes and shakes his head when he hears the footsteps come closer.

When he opens his eyes, he meets the defiant green orbs of his son.

“What on Earth are you doing?”

The boy raised a skeptical eyebrow at his father, “Double checking your intel, I needed to make sure that your judgment wasn’t clouded by your increasing infatuation with the subject.”

“You stole Dick’s bike, to follow me.”

“Its excellent for stealth purposes.”

Bruce stares at the young boy blankly, feeling irritation creep up his spine, “And if you’d gotten hurt, or a police officer just happened to see that you were kind of small to be riding the bike?”

“I would have dealt with it when the time came.”

“Just sit down,” Bruce said through gritted teeth.

Damian rolled his eyes and sat next to his father and waited as Bruce waived over a waiter so they could add another place setting to the table.

*** 

You were hiding behind one of the awnings that led back to the patio where you and Bruce had been seated, squinting your eyes at the new arrival to your table.

“Excuse me miss,” an amused voiced called from behind you.

You turned and saw a redheaded waitress with what appeared to be a child’s menu and glass of water in her hand.

“Nervous?” She asked slyly.

“A little,” you say eyes flashing momentarily over to the table.

“I’m sure it will go well,” she said with a pleasant smile. “I’m sure he wouldn’t let you meet his kid if he thought you were too weird.”

With a wink, she made her way to the table placing the menu and water in front of the child, whom you assumed was his. However, this didn’t seem to please the small person as he glared and raised his voice, something about how being treated as a juvenile was beneath his stature. You could see the woman plaster a fake smile on her face as Bruce seemingly apologizes. She takes the menu away from the table and swiftly makes her way back into the main dining room.

“Good luck,” she mutters as she passes you on the way back.

“Thanks,” you mumble back but you are sure that she doesn’t hear it.

You swallow down your nervousness and make your way back to the table.

“Hello,” you greet with an awkward flit of your hand.

“Greetings,” the small boy states as he stares at you with piercing green eyes. Your own flicker from his to his father, whose gazing at you with an apologetic furrow to his brow.

“This is Damian, my youngest.”

“A pleasure,” you say with a smile as you offer your name, but its awkward and you know so from the twitching of your cheeks.

The small boys raises a brow at your strange expression before replying, “The pleasure is mine.”

“The sitter had some urgent business to attend to and dropped him off,” Bruce offered.

Your brow furrowed at the lie, you’d seen the boy hop the patio fence, and had not heard the telltale sound of an engine pulling away. Your eyes flicker to meet the boys but found that his were averted, as if hoping that the lie would be told, accepted, and you all could move past this point.

“I understand,” you say, “It’s not a problem.”

A relieved smile spreads across the handsome face of your date and you feel yourself internally swoon at the sight.

“Here we are,” a familiar voice sounds announcing the arrival of the red headed waitress.

She placed the black full sized menu in front of the small boy and turns to leave to give you all more time to decide on your order.

“No need to leave it I already know what I want,” he states sharply as he pushes the menu away. “I’d like the half-size of the prosciutto sandwich, with everything on it.”

The poor waitress, Marianne you correct eyes falling on her name tag, tenses in irritation.

“But that was on the-,” the statement dies on her lips, mostly out of exasperation.

‘The children’s menu.’ You think to yourself.

“Very well,” she says lightness filling her tone as she slides back into her professional gait, “For you ma’am.”

You and Bruce place your order and the table falls into silence when she walks away.

You awkwardly fiddle with the cloth napkin on your lap and lean back in your chair slightly, playing with the uneven legs on the piece of furniture.

“You’re a little aggressive, aren’t you?” you question the child and breaking the silence.

“What?” he questions with a raised eyebrow.

“That woman,” you say nervousness slipping away as you take a sip from the glass of water in front of you. “She works hard and she seems nice to me, but you ran her around the restaurant like she belonged to you.”

“She works here doesn’t she?” He crosses his small, but you note, strangely muscular arms, across his chest in a childish pout, “She gets paid because we tell her what to do.”

Your eyes flash to Bruce who is rubbing the bridge of his nose in slight embarrassment. The indigent nature of the child wasn’t something new to you, in fact it reminded you of your younger self in some ways.

“She may get paid because of our business, but she’s still a person and common decency is something we all deserve,” you say warmly. “And a great way to make sure that your waitress doesn’t spit in your food.”

“She wouldn’t dare,” Damian says leaning forward slightly narrowing his eyes in suspicion as he tried to peak into the dining room to spot Marianne.

“Wouldn’t she?” you questioned voice light and teasing. “Think of it from her point of view. ‘An entitled brat humiliates me a little spit ought to knock him down a peg.’ She’d probably think it’d be harmless.”

“Or she could poison me.”

“She could, if I were you I’d apologize when she gets back, might save you a trip to the hospital,” you say with a shrug of your shoulders.

Damian eyes you skeptically before cutting his eyes over at his father whose large hand is covering his mouth to hide his smile. The older man nods his head in agreement with your assessment.

“Very well,” he says as he turns to see the woman approaching with three plates carefully balanced on her arms.

“Here we are,” she says with a practiced smile as she places the dishes down carefully, “Enjoy.”

“Marianne, please hold,” Damian says holding up a hand stopping the waitress in her place awkwardly. She cuts her eyes to look at you and Bruce questioningly, you offer her an apologetic smile and she returns her attention to the young boy.

He laces his fingers together in a pensive position, “I would like to apologize for my behavior earlier and if you were offended by my actions. Today has been, let’s say, interesting, and I should have not spoken to you the way that I did.”

All of you are stunned by the seemingly sincere apology.

“It’s no problem,” Marianne says after recovering. “We all have stressful days.”

She smiles as she walks off.

Damian looks at the two of you with a questioning glance, “What?”

“N-nothing,” Bruce ways with a slight chuckle as he begins to pick up his fork. “Just slightly un-expected.”

“Why?” Damian asks as he casts a wary glance at the sandwich in front of him. He lifts the top piece of bread to make sure there is nothing out of the ordinary with any of the condiment. “Surely you didn’t expect mother to have raised a heathen?”

Your eyes snap to the small boy’s face when the word falls past his lips, the word and tone of his voice reminiscent of the small boy who’d beat up your attacker. Your head tilts as you watch the boy interact with his father. Your perceptive personality suddenly deciding to rear its head as you noticed the similarity in height and hair color between the two. Of course, it would have been better if you could have gotten a better look at the pre-teen who saved you as the dark and mask obscured most of his features.

‘If they were the same person, wouldn’t that make Bruce-‘

“Are you alright?” Bruce asks large warm hand sliding over your own. “I’ve been calling you.”

“Oh sorry,” you say with wide eyes watching the two males in front of you with newfound curiosity. “I just zoned out for a minute, I got lost in my thoughts.”

“Anything in particular?”

“Batman.”

Chapter Text

Bruce was a wall you determined. His eyes didn’t change nor did his body tense at your statement. However, your suspicions were heightened by the flash in the eyes of the little boy. He tried to be as much of a stone as his father was, but something about him hinted to you that he did not nearly as much control that his father did.

“Oh?” Bruce says with a raised eyebrow. “Any reason in particular?”

Awkwardly you motion to a large graffiti bat on the face of a building behind the two males, you’d only just noticed, and that most people wouldn’t have paid attention to. The each take a glance and if you hand less keen senses you wouldn’t have noticed the tension from the young boy’s shoulders.

“And here I thought you took me to the nicer part of town,” you say taking a drink of water.

“Well, Gotham is still Gotham after all. The only thing different about this area is how quickly that will be covered up,” He says in response.

“That is refreshingly observant, for a rich old man.”

Damian snorts as he scarfs down his food.

***
“Oh, here is fine,” you say watching as the car stop at a stop light near the police station.

“Are you sure?” the driver asks with a raised eyebrow. “I can get you closer, it’s not an issue.”

“It’s fine,” you say unbuckling your seatbelt. “I’m going to run in from here.”

He stares at you for a moment but then unlocks the door and drives off after you hop out. In truth, you knew it was dangerous to get out in to middle of the street, but the only place he would have found to park to let you out safely was around the corner in the alley, and that was not a chance that you were willing to take.

As your foot hits sidewalk, you check your watch and huff as you check the time. It was 5:45 and hopefully you would be able to finish your business here before the sun had set. You probably should have taken Bruce up on his offer to drive you home after you finished lunch. In truth, you hadn’t wanted to end the date so early, but the stern green eyes of his son seemed to stare you down any time the conversation got remotely comfortable. To make matters worse, it felt strange to flirt in front of Damian, you know if you were a kid that you wouldn’t have wanted to see a parent like that.

Pulling open the heavy GCPD door building you bite your lip as your senses are immediately over loaded with the sound of bustling feet and screams, both from prisoners and police officers. Pulling your jacket closer to your body you start to walk in.

At the desk, there is a woman with her hair brushed back into a tight bun, fitted nicely under her police cap. She notices your approach and smiles at you with tired brown eyes.

“How can I help you?”

“Hi, uh, yes,” you mumble as you reach into the back pocket of your jeans. She waits patiently as you got to pull the card out but must cover her mouth with her hand to hide her laughter when your wallet and phone come flying out of your pocket as well.

“Sorry,” you mumble throat tight with embarrassment and a flush flaring up on your cheeks. After putting your possessions in their rightful place, you place the card on her desk. “I’m looking for him.”

Sliding the card from the desk she places on black reading glasses to read the small print,

“Officer Rick Martinez, hmm, he’s right over there.” She points to a man sitting at one of the smaller desks closer to the back.

“Is it okay, if I just go back there?”

“You plannin’ on causin’ trouble?”

“No,”

“It’s fine with me,” she finishes and her head is back down, as she hurriedly tries to fill in the paperwork on her own desk.

You walk through the sea of desks past the officers who either pay you a fleeting glance or ignore you all together.

“Officer Martinez?” you ask trying to get his attention once you reach his desk.

The officer startles a little but recognition quick replaces his surprise when he sees you.

“Oh, hello ma’am,” he starts offering you a seat in in front of his desk. “Is there something you needed to tell me about last night?”

“A-acutally no, I’m not here about last night,” you start, “I wanted to know if I could file some missing person’s reports.”

“Some?” He questions, sliding open the cabinet part of his desk, “How many?”

“Twenty.”

***

Barbara almost felt her eyes rollout of her head as her father, Jim Gordon rubbed at his temples trying to sooth a migraine.

“You need to relax, dad. This stress is going to kill you.”

The gray-haired man smiled at his daughter and took a sip from the bottle of water in front of him before setting it back down.

“Stress is part of the job, Barb.”

“Yes, but I don’t want you to work yourself into an early grave,” Barbara said as she rolled her chair to the side of her father’s desk and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

‘God knows you aren’t the only one I need to be telling this to’ She thought to herself with a smile.

Jim opened his mouth to respond but was stopped when the door opened and officer Martinez walked in with a worried glance and a stack of papers.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Martinez said sheepishly nodding at the red head and her father. “But I got this case that I think you might want to look at.”

“Let’s see what you have here,” Gordon says with a sigh motioning for the young officer to place the files on his desk.

Hurriedly Martinez rushes into the office and places the paper work onto the desk and takes a seat in front of his superior’s desk.

“So, there is this woman last night who got robbed, we think she got saved by the bat or someone because by the time we get there, robbers all tied up waiting for us.”

The amazement in his tones causes Barbara to smirk a little but it falls quickly as one of her eyes glances at the papers being pushed toward her father.

‘Missing Persons?’

“I give her my card and then she comes down today to file all these reports about missing people. I’m not sure what to do, she’s still out there filling them out.”

“There are more?” Barbara muses out loud.

The two males slide their gazes over to her and she smiles sheepishly.

“At least ten more, ma’am.”

Gordon flips through the papers, “The same firm?”

“So far.”

“Why haven’t we heard about this before?”

“I don’t know, everyone she’s written down has been out-of-towners so far.”

With her interest sparked Barbara discreetly pulls a sheet of paper off the desk and examines the sheet.

‘Carlisle and Preston, huh?’

She snaps a quick photo and places it back on the desk.

“All these people,” Gordon sighs. “Does she look…all there to you? She’s not a UFO or Lizard person conspiracy theorist, is she?”

Martinez shrugs, “She’s a little fidgety but she seems all there.”

A knock on the door brings the three out of their conversation and a woman pokes her head in. Her eyes glance at all the occupants of the room and Barbara has to hold back a laugh as she awkwardly shuffles in and too loudly closes the door.

“Um, I finished all of them, Officer Martinez.”

Jim examines the woman that entered his office with a raised eyebrow. He tried to catch her eye but every time they made contact she would almost desperately look away from him.

“Thank you, miss.” Martinez says retrieving the rest of the files from her. “We’ll look into it and call you if we find out anything about your friends.”

“Oh, they aren-,” she starts but lets the sentence hang in the air. “That would be great thanks.”

The door closes and Barbara’s gaze follows that woman as she watches her leave the precinct.

“I think this might be a bit over our paygrade,” Gordon mumbles as the new papers are placed in front of him. “But, this all looks legitimate.”

“It’s why I didn’t send her away, sir.” Martinez says with a shrug.

“Hey Dad,” Barbra starts, “I’m going to head home.”

“Oh,” Jim says looking at his daughter with a tired smile. “Be Careful on your way home and don’t be a stranger.”

Barbra tosses a hand over her shoulder as she rolls out of his office. Once she’s out in front of the precinct she opens her phone to make a call.

“Hey, Tim. Do you guys know anything about some missing persons?”

***
“You should have let me take the Bike home, some could’ve stolen it by now,” Damian comments looking out the window watching the scenery pass by on the way back to the Manor.

“Why would I do that?” Bruce asks, irritation filling his tone. “Knowing you there no guarantee that you would come home.”

“Knowing me we’d have a more complete profile of our suspect,” Damian bites back arms crossed angrily across his chest.

Bruce quickly cuts his eyes to glance at his son anger before finding them back on the road in front of them, “You cannot be serious.”

“And you can’t be more oblivious.  How many times have our enemies masqueraded as an innocent, her bringing this case to you could be a ploy to get close to use and break us from the inside.”

Bruce doesn’t respond, because he knows his youngest son is right, there should be no logical reason for him to even consider letting his guard down a woman that he barely knew. Even if he did like the way that the skin crinkled around her eyes when she smiles, or the way the way that a small smirk would form on her lips when she was teasing.

“And you noticed it too, didn’t you?” His son questioned as he pulled the car into the driveway of Wayne Manor. “The way she was watching us when she said Batman. She was looking for a reaction, and that's not something someone who was innocent would be looking for.”

“No, I suppose it’s not,” Bruce said solemnly as he parked the car. “But even if that is the case, people are still missing and she is the only link that we have to them.”

“That doesn’t mean that you must let your feelings guide your actions, mother wouldn’t.”

Bruce cut his eyes to his son who was still staring indignantly out of the window and bit his tongue to stop himself from saying something hurtful.

“Let’s go inside.”

Chapter Text

Being greeted by the visage of his middle son was not something Bruce had expected to see so soon.

“Tim?” He questioned seeing the young man sitting in the computer chair typing away.

“Hey,” the boy says casually not moving from the screen in front of him. “How was your date?”

“Short,” Bruce replied slightly perturbed at the thought of his youngest son’s interruption.

“She seems nice,” Tim says absently.

“Looking through the file?”

“That, and Barbara told me she met a woman who was filled out an exorbitant amount of missing persons’ cases and when I came down here to find out what you knew, I put two and two together.”

Bruce looked at the files being moved on screen, “So you're down here to catalog.”

“More or less, I also wanted to tease you about your date, but this is more important right now.”

“Good,” Bruce says turning to leave the cave, “Tell me if you found any other similarities than the ones we’ve found.”

“Will do, but more than likely you’re going to have to snoop around for them. Aside from the info that she’s given there is almost nothing about these people that stand out.”

“Understood.”

***
“I’m not crazy, right? That’s weird, right?” You question into your cell phone as you spin around in your chair.

“Don’t know,” Camille sighs. “I’ve never been on a date where someone’s kid ninja flips over the guardrails.”

“It wasn’t the flipping,” you say planting your feet on the ground, feeling your head spin. “I mean, the flipping I can deal with, I was a weird kid too. It’s the ‘your kid suddenly being on a date with us thing’ I just wasn’t prepared for it.”

“I imagine you weren’t.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means it takes you twenty minutes to use the bathroom in the office building because you are in the stall wiping down the seat six times on both sides because you saw a documentary one time about how you can get crabs from a toilet seat.”

“...It’s a valid concern.”

“I’m not saying it’s not valid, sweetie. I’m just saying that most people would just put down an extra layer of seat covering, not bleach the entire room.”

You remain silent as she sighs and figures out a better way to say what she wants to say to you.

“It is weird that you met his kid so soon and I imagine it would have been awkward too, but you would have to meet the kids eventually, right? Dating a parent is a package deal after all.”

“I suppose,” you mumble.

“And are you serious about giving this guy a chance?”

“I...,” you pause and think for a moment. You hadn’t told her about your suspicions about the Bruce and Damian, you’d figured it would be rather rude to tell people about his identity without his permission, but that also meant that she wasn’t operating with the full amount of knowledge that you were and what the implications of getting serious about Bruce Wayne could mean.

“Oh, hold on,” she says during your silence. “There is someone at the door.”

You can her hear the slight tap of the phone being placed on the table and her heavier-than-normal footsteps pad to the door, but the phone is out of the way and you can’t hear what is being said other than the opening and shutting of the door.

“Hello?” she questions as she picks the phone up.

“Still here.”

“Weirdest thing, hun,” she starts with a hum. “UPS man dropped off a package, but I haven’t ordered anything recently.”

“What is it?” you question leaning back in your chair and let your eyes drift to the office wall clock. Your lips pull down into a frown as you see the time. It was almost three o’clock and you needed to print out the quarterly reviews for your floor before four.

“It looks like, a radio,” Camille states shaking the metal object slightly. She puts it down and uses her free hand to turn the dials on the small rectangular device. Her face lights up slightly when the radio hums to life and the first sounds she hears are the familiar yet foreign sounds of doo-wop tones flowing out of the radio. “It’s got good sound for being so small.”

“Maybe it is a gift?” You say shifting the phone to rest between your shoulder and ear as you bring the reports that you need and hit print. “Listen, I needed to head to the copy room and you know there is no service down there.”

“Yeah, okay,” she says absently smoothing over the metallic finish of the small radio. “Call me after work so we can finish having this talk.”

“I will,” you say standing and stretching

“Actually, you know what? Eric is out of town why don’t you come over?”

“I don’t know,” you say looking out of one of wide paned windows of your office building.

“Call a cab when you are done and I’ll pay for it okay?”

“All right,” you say with a smile.

“See you then, love.”

The click of the phone brought you back to the reality of your office. Dull office chatter filled your ears, offering a comfortable amount of white noise to the room. There were occasionally the extended lulls in conversation that offered up an awkward silence but that usually didn’t last long.

Tapping your fingers anxiously at your desk you wait, until the message all your papers are finished printing to finally stand up and make your way down to the copy room.

“Anyone need me to pick up some printouts?” You ask politely.

A few of your co-workers ignore you, too busy filling out their own reports or the sound is muted in their ears by head phones. Others shake their heads’.

A platinum blonde woman, about your age with wide rimmed glasses, shoots her pen up with a smile and calls out, “Me!” weakly.

“Got it, Ana,” you say with a smile, and turn to exit through the elevators when no one else speaks up.

The ride down to the fifth floor was short and sweet and luckily the floor itself seemed to be empty, which meant the you were lucky enough not to have to make awkward small talk with the usual assistants that occupied the space.

Heading in, you make your way to the printer assigned to your floor, only to find someone already standing there looking over some of the papers that seemed to have come out of the machine.

The man wore a well pressed burgundy suit with a mustard yellow shirt underneath accompanied with a black tie and matching dress shoes. He turns to look at you and his narrow brown eyes widen slightly at your presence, probably startled because you hadn’t bothered to announce yourself.

“I know you,” he says snapping his fingers in an attempt to jog his memory, but he can’t quite place your name. “You came with us from San Francisco, right?”

“That’s right, Mr. Preston,” you say voice slightly small at the recognition and the unexpected meeting with your boss.

“One of the loyal ones, huh?” he questions bringing a brown hand up to grab the handkerchief from his breast pocket to wipe sweat from his brow. “I hope, you're setting a good example, we’ve lost so many since we moved here.”

You don’t respond right away to his claims and you watch as he goes to dab again at the sweat on his brow and then at the beads of sweat at his neckline. His closely shaved head, seemed never to stop sweating.

‘Does that mean people are actually leaving the company?’ you think to yourself.

“Are you well, sir?” you question eyes moving to meet his own and finding large purple bags underneath them. It was so strange, despite his current appearance, the man you’d first met had been practically glowing. His already bronzed skin had been kissed beautifully by the ever-present California sun, that added with the fact that he was the younger of the two partners had made this transformation slightly starling.

“Haven’t been sleeping well,” He replies honestly. You believe it, but the pales ness of his brown skin tells you something more than sleepless nights is plaguing him. “But according to these reports I should sleep better, your floor seems to be doing excellent.”

He raises the stack of paper he was reading in his free hand and dabs himself again with the other.

“Thank you, Sir,” you say reaching out to take the stack from him.

He lets the papers go and he meets your eyes for a few seconds when your fingers accidentally brush against each other. His stare seems shivers down your spine as you notice how blank his eyes are, like he’s looking through you.

He rocks back on his heels and lets out a huff and strained smiled, “Well then, have a good rest of your day.”

You don’t get to respond as he pushes past your quickly, but his speed seems to be impaired by a slight limp in his left leg. You finally let out a breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding and wipe the fingers he touched on the sides of your pants.

The shuffling of paper lets you know that the machine has started up again, and that it is most likely Ana’s documents spooling out of the printer.

‘So, strange,’ you think to yourself.

***
It’s nine ‘o' clock when the cab pulls up in front of your office building. You jump when the yellow cab honks at you but you quickly slide in and give the driver Camille's address.

‘On my Way,’ you text, ‘Sorry it’s late, today was review day and you know how that goes.’

You wait for a response casually looking at the screen for the telltale dots to appear on your phone, but they never do. The only thing that changes is a read receipt that tells you that she had at least looked at the message.

‘Maybe she’s upset I’m so late.’

You lean back and watch the city pass in silence. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched the lights pass by, excited to have a sleepover with your friend.

A half hour passes and in you are in an older more suburban part of Gotham, filled with two story town houses and the occasional Victorian. The cab stops in front of a white house that you recognize as the property that Camille had stated was left to Eric by his grandmother.

“$34.20.” the driver says slightly frustrated, he’d been trying to get your attention while you stared out the window.

Checking your phone and still not seeing a response you quickly pull out three twenties from your wallet and hand the money to the many through the partition and wait for your change.

Once you are out of the car and the door closes behind you, the cab speeds off, leaving a small skid mark on the street.

You look up with wide eyes at the building in front of you and fill your heart thud, with nervousness.

‘Why are there no lights on?’ you think worriedly to yourself.

Reaching into your bag you pull your house keys and a can of pepper spray. You quickly tuck the can into your front pocket and thread the keys through your fingers, giving you a makeshift version of brass knuckles.

Walking upstairs to the building you knock gently and are slightly relieved when the door doesn’t swing back already open. However, the pounding of your heart skips into overdrive when you reach for the doorknob and spot scrapes in the wooden door frame. To your horror, the knob turns, unlocked, when you grab it.

Bile jumps to the back of your throat when you push the door open. The darkened room seemed normal enough as you stumbled in and searched for the light switch. Running your hands up against the wall you feel the familiar bumps of a light switch and flick on the appliance.

The light turns on giving way to yellow painted white trimmed walls of the two-story town house. Everything seems normal. There is a small brown couch setting unmoved on top of a burgundy rug and topped with a matching through. In front of it a small wooden candle adorned coffee table. Each piece of furniture aligning to face a gray-stoned fireplace.

Walking in your carefully watch the wooden floor, making sure there is no blood or weapon that you are disturbing.

“Cami?” you call hoping that she’d only forgotten to lock the door, but you knew better.

When no response comes, you walk further into the house and find yourself standing in between the living room, the combined kitchen and small dining room. Quickly peeking into the white tiled room, you let out a huff of relief when you don’t spot any blood soiling in the perfectly renovated kitchen.

Walking back over to the couch, a metallic shine catches your eye. A small radio sits in the middle of the coffee table. Picking up you feel the weight shift in your hand. There is a small red light indicating that the radio is indeed turned on, but as you turn each of the small front facing knobs nothing happens. No sound comes out.

A vibration on your left thigh causes you to take your attention away from the radio and you place your keys down on the table so you can look at your phone. Slipping it quickly from your back left pocket, you swallow quickly when you see that the message is from Camille.

“‘Don’t worry about it. Maybe we can reschedule, I’m going to bed early tonight. Call you in the morning?’” You read out loud feeling tears well up in your eyes. “Oh God!”

There is a thump from the front door that causes you to wipe your head up. You put your phone away and quickly arm yourself with your pepper spray.  Walking from the living room to the entrance hall, your shoulders drop their tension when see the door being whipped up by the wind. You close it and make your way back to the living room.

Fear isn’t something that you are unfamiliar with, it was par for the course with your everyday paranoia, but this was different. You don’t remember the last time that you felt so violently ill and yet starving at the same time, as you felt your stomach almost churn. Your arms feel light and heavy at the same time and your tongue seems to turn into sandpaper in your mouth.

In the living room, in the exact same place where you had stood not a minute before, stood a man or a creature in a brown jacket. He had what looked like black armor underneath. On his head, he wore a blood read mask and when he turned his head to examine you, you couldn't help but feel that you were stuck to the ground. What's more, was that as your eyes scanned his form, noting that he was significantly more muscular than the robber you’d encountered previously meaning that there was even a slimmer chance of you escaping the situation unscathed, there was the black shine of a gun barrel that swayed to and fro with every movement of his arm.

“I-I,” you start hand shaking as you try to raise your arm to ready your pepper spray, only to have your eyes fall upon the mask of the intruder and realize that your defense would be useless.

The man doesn’t say anything and instead opts to press a gloved finger over where his mouth should be. You watch as he picks up the radio and he brings it to where his ear should be and listen carefully. He shakes his head in frustration and the violently uses his hands to crush the radio.

He lets the remnants fall to the ground and he cocks his head as if he’s analyzing something. He searches through the pieces until he finds what he wants. Despite his roughness, a small motherboard like object remains intact and from your point of view you can see the rhythmic beating of a red light against his black gloved palm.

“A tracker,” he mutters voice slightly distorted through his mask.

“A tracking device?” you question feeling your eyebrows furrow as the man slips the small device into his pocket.

“Your friend is gone,” the man says as he lulls his head in your direction before exploring the immediate area around the living room. “No one is in this house, I’ve already been upstairs.”

You aren’t sure if he says it to reassure you but the fact that he had been inside the entire time you’d been has you feeling light headed with distress.

“Someone took her?” You question softly. It's a lazy question, a dumb question but it's the only thing that your lips can form to say as your mind processes the fact that the man, for the moment, doesn’t seem to mean you any harm.

“It doesn’t look like they hurt her, at least too bad,” he says ignoring you. “There’s no blood around here. Which means they are at least trying to keep her alive. She’s not dead yet, so be happy about that.”

You feel your back hit the wall as your mind parses out his words. Everything that he’s saying makes total sense, but your mind can’t seem to move on from the words blood and dead. What kind of monster would kidnap Camille?

“I-I should call the police,” you mumble to yourself pulling your phone from your pocket.

“Why so they can come ruin the crime scene? You call them in here and it’ll be like having a bull in the China shop.”

Your fingers pause, over the dial button and you glance back at the man. If he’s not here to hurt you, then is he one of the Robins that Camille talked about? That would explain the strange outfit.

“Are you like Batman?” you test.

He doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t turn back to you, but you don’t miss the way that his neck crooks slightly to the left in irritation when you say the name. You don’t miss how his fingers clench and unclench as if he’s trying to keep himself from losing his temper.

“Answer me!” you say loudly surprising yourself and causing the man to whip around and face you. “If you’re not, I don’t have a reason to assume that you aren’t working with whoever took Camille. So, are you like Batman or not?”

He sizes you up for a moment and if you could see him without the mask you know you’d see him furrow his brow.

“I’m better.”

Chapter Text

The police hadn’t arrived until almost midnight. In their defense, you hadn’t called about Camille’s kidnapping until about hour after you got there and enough time for the masked man to catalogue whatever he needed to in order to help find Camille. Still, the man had left at around a quarter to eleven and it shouldn’t have taken the police more than a half an hour to get here, with traffic. If this was the response this city had, it was no wonder that they needed vigilantes to do the cops work for them.

Pulling the blanket tighter against your frame you stared out into the night air and looking at what should have been a beautiful night. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the stars sparkled like jewels. This place suited Camille, a city girl who still liked to enjoy the stars. Now you can’t help but wonder if she’ll be able to enjoy the sight again.

You turned your head to look back through the sliding glass doors of the porch watching the police work to find all the clues that had been left.

‘I’m glad I didn’t call them when I wanted to,’ you note with an exhausted roll of your eyes.

It seems that the red man had been right. From what you could see, there was a bevy of mistakes already being made. Officers touching various objects at the crime scene, with no gloves on. Picking up and placing objects in their incorrect places. The entire thing was irritating to watch, but you wanted to wait until they were done, in case they had more questions about Camille.

Turning your gaze to back to the view of the backyard you find yourself staring at an object. You can’t tell what it is, despite the lights from the inside, the inky black of night seemed to be wrapped around the figure. Taller than the hedges that surrounded it part of it seemed to sway in time with the leaves while the majority of it stood planted, rooted like a tree.

It only takes a second for your keen eyes to realize that the object is not an it but a whom as they decide to move toward you.

Your heart pounds slightly when their foot hits the first bit of light coming from inside of the house. Almost instantly the figure is completely illuminated and you understand instantly why Camille had been so fascinated when spoke about him. And seeing him now compared to the way he usually is when you meet him as Bruce Wayne is startling.

Stern blue eyes stare down at you examining your features as you rub at an itchy tear swollen eye. His lips pull down into a frown as his eyes flicker back to the living room watching as the officers repeatedly make routine mistake after mistake. He clenches his jaw in irritation that he hadn’t arrived before they did and the fact that Jason had deemed it fit enough to send him a taunting message about the crime but not to share the information. He also hadn’t mentioned that anyone, let alone you, were still here.

“They took Camille,” you say absently voice slightly hollow and hoarse from the crying you’d been doing while waiting for the police to arrive.

He doesn’t turn to look at you immediately and you can’t tell if he reacts. You’d noted earlier that Bruce was a stone and the cover of night seemed to do nothing but highlight this fact. The dark gray expanse of his suit heaved with him as he took a deep breath and let out an irritated huff through his nose. His cape flew back over his shoulders as he walked into the house.

You watch as majority of the officers in the room seem to be thankful for his presence. If not in some way reverent of him in general, more happy because it is one more crime they won’t have to worry about solving if he is the one in the case. The head officer seems to shoo away majority of the people, and like rats they scatter back out to their cars for a break.

He moves around the room in a practiced fashion, his step light for a man so large. Like the red masked man, he stops and cocks his head every so often, examining certain objects, almost like he is scanning them into his memory. What’s different is that he touches very little. Like he can see more than what’s there. A few touches to push something out of the way, but other than that he is almost completely hands off the situation.

He’s done examining the scene in about twenty minutes, but he doesn’t bother informing the officers that he’s done. He comes back outside to come and stand next to you. And from this position you’re left craning your neck up at him, admiring the jaw line that you’d found so handsome when the two of you first met.

You realize that this is a different person. From the way, cool blue eyes seemed to examine you as if you were an inanimate object.

“Who else was here?” his voice rumbles out. Stern and one note, you flush at the unfamiliarity with which he addresses you and how different he sounds from the Bruce Wayne you called for comfort the previous afternoon.

“There was a man with a red mask,” you say honestly and watch as he blinks absently at you. He clearly knew that already and wanted to know if you’d be truthful with him.

“Her husband?”

“She said something about him being out of town, so I’m not sure where Eric is.”

“You should have the officers take you home, it’s not safe.”

“Obviously,” you scoff wiping another fallen tear. “I don’t understand though, Camille isn’t like the others, she’s born and raised in Gotham.”

He watches as you with guarded eyes as your mind works through even the vaguest possibility why someone would kidnap a pregnant woman.

“And why would someone be tracking her?”

“What?” he asks.

“The red mask,” you say gesturing to your face as if he would have no idea what the mask is, when he is wearing a very elaborate one of his own. “When he broke the radio earlier he pulled something out of it, it was small.”

You make rectangular shape with your fingers showing him the approximate size of the object. Your eyes trace the portions of his face that aren’t covered by the mask and find his lips pulling down into and irritated frown and his eyes narrow in anger.

“Did I say something wrong?” You question swollen tired eyes blinking up at him slowly.

“No.”

You pause and let the silence settle, “Do you think they are going to hurt her?”

Batman stops and watches you for a moment. Being honest and hurting your feelings for no reason would gain him very little. Even behind the mask, he can’t bring himself to tell you that if he doesn’t find her soon she and he unborn child might be sold off and beyond even his reach.

Larger tears well up in your eyes at his silence and Bruce has to keep his hand from moving to place his hand on your shoulder in some form of comfort.

“I’ll try my best to find her,” the Bat responds.

You nod and stand to your full height, still having to look up at the man, but not nearly at the angle that you’d been forced to before. However, even then he still feels bigger in a way that you cannot describe.

You turn to fold the blanket that you’d been wearing and you hear the rustle of a cape. When you’re finished, you’re unsurprised to find the Batman gone and make your way to the front of the building to ask one of the officers to take you home.

***
You stare blankly at the phone in front of you as Eric’s name flashes on the screen. The vibration of the phone causes it to slide gently around the table.

He’d been calling for the past half-hour and you couldn’t bear to pick up the phone. You didn’t know what to say to him. The impersonal text you’d sent about his wife being taken was bound to warrant this response, and you still remained unprepared.

Hesitantly you slide your finger across the lock screen and hit the speaker button. The phone picks up with heavy breathing coming from the receiver.

“WHAT HAPPENED!” Eric screams.

“I don’t know,” you gasp out clutching the phone to your chest feeling a sob wrack its way through your body. “I talked to her yesterday afternoon and then when I got to your house she was gone.”

“But why,” he moans and you can hear the mucus filling his knows as he starts to break down, trying to comprehend that both his wife and child were gone.

“I think-,” you stop yourself, Eric was never your friend, he was her husband. Dropping your conspiracy theories in a time of grief on him might make him angrier. “Maybe it was a robbery gone wrong.”

“They didn’t find any blood, right?” He begs.

“No, they didn’t. They said she probably isn’t hurt.”

“I fucking hate that town,” he says anger suddenly spewing through his tone. “I should have stayed in Seattle.”

“What?”

“Everyday it’s something, you know? It’s not like most cities, Gotham is cursed. No place for a family. Look what they did,” he pauses as a whine forces its way out of his mouth, “They took my wife.”

“I’m sorry, Eric,” you say throat tightening, blinded by your own tears.

He pauses for a moment, enough to wipe the tears from his face, “You should go home, before someone takes you too.”

The beeping in your eye signifies that he’s hung up, leaving you to wallow in your sorrow alone.

Your eyes hit the late afternoon sky and you wonder how many days that your bosses will let you stay home.

***
“It’s not much to go one Bruce, you know he’s not easy to find if he doesn’t want to be,” Barbara mutters, her voice distorted by the speaker.

“Unfortunately, it's going to have to do for now,” he says as his large arms across his chest. “He has something that could crack this case wide open, and I’m not going to let his tantrum let lives be put in danger.”

A sigh rolls through the speaker as Barbara relents, “All right, it’s no problem I’ve got this.”

“Thank you, Barbara,” Bruce says with a smile as the call ends.

The large tired man leans back in his chair and rubs the Bridge of his nose to relieve some of his stress.

“Pardon me Master Bruce, but wouldn’t be easier to simply call him?” Alfred comments as he enters the room with a glass a water.

Bruce takes it with a smile and takes a large gulp, “So he can spend time trying to taunt me and waste everyone's time? No, he’s going to want a fight, it’s just going to be on my terms instead of his, this time.”

Alfred sighed and rocked himself back on his heels.

“Have you spoken to your lady friend?”

Bruce paused putting the glass down, “What about?”

“You said she knows, I’m surprised that you haven’t you gone out of your way to speak with her.”

“I don’t want to agitate the situation, Alfred. So far, she hasn’t said anything to anyone, and showing up could push her to reveal it. Plus, I’m not sure if I’m ready to answer any questions that she may have.”

Alfred pauses and shakes his head at the man that he’d raised, “An awfully cruel thing to do.”

“What?”

“Imagine your best friend was kidnapped and the one person whom you know could help refuses to speak to you, despite the fact that you have a personal connection to him.”

Bruce pauses and leans back letting the older man's words wash over him.

“Besides, I’m sure she would want to see Bruce Wayne, not Batman. Especially if her mental state is a fragile as you claim.”

Bruce pauses for a moment and mulls over the words. He certainty didn’t think that you’d have anything to do with the kidnappings now, especially after having watched you cry when you thought no one was looking. Perhaps Alfred was right, he usually is.

“Thank you, Alfred.”

“You’re Welcome, Master Wayne.”

***

It’d been a week since Camille had been taken, and you are going out of your mind. The city seemed bigger more dangerous. You’d been avoiding taking the train to and from work like you usually had and been paying the far more expensive fee of taking a yellow cab. However, it was worth it, it brought you some sense of comfort.

Some of your co-workers had stepped up to help you. They’d pick up some of the extra work that you’d either forget to do or choose not to do and it allowed you to leave a few minutes earlier and be home before the sun would be completely set, and you were more than grateful.

Luckily for them they wouldn’t have to put up with your slack for too much longer, you’d requested to take a leave of absence for your mental health and so that you could be ready at a moment's notice whenever Camille was found.

A warm hand on your shoulder caused you to jump and you look up in expressive hazel eyes of Ana who’s smiling at you worriedly.

“Why don’t you head home for the day? I’ll pick up your things from the copy room.”

Your eyes flashover to the clock and saw that it’d just turned five and you smile gratefully and stand to pack your things.

“I really appreciate this,” you say.

“We understand,” she says with a smile and nodding over to your fellow co-workers who nod at you. “We’ve all had to deal with strange things in Gotham, but you get used to it. When you’re born here its either to deal with, but I can’t imagine what's like for you.”

“Yeah,” you mumble. “I’ll see you later.”

“Bye.”

You hurriedly make your down to the lobby of the building and make your way to the waiting area so you can call your usual cabby.

However, when you get the lobby you find your breath caught in your chest and the cause of it turns to meet your gaze.

He stands and smiles at you, the same heart stopping smile that you’re used to and he straightens out his suit.

“Bruce, what are you doing here?”

Chapter Text

It was awkward riding in Bruce’s car. Aside from a rather platonic greeting he’d given you when he’d met you at the lobby, it been silence since you’d gotten in the car.  Peeking at the man from the corner of your eye, you see the same stern eyes you saw a week ago when you were at Camille’s house. It was strange to you how different they were from the slightly playful ones that he displayed whenever you usually met up.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” you offer hoping that it would make him relax in some faction.

He glances over at you quickly before returning his eyes to the road, “I know.”

“Oh.”

Its silent again for another moment.

“I don’t plan to tell anyone,” you add.

“I know.”

“Good.”

It’s one of the first awkward silences that you’ve had since you have been around the man, and you just aren’t sure what to say. You want to ask if he’s found out any information about Camille or any of your other missing co-workers, but mainly Camille. But is that off the table? You know his secret but does that mean it is okay to talk about it? Were you supposed to pretend that he was still just Bruce?

“I can hear you thinking,” He says with a chuckle.

“Sorry,” you shrug. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say.”

“Say what you want, ask what you want.”

“Are they made out of rubber?”

“What?” He asks turning to look at you with furrowed eyebrows.

“You know, the,” you put your fingers on top of your head mimicking the pointed ears of his mask. “The thingies.”

“No,” he blinks and returns his gaze to the road.

“Why doesn’t Damian get ear thingies?”

“He doesn’t need them.”

“That seems unfair,” you say leaning back lightly. “Do you have to take medication?”

“For what?”

“You know in case the arthritis kicks in and the old man joints lock up while you’re chasing bad guys.”

“…Not for that specific reason no.”

“Is the red mask guy with you?”

“He’s,” Bruce pauses to try and find the right way to phrase it. “One of my sons, and more than a little angry with me.”

“You must have messed up big time,” you say looking out the window as the car turned down into the familiar neighborhood.

“I did,” He says gripping the steering wheel.

“I’m sorry.”

“…Thank you.”

“Have,” you start, “Have you found anything about Camille or anyone?”

He doesn’t answer but he shakes his head and you feel your heart clench in despair.

“Do you think they’ll hurt her?”

“I can’t say,” he says with a sigh. “We haven’t found any victims, so I can’t say what the pattern of behavior is.”

“I see.”

He turns down the street and your apartment building comes into view.

“Do you hate me because I found out?”

It’s so innocently asked Bruce can feel is eyes buck in surprise. He parks across the street.

“You didn’t even call,” you say quietly, “It sounds selfish when I’m saying it out loud, but I really thought I was going to be alone in this.”

Bruce looks at you rather somberly and he notes how much smaller you seem compared to the first time he met you. He sometimes forgets that ordinary people aren’t used to dealing with such stressful situations and how much of a toll that it can take on them physically and mentally.

His eyes fall on your hands that are resting in your lap and reaches out and grabs one of them and holds it gently in his larger one. His mind quickly toys with the intimate implications of the gesture as he rubs small circles on the back of your hand. Your eyes cut to meet his rather abruptly and you stare at him curiously.

“I should have said something,” he offers. “Even if it wasn’t to talk about my other life, I should have checked on how you were feeling after your loss.”

“Don’t call it a loss,” you mutter. “Not yet. I don’t want to think about her being gone.”

“You don’t have to think of it like that. I’ll find her and the two of you can be together again and then everything will go back to normal.”

“As normal as it can be I suppose,” you say with a shrug. “Especially when the guy I’m dating runs around in a giant bat costume.”

“Yes, well there is that.”

“Why a bat? Why not ‘Moth Man’ or ‘Pterodactyl Guy’”

“Childhood Trauma,” he says.

“Oh yeah, we all have those.”

He catches your eyes looking warily at your building, “I’m not going to let you walk up alone, you know.”

“Okay,” you say with a smile.

After the both of you get out of the car and cross the street, you make the way up the stairs to your fifth-floor apartment. Bruce fallows closely behind and has to catch himself when you stop abruptly.

“I didn’t order anything,” you muse out loud.

When you move to stand directly in front of your welcome mat, he sees the small box laying gently in front of your door. Before he can caution against it, you reach down and take the box into your hand.

“It doesn’t say who it’s from,” you say looking at him with furrowed eyebrows.

Bruce stretches out his large hand and you carefully lay the small box onto his waiting palm. He holds it up to his ear. He can’t hear any strange noise coming from the box, and although it clearly has some weight to it, he can tell that whatever is in the box isn’t too big.

“We should go inside,” he says after examining the outside of the box for a few seconds more.

You hesitate to put your key in the lock for a moment, realizing he would be the first person besides Camille to come inside your apartment. You quickly push the nervousness from your mind and open the door.  There was no reason to think that Bruce was untrustworthy at this point, if anything he should be worried about you. You did figure out is secret identity after all.

When the door is opened he quickly ushers you inside with a hand placed on the small of your back. You go and get a pair of scissor from the kitchen to open the box, but you return to the living room you see that he is already on the couch with the box opened in front of him.

“What’s in it?” you question coming to sit next to him.

“A radio,” he mumbles.

“A radio?” You ask as you are able to get a full view of the contents. You see the small metallic device. “Camille got a radio in the mail.”

“What?”

“On the phone that day,” you start. “She had to put down the phone to answer the door for the delivery person. She said someone had sent her a radio. The red man said that there was a tracker inside.”

Bruce always feels strange when a break comes in a case, and this time is no different. With the information, he’s just attained he can already feel a plan coming together in his mind, but he also realizes that if he had not come here with you today, that you could have been taken too. It’s very strange to feel relief when someone has been put in mortal danger.

“You’re going to have to pack a bag,” he says lowly. “It’s not safe here anymore, they were going to try and come for you.”

“Of course,” you say with a sigh. “I don’t have anywhere to go though, so I’ll have to find a hotel.”

You continue to mutter to yourself as you stand up and walk to the back into what Bruce assumes to be your bedroom.

He takes the opportunity to look out of the window down at the busy street as inconspicuously as he possibly can. He notes that your building seems to be heavy on foot traffic and light on security cameras. He imagines that, with your personality, that you actually like the amount of people walking constantly by, a quiet neighborhood may make you overly cautious of your surroundings. The downside is, it’s unlikely that anyone paid any attention to who delivered the package and when. Which opens the door to several different problems. If he were to take you to a hotel right now, would the people who were doing the kidnappings follow you? Were they watching right now? Keeping their eyes on the apartment, waiting for him to leave only to take you shortly after.

Leaving you alone in a hotel doesn’t seem like the safest option, especially when he knows there is a possibility that no one would be able to reach you easily depending on where you found a room.

“Hey, how much should I pack? Do you think it’ll take you long to catch these guys? What are you doing in my curtains?”

Bruce hadn’t noticed his fist clenched tightly around the rather sheer curtains nor had he noticed he’d began to tear holes in them.

“They aren’t antiques are they?”

“Why? Do they smell that bad?” You question.

“No but now that you mention it, I am getting a little eau de mothball, so when you come home you should get that taken care of.”

“Oh, so my life being put in danger has you telling better jokes, maybe I should find a murder cult, so you can become a standup comedian.”

Bruce cracks a half smile, before he slips his hands into the pockets of his pants. “I can’t tell you how long this is going to take, pack as much as you can and if you need more I can bring you back here or buy you something.”

You nod and turn to head back into your bedroom but are stop by the clearing of his throat.

“Also, don’t worry about trying to find a hotel.”

“Where am I supposed to stay, then?” You ask casting him a confused glance over your shoulder.

“With me,” he says with a shrug.

You blink at him for a minute. In normal circumstances perhaps you would have felt more apprehensive about even considering going to stay with a strange man, especially one that spends his nights running around one of the most dangerous cities in the country dressed as a bat, but you were in dire straits.

 He’d likely come to the conclusion, through his ‘professional experience’, that staying in a hotel probably wouldn’t have been safe. You were inclined to agree with that thought, there were many things that could be unsafe about hotels that didn’t include the occasional bed bug or two. One thing was, if someone had followed you to the hotel and you were on a top floor, how would you escape?

 It only takes a minute and a few more thoughts like that running through your head for you to nod your head in acceptance. After all, if you aren’t safe in Batman’s house, where could you be safe?

***

“I feel like I’m just constantly too underdressed to be a part of your life,” you say as you walk inside Wayne manor and admire the high ceilings and various decorations.

“Maybe just a little bit,” he says flashing you a charming smile.

“So, what should I do with my stuff?”

“I can take care of those, miss.”

Your eyes flash in the direction of the voice to see an older gentlemen coming toward you. You had to keep a chuckle from escaping from your lips. Of course he had a butler and of course he’s English.

“This is Alfred, he’s been with me for as long as I can remember,” Bruce introduces.

You offer your name and your hand to shake, “It’s nice to meet you Alfred. I can take care of my bags myself though, if you just show me the way.”

“Of Course, Miss.”

Bruce grabs your wrist, “Alfred will get you anything you need and help you settle in. As you can imagine I have some work to do, so I may not see you until tomorrow.”

“I understand, thanks for everything, Bruce.”

“It’s the least I could do.”

You follow Alfred up the stairs and through the halls down to what you assumed was a guest room, slightly scolding yourself for not taking the man up on his offer to help you with your bags. It felt like the two duffel bags resting on your shoulders were stuffed to the hilt with bowling balls. But despite the weight, you would be happy that you brought some of your creature comforts to make sure that you were comfortable in such a strange place. Sore arms were better than being plagued with nightmares or having a panic attack.

The butler stops in front of a rather unremarkable door and opens it.

“I hope you find yourself comfortable here, miss. When dinner is ready I will come and get you.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” you say with a smile.

He gives you a rather guarded one back and leaves with a nod of his head.

You walk into the room, flicking the lights on and closing the door behind you. Your eyes get slightly wide at the size of the room. You're almost certain that this is one of the smaller bedrooms in the house, but it's larger than your living room.

Eager to rid yourself of the excess weight, you place your bags on the large bed, and find yourself sitting down on the plush surface enjoying the softness.

 You use your moment of relaxation to taken the design of the room. Dark wooden furniture, contrasted beautifully against the cream colored walls. There were a couple of paintings of historical figures that you couldn’t name, but they seemed to suit the room nicely. There is an armoire and a dresser. The dresser has a large television sitting on top of it, and your grateful for it. If you had to go downstairs and watch your trash television in front of people, you might not live it down.

There is a door off to the left side of the room and based on its position, you assume that it leads to a bathroom. You’d explore it later when you got ready to take your shower.

At the moment, you can feel yourself getting exhausted. Your usual after work routine rarely contained such excitement, and over the past week there wasn’t much that could get you out of bed other than your obligation to clock into work.

You lie back on the bed and feel your eyes clothes and the sweet sting of tired eyes closing clued you in to how worn-out your body actually was.

‘Maybe a cat nap wouldn’t be so bad.’ You think to yourself.

The longer that you lay there with your eyes closed the more you can feel yourself slipping into the darkness of sleep.

“So, father has decided to take in another stray, has he.”

The voice startles you and cause you to sit up on the bed in panic. Your eyes flash to the door and see the familiar form of a small boy standing at the door. ‘When did the door open?’

“Damian,” you breathe in relief.

Damian doesn’t seem to care that you are someone he knows, however. His small arms are crossed authoritatively over his chest. His green eyes regard you suspiciously. If you were younger and you were still in the phase where you believed that children were all demon spawn (a phase that had only ended a year ago and given way to slight indifference) you would have glared right back at him. However, you knew the boy was overly cautious for a reason.

“It’s nice to see you again, Damian,” you say with a pleasant smile.

He doesn’t acknowledge your greeting, “So you’ve managed to work your way into my fathers home. Perhaps your more clever than what I gave you credit for.”

You eye the boy skeptically, “Hmm, it sounds like your implying something, Damian, that’s not nice.”

“Nice?” He questions with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t have to be nice to a stranger.”

“I agree with you, but we aren’t exactly strangers are we? At least acquaintances.”

“Barely, that,” he spits.

You note how deeply he’s glaring at you and its confusing, but you doubt that he would tell you why he’s so wary of you if you ask him.

“You won’t have to worry for too long Damian, I should be out of your hair in no time.”

“Not soon enough,” he mutters under his breath.

It stings a little and you try to rationalize his disdain for you with the fact that he is a child dealing with hiding a tremendous secret and deal with the fact that there was a stranger in his home. But it still hurt, how you were supposed to approach someone who wanted nothing to do with you.

 If he was an adult and someone you wouldn’t have to interact with him and you wouldn’t care. Hell you might tell him to go ‘fuck himself’ but not only is he a child, he’s the child of the guy you like, and he is likely going to be crucial in finding Camille and the others.

At the same time, he reminds you so much of yourself when you were younger, you can feel the guilt pooling in your belly.

‘Should I call my mom and ask her if I was an asshole?’

“You aren’t bothering her, are you Damian?”

The new voice causes you to snap your eyes back to the door. ‘I couldn’t hear his footsteps either’

The young man that stands at the door before you almost makes you do a double take. He has the same thick black hair and blue eyes that Bruce does, and if it weren’t for the differences in his facial structure you would have probably thought that he was Bruce’s biological son.

He flashes you a charming smile, “Sorry about him, he’s a little rough around the edges.”

“I’d say its apart of his charm,” you say giving the younger boy a wink. You notice a slight red hue flare up on his cheeks as he glares at you.

“Dick Grayson,” the young man introduces himself.

You give him your name and a smile, “Nice to meet you, Dick.”

“Anyway, Alfred wanted me to tell you dinner is ready so come down to eat.”

***

Batman entered her apartment ten minutes ago. He’d carefully placed the radio down on the coffee table and turned the dial on and since then he’d been waiting in the window, looking for suspicious activity.

It was strange, the music coming from the tiny radio. He had shuffled through the stations looking for some sort of hidden frequency and he couldn’t find any. However, the dial on the radio began to shift back to the original station if he left the radio alone for more than thirty seconds. It seemed the radio had a penchant for 50’s doo-wop tones.

He tilted his head-in suspicion as a large white van pass slowly down the street with its bright lights on, but it simply seems to be a lost driver looking for the correct address.

An hour goes buy and nothing seems to happen, other than the radio repeating the same five songs over and over again. It was almost hypnotic.

‘Like they are priming-’

SQUEEEEEEEENNN

It’s a loud screech that fills the room and Bruce can feel his ears ringing at the sound. His mind goes blank for a moment, and even as the sound stops he can’t will himself to shake off the haze that’s clouding his senses.

Thirty seconds later he’s leaned against the wall catching his breath, and his sight is renewed. When he is able he makes his way toward the coffee table and hits the off switch on the radio, but that only causes the sound to start again, and this time at a higher frequency.

He’s forced to drop to his knees this time, and there is a searing pain gathering at the back of his skull. He’s lost in such a daze that he can barely hear the sound of someone’s foot bearing itself down against the door of the apartment.

The door swings open and a large hulking figure stomps in looking around the apartment for the woman that he was supposed to grab. What he finds instead is the Bat kneeling on the floor clutching at where his ears should be, in pain. He can’t help the sick grin the spreads across his face.

“Uh-Oh you aren’t supposed to be here right now,” He teases.

Large hands wrap themselves around Batman’s neck and he struggles against the weight bearing down on his chest, but the screeching in his ears made it extremely difficult to concentrate.

“I’ve got to hand it to you Batman, most people are supposed to be out like a light long before the squealing starts, but you, you’re something else.”

“And so am I!”

In an instant, the weight is pushed off of Batman’s chest. He can hear the grunting and pounding of a fight occurring, but his mind isn’t in a place where he can see straight yet.

He can hear the weight of the two figures smashing things through the apartment and he knows the entire room is going to be ruined when the two of them a through.

The cracking of wood assaults his ears followed by the sound of a groan of surrender. Boots march through the house and the lights are turned on.

He can make out the familiar brown jacket and red mask of his son, despite how blurry it is.

“Just stay down there, old man,” he comments nonchalantly as he steps over Batman to get to the coffee table. “You’re about to pass out.”

He doesn’t doubt it, majority of his body feels numb and heavy like he can’t control it. His vision starts to go black just as he hears Jason smash the radio against the table.

“Just another one I beat you to,” Jason snarks.

His comment is the last thing that Bruce hears before he completely passes out.

When he wakes up, the sun is shining into the apartment, signaling that its morning. He sits up, body aching. He nearly lets out a groan of pain when he opens his eyes and it feels like lightning flashes through his skull.

The apartment is a mess like he predicted. Her couch is flipped over, the door is hanging off of its hinges, and what’s worse is there is a large person shaped hole in one of the walls. He sighs in irritation at the sight and stands. When he does, a small piece of white paper starts to float to the ground. He catches it.

‘Next time wear Earmuffs-J’

He balls the paper up in his hand and clicks his teeth in irritation.

‘Goddamn it’

Chapter Text

Bruce was tired. Body shell-shocked in a way that he’d never experienced before. The device meant to incapacitate him had done more than that. It left him feeling drugged, arms and legs barley moving as a result of the numb feeling coursing through his limbs. He felt foolish. He should have prepared better, been more aware of the incident as a possibility. He’d been left incapacitated on her floor for hours. Jason has been polite enough to close the door, keeping prying eyes from peeking into the room to see what the causes of the disturbances were, but there were so many things that could have gone wrong. What if her apartment manager or landlord had come to see what had happened? What if the enemies had returned? Come to locate their missing partner and found him unable to move, non-resistant, to whatever poking and prodding that they decided to perpetrate. There was plenty of ways to ruin everything without removing the mask or the suit.

Stumbling into the foyer of his home, he had every intention of going up to his room and resting as much as he could, before having to continue his investigation later that evening. However, the sound of clinking pans and padding feet coming from the kitchen caught his attention.  His eyes quickly shifted to the grandfather clock, it was just after ten. Dick, likely wasn’t here, Damian should be in school, and Alfred was likely at the store and usually didn’t come home until noon when he was shopping. This only left his newest guest to be the one fiddling around in the kitchen. Steeling himself and pushing through the wobbliness of his frame, he began to walk to the kitchen.

As he approached the frame of the doorway, he could easily see into the room and could watch the woman who occupied it. She stood in front of one of his counters, aggressively stirring what looked to be a chocolate mix in a large bowl, lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed.

“This better be right this time,” she mutters to herself, dipping a small spoon in to the batter. When a relatively large amount filled the spoon she roughly pushed the spoon into her mouth and waited. Her eyes narrowed as the taste of chocolate washed over her tongue. When she determined that the flavor was what she wanted, a small smile pulled at the corner of her lips. She let the spoon hang limply from her mouth as she gave the mixture a few more stirs and then began to pour the batter into a rectangular pan. She then put that pan in the oven. When she was finished setting the timer she took hold of the bowl and slide on to the counter, legs swinging in a childlike manner.

Bruce cleared his throat and her bright eyes flickered over to him, eyes widening in surprise. A twitch in her arm clued him into the fact that she had grabbed the mixing spoon in her alarm. Most likely thinking that she could throw the tool at him. However, her eyes relaxed when she realized it was him.

“Hi,” she greeted with a small smile on her face after she removed her small spoon from her lips. She looked down at the large bowl in her lap, a guilty look passing over her face. “Did you want some?”

“Sure,” he said after a moment of contemplation painfully waddling into the kitchen, leaning against an island that sat across from her.

With an almost practiced hand, she opened a drawer and pulled out another spoon. Handing him the utensil, she slipped from her seat and leaned against the island next to him. Setting the bowl between the pair, she eyed him with curious eyes.

“You look like shit,” she says bluntly using her spoon to scrape at the remaining of the batter that stained the side of the bowl and returning the spoon to her mouth.

“Yes, well my night was interesting,” he said following her actions. When the chocolate hit his taste buds an almost invisible smile began to tug at his lips. “This is good.”

“It’s my mom’s recipe,” she replies. “Did you figure out who took Camille?”

Blue eyes darken in sadness, “No, but I know where to begin thanks to a meeting I had last night.”

“You don’t sound happy.”

“No, because the person that I have to see doesn’t like me much.”

She examined him, eyes taking in his slightly slouched form, “It’s the red guy isn’t it.”

“You’re quick,” he says with a sad smirk teasing at his lips.

“Does he like brownies?”

“What?”

“Well I made these because Damian seems to hate me, I’m not sure how Dick feels about me. He seems to be one of those naturally-nice-types, so I’m not sure if he thinks I’m a weirdo or not. Alfred, I’m also unsure about, I’m not sure if it’s the accent or that mustache but I can’t get a read on him either. So, I decided to make brownies.”

“Why brownies?”

“I told you my mom took in foster kids, right? When she would first bring them home, the first thing she’d make them was brownies. She’d make them super thick and they’d be nice and warm. The idea was that she wanted the first experience they’d had with her to be warm and sweet. It’s easier to open up to people if you think that all they want to do is make you feel good.”

“Did it work?”

“Most of the time,” she said with a shrug. “Sometimes some kids have it worse than others so you have to find other ways to break through they’re shells. But the brownies never hurt.”

Bruce sits for a moment, thinking over her words, “I don’t think that brownies will fix the situation.”

She regards him skeptically, scraping at the bottom of the bowl with the spoon, trying to get all of the batter that was left until it was formed into a heaping portion on her spoon. “But you’re his dad, right? Have you tried talking to him not as Batman?”

Bruce’s eyes droop slightly, thoughts coursing through his mind. He wanted to push her away. As much as he liked her, was it really her place to tell him what to do with his family? At the same time, he knew she didn’t mean anything by it, there wasn’t anything accusatory in her tone, she was trying to help him, and she was more than likely right with her advice. But what was he supposed to do with it? It’s not like if he called Jason he would just show up for dinner and they could sit down and have a normal conversation like a functional family.

“Though depending on how badly you messed up, that may not be possible.” She mutters brow furrowed as thoughts run through her own head.

“You don’t have to worry, I’ll get the information that I need out of him and then you and your friend will be together again.”

“Maybe a basket of deserts,” she mumbles not listening to him. “It’s hard to know what someone will like if you don’t know anything about them, it’s the thought that counts.”

“What?”

“It’s settled then,” she says looking him directly in his eye. “I’m going to make…uh what’s his name?”

“Jason.”

“Jason, a big basket of treats. You give them to him and he’ll tell you what he knows, that way you can find Camille and the others and everything can go back to normal.”

He looked at her earnest eyes and stared slightly surprised for a moment. The longer he went on without answering her, the dimmer they seemed to get. Realizing that she was only trying to find a way to make herself feel useful, he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and gave her a charming smile. “Alright.”

“Good,” she says picking up the bowl and walking over the sink to begin washing it. “I’ll get started now. The sooner this is done the sooner you can bring Camille back.”

Bruce stood from his leaning position and nodded, “I’m going to rest then.”

She doesn’t respond, just tosses a wave over her shoulder in a dismissive fashion.

As Bruce begins the long walk up to his bedroom, he realizes that something was strange. It’s the first time that he can remember someone other than Alfred using his kitchen.

***

It’s hours later when you are snapped out of your baking reverie. You aren’t sure how long you’ve been trapped in Bruce’s kitchen. You have a vague memory of Alfred coming home with groceries and putting them away, but it had been rather silent since then.

The brownies that you had baked for the boys had come out rather nicely and were sitting enticingly in the middle of the dining room table waiting for consumption. You’d hoped that they liked them enough to ask for more. Hopefully that would lead to conversations that didn’t leave you all feeling awkward.

A pair of footsteps catch your attention as they make their way into the kitchen. Pulling out the tray of lemon bars from the oven and distracted by the sound, your non-cloth-covered thumb burns itself on the glass pan. Violently you pull away, screeching while simultaneously trying to keep the pan from falling.

“Let me help,” a voice calls, and the footsteps hurriedly stride over to you. The pan is taken from your hand and your left free to run over to the sink to dip your throbbing finger in cool water.

“Thanks,” you say with a sigh of relief as you turn to look at the voice who had helped you.

“You’re welcome,” a boy said has he places the glass dish down on the counter to cool. He turns and gives you a polite smile and you’re left blinking with confusion.

“Another doppelgänger,” you say absently and the boy gives a chuckle in return.

“I suppose Bruce does have a singular taste. Tim Drake,” he says as he offers you his hand.

With your free one you give your name and shake his.

You observe the boy as he starts to clean up some of the mess that you made, “You seem like a relatively normal one.”

“Normal?” He questions with a smile.

“Lots of strange things have been happening to me recently, so it’s strange to meet someone with normal manners.”

“You must have met Damian,” he says with a chuckle and a shake of his head.

“He may have stolen Dick’s bike and accused me of being a murder.”

“Yeah, he does that.”

You both laugh.

Tim casts a curious glance at the deserts that fill the room, “May I ask?”

“You can have some of the brownies if you want, but everything in here is for Jason.”

“Jason?” He questions with a furrowed brow.

“I’m going to make a gift basket and hopefully he’ll tell Bruce what he’s learned about the people who are kidnapping my co-workers.”

Tim eyes you for a moment, while using a deft hand to steal a chocolate chip cookie from a bowl behind him, “So you know?”

“It wasn’t that hard to figure out,” you say turning off the faucet. “Or maybe it was and I’m just strange.”

“Not strange,” he offers, “Maybe more observant than the average person.”

“You’re right,” you say gritting your teeth as your finger begins to throb again, but it’s a pain you can deal with. “Observant enough to know you stole one of Jason’s cookies.”

He gives a sheepish smile but takes a bite out of it anyway.

 “What do they call you?” You ask looking at him curiously.

“Red Robin.”

“Like the restaurant?” You question.

“What?” He questions.

“You seriously don’t know there is a restaurant chain called Red Robin?”

“Never heard of it.”

“Reeed Robin Yuumm!~” You sing, hoping that the jingle would jog his memory.

His blank face gave you the impression that he was indeed telling the truth.

“If you go to the west coast you should go one day, great burgers,” You relent.

“If you say so,” he says with a shrug exiting the kitchen.

“Not my fault nobody in this house has good taste for cheap food,” you mumble.

***

It’s late in the evening when you see all of the family in the same room, something you suspected was a rare event as Alfred was currently flittering around the dining table, a slight smile on his face as he finished bringing out the food he cooked for dinner. You sat, twirling your fork in your hand as your feet fidgeted under the table. It was a strange feeling being at the table with all of them. There was a strange charge in the atmosphere. You can’t tell if its strain or something else. Somewhere in your mind, you know it’s because they aren’t used to having someone other than their family, intruding on their daily lives. You imagine sitting down to have dinner with each other was something that they were doing for your sake and nothing more.  

Your eyes flash to the youngest, hard green eyes flicker between your form and the plate in front of him as he occasionally shovels food into his mouth. You want to ask him how his day was. How school was, but that felt strange, almost personal, like you would be stepping into a role that you have no business approaching. So, making conversation with him was probably not the best option.

Tim seemed distracted by the book he’d brought with him to the table, almost like he knew this would be the type of atmosphere that dinner would have and he’d taken the precaution against it. It was a move you’d practiced plenty of times when you were younger. It wasn’t always a book when you would do it, you were slightly bolder than that. When your parents forced you to have dinner with strangers that you didn’t know you were often known to bring portable gaming devices to play, a clear sign that you had no intention of speaking to anyone at the dinner table, and one that showed how much of an asshole that you were.

Dick was probably the best choice, his charming smile and friendly eyes made it seem like he was open for conversation. On the surface, it appeared that he would be the friendliest out of the bunch. But you wondered how true that was. You imagined that Bruce would have taught him to be weary of people he didn’t know, and you fit the description. Your conversation would probably be nothing more than surface level until you got to know him better. Surface level conversations are not something that you would have been interested in, they are hollow and meaningless, and if you forced Dick to engage in them, your internal biases may in turn effect your view of him, even if you didn’t want them to.

Alfred, being the properly trained butler that he was, had opted to eat away from the table. You doubt he would respond to your call if you asked him to join you and you dreaded the thought of how awkward it would seem to call him over to make conversation when, there were perfectly fine candidates around you.

That leaves Bruce. Sitting at the head of the table, observing in silence. Whenever his eyes would catch you staring he would give a small smile, but the moment his gaze left yours the corners of his mouth would dip down and in those moments, it seemed like he would change into a different person. There were things on his mind that had nothing to do with the goings on inside of this house, and you internally appreciated that. That sort of dedication is what made you confident that Camille and the others would be found safely, but that did nothing to alleviate the awkward event that was this dinner.

You use your fork to pop a carrot in your mouth before you wash it down with a swig of red wine that had been served to you. A slight warmth spreads through your system as you observe the quiet atmosphere of the table.

‘I’m not sure if I can take this all night,’ you think to yourself.

“Well, you guys are weird.”

You felt a shiver run down your spine as the words leave your lips. Embarrassment flushes on your cheeks.

The males at the table look at you slightly wide eyed at your observation. At the deafening silence that follows you hurriedly down the rest of your glass of wine as inconspicuously as you possibly could.

A flash of humor runs through the eyes of the oldest son and he’s left biting his lip to keep his laughter from spilling out.

Tim looks at you with a small smirk and furrowed disbelieving eyebrows, “I suppose no one’s ever pointed it out so bluntly before.”

“I didn’t mean it to come out like that,” you say with a slightly sheepish look on your face, eyes flashing across everyone else’s at the table. “It’s just everyone was so quiet and it was strange. It wasn’t even like one of those tense family dinners you see on T.V. where everyone knows a secret but they don’t want everyone else to know they know the secret so they stick to talking about the weather, and stuff.”

At your rambling, a genuinely amused look finds its way over Bruce’s face, “I think it’s just that we aren’t used to eating together, even small talk sometimes can be tough.”

“You guys are family though,” you say with a shrug. “You should eat together more, it brings you closer together. I remember even when I thought I hated some of my family, when we didn’t eat together or someone was missing, it felt like a piece was missing you know. And it made me realize how important that person was to me, even if I was mad beyond words at them.”

You let out a sigh as your words waft over the table, hitting the two oldest members harder than the younger two, but having meaning to all.

“And besides,” you say eyes cutting to the youngest son who is looking at you skeptically, “Even if there is a guest you don’t like there you shouldn’t make feel uncomfortable, then they know you hate them and you can’t spy on them.”

“She’s right,” Dick teases his younger brother who is looking at you with a clouded gaze. “We’ve been bad hosts.”

“I mean I don’t mind if you’re a bunch of weirdos,” you say with a shrug. “If I did I definitely would not be sitting at a table with you, especially since I know you all run around in capes and Bruce seems to have a weird obsession of recruiting boys who look just like him to do his vigilante business with him. Honestly, that’s one of the strangest parts.”

“What’s wrong with the cape?” Damian questions. “It provides plenty of functionality.”

“Yeah but what happens if you get caught on a pole or someone grabs its and uses it to choke you?” You ask back.

“It helps deflect bullets,” Tim adds.

“Shouldn’t your suits be able to do that by themselves already?” You question back.

“I don’t have that problem,” Dick adds in with a confident smile.

“Yeah, but was that an aesthetic choice or functionality one?”

“Both?” He says, but it comes out as a question and is unconvincing.

“See, you all are addicted to capes.”

As the four of you continue to argue the merits of caped and cape less costumes Bruce watches with a smile and a thought running through his head.

‘All of them really do look like me.’

***

Its late and it’s time for Batman to begin his patrol, but he finds himself standing in Bruce Wayne’s kitchen, staring at a basket filled with sweets and baked goods meant for a boy that wanted nothing to do with him.

Each desert seems to be packed with care, tucked safely so that they would reach their intended target without being spoiled or jostled around.

Batman hesitates to pick up the basket. For one thing, he’s unsure if there is any point to this offering, Jason hadn’t stopped to talk to him in his previous meetings, so he’s unsure if he would accept a gift basket from him. Besides, the premise in itself was ridiculous, what would the Dark Knight look like running through the city with a picnic basket while he’s fighting crime? On the other hand, what if it worked? The intention was so pure he hadn’t been able to say no when she suggested it, and if she found out that he didn’t do as she asked, he didn’t know how he would be able to deal with the sadness on her face.

“I put a letter in there if you don’t get a chance to talk to him.”

Batman turns around and sees the woman standing there, clad in her pajamas and slipper covered feet. She looks at him rather innocently with hope laced in her eyes. As she pads closer to him, and he gets a better look at her he realizes he’s  going to take the basket with him. Her eyes looked swollen, they weren’t that way at dinner, which let him know that she had been up in her room crying. Most likely worried for her friend and filled with a loneliness that he understood very well.

“I know it’s silly with all your…stuff,” she says motioning toward his suit. “And it might not work, but if you could try that would be great. He didn’t seem like a bad person when I talked to him.”

“He’s not,” he rumbles out. The deepness of his voice startles her, he can see it as a shiver visibly roll down her spine. “Just misguided.”

“I figured,” she says with a nod of her head. “He wouldn’t be trying to help people if he was.”

He doesn’t respond to the woman as she awkwardly rocks back and forth on her heels.

“Promise me you won’t just leave it somewhere to make me think you took it.”

He nods and relief visibly washes over her.

“You should go to bed, it’s late.”

At his words, she lets out a small chuckle, “I appreciate the worry, but I haven’t been sleeping well since she’s been gone.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I wasn’t to protect her.”

“How could you have been?” She questions with a furrowed eyebrow and a cocked head. “if anything, it’s my fault because I was late from work. I was so far away and I couldn’t help her.”

A sob racks her frame and he feels his heart clench. Reflexively, he reaches out and puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. At his touch, she tenses but relaxes and then smashes into him, wrapping him in a tight embrace as she begins to cry against him. It’s his turn to tense, but once he is over the initial contact one of his large gloved hands comes to rest on her back and holds her against him.

When she’s finished, and the sniffling stopped, she stays there for a moment.

“Sorry,” she says pulling away from him slightly to look up into where she suspects his eyes are. It’s hard to tell with the lights off in the kitchen. “I imagine the suit isn’t made for people to cry on.”

“No, but it happens more often than you think.”

An amused look crosses her watery eyes, “Even in the suit you have to fight the ladies off, hmm?”

“Most of the women I fight are trying to kill me.”

Its most likely to stoic look on his face that causes her to laugh so hard and loud, but he’s happy as a beautifully toothy grin crosses her face.

“You’re something else,” she says staring up at him with a slightly different look in her eye.

She hesitates but decides to use the balls of her feet to lean up and press a kiss against his exposed cheek.

When she’s finished, she backs up and gives him a warm smile. “Thank you for this, Batman.”

He nods and as she turns to leave to go up to her room he says, “Goodnight.”

She tosses him a warm smile over her shoulder and waves as she exits.

When he knows she’s gone he taps the side of his mask, “Oracle, tell me you have Jason’s location.”

“You’re in luck, Bruce. It’s just so happens that I do.”

***

You’re in a slight emotional daze as you pad up to your room. Was it strange that your first physical display of affection with him was when he was dressed like a giant bat? Maybe. Did you care? No. Though you did find it slightly embarrassing that you cried all over the man like a child. You would hope that he wouldn’t hold it against you.

Opening the door to your room, you’re surprised to find that not only is your light on, but its occupied. A small frame sits on the edge of your bed, waiting for your return.

“Damian?” You question walking into your room and closing the door behind you. “Is there something wrong.”

He looks at you rather begrudgingly, “I wanted to congratulate you, on your cooking skills.”

“What?”

“Your deserts, were quiet satisfying.”

You blink and then allow a sly smile to cross your face, “You like my brownies.”

“It’s not anything special, Grayson and Drake also expressed their contentment with them as well.”

“Yeah, but I expect them to say something nice. You on the other hand,” you start as you walk closer to him. “This is high praise coming from you.”

“I haven’t said anything particularly special,” he says with a blush.

“I’m really happy that you enjoyed them, Damian. To be honest, I made them with you in mind.”

At your admission, the boy is completely flushed red and you squeal and scoop him into a large hug.

The boy tenses and tries to struggle away from your bone crushing embrace.

“I don’t think you hate me as much as you’re pretending to,” you coo and then release him.

The young boy hurries over to your door. He casts you a glance cheeks still red and slightly tongue tied. He doesn’t respond to your statement and instead with a mumble says “Goodnight.”

You chuckle and fall back on your large bed, “What is it with these Wayne’s and their one word answers.”

Chapter Text

He feels silly. No silly isn’t the word. Nothing about him is silly. He is the Dark Knight. Gotham’s protector.  Yet here he is, perched on a rooftop holding a picnic basket, waiting for his estranged son to show so he can bring him giftwrapped sweets. It was a strange feeling, and now that he was away from the woman who had influenced him to bring the treats, he’s not sure that bending to her will was the best idea that he ever had.

He waited for what felt like hours, menacingly holding a basket of baked goods in hands as he waited for the younger man. Oracle told him that this was one of the stops that he frequented at night, and Bruce understood why. It wasn’t a particularly tall building, but the angle that the building sat at provided a full of view of some of the most crime ridden areas of Gotham. It was the perfect place to pick up intel on case where there are few leads.

The familiar thump of boots catches Batman’s attention. Turning his gaze from the street, he isn’t surprised to find Jason standing there, gun outstretched waiting for Batman to make the first move.

“Jason,” he starts.

“So, you found me, huh? Oracle?”

“Naturally.”

A frustrated sigh leaves the young man’s lips and he mutters, “I knew my channels were being bugged.”

“That’s not important right now, Jason. People are being hurt, and I need to analyze the device you’ve taken so that that I can find a lead.”

“Why don’t you go find one yourself? Oh, that’s right, you got your ass kicked when you tried. Maybe you should leave this to me, old man. You’ve seem to have lost your step in your old age.”

“Now isn’t the time to be childish. People’s lives are in danger and you not sharing that information is slowing this investigation down. You and I both know that you don’t have the facilities to process the devices that you found and that you’re probably just as stumped as I am. Being stubborn isn’t going to help anyone, Jason.”

“And you are?” The boy scoffed. “What have you been doing? I’ve been out here every night looking for these people. Do you know how many people are missing already? It’s not just people from that stupid firm, it’s all kinds of people. Sex workers, drugged out kids, homeless people. But did you notice? No. It wasn’t until your little girlfriend said something that you even cared.”

Batman, taken aback by this information, remained silence. How many people were gone? Why hadn’t he noticed?

“You want to pretend that you care about the people, but how many of the forgotten have you actually paid attention to? How many of them are you eager to help?”

Batman doesn’t say anything, guilt eating at him. Was Jason, right?  Had he been ignoring people who needed his help? What had he been distracted by that he hadn’t noticed something that had clearly been happening right under his noses. He needed time to think, but right now wasn’t that time, he needed to figure out some way to get Jason to give him what he needed. That would be the only way he could begin to make right everything that had been going wrong.

He clenches his fist and at the movement the forgotten picnic basket hit his leg.

“I know I haven’t been everything that you’ve wanted me to be, Jason, but you have to help me help these people. We won’t be able to solve this separately, you and I both know that.”

“There you go again, underestimating me. I can do more than you think I can, more than what you’ve been doing anyway.”

“Take this,” Batman says holding out his arm presenting the basket of baked goods.”

“The fuck is this?”

“The woman,” he starts. “She made these for you, she thought it would help. She wants you to help find her friend.”

“What’s in it?” Jason questions skeptically.

“She made you some things to eat and she told me she left you a note.”

“A note?”

“Like I said, she wants your help.”

“How do I know this isn’t a trick?”

“Didn’t you just say that I was ignoring people in need? Are you going to do the same? You’ve met her, saw what they were going to do to her if she had been in her apartment. She’s in just as much danger as all the others, but her main concern is finding her friend and the people have been taken. She thinks you can help.”

Jason doesn’t say anything and instead uses his gun to motion for Batman to put the basket down.  He does and he backs away from the basket.

“Make the right decision, Jason.”

Jason doesn’t respond and instead he keeps his gaze on the basket. When he looks back up to the spot where Batman had been, the man is gone and he’s left alone on the roof with his picnic basket full of sweets.

***

Technically, you aren’t supposed to be on the premises. If they wanted they were going to be sticklers, they could decide that your presence in the building, was proof that you didn’t need the time you requested off. Hopefully, they wouldn’t be complete assholes about it.

Sitting in Bruce’s big house, by yourself made you uncomfortable, and using your time off to wallow and cry in your room wasn’t something that was productive either. You strongly believed that Bruce would do everything that he could to help find Camille and the others, and hopefully Jason would help too. However, there were still things that you could do that they couldn’t. It would look strange if Bruce Wayne suddenly bust in to your firm and started asking questions about the missing employees, but you could do that. And that’s what you decided to do when you left the manor this afternoon.

Taking the elevator up to the top floor of your building, your heart was thumping in anticipation. You recalled how strange your boss, Johnathan Preston, had been acting the day you met him in the copy room. Hopefully he was better now, and you’d be able to get answers out of him and Carlisle.   

The elevator stops with a thud and a ding and your let out into the lushly furnished top floor of you accounting firm. It was different than the other floors, much more traditional than the modern offices you and your colleagues were used to working in. You supposed that when courting potential clients, who tended to be older, it wouldn’t be considered to professional to have a bean bag and lava lamp corner in the offices of the CEO’s. And while you would allow them that caveat, in your opinion, needing the entire floor for two people was a bit much. 

The whole floor was sectioned off into three sections. The entrance hall, a room where the moment you step out of the elevator is set up like a traditional waiting room at any large company. The secretaries desk sat imposingly in the middle along with dark brown chairs that matched well with the cream-colored tile that decorated the floor. From there the room grew a little more eccentric. The walls where a shade or two lighter in color than the chairs and decorated with auctioned pieces of art. The remaining to two sections where kept behind these walls. The first, to the left, was a pale silver door, with the name Johnathan Preston inscribed in gold cursive lettering. You’d been in Preston’s office before to get a commendation when your floor had over performed one quarter in a way that hadn’t been expected. With such a large amount of space available, it felt like going into someone’s apartment more than it did feel like going into another person’s office. To the right of you, the same door was nestled into the wall with the name Michael Carlisle inscribed in gold rather than Preston’s. You imagined his office was similar as well.

The moment that your foot to ouches the tiled floor of the office, the familiar click of heels rings through your ears and you’re accosted by their secretary.

Kristen Trainer was an interesting woman. A naturally tall woman who opted to accentuate her height with high-heeled shoes. She sported unnaturally fiery red hair that she always kept at in a tight bun. The tightness of the bun aged her as it tightly pulled at the skin around her eyes, assuring that there would be premature wrinkles as a result of the displacement. You figured she did it on purpose though, with her hair pulled away from her face, she could easily intimidate any unwelcome guest with her hawk like blue eyes. Cold orbs that judged anyone rather harshly if they worked anywhere lower than two floors down from her boss’s office.  People like you were peasants.

She approached you quickly as you walked on to the floor she occupied. Walking over to you with long limbs that were strangely accentuated in a dour gray pantsuit, you felt dread fill your mind as you realized that you would have to engage with the woman.

“May I help you?” She questions with a thin lipped hollow smile.

“Uh, yeah I just need to seem, them.” It sounds bad coming from your lips. You know her eyebrow is going to arch in suspicion.  That the first thing that she would ask you would be if you had an appointment.  If you didn’t and couldn’t make a reasonable case as to why you should be able to see them, you’d likely be thrown out of the building and taken off your leave of absence.

“Appointment?” She asks with a cock of her head as her eyebrow expectedly lifts in question.

“No,” you state. “But there is something I need to speak to them about, concerning the safety of the employees.”

Her lips purse skeptically and her body shifts so her weight rests solely on her heels. This results in her being able to get a full look at your form and being able to judge you and your appearance. You didn’t look particularly bad today, just weren’t wearing anything that would be considered anything appropriate in such a distinguished firm. Her hand strangely comes up to rest on her chin. You can see her roll something metallic in her hand but can’t make out what it is.

“Perhaps you can tell me what this is about and I can relay the message to Mr. Preston or Mr. Carlisle, when they return.”

“They aren’t here?”

“They are very busy men,” she says smoothly. “They won’t be in for the rest of the week. If you leave a name and number perhaps I’ll be able to squeeze you in next week.”

“Alright?” you say slight confused by her willful compliance. You know from experience that woman is usually like a shark, and hunts out anyone whom she thinks may just be a minor annoyance. That she micromanages their schedule to the minute. For her to be so forgiving about your intrusion is strange.

“I’ll get going then,” you say beginning to turn around and head back to the elevator.

“Enjoy your day,” she calls with a strange tone as you quickly make your way back into the elevator.

When the elevator closes, the smile falls from Kristen’s lips. The hand by her face never moving.

“Did you hear that? Our lost lamb is on the way down.”

***

The moment that you realize that something is wrong, comes when your elevator goes past the ground floor.

As the light passes from G to L and continues descending you begin to rapidly press at the buttons. There is no response from the buttons. Even the telltale signs light behind the plastic fixtures don’t react to your rough pushes.

There is a bright red emergency button sticking out and your finger finds it quickly. As you press rapidly, you hear clicks, as if a phone is trying to connect, but no matter how many times you press, there is no actual response.

Your hand rubs against the pocket of your jeans you reach for your phone but think better of it. So far down underground, the likelihood of getting a signal was low.

Feeling your spine tingle with worry you begin to panic.  Looking up at the ceiling you began to jump, hoping that you would be able to reach at one of the panels that rests on the celling. Perhaps there would be away to escape and search for help. Unfortunately, there are no rails or anything that could be used to increase your height to reach on of the panels.

You were stuck in a situation in which you had no control over and one in which you were likely in danger. This is what you’d been worried would happen your entire life, and now that you were trapped, it felt like all the precautions and observations that you normally took all counted for nothing.

The elevator comes to a stop finally as it hits the ground with a thud that causes the cab of the elevator to rock with the impact. The doors of the elevator ding but they don’t open immediately.

As time begins to pass, your heart begins to thud in your chest, and despite the fact that you find yourself huddled and motionless in a small corner of the elevator, your skin begins to get dewy with sweat.

The inhale and exhale of your breath seems loud and, reflexively, your had comes up to your mouth in order to try and quiet the sound. There is no point to that though, being quiet won’t help in this situation. The lights in the elevator are, unfortunately, in peak condition. Your huddled form is more than easily visible.

Five minutes go by and there is not a sound made from outside of your temporary safe haven. The only thing you can here is the creaking of the metal frame of the box that your trapped in. Each second that your left in this box, the warmer it becomes, the harder the air gets to breathe. You aren’t sure if that is because there is an actual lack of circulation in the box or if your panicking is making it worse.

Finally, to your horror and relief, there is a slight pounding on the door. A sharp tap raps at the door followed by and achy creek as the doors of the elevator are smoothly wrenched open.

You can’t see the form that is standing there at first. The light in the elevator makes it difficult for your eyes to separate the figure from the darkness that is surrounding them in the hall.

There is a deep chuckle that spews from whatever waits for you. The timbre of the voice is unsettling, and the deepness of it gives you and image of a rather large man. Your guess is proven right as a large boot cladded foot takes its first step into the elevator.

The rust stained metal boot is large and square in shape, it’s so big that you are certain that it has been exaggerated for effect. To make you feel afraid, there is no human on earth that has foot that bag, no matter how tall they are. As the figure leans forward, the light begins to spill over their form. Large thighs, both with muscle and fat, are tightly encased in brown stained khakis. A large rounded belly is covered in a black apron that is stained form indecipherable liquids. Thick muscled hairy arms give way to butcher gloved hands.

You try to take in all that you can about the man, but you are stopped when you reach his face. There is nothing to memorize. A clean, plastic, white sheep mask is positioned over his face. It’s eerie, with its pink tongue hanging slightly out his mouth. The eyes of the mask are dark, making it nearly impossible for you to make the color of his eyes.

“There you are, little lamb,” he coos. “We missed you at home the other day. Some naughty boys were there instead.”

If you could push yourself further into a corner you would. His voice is chilling, its deep but he’s using a sickeningly sweet affect that makes your skin crawl.

As he moves upon you he continues, “Your poor friend, she’s been so lonely. It must be so hard at such a crucial time.”

“Y-you’re the one who took Camille?” You question voice small.

He cocks his head, “Well, yes and no. But that’s not important.”

“Where is Camille?” You push, voice stronger than it previously had been. “Did you hurt her?”

“Oh my,” he hums as he watches you attempt to stand. “You are feisty.”

“Where is she?!” You question fists balling in anger. It’s not smart, you know better. There is clearly something not right with this man, and his size and weight alone would be enough to squash you, especially as you have no place to run in such a small area. But you can’t help it, something in you is pushing you to be brave.

“Don’t raise your voice to me, little lamb!” he says harshly, large gloved finger pointing at you in an almost accusatory fashion. “It’s not the prey’s job to question.”

“Stop calling me that!” You hiss. “Did you take the others too?”

“Be quiet!” He hisses as he starts to advance upon you. Despite his size, he quickly closes the distance between the two of you and his hand goes for you neck almost instantly.

The gloved hand has a putrid smell and you almost gag as it wafts in your nose. As you begin to struggle and claw at the hand around your neck, he tightens his grip and it sends a shiver of pain down your spine. He uses his left hand to dip into the pocket of his apron. A damp gray cloth is produced and he begins to move it toward you face.

“Maybe this way the little lamb will behave better.”

The cloth his pressed over your mouth and nose and your forced to breathe through as you gasp for air.

It’s not long before you can feel yourself losing control of your limbs and soon your vision is dark.

***

The Brownie Woman’s brownies were something Jason was willing to admit were amazing. They were perhaps his favorite thing to come out of that stupid bask that Bruce brought him. The fact that he was currently on a stake out, and he couldn’t stop thinking about them was a testament to how good they were. It also didn’t help that he had received such soppy letter from a woman he didn’t even know. Even now he could hear her unspoken words in his ear.

“Dear Jason,

            I know you don’t know me or my friend, but I feel like you know what it’s like to be alone. That’s how I feel right now, all alone. And it’s a feeling that is almost too much to bare. I told Bruce that I trusted him, and that I know that he would be able to help me find her, but I don’t think that he understands how much I need her. How much I need to know that she’s safe.  Camille is probably the most important person to me. Without her, I don’t know if I would have survived my first two years in Gotham. She saved me from caving in on myself. When I first came here, I knew no one besides my bosses. I’m used to living in big cities, but everyone should know that living in Gotham is different. I was robbed three times the first month I arrived, and had never been more scared. Every corner held a new monster for me and my paranoia sprang forth like it never had before. It got to the point where I wouldn’t leave my apartment, unless it was to go to work, and most of those days I would stay and work from home. I was afraid of the people would deliver my groceries or my mail. I was even afraid when my landlord came to check up on me to make sure I hadn’t hurt myself. I was in a dark place.

            On her first day of work, Camille approached me with the widest smile I ever saw. She tried to get me to shake her hand, but I couldn’t. She was a stranger and I was afraid. I was afraid of a tiny woman who can’t even open her own jam jars.  She left me alone that first day, and for the week after that, but every day I noticed that she would move her work station a little closer to mine. She traded artisanal and imported teas for whatever desk she wanted, until finally she was next to me. Even then she didn’t speak. She didn’t force me to do what I wasn’t ready to. And then one day I realized I didn’t start my work until she was there, and that the tea that she would sit on my desk in the morning helped me work better. That I knew her birthday and she knew mine, and I knew the name of her first boyfriend, and that I was suddenly in her wedding. We were going to the movies every two weeks and I was spending the night at her house and giggling like school girls while we watched scary movies. She had saved me and I didn’t even know it. I was able to live again because of her. I want to be able to do the same thing she did for me.

            I’m not strong like you or Bruce. I don’t have fancy gadgets that helped me track down bad guys, but I can ask you to help. Please help him find my friend, Jason. It would mean the world to me if you would. I can’t offer you anything but these sweets and if you want I’ll make you more.  I know it seems selfish to ask you to save one person, especially when so many others are missing, but please help.

            -Thanks.

P.S., I didn’t know what you would like so I made some of everything.  Enjoy.”

She didn’t leave her name, he didn’t why, so he’d been calling her Brownie Woman.  Like Bruce, he’d been roped into doing her dirty work. He found himself sitting outside of the accounting firm she and her friend worked at. Bruce mentioned something about there being over twenty people working at the firm going missing. Single people who lived alone or not, there should have been more of a fuss made about these people going missing. Someone should have noticed. The fact that the company itself hasn’t reported anything is suspicious is suspicious in and of itself.

Perched on a building across the street, he watched the comings and goings of the people leaving from the building. He’d wait for a little longer to make sure that most people were out of the building.

Soon he’s down on the ground, sneaking into the employee parking garage. With the guard gone, the only difficulty was opening the gate that guarded the remaining cars, but he’s able to overcome that barrier easily enough.

The dank gray of the parking lot was made extra creepy due to the unappealing yellow lights lightening the first floor of the garage.

There are more cars here than what he anticipated. How many people worked here?

He doesn’t have time to think on it more as the ground under his feet begins to shake. The dark concrete seemingly begins to split open. He is able to make out that there are metal spokes poking out where the ground is splitting, and he realizes that it’s not splitting, but just opening up.

He makes to move behind a pillar, to hide, whatever was coming out of the ground was clearly a danger, but the familiar hint of blue that appears causes his eyes to widen.

‘I know that van.’ He thinks to himself as the large vehicle appears from what looks to be an underground hatch.  

He’d seen the vehicle before, driving around where some of the poorer members of Gotham’s citizens resided.  It was a label less pasty blue van, rusted at the bottom, giving away how old the vehicle was.

“Holy shit,” he mumbles as his gaze sticks to the wind shield. A familiar visage sits behind the driver seat. The large man that he’d fought at Brownie Woman’s apartment sits there, and he seems to recognize Jason as well. His grip on the steering wheel seems to tighten and soon the engine begins to rev and Jason knows that its best to jump out of the way.

He moves from his position at a rapid pace and he narrowly misses being slammed against the garage door. The van begins to back up, a dent left from the impact. Jason quickly pulls one of his guns and aims for the tires.  The back two blow up without issue and this seems to send the driver into a rage as he begins to slam back into the garage over and over again.

Jason notices that there is a lock on the back of the van, and it swings wieldy every time the man slams into the door. A well-placed shot and the lock falls limply to the ground.

Hearing this, the driver sticks his head out of the window and he sneers at the masked young man. He shifts gears and begins to back up rapidly, slamming his foot on the gas. Jason jumps out of the way again, and the van slams into the concrete wall of the garage. There is a bit of smoke that fills the air, and a pause in the action in the area.

The driver seems to come to his senses and revs the engine once again. As he begins to speed toward the garage door again. The momentum, however, forces the damaged back doors of the van open and a very large full black bag falls out of the back. Jason is quick to grab at the bag as the driver is successful at ripping through the garage door. He knows, with the shot tires that he can catch it, but the heavy bag that he was trying heave is breathing.

When he’s certain that the man isn’t coming back, he kneels beside the bag at his feet.

He takes the large zipper and begins to pull it down.

He pulls away in shock at presence in the bag. Her face slightly pale from the lack of oxygen but red where the man had tapped her lips, no doubt to keep her quiet if she’d woken up. There is a bit of blood on her forehead, likely from the tumble out of the van, but she looks to be intact.

With a sigh, he slips his phone out of his pocket and dials a familiar number.

“Bruce, I’ve got your Brownie Woman here.”

Chapter Text

The beeping is annoying. Being the light sleeper that you were, the high pitched repetitive sound was more than enough to rouse you from you slumber. Your eyes slowly peek open, tearing slightly at the harsh white hospital light that pierces through the room. A groan leaves your lips as the sharp sting of a headache wracks through your skull. A quiet moan of pain leaves you lips as the room begins to come into focus.

The white perforated ceiling, the slight smell of alcohol, and the beeping gives you a clue as to where you are. You can’t remember the last time you were admitted into the hospital, but you know that this isn’t going to be a fun time.

As you pull yourself to sit up a snore catches your ear and you realize that there is a slight depression near the foot of your bed. Black-boot-clad-feet are laying leisurely on the bed. Slight flecks of dirt falling onto the clean thin white hospital blanket every time the foot slightly moved. Dark pants, a black shirt, and a brown leather jacket all gave you clues to the identity of the person was. The mop of dark hair and tense cross arms gave you even more indication, after all it did seemed like Bruce only picked people who look exactly like him to do his job. But you were surprised by his presence, what was he doing here?

Footsteps catch your attention and you see a nurse peek her head into your room. Her round face brightens in surprise when she sees you awake and sitting up. She opens her mouth to say something, but you quickly, and painfully, raise a finger to your lips, shushing her. You had no idea what Jason was like, but you had a suspicion that he wouldn’t be too keen on having a stranger wake him up before he was ready. She nods and comes into the room, bending over to talk lowly with you.

“I’m going to tell the doctor that you are awake. It may take a while for her to come, so do you need anything while you wait.”

“I have headache,” you complain with a slight pout.

“I imagine,” she says tenderly placing a hand on your head lightly running her hand over an area, checking for your reaction. When your face scrunches up in pain she nods her head as if making a mental note. “Not many fall down a slight of stairs not have headaches.”

“Stairs?” You question looking at her strangely.

“Don’t you remember sweetie, your friend over there was trying to help you move and you slip down the stairs.”

You blink at her blankly for a moment, but you quickly realize, that is the story that Jason must have come up with so you nod, “Oh yeah, that box was heavy.”

“Mmhmm, I’ll get you some Tylenol.” She says walking out the room and turning a corner.

Your eyes cut to the form of the sleeping boy in the chair next to you, only to meet violent blue eyes. Their intensity slightly startles you and you feel slightly intimidated by the look in them.

“Hello?” You try giving him a slightly stiff wave of the hand.

He doesn’t respond, a grunt leaving his lips as he slightly stretches before removing his feet from your bed and planting them on the floor. As he sits up straight you notice that there is shock of white hair breaking up the dark of his inky black locs. He did seem rebellious in some sort, but you didn’t think that he’d be the type to dye his hair white.

“How did you find me?” You question not wanting to beat around the bush.

   “I wasn’t looking for you,” he says with slightly pursed lips, jaw setting in seemingly perpetual irritation. “I just happened to be in the neighborhood.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

A soft silence falls over the room and your feet begin to twitch with irritation.

“What happened?”

His eyes run over your form as he debates telling you. You would probably bother him until he told you, but it didn’t feel right to weigh you down with the details with how rough you looked. Deep purple bruises surrounded your eyes, a long wound that probably would scar, ran from your hair line down to the point of your chin. The rest of your body had been covered in bruises and they had just finished flushing your system of the chemicals that the man had shoved down your lungs. There was so much that you would have to deal with, especially once you started to deal with the effects of the attack.

“Another failed attempt at kidnapping you,” he states plainly.

“Obviously,” you say with a slight roll of your eyes and pout. “But I mean how did I get here? And I imagine I must look like shit, for you to have to tell them I fell down the stairs. How did that happen?”

“You may have fell out of the back of a moving van while stuffed in a body bag.”

You blink blankly at the boy, your mind trying to register what he was telling you. Had that man really been so close to getting away with you?

Your hand clenches at the blanket beneath you as a shiver runs down your spine. For all your precaution, how had you not noticed the strangeness of your company? The only thing that made sense was that your time with these people, at the company that you had been a part of since its inception, had dulled your senses. Even when you were going through the rough patch going to work was one of your safe places, especially since you had known the people so well. Not well enough, it seems.

“It’s not your fault.” Jason interrupts.

“What?” You ask looking up to meet his eyes.

“Lots of people tend to blame themselves when things like this happen. And besides it’s all over your face, you’re clearly thinking about how there should have been something that you should have noticed, to protect yourself. But bad people always find a way to take advantage of those with good intentions. It’s not your fault.”

You blink slightly in surprise, not expecting to hear such comforting words from the harsh young man.

“Thanks.”

It’s slightly awkward for a moment as silence fills the room.

“You didn’t have to stay with me, you know,” you say.

“Hmph,” he huffs in response, averting his eyes away from you.

“Did Bruce give you the basket?”

He looks at you for a moment, “Yes.”

“Did you like the sweets?”

“They were edible.”

There was meant to be a bite to his words but a part of you feels like that he is just responding in the only way he knows how, and that he really did enjoy them. So, you can’t help the smile the crosses your face.

Footsteps tapping on the linoleum catch your attention and both of your watch as the nurse returns with a familiar form behind her.

“I’ve got your medicine and I found a visitor,” she says with a perky smile.

Bruce’s tall suited form ducks into room, a worried look pasted in his blue eyes. He rakes his gaze over your bed ridden figure and a frown pulls its way on to his lips. His gaze quickly moves to from your form and to his son who’s is not returning his look.

As you swallow the pills that the nurse gives you, you notice the slightly surprised expression that appeared on Bruce’s face. You weren’t the only one who was surprised that Jason bothered to stay with after your ordeal.

When the nurse is done administering the medicine and checking your vitals, Bruce pulls one of the chairs up to the side of your bed, opposite of where Jason sat.

You flick your eyes up to Bruce’s feeling slightly embarrassed at your predicament, of course the first time you leave the house you almost get kidnapped. You didn’t even tell anyone you were leaving. What would have happened if Jason hadn’t have found you?

“I’m sorry,” you say with a small voice.

Bruce doesn’t respond at first, but his eyes soften at your dejected form, “It’s not your fault.”

“I should have at least told you where I was going.”

“Or that you were leaving period,” he adds with a slight sigh. “But what’s important now is that you are safe.”

A weak smile passes over your face, “Thanks to Jason.”

A snort of approval comes from Jason’s direction causing Bruce to roll his eyes.

“What happened?” Bruce questions attempting to change the subject.

“Stupidly,” you start with a sigh. “I went to meet with my bosses. It just bothered me that neither one of them seemed at all interested in the fact that so many people had been “leaving.” But big surprise when they got there neither one of them was there. I mean it wasn’t a big surprise that Preston wasn’t there, the last time I saw him he looked sickly.”

“Sickly how?”

“Pale,” you start, “He seemed sweaty, eyes were bucked, and it seemed like he couldn’t keep focused on anything.”

Bruce’s eyes flash over to Jason who shakes his head. None of the victims that Jason had seen, before they were abducted had acted like this, and there wasn’t a rash of illnesses going around Gotham either.

“Anyway, when I got to the top floor their assistant was there, Kristen, she was acting strange. She was even willing to set up a meeting with them, which almost never happens if you aren’t important. She had something in her hand but I couldn’t make out what it was. And then when I got into the elevator the Big Man was there.”

“Big Man?” Bruce questions.

You open your mouth to respond, but Jason cuts you off, “He looked like the guy who attacked you in her apartment the other day.”

“You let him go?” Bruce questions with surprise.

“No,” Jason says bluntly, eyes hard. “So, he was either a twin or a doppelgänger is running around out there.”

“Exact same?”

“The only difference is this one had van and was trying to run me over with it.”

“He called me ‘Little Lamb’ and said that he took Camille, he talked about her like she was still alive too,” you pipe up.

“For all we know he could have. And if they aren’t hurting the victims right away that’s good news,” Bruce starts, hand coming up to rest on his chin as thoughts begin to rush through his head. “’Little Lamb, is strange.”

“He was dressed like a butcher.”

“Maybe the van used to belong to a butcher shop or a meat factory,” Jason adds in.

“That’s probable,” Bruce says with a nod. “Lamb is also often used in a religious context, as well.  If they are kidnapping people they could also be trying to indoctrinate them into a cult.”

“Or sacrificing them,” Jason says. “Lambs are usually used in sacrifice.”

Your hands clench around the blanket as the headache you had when you woke up decides to make its presence known once again. On one hand, you were glad to think about the possibility that Camille was alive, and you felt horrible for wanting to hope that that she was being indoctrinated, but Jason’s theory was too much to think about.

“Are you, all right?” Bruce questions, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Not really,” you say honestly. “I’m just worried, that’s all.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll get her ba-“

The nurse interrupts Bruce when she pokes her head around the corner, “Visiting hours are over gentlemen, she’ll be here in the morning if you want to see her.”

You can audibly hear Jason suck his teeth in annoyance while Bruce flashes her a polite smile.

“We’ll say are goodbye’s and head out now, miss.”

A small blush finds its way on to her cheeks and she can only muster a nod in response.

With a sigh, the metal feet of his chair scrape against the ground as he pushes back and begins to stand up.

“Don’t do anything stupid, again.” He says looking at you rather sternly. You give him a sheepish smile and a nod.

His eyes rake over your form for a moment, as if looking to make sure that you were telling the truth. He lets out a snort before exiting the room rather hastily.

“He means well,” Bruce says with a slight hum.

“I know, he wouldn’t have waited for met to wake up if he didn’t,” you say giving the man a slight smile.

Bruce’s eyes soften when he looks over your form, his heart stinging slightly as he takes in the bruising around your eyes. “He’s right though.”

“Hmm?”

“Leaving and not telling anyone was pretty stupid. What if Jason hadn’t been there to save you?”

“I know I-” you pause mid-explanation when a large hand comes to rest on your cheek. A warmness spread across your face and for some reason you find it hard to meet his gaze. “I just couldn’t sit around.”

A thumb brushes against your cheekbone and you have to stifle a gasp when warm lips press a rather tender kiss to your forehead. “Just be more careful.”

When he pulls back you look at him a little starry eyed and give him a small nod of your head.

He makes his way to the door, “Get some rest.”

“I will.”

***

Jason is waiting for him outside the hospital.

“Thank you for saving her.”

“You should keep a better eye on your pets,” Jason says with a slight smirk pushing off the wall following the larger man.

“Jason,” He warns with a sharp glare.

“And here I thought you could take a joke,” he says with a smirk.

“It’s not funny when she could have died, Jason.”

“And others still could, that’s what we need to focus on.”

“Of course,” Bruce says as he stops in front of his car. “Anything specific about that van, you want to tell me?”

“Blue, rusted, had a hard time getting a look at the license plate while it was trying to kill me, but I’m sure there are tire marks to follow, especially since I shot the back tires out. But that’s not the only thing. The van came up from some sort of secret underground bunker, underneath her company.”

Bruce checks his watch,” Why don’t you track down where the van and I’ll go look at this bunker.”

“Hey! Just because I saved her doesn’t mean we are working together now.”

“No,” Bruce said with a shrug. “but weren’t you the one complaining that I wasn’t saving enough people?”

“I-”

“This way we cover more ground, save people faster, don’t you agree?”

Bruce flashes him a smirk as he dips into the vehicle, not giving the befuddled boy a chance to response. As he peels off from the curb and begins to speed away, Jason is left on the corner shaking his head.

“Damn it!”

Chapter Text

Batman wondered how they would explain this to their employees. The large hole in the wall and the pieces of metals that are scattered in the street, would be hard to justify. It does strike him as strange, however, that not one cop car had been summoned to the street to check on the disturbance. He imagined, that when they were moving victims that they silenced whatever alarms were on the premises.

Quietly, he moves into the dark of the garage. He notes, that aside from the tire marks, there are no visible signs of damage, no clear signs of where the van could have risen from the ground the way that Jason had described it.

He scans the room, looking closely from any details that he could have missed. In a dark corner sits an older model sedan.  It doesn’t look broken down, letting him know that the car was not in fact abandoned, however, if it were owned by an employee the likelihood that it would still be sitting in the garage at this time of night was slim.

As he approaches the car, his suspicions about the vehicle are confirmed. Under the front left tire, there is a slightly lighter colored piece of cement. It only takes a light kick with his boot covered foot and the vibration through the cement seems trigger something. A small hum starts, something that would be in audible in the midst of a busy work day, but something that his sensitive ears picks up now. However, seconds later the humming stops, and nothing happens.

This time he kicks the tire twice, ten seconds apart, figuring that the system worked to make sure that whatever trap door that was hidden wouldn’t simply open by accident. It seems to do the trick. Back in the middle of the of the garage a rumbling starts. It’s not so noticeable that the building starts to shake, and he notes, as the floor begins to split open, that the metal moves in a rather smooth fashion. This wasn’t built in a hurry, in fact, if he had to guess, based on the design on the door and how smoothly it dipped down to the ground that this was probably the entire purpose of the building. Which means that this sight is important.

‘Why?’ he questions somberly as he walks down the ramp. The moment that he steps of the unexpectedly smooth paved ground of the underground, the ramp closes behind him and he’s left in darkness.

He quickly moves to switch on his flash light but he’s surprised when a light floods the room. His eyes adjust quickly and he realizes that both the walls and the ground are paved and smoothed. This tunnel, wherever it leads, it was most likely used often. He casts a glance back the way is blocked off.

He walks forward, the only way that was available. Luckily, it’s not a long walk before he comes to a relatively small room. He scans the ground and he sees foot prints that would measure up to the size of a person that Jason described. He flashes a light at the small room there is no door, save for what looks like what elevator doors. He realizes that this is the same place that Bruce Wayne’s accountant was describing.

He flashes the light around to scan to make sure that there aren’t any traps. When it is clear he slips the light between his teeth, clenching to hold on to the heavy object. His hands begin to pull apart the doors of the elevator, grunting slightly as his fingers slip between the confined space of the heavy metal doors. It takes a moment, but he is able to slide the doors open enough to where he can squeeze through.

Once inside, he finds that there is nothing insidious about the elevator, but the buttons are dead despite the fact that the lights on them are flashing. Meaning that the elevator is or was being remotely.

He lifts himself up through the maintenance hatch of the elevator and pulls himself out of the small compartment. After, he uses his grappling hook to pull himself up to what he assumes to be the top floor of the building.

His suspicions are confirmed when he opens the door of the elevator and sees a familiar layout of an executive’s office, the only difference being that there are two doors instead of one the way that Bruce Wayne’s office is laid out.

He notes, that the security is strangely lax. While there do appear to be security camera’s they don’t move and seemed to be dropping as if they were powered off. He imagines that it was the large man’s job to reengage whatever the security system was, but Jason’s interruption put a damper on that plan.

He searches both of the offices and finds nothing incriminating. Perhaps that’s why the security was so negligent. Both Preston and Carlisle’s computers are rather impersonal. The desktops for the most part seem to be identical, save for their preferences in internet browsers. Even their emails seemed to be clean, most of the messages received got a reply of “I’ll forward this to my secretary, and she’ll get back to you.” Strange that such a successful firm would have such hands-off owners.

When he reaches Kristen’s computer, the woman that the accountant had noted seemed to be acting strangely, he was again disappointed. While there were more documents about the financial holdings of the company and scheduling, there was again nothing strange or out of the ordinary.

He flicks through her calendar and finds something interesting. Saturday, there would be gala, and both men, Carlisle and Preston, would be there. Unexpected, considering that the accountant was adamant about how sickly Preston seemed. Still, it was the perfect opportunity to meet them.

“Alfred,” he says as he communicates in to the butler.

“Yes, sir.”

“I need an invitation to a party a place called Mammon Plaza for Saturday night.”

“I’ll get right on that, sir.”

***

“Oh, God damn it!” Jason spits as he comes to a stop. He’d done exactly what he’d been told to do, albeit reluctantly.

He’d followed the track as far as he could, all the way here to the water’s edge at the docks. He takes a flash light and shines it in the water and while he hoped that there would be some way that the van and its driver were merely waiting under the surface, he couldn’t help the curse the slipped from his lips as he realized that the same technology that had been present in back at the Brownie Woman’s company was probably used here.

“Shit!”

“Don’t tell me you dropped your phone in the water,” a slightly teasing voice calls from behind him.

Jason spins, shoulders immediately tense in surprise at the voice. The barrel of his gun pointed at the person who spoke.

“Whoa! I didn’t think you hated me that much,” the familiar voice says as he puts his hands up.

Jason flashes his light on the black and blue figure and can’t help but roll his eyes as he begins to holster his weapon.

“What are you doing here, loser?”

“No need for name calling, I’m not the one skulking around at the docks,” Dick says coming up to stand at Jason’s side.

“I’m not skulking, I’m on a job.”

“Oh?” Dick questions. “What’s the job? Looking for a seaweed monster?”

“It’s none of your business.”

Dick looks at the younger man and eyebrow slightly raised. He won’t meet his eye and he has slightly embarrassed posture about him. It clicks in Dick’s brain.

“Bruce roped you in again, didn’t he?”

Jason is quick to deny it, “I didn’t get ‘roped in.’ I was just in the area.”

“Oh, yeah I heard something like that.”

Jason looks at Dick ruefully, “What did you hear?”

“You mounted a daring rescue and almost got run over by van for her. All very heroic.”

“Again, I was just in the area.”

“Uh-huh, whatever you say.” Dick pauses for a moment. “Did she look, okay?”

“A little shaken up but she’ll survive.”

“Hmm.”

“What are you doing out here?”

“Patrol,” Dick says placing his hand on his hips. “Since the two of you are so knee deep in this case, someone has to pick up the slack. Petty crimes don’t stop just because Batman isn’t there.”

“I’m surprised the kid isn’t with you.”

“Yeah, funny thing, he kind of bailed the minute we got into the city.”

Jason rolls his eyes, “Idiot.”

“He’s a little monster, what am I supposed to do, tie him down?”

“Doesn’t seem like such bad idea since it seems like none of you ever knows where he is.”

“It’s not my job to babysit him.” Jason raises a skeptical eyebrow. “I mean it is but-”

Dick stops mid-sentence something over Jason shoulder catching his eyes.

“Are those lights?”

Jason turns his head back out into water. He sees what dick sees, to lights seemingly bobbing in and out of the water. Quickly he pulls out a pair of binoculars. What he sees throws him off. It looked like his previous assessment of the situation had been wrong. There had been no secret door. The Big Man had just driven the docks and into the water killing himself.

‘But why? The man had gotten away. And if he had simply driven the van into the water, he would have had more than enough time to get away on foot. Why let yourself drown?’

“Call Bruce,” Jason says. He doesn’t see it but Dick nods, “None of this makes sense.”

***

You wake up in a cold sweat. You’d been fine when Jason and Bruce were there, and even for the first hour after they left, but eventually you began to feel uncomfortable in your own skin.

Aside from being kept in a strange place, you could still feel the imprint of the Big Man’s hand on your mouth, still hear him calling you “Little Lamb” in your ear. Your nurse had given you painkillers that were supposed to help you sleep, but every time you closed your eyes you’d start to hyperventilate as images of the man and the small elevator flashed before your eyes.

Throwing your legs over the side of the bed, you mutter silent thank you for the fact that your bed hadn’t been set to call the nurses every time you got up. You aren’t connected to anything to consequential, so it’s easy to remove yourself from the monitors.

Your hands curl around the thin fabric of the white sheet that was meant to warm you and you slide it smoothly off of the bed, balling it up in your arms.  You cast a quick glance out of the room and into the nurse’s station. There is a night nurse there, but he isn’t paying any attention to his surroundings.

Carefully, you pad yourself into the bathroom. You set the blankets down on the counter and the quietly sneak back to the main area of your room. There is no lock on the bathroom door, you imagine for safety reasons, but it’s made it slightly inconvenient for you. The chair that Jason had been using was closets so you carefully slide it over into the small room, careful to limit the amount of scraping sounds that were made as you dragged the chair. Finally, you get the piece of furniture into the room.

Forcefully you jam it under the door knob, locking the door in place. No, one would be able to get in if they tried.

You take the sheet and as you begin to slide down against the wall cover yourself with it.

You were safe in here, you rationalized. The man couldn’t get you if he couldn’t get into the room, no one could. As a slight semblance of warmth creeps up your legs, you finally begin to feel drowsy. When your eyes shut this time, you are able to remain sleep.

***

It’s the rapid knocking that causes you to you to jolt awake.

“You haven’t hurt yourself, have you?! Why don’t you come out and let me help you?”

It takes you a minute to understand what’s being said, your mind still slightly blurry. You feel like you’ve come in on the later part of the conversation, and judging by the panic in her voice you probably had. How long had she been trying to wake you?

“Honey, are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine,” you call back standing up. “I just needed to be alone.”

There is relief in her tone, “Why don’t you come out so we can see you?”

You look in the mirror and see the bruises and scar on your face. What was there really to see? Nothing had changed. Wait.

‘We?’

“Do you hear me, honey? Why don’t you come out and see you friend?”

‘Jason wouldn’t come here again.’

“Bruce?” You question.

A familiar chuckle runs through you ears and you can feel tears stinging at the ducts of your eyes. Could she really?

“I never thought I’d see the day when you’d rather see a guy than me.”

Her voice is as sweet as you remember and as you kneel on the cushion of the chair and press your ear against the wood, you almost let out an audible sob.

“Camille?!”

Chapter Text

You couldn’t take your eyes off of her. When the nurse began to shine a light in your eyes to check the response of your pupils, you still didn’t take your eyes off of her. She sat in the visitor’s chair, that had been returned to the far end of your room, back straight and hands gently poised over her rounded stomach. Her bright blonde hair perfectly sitting on her shoulder. She looked like her, you couldn’t deny that, but it wasn’t her, you could tell.

“You’re looking good,” the nurse says with a smile patting you on the shoulder to bring your attention back to her. She didn’t seem to mind that you had been more than a little distracted during her little test. The small cartoonish animal prints littering her scrubs hinted that she was used to dealing with a younger more restless patent.

“You’re a lucky girl,” she continues as she begins to remove your blood pressure cuff. “Such a minor injury and you’ve got visitors pouring into see you.”

You open to your mouth to respond, but “Camille” speaks for you.

“As shy as she is she worms her way into people’s hearts, and once you get in there you can’t stay away from her.”

“You two must be close,” the nurse coos eyes flashing over to the pregnant woman and back to your own.

“Like sisters,” the woman confirms. “I was her first friend when she moved to Gotham, and we’ve been thick as thieves ever since.”

“Is that right?” The nurse asks looking at you for your conversation.

Reluctantly you nod, causing an almost swooning sigh to escape the nurse’s mouth. You tried to keep your face from reflecting what you were actually feeling. How could this thing sit there and pretend that it was Camille, your Camille, so easily? Your eyes run over the familiar form once again. Whatever it was, you had to concede that it had gotten as close to Camille’s appearance as possible. But she was too perfect.

She’d been gone for weeks, so why was her hair still completely blonde? By now her dark brown roots would have begun to protrude through the dye job. Camille escapes and the first thing she does is head to the salon? Bullshit.

“You girls make me want to call one my friends and reconnect.”

“Really?” The thing says with a politely curious smile. “You lost someone.”

“Yeah,” she says collecting her things. “We grew up upstate together, went to high school together and everything. I thought we would go to college together, but her decided to go down south and I stayed home.”

“You didn’t try and stay in touch?” You question, suddenly finding your voice and mildly distracted from the creature.

“Sometimes friends grow apart,” the nurse says with a shrug. “You start off talking every day, then you get busy and its once a week. Midterms and finals hit, once a month. Parties, new friends, and you maybe get the occasional text. Before you know it, your strangers.”

Her eyes drift off somewhere as if a sadness was washing over her, “You girls should enjoy each other while you can, time really does change things.”

“We will, promise,” It says with a smile eyes flickering from you back to the nurse.

You try to give the woman a smile as well, but the effort hurts your cheeks. Your polite effort ends up as this strange half smirk that looks more crazed than pleasing. The nurse furrows her eyebrows in confusion.

“Um, the doctor should be here in a little while, he should give you the once over and hopefully, you can be discharged today.”

“Great, that means I can take her home.”

“Hopefully, but given her incident this morning, the doctor will likely recommend some sort of psychiatric therapy. I suspect that if we are releasing her into such capable hands as yourself its more likely to be outpatient.”

“That’s wonderful,” It clasps its hands together as if showing it excitement. Its glinting green eyes turn to you, there is something dark about the way Camille’s face is looking at you. “We have so much to catch up on.”

The nurse simply nods her head before dipping out of the room.

Her exit leaves you in a thick heavy silence. What are you supposed to say to whatever it is? And how long would it pretend to be your friend.

“You look tired,” She remarks, looking at you rather warmly, but the look sends a chill down your spine. It looks so much like her that you for a moment you doubt building inside you about your suspicion. “You should rest, you’ve been through a lot.”

She stands rather easily, there isn’t even a wobble around her ankles. Your Camille could barely stand without almost tipping over.

She begins to walk over to you, as if she’s coming to touch you, to comfort you in some way. The muscles in your body tense at the prospect and a feeling of fear begins to roll down your spine. It was a familiar fear, reminiscent of when the butcher when put his hand over your mouth to silence you. You were afraid that if she touched you, you’d once again wake up in some unknown place.

“Can you get me some water?” you blurt out quickly. Luckily for you, your voice had gone somewhat hoarse. “I’m dehydrated.”

She pauses in her step a dark skeptical brow rising, green orbs flickering to your side table where a long empty container of water sat. She purses pink lips that aren’t her own for a moment, showing her irritation before that warm smile pastes itself back on her face. She doesn’t want to cause a scene, and if this was a test she’d could pass it easily.

“Of course, I’ll go see if they can get you another pitcher.”

She walks to the door of the room and slides it open. She pauses before exiting back stiffening as a thought seemingly hits her. Blonde hair whips over her shoulder and her green eyes narrow on your form.

“Don’t move an inch, I’ll be right back.”

You give he a quick nod of your head and content with your answer she leaves.

When the door shuts behind her you find that your shoulders are still tense despite the fact that she is gone. You wait another thirty seconds, until you are sure that she is gone and just not hovering outside of your door. When you’re confident you throw off the thin layers of hospital blankets and run to the door and begin to peek through the small window. You can see her silhouette as she walks away. The sliding door of the small hospital room couldn’t be jammed with a chair. The safest course of action, you determined, would be to hide and wait for the thing pretending to be your friend to leave.

***

He keeps his chin tucked beneath the collar of his leather jacket when he passes the familiar red and blue lights of the police cars sitting outside of the hospital. Even when he was out of uniform, Jason felt the hairs of caution begin to stick up on the back of his neck. As dumb as these cops could be, a part of him was always sure that they were always just one clue away from figuring him out.

It was strange though, the presence of multiple squad cars sitting out in front of the hospital. There was always one or two for safety reasons, but more than that usually meant that there was an active crime scene happening.

“Shit,” he mutters to himself as the thought runs through his mind. His bright blue orbs immediately flash up to the side of the building, eyes finding the floor where the woman was being kept. She just seemed to be a magnet for trouble.

Suddenly, a weight crashes into him, causing him to stumble back slightly.

There is a hiss of annoyance, that comes from the other party that he’d run into. He looks down to see a thin blonde woman. She doesn’t stop to look up at him, and besides the hiss that slips past her lips she doesn’t make another scolding sound. Instead, her steps seem to get more hurried.

‘Rude’ He thinks with furrowed eyebrows.

With a shake of his head he tries to rid himself of the feeling of Irony that begins to roll down his spine.

The doors of the hospital slide open with a hiss and he make his way to the front desk. A portly nurse sits behind the counter and looks up at him with a practiced smile.

“How can I help you today, sir.”

“Yeah, uh, I need a visitor pass.”

“Of course, sir,” He starts, “Room Number?”

“402.”

The man’s fingers pause over the keyboard and he rolls dark eyes up to meet Jason’s with a pointed irritated gaze.

“Oh, her,” He says nearly spitting the pronoun out of his mouth like it was poison.

Instead of being irritated with the man he feels his shoulders roll in slight embarrassment. He had been right. The police presence was here for her after all. Was there not a day she could go without getting in trouble?

“Yeah, uh, what’s going on up there?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” The man starts with his nose slightly flaring out in irritation. “First, she looks herself in her room, and now she’s locked in a supply closet. We’re doing our best to get her out without any problems, but your friend needs help. Mentally.”

He goes the extra mile and uses his finger to make a swirling “coo-coo” motion. Jason feels his lips purse in irritation. For a moment, he thinks about reaching over the desk and punching the guy, but he thinks better of it. If he goes and gets in trouble now, it’ll mean that Bruce will have to come get them both, and he didn’t feel with dealing with him at the moment.

“Listen, why don’t you tell me where the closest is and I’ll get her out of it and take her off of your hands.”

The desk nurse looks at him skeptically, “Technically it’s against protocol to let anyone, family or not, to intervene in a hospital emergency.”

“Believe me, she’s been through a lot and she’s not going to let one of you talk to her,” Jason says trying to reason his way through. However, he wasn’t actually sure that she would talk to him either.

The nurse let’s out a sigh, “This girl. She’s getting all sort of exceptions. First the blonde, now you.”

“What Blonde?” Jason asks, eyebrows furrowing.

The nurse types a few keys on the keyboard, looking up the visitor information.

“It’s says here name was Camille, do you know her?”

Jason stares blankly at the man for a moment, his encounter with the blonde woman just outside of the hospital doors flashing through his mind. His eyes screw shut in anger and his large hands come up to his face to try and rub the tension away. It doesn’t work.

“Uh, are you alright, sir?” The nurse asks with raised eyebrow.

“Can you just give me the stupid key already?!” Jason asks aggressively, hand jutting out to the nurse.

The nurse rolls his eyes.

*****
You supposed you’d been in here long enough. You hadn’t heard it come and try to coax you out of the closet, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t waiting in your room for you. How long would you have before she came before she’d try to take you away? What if she wasn’t the only thing hiding in the hospital? If they took you out of here before you could tell anybody, would they replace you too? How would anyone know to look for you then?

“Hey! Open the door idiot.”

The harsh tone of the voice sent a wave familiarity down your spine. But no sooner then it came did you tense up again. What if they had gotten to Jason too?

He begins to pound on the door and you feel a wave nausea come over you.

“H-how do I know it’s you?” You ask rather nervously.

He stops pounding, seemingly understanding your concern.

“Listen woman,” he starts slightly exasperated. “I saw her on the way out, so I know I what you’re hiding from.”

You pause for a moment. How would a fake Jason act? Would he say something to make you believe that it was the real Jason? Surely, they must have done at least the same amount of research on Jason as they did Camille. But for them to know about their relationship with Jason, wouldn’t they have to know who Jason was? Wouldn’t they have to know who he used to work for.

Your eyes go wide at the thought. Does that means they know about Bruce, about Batma-

“Jesus Christ, I can hear you thinking. Just open the fucking door so I can talk to you,” He says exasperated.

‘Or, I can be overthinking this too much’

The supply closet door has a small sliver of a window, and even though the glass distorted the image, you could still make out the familiar brown leather jacket. You back up with a sigh. If it was Jason, there isn’t really a reason for you not to let him in. You take a minute to look around the dark closet and spot a broom. Grabbing the wooden handle, you bring it close to your body.

‘Just in case.’

Hesitantly, you move the metal folding chair you found from underneath the door. Having heard the movement, Jason wiggles the doorknob, this time finding that he can move it. However, he doesn’t open it. He turns to look behind him at the nurse who were waiting to seemingly pounce on unsuspecting prey. They look at him and nod, as if they were somehow working on the same team. He rolls his eyes.

He opens the door quickly and before anyone can follow behind him he shuts the door. He turns only to be hit in the face, with what feels like…straw?

“What the hell!” He screams looking at you with wide eyes.

You blink looking up at the taller boy, shrinking slightly at his reaction.

“I didn’t want to take a chance that you were like Camille, so I wanted to protect myself. But just in case you were you, I didn’t want to hurt you either, so I hit you with the soft side. To confuse you.”

He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, before reaching out for the broom. You hand it over to him willingly, feeling slightly like a child being scolded.

“You saw her?” You question.

Quickly calming down and placing the broom down, Jason nods his head.

“She ran into me on the way out. Wasn’t a very good copy though, she wasn’t even pregnant.”

“What are you talking about?” You question furrowing your brows. “The woman I saw was at least eight months pregnant.”

“The one who ran into me outside wasn’t.”

“Are you sure it was her? Did you see her face?”

“No,” he says reluctantly, “And even if I did see her I’m not sure that I would have recognized her. But the check-in nurse said that she had just walked out when I walked in.”

“So, what happened to the baby?”

“There wasn’t one,” he says. “Maybe she had like pregnancy suit on or something”

“No,” you said with a shake your head. “That belly was real, I know.”

“I don’t think humans can drop that amount of weight that quickly.”

You looked at him wide eyes, “Really? What was she then.”

Catching his mistake, he blanches, “Uh, I don’t think I was supposed to tell you that.”

You nod with understanding, “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Good.”

“But I can’t stay, here Jason. They’ll send someone to get me, like they did at Camille’s house.”

“There a window in here?”

“It’s a supply closet, Jason.”

“So, no?”

“How old are you again?”

He pauses for a moment and shrugs his jacket off.

“Here, put this on.”

You comply slipping the jacket on, “What are we going to do?”

“We’re just going to walk out, but we’re going to do it real fast. The nurse out there are waiting to take you to the psych ward, they even called the cops.”

“Won’t we be breaking some sort of law?”

“Who the fuck cares? You want to stay here or let them take you somewhere?”

“No.”

“Then let’s go.”

Chapter Text

Bruce Wayne considered himself a rather patient man. Of course there were times where he lost his temper, but he felt there was always a justified reason for the times when he did. This was definitely one of those times when he felt more than justified. 

He waited in front of the hospital, thumbs tapping agitatedly as the dial tone on his cell-phone rang for an achingly long time. To make matters worse, as he sat in his is black sports car, the normal muggy gray of Gotham skies seemed to dissipate and a column of sunlight beamed directly on the vehicle. As the temperature rose in the care he could feel his anger rise with it.

Finally, the phone clicked. 

"I was wondering when you'd figure it out." 

"Jason!" 

"What?" The younger man questioned. "She's fine." 

"You kidnapped her from the hospital?" 

"First of all she's not a kid-" 

"Jason," he's warns teeth gritting in annoyance. 

"And as two grown adults, we simply walked out of the front of the hospital. No kidnapping, no problem." 

"A patient can't just leave the hospital without being discharged Jason. Think before you act. What about all of the trauma she just endured?" 

  "Yeah well pretty sure that I just saved her from another trauma." 

  "What?" 

  "Listen just meet me at Fat Al's downtown-" 

  "Jason, the man wants to know if you-, oh you're on the phone sorry." 

  "It's just Bruce." 

  "Oh, does he want a burger?" 

  "Do you want-" 

  "No," Bruce hisses. 

  "He said he's constipated." 

  "Jason!" 

  "Oh," She says in the background. "Maybe a nice salad then."  

  "Don't move, I'm coming right now," Bruce says squeezing the bridge of his nose in irritation. 

  "Not going anywhere while I'm waiting for my food," Jason responds, voice drifting away like as he loses interest in the conversation. 

Before Bruce can respond, his phone begins to beep rhythmically. He pulls the device away from his face, to see the words "CALL ENDED" flashing across the screen.  

*** 

Fat Al's was and old fashion burger restaurant, complete with a rather large man patting his belly as a sign standing high above the restaurant. He'd passed by the burger spot many times on his way into work, as it almost sat in the middle of downtown Gotham, but he was positive that this was the first time he'd ever set foot on the premises.  

While normally he would have noticed how out of place he was, his anger was causing him to ignore the stares of the other patrons. 

They weren't hard to find, sitting under an umbrella covered table in the patio area. He almost stopped when he saw how entrenched they were in conversation. Jason's face while serious, seemed to be decidedly less hostile than it normally was. And she was just as enraptured in the conversation as he was. 

As he begins his approach, he notices that her eyes suddenly dart around as if looking for someone. Quickly, her eyes find his form and a soft smile crosses her face. A hand comes up to wave him over and the movement causes Jason to snap his eyes of over in his direction. Almost as soon as they make eye contact Jason rolls his and sits back in his chair, bringing his napkin up to wipe his mouth. 

Bruce stands in front of the pair, anger clearly on his face. 

"Why aren't you in the hospital?" He asks looking at the accountant. A frown pulls at her lips and her eyes flash to Jason's who gives her an acquiescing shrug. 

"Camille was there." 

"What?" Bruce asks confused. At first he thinks that perhaps she had been hallucinating, she had hit her head multiple times when she fell out of the back of that van after all. But when eyes clash with Jason's, who simply gives him a nod, he takes her seriously. 

"Last night I," her eyes darken slightly and flash away at him. "I fell asleep in the bathroom." 

"How'd that happen?" Jason questions with an arched eyebrow, hearing this part of her story for the first time. 

"I-I got sick, allergic to the medicine," She stutters out. 

Bruce can tell that she's lying. She won't stop wringing her fingers together, and every time he tries to match his gaze with hers, her eyes flick away. However, he quickly decides that whatever she's lying about isn't important, and if it becomes an issue she'll eventually tell him about it anyway. 

"When I woke up, there was a nurse saying I had a visitor. And it was her, but it wasn't." 

Bruce's eyebrows furrow, "What do you mean?" 

"Her hair," she starts, small fingers absently fining the ends of her own tresses. "Camille is a bottle blonde. Usually you can't tell because she's so regimented about keeping her color up, but she's really a brunette. She came to me and her hair was   still perfectly blonde and-" 

"She's been gone for weeks," Bruce says catching on. "Not mention, how would she have known where you were in the first place." 

"Something else was weird to," she begins eyes looking ruefully at Jason. 

"I saw her too," Jason says looking over at Bruce with crossed arms. "And she was flat as a board." 

"Camille was on maternity leave when you first met her," the accountant interjects with pursed lips, clearly not liking the way that Jason was addressing her friends body. "By now, she would have been half way through her eighth month. And the times between Jason and I saw her couldn't have been more than ten minutes." 

"And unless she decided to just casually pop out her baby in the middle of some hallway, I think that means somethings fishy is going on," Jason says with a satisfied nod. 

"Jason said she might not be human," she says hands covering the sides of her mouth as if she was the one with the big secret. "Do you think that's true?" 

"We’re skip the fact that whoever this person is might not just be very good at disguising themselves?" Bruce asks with raised eyebrow. 

"I would have been able to tell if it was just someone in a mask, Bruce," She says curtly.  "I know what I saw and I know what she looked like. If it was anyone else but me in guarantee that they would have said that it was her." 

Bruce gaze turns questioning and his eyes glance over at Jason, whose shoulders fall slightly and gives a shake of his head. 

"I didn't see her face so, I don't know." 

"You wouldn't know what she looked like anyway!" She says in anger hand slamming on the weak plastic table. "Again, this wasn't just someone in good make up, she sounded like her, moved like her. But she was too prefect." 

"We have to operate on what we do know. It seems as though whoever these people are intent on either silencing you or taking you wherever they have Camille. But they won't act if there is too much attention. Hence the reason she left when you ran away in the hospital," Bruce says calmly. 

"Well that's a good thing right? It means no one is going to try and take her out it broad daylight." 

"But it also means that she's likely being watched at all times of the day, so they know when she's alone." 

"Do you think that means they know that I stayed with you?" She asks with wide slightly panicked eyes. 

"It's likely, but I doubt it will be an issue," Bruce says placing a reassuring on her shoulder. 

"The Manor is isolated, but I doubt they'll want the media attention that an attack on Bruce Wayne's manor will get them. Not to mention the mini army there." Jason said with a shake of his head. 

She looks down as if contemplating something, "Should I let them take me then?" 

"Are you an idiot?!" Jason asks. "I just broke you out of the hospital so that you wouldn’t be thrown in a cell and now you want to get taken?" 

"Neither of you know anything about where Camille is, and you don’t even know really who is behind this. If I get captured you could follow me and then rescue everyone, right?" 

She looks up at Bruce with wide innocent, determined but fearful eyes. 

It is an option, Bruce realizes, but not one he's desperate enough to try something like that yet. 

"Are you actually considering it?!" Jason asks standing up angrily when Bruce doesn't give the "no" that he was looking for. 

"No," he lies smoothly glaring at the tone the boy uses with him. He however turns his attention back the accountant. "It's too much of a risk to do something like that when there are other options. I don't want to put you in danger, especially when we don't actually know what's happening to the victims." 

"You mean because they could be killing them, not just holding them hostage?" She asks quietly. 

"Yes." 

"What other options?" Jason asks with a raised eyebrow and returning to the abandoned food on the table in front of him. 

"Come to the Manor Saturday night, and I'll tell you," Bruce says motioning for the accountant to stand. 

"This isn't a trick is it?" Jason asks skeptically. 

"Come on Saturday, and you'll find out." 

When she stands, it's only then that Bruce sees the full outfit, that she and Jason supposedly thought was appropriate.  

An oversized set of sweats the arms falling well over her hands and hanging limply off of her shoulders. The pants covered the tops of her feet and would have dragged across the ground if she hadn't been holding them up. When she steps toward him he sees that pair of dingy shower sandal covering her feet.  To make matters worse, every time she moved it was a piece of her hospital gown that became visible. 

"You left the hospital like this?" He asks rather concerned. 

"We had to make a quick getaway," She says rather earnestly. 

"It turns out that the hospitals that you are escaping from aren't keen on giving you clothes that fit," Jason adds. 

"I see," Bruce says with another exasperated sigh. "Let's not making a habit out of breaking the law then, okay?" 

"I'll try not to," She says with a smile. "But there are some situations that it can't be helped." 

"Exactly," Jason adds in agreement. 

Bruce eyes the two of them and shakes his head. Perhaps allowing them to get to know one another was not a good idea. 

Chapter Text

“Do you have everything?” You asked wringing your fingers together. You had hoped that your voice didn’t sound as worried out loud as it did in your head, however judging from the way Bruce’s eyebrows raised in amusement you doubted the confidence was there.

“I’ve been to parties before,” He replies with a chuckle as he straightened his tie. “It’s kind of what I do.”

You want to roll your eyes at the slight hint of smugness that permeates his tone, but your concern for his safety is more than outweighing your desire to put him in his place.  

“I get that, but don’t you think it, I don’t know that they might think its suspicious that you’re there. Or what if they try to take you too.”

The lines of amusement seem to deepen on his face as he allows himself to flash a small smile. You fluttered slightly at the sight but the usual flushing of your cheeks didn’t come. Despite the jovial tone of the conversation you felt uneasy.

“Not to be vain-,” He starts.

“You’re about to say something incredibly vain, aren’t you?” You ask flatly.

“Most people are excited to have me show up their parties invited or not.”

“Oh my God,” You say looking at him with slight distrustful eyes. “You’re a habitual party crasher, aren’t you?”

“I’m not a crasher, it's just that sometimes invitations are more so implied than they are extended.”

“You know when I first met you Camille said something about you being a playboy, and until now I didn’t believe it,” You say with vaguely playful disapproving frown. “I bet you’re the type to show up at an ex’s party with a new girlfriend, aren’t you? Just to see if she’ll get jealous.”

His gets quiet as his deep blue eyes suddenly switch from looking intently at your face to focusing on straightening his already perfect tie. He clears his throat, “I can’t say that I think of it that vindictively.”

“I’m right?” You questioned slightly surprised.  “I know I’m good at reading people but I’d thought you’d be a little harder than all the rest.”

“I’d like to think I am,” he mumbles to himself, but loud enough for you to hear. Or you would have heard. But your thoughts came crashing like a waterfall and you couldn’t stop them.

“But of course, you would do something like that. I mean you’re; you and you know the other you,” You motion at him, waving your hand up and down as if you were encapsulating all of his essence in such a simple singular gesture. “If you weren’t a little bit creepy you probably wouldn’t be good at your job.”

“I’m not creepy,” He says slightly defensively, but doesn’t take the time to defend himself anymore. “And, as to your other point, I doubt they would do something so bold to try and attack me in public.”

“But what if they do get you. What if they make you a double too and none of us can tell who you are,” You ask with wide fearful eyes. “What if you go and something awful happens?”

“Relax,” He says smoothly. One of his large hands comes to rest carefully on your shoulder; a firm grasp to reassure you but not so heavy to scare you off. He knows how quickly how something overly aggressive would only make you worry more; it would make it seem like he was afraid too.  “You think of only the negative possibilities, think of it this way. If something were to happen to me, you and Camille might be together again quicker than you think.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt just so that I can feel better.”

The frown that pulls down on your slightly ignites the urge to make you feel better. However, he frowns at the thought. Being honest with himself, he only knows two ways to make someone feel better and one of them works only half of the time. He could try one on you. Seduce you, take you upstairs and make love to you. He was certain that would take your mind off of the things that worried you. He’d done it before and he felt no shame at the prospect of doing it again. Sometimes it even helped him feel satiated. Sometimes.

Who would that help in the long run, though? He’d be able to distract you sure. For how long, he wouldn’t know. Your mind seemed to process things at a rabbit's pace. A few days? Hours? Minutes? And then what irrational thoughts would come into your head. How would you see him then? At the moment you relied on him, and if he was to cross that line, he was sure that the backlash to whatever trust you had given him would double back in a way that he wouldn’t expect. Would you think that he had brought you to his home to take advantage of you? It wouldn’t be true, but it would be a reasonable train of thought.

The only other way he knew how to overcome fear was to become it, but what good would another monster be?

So, what do normal non-broken people do to offer comfort? How do they make the fear, the irrational thoughts, the worry go away?

His fingers tighten on your shoulder and you look up at him with big eyes and slightly parted lips, as if you're asking him something. He seen the look before, most notably he recalls the look coming over Dick’s face whenever he was unsure. This was different than those times. For one thing he was sure the flush on your cheeks wasn’t from intimidation the way Dick’s was and he was also certain that he was about to make the right choice this time.

It only takes a second. There is a slight flinch in his fingers but it seems to send you into his chest at almost lightning speed. Your hand braces its self against the firmness of his chest, and before you could pull back to arch your head and ask him what he is doing, you’re pressed against him so tightly you can’t move. His large heavy arms wrapped around your waist and his head is gently tucked against yours.

You feel small and surprisingly you’re okay with that. It’s a different type of smallness than the one you usually feel. You don’t feel like the world is out to get you for once. The smallness reminds you of the tiny figurines inside of a snow globe and he’s the glass protecting you from the outside world. The thought has you blushing and your throat tightening at the same time. While your insides also feel like a snow globe, falling and fluttering at the same as a rush of excitement runs up and down your spine, you also feel guilty. Is it right to indulge in this feeling? Your hand grasps at the fabric of his tux, wrinkling it slightly, as the thought runs through your head.

If you were honest that only other person you had in your life that made you feel this safe was Camille. Was it right to lean into Bruce for that safety? To replace her, with someone else, while she was probably waiting for someone to come and save her? The implication makes you feel guilty, but you don’t pull away. Instead you find yourself burrowing deeper into the embrace. Your eyes close as you will his warmth to wash over and ease the worries from your mind.

It’s not wrong to seek comfort in times of distress, you decide. Besides, it was Camille that pushed you to him the first place, you doubt that she would disapprove if she could see you now. In fact, you think that she might be surprised by close you’ve let him. You’re sure that if you explained to her how warm he was, she would understand why you hadn’t pulled away from him yet.

The embrace seems to go on for a long time, as neither of you seem inclined to pull away. Your eyes begin shut as the strong thump of his heartbeat rolls into your ears. One of his hands come up from your waist, and as if to reassure you that he isn’t going to let go the arm that is left around your waist pulls you closer. So close you are more the sure that he feels the racing of your heart, but you aren’t embarrassed. Although he appears calm, the way his hand comes to cup the back of your head, tells you that in some ways he is almost as inexperienced as you are. In fact, you almost giggle when he begins to stroke your hair the way a child would petting their first dog, slightly heavy handed and awkward.  You imagine, being a rich playboy, he was only versed in one type of intimacy. Still, the attempt and the follow through meant more to you than any flirtatious word that you had ever heard.

“Ugh, don’t tell me you brought me here to watch this shit,” A familiar, irritated voice interrupts.

In all those shitty televisions shows you watch, when a couple is caught in the position, you’re in, they jump and pull away, embarrassed by even the most innocent of touches.

It doesn’t happen here. His arms fall slack. The hand cupping your head falls to his side and slips in to the pockets of his pants, a practiced gesture. The hand around your waist however, does not move. He allows you enough room to turn and face the intruder and when you do, he pulls you to his side. The movement surprises you slightly. You’re not so emotionally inept that you don’t understand that innate possessiveness of the movement. And you’re sure that some of the nature documentaries that you watched would confirm your suspicions that something, in the middle of your embrace, had changed the nature of your relationship.

As if to confirm your thoughts, Jason, your intruder, comments, “I didn’t come her to watch you stick your tongue down her throat.”

“Be mature, Jason,” Bruce comments smoothly as the younger man petulantly crosses his arms over his chest.

You wonder if Bruce knows how expressive he is through his hands. He’s quick to make sure that his face and voice don’t betray what he’s thinking. But the light tapping of his fingers on your waist gave way to the irritation he had. Perhaps that’s why he hides his hands in his pockets, subconsciously or not.

“Mature, doesn’t mean sticking your tongue down someone’s throat every time they’re a little sad, so don’t lecture me about mature,” Jason snipes back quickly, his blue eyes electric with practiced furry. He meets your gaze just as a disapproving frown crosses you face. At the look, his shoulders seem to slump. “Whatever, what did you tell me to come here for anyway?”

Bruce’s chest expands as he takes a deep calming breath, clearly trying keep the tension in his voice from spilling over into the next part of the conversation.

“There is an event tonight and I need-”

“I’m not playing babysitter, she’s old enough to look after herself.”

Your eyebrow twitches at the thought of being assigned a babysitter, but choose to bite your tongue. If Bruce really did bring Jason here to watch you, you couldn’t blame him. Besides that, danger that you’ve been subjected to, you haven’t really displayed the most stable behavior.

“Funnily enough, I’m sure I’m the one who’ll be looking after you tonight,” Bruce says flatly.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s not that hard to figure out, you have a job to do, Robin.”

It happened so quickly, you barely had time to process what had occurred. You were no longer loosely tucked into Bruce's side but instead safely sheltered behind him. Your eyes were wide as you peeked around the to see just what was occurring.

You nearly gasped when you saw the cold steel barrel of a gun pressed to Bruce’s head. Your eyes flick to meet Jason’s and your heart sinks. His are so filled with rage, but they are also borderline watering, like he was trying his best to hold back his tears.

“Don’t call me that,” He hisses through clenched teeth. His lips a spread in such a fierce snarl that they began to turn white.

Bruce didn’t move nor did he make it seem like he was startled by Jason’s actions, like he expected the reaction from the boy.

‘Does that mean he said it on purpose?’

The thought flashes through your mind and you feel your throat tighten at the implication. Why would he purposely say something to hurt Jason? While you had only seen a little of their relationship, it seemed clear that he had some sort of fatherly affection for the boy.  Then again, sometimes fathers thought they were helping their sons when they pushed their buttons.

That didn’t matter right now though, the two men in front of you were still caught in the deadlock, neither of them seemed to want to back down from their unspoken battle.

You bit your lip and rocked slight away from Bruce’s form, still standing close enough for him to feel you there. You had a feeling that if you moved to far out of his reach you wouldn’t be able to do what you had to.

With a deep breath you move quickly around Bruce and reach your hands up to reach the gun and Jason’s hand.

One clamps down on the barrel and the other warmly grasps Jason’s hand, gently you begin to lower his arm. His eyes flicker to yours for a second and back to Bruce, slightly narrowed.

“He didn’t mean it,” you find yourself cooing.

His hand is shaking slightly, like he is so angry he couldn’t steady himself.

“Tell him to take it back,” the boy hisses out.

“Bruce,” You start, internally grimacing at how stern your voice sounded. “You didn’t mean to call him that, did you?”

“No.”

It’s quick and unapologetic, clearly voicing his displeasure at be made to apologize.

‘How childish.’

“See, he didn’t mean it,” You say softly.

You are sure that no one, including you, believes that.

Your hand is firm around Jason’s wrist and you squeeze slightly as you begin to push down his arm. Finally, the boy looks at you for more than a few seconds. His hurt eyes seem heavy when they lock on yours and it sends a twinge of anger and sadness down your spine. What had been done to hurt him?

Seeming to see sense your empathy and your desire to help him, his tense arm relaxes. And just as quickly as the moment had started, it was over. He snatched his arm from you and turned his body away from yours.

“I’ll wait downstairs,” he mumbles out quickly. He storms out of the room, feet heavy with anger.

“Well, you’re a bit of an asshole, aren’t you?”

The flat and unimpressed nature of your tone, startles Bruce a bit. It’s one of the first times, since you first met, that he’s heard you be anything other than anxiety ridden.

“I don't know what that was about, but I know, I could tell that it didn't have to go there."

He doesn't respond, and you don't expect him too. He doesn't seem like the type that does well with criticism, or at least taking about what it is that he's done wrong.

A deep breath forces itself through your nostrils and you find yourself exiting the room quickly.

***

As Bruce Wayne approached the party venue the bits of the conversation he’d just had ran through his mind.

“I’ve only been to Mammon Plaza once. It was around the time when I first got transferred to the city. They call it plaza, but the main feature is a giant building that looks like a warehouse on the outside. That’s where the party will be.” She said looking at the two of them seriously, then she frowned as something clicked in her brain. “Well I mean it will be obvious where the party is.”

She was right, it was more than obvious where the party was. Aside from the large number of cars lining up to drop people off in front of a large Warf building, there a pair of tacky spot lights signaling the entrance to the building.

“Cam, went to a lot of the parties, it’s where she met her husband, Brian,” a frown crosses her pretty face as her eyes fall off to the side. “I should call him.”

“Hey, hey focus,” Jason snaps.

“Sorry,” she says sheepishly. “She always said that they tried to make it seem like they were charity things, but everyone there was kind of an uppity asshole.”

“Sounds like you’ll fit in just fine,” Jason says snidely to Bruce.

“Actually, you’re right,” she says out loud. “If you go there you probably won’t get any time alone. I know for a fact that once Kristen sets her eye on you, she won’t leave you alone until you agree to meet with Preston or Carlisle for lunch. How are you going to explore? Find info.”

Bruce remains silent but his eyes shift over to the younger man in the room.

“So that’s why I’m here,” Jason says with a roll of his eyes. “If you wanted to check the place out, why did we wait until now?”

“You don’t think they’d try something at the party, do you?  I mean I know you said they wouldn’t attack you, but what about the other people there?” She asks Bruce with wide concerned eyes.

“I do,” Bruce answers solemnly. “And the fact that we don’t have any direct leads on what we’re dealing with means that best option is to let them.”

“Let them?” She questions in a slightly breathless panicked tone.

“To a point,” he soothes quickly.

“Oh, that’s a good idea let’s put people and danger and hope we can save them, that’s never back fired before,” Jason interrupts angrily.

“Tell me, do you have any suggestions?” Bruce asks with an arched eyebrow.

“Yeah, we kidnap her boss and whoop his ass until he tells us what the hell is going on.”

“And if he’s just a puppet?”

“Someone’ll come looking for him, and we kick their asses too.”

“And if he’s just disposable?”

Jason’s nose scrunches at the proposition. The old man was always making it more complicated than it had to be. They all knew that the boss had to be in on it, so why was he pushing back on his plan? Why does he always push back?

“They building where the party is will be in the center of the plaza but they own all the buildings in the area,” The accountant interrupts smoothly, directing her comments toward Jason. “It’s a lot of area to cover alone.”

“I’m used to it,” Jason answers quickly.

“Also, they tend to end their parties with fireworks, and everyone is required to attend. So, it would be a good opportunity for you to explore the main building without getting caught,” She adds thoughtfully.

Jason simply gives her a nod of his head.

The young valet looks at Bruce with wide eyes he hands him the keys with a cool smile.

“Your-r Bruce Wayne,” the boy stutters.

“Try not to let too many people know,” Bruce says charismatically. “I’m just here to enjoy the party.”

It’s a phrase he’s said countless times and one that he knows is almost always useless.  Even if this young boy doesn’t tell, the minute he turns around he knows that someone is going to recognize him.

“I’m in place.”

Jason’s voice rings in his ear as he straitens his tie and begins to make his way toward the entrance on of the party.  He doesn’t respond to the boy, after all this time he should know what the protocol is.

As he approaches the entrance, he spies a long carpet sectioned off to keep the paparazzi from tormenting the small horde of guests walking into the party.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he spots a man with a camera looking at him determinedly. When he meets his gaze, the man’s eyes go wide and he elbows the woman next to him.

“Holy shit, it’s Bruce Wayne.”

Voices rise and a hail of flashing falls over not only him but the other guests simply trying to enter the party.

“Let’s get this shit over with.”

Chapter Text

There was something eerie about this party. He was used to attention. He wasn't too humble to admit that he was the party, especially when he showed up unannounced to things like this. All eyes on him all the time. To have Bruce Wayne crash a party? A status boost to anyone. One that he was happy to give to anyone who could further his agenda.

But this was different, wrong even.

He stood nearly in the middle of the room surrounded by small cliques. Huddled and hushed they whispered about him. Waiting with bated breath every time he swirled his champagne around the elegant flute in his hand. He catches the eye of a blonde woman sporting high ponytail and flowing white dress. There she'd been eyeing him the entire time. Blue eyes flicking between her small crowd and him.

He raises his glass and quirks and eyebrow invitation.

She shudders her rejection. A frown pulling at her full lips before she shows him her back.

He almost can't help the frown that works its way on his face.

He'd been iced out before. Particularly when he was younger, and he was too angry to control himself. Socialites would invite him to their parties; an Angry Bruce Wayne at a party was still Bruce Wayne at a party. But any resulting awkwardness was a result of his own mistakes and his unwillingness to play with the social cues of the ever-evolving Gotham social scene.

This wasn't that. Ten minutes at this gathering and no one, besides the valet, had even approached him to shake his hand. No attempting to pitch a business idea or ask for philanthropy. Here was thoroughly on the outside looking in.

He was somewhere that he wasn't wanted.

And unfortunate for these people that meant that he was exactly where he needed to be.

"Bruce Wayne?"

The questioning voice sends a slight chill down Bruce's spine. But Bruce is more than practiced enough for this and by the time he turns to greet the approaching figure he has a charming questioning smile plastered on his face.

"Michael Carlisle," The man says extending a large hand to shake. Bruce accepts the hand and firmly shakes it.

The moment their hands touch something seems to break in the air. The oppressive eyes of the room around him watch their interaction closely. But as their hands return to their respective sides, Bruce hears a distinct clinking of glasses of champagne. Then a light chuckle rings out. Murmurs of conversation begin to bubble around the room and the atmosphere shifts. Suddenly Bruce doesn't fill like he is own trial anymore. And the party become just like any other in Gotham. An exhale that he hadn't realized they'd been waiting on. It seems he was the one who had been blessed tonight not the other way around.

The man responsible for it all was a head shorter than him. Silver blond hair slicked back away from his face. He has wide expressive blue eyes and flushed red cheeks. He's tense wearing a smile, but his shoulders are so stiff he almost looks like he's hunching forward to greet the man.

"A pleasure," Bruce responds to the younger man. He says the phrase so much he almost doesn't notice the drawl he's putting on the ending letters. "It's a shame we haven't met before tonight."

"It is" Carlisle replies with an enthusiastic nod and a slight glance around the room. "It truly is such a shame, which is why what I say next may seem a little rude. But what are you doing here? I didn't think a party like mine would even be on your radar."

The man looks at him curiously a slightly cocked head, hands shoved into the pockets of his ill-fitting white suit pants; they were slightly too big for his frame. He scuffs the ground with his leather shoes as he rocks back and forth on his heels.

‘Anxious or Excitable’

Bruce doesn't have enough information to tell yet.

"Nothing rude about that," Bruce says turning to look over the crowded room and taking a sip from his flute of champagne. "Believe me, I've gotten much worse."

Carlisle lets a smile quirk at the end of his lips as he waits for Bruce to answer the other part of his question. His blue eyes watch Bruce with fascination. Flicking from the top of Bruce's hair and down to his shoes. Why is Carlisle sizing him up?

"To be honest," Bruce says, lowering his voice to make the conversation more intimate. He leans his body toward the boyish man and brings up a practiced hand to hide his mouth. "I'm doing a bit of shopping."

"Shopping?" The younger man questions with furrowed, manicured brows. "OH! Do you need and accounting firm?!"

Bruce straightens his back a little, startled by the man's lack of discretion.

"I'm surprised Wayne Enterprises doesn't have its own firm in-house."

"We do," Bruce says with a shrug of his shoulders. "But recently there's been a little bit of a shake-up, and I was looking for some outside eyes to get a new perspective on the matter."

The lie rolls off of his tongue smoothly, and judging by the blond man's nod of assent it was enough to ward off some suspicion.

"So, you’re here to steal some of my up-and-coming talent huh?" Carlisle asks ribbing the older man.

Bruce nearly flinches at the touch, "Borrow some of your top talent to look at the books."

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable Bruce, I'm just glad I didn't hug when I first saw you. I'm a big hugger."

If Bruce wasn't who he was he could envision himself scrunching up his face in irritation at the man. This was who she had worked for? Had believed in enough to move across the country for? He seemed more than a little overbearing, and as skittish as she was it was impossible to her getting past an interview with this man. How could she even stand to work a single day for him?

"If that turned you off, though I'm afraid that you might not find anyone here who you'd want to work with. We're all family here, lots of huggers."

The man let out a laugh and some of the nearby party goers that were supposedly "giving them their space" chuckled.

"I may not be the touchy-feely sort, but I get hands on, when necessary, Mr. Carlisle."

Bruce pats the man on the back for good measure.

Carlisle seems to pause a beat his eyes glued to the spot on his shoulder where Bruce had laid a friendly tap. His blue eyes narrow in irritation and Bruce can feel a shift in atmosphere as the man’s once jovial face becomes stony.

"We don't call it being touchy-feely Mr. Wayne," Carlisle say with a bite on the tip of his tongue. "We- I have made it a point to build a finally here. A company based on empathy. This isn't 'touchy-feely' foolishness. This is the future. How we build. A company that lasts But I suppose someone like you who's never had to work for anything wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

The party is once again silent, and all eyes are on the pair of men, once again in a way that Bruce isn't used to. He hadn't expected the man to be so volatile' it was a harmless comment, with no malice behind it. But here Carlisle was, red cheeked and sweaty brow, and eyes black, dilated with anger.

"I apologize if offended you," Bruce says quickly. The smooth timbre of his words not giving away any surprise. "It wasn't intentional."

Carlisle's nostrils flare in anger, his throat turns red, and vein pulses lightly at his temple.

' A severe overreaction ,' Bruce notes.

And even that felt like an understatement. The man was practically hunched over in anger and a simple comment.

A clicking heels pierces the uneasy silence of the room. Bruce notices a rather tall red head approaching the pair. A pair of striking grayish blue eyes assess Brice sternly, a frown pulls at her red lips. She apparently finds him lacking.

Bruce watches as a slender hand grips Carlisle's shoulder tightly, the pressure being applied only noticeable because of the wrinkling. of fabric.

"There's been a call for you, Mr. Carlisle," the woman says with a pliant tone.

"A call?" The man asks, blond brows furrowing in confusion.

The woman’s lips stretch into an unforgiving line of irritation. The order is clear.

"Ah, yes, of course."

The man seems to almost instantly return to full height. Gone are his hunched shoulders and flushed cheeks. A cool complexion returns to the man, and he gives a Bruce a smile that is as calm as it is unnerving.

"I'm afraid that we must continue this conversation later, Mr. Wayne," Carlisle says. Any trace of anger seemingly long since swallowed and replaced with a clipped but pleasant professional tone. "Enjoy the party."

His eyes flicker around to the other party goers and with a nod of his head he hurries away. No doubt toward some back office that was meant the to give the VIPS of the place a chance to compose themselves, lest they become too unseemly for the other guests.

Bruce quickly loses sight of the man as the path of his retreat is swallowed up by a mob of party goers that are far too eager to aid in the man’s escape. This had not gone the way he had intended. He wasn't used to losing at the charm offensive.

He cuts his eye back to the tall woman who stood there with a rather please smirk on her face, arms crossed in a rather unimpressed fashion. As the chatter, light music, and dancing resumed, Bruce moved closer to the woman. He wasn't one to give up without a fight.

"Sorry to have interrupted you conversation Mr. Wayne, nut I'm sure you know that running a company can be a twenty-four-hour job." She starts smoothly, taking command of the conversation before he can even get an apology past his lips. Her thick red mane tumbles to the side slightly as she lightly cocks her head.

"It's not a problem. And as hectic as business can be, I'm sure dealing with annoying party guest is much tougher."

She smiles at the self-deprecation, "Believe me, you are not the worst that we've had to deal with."

"Is that right? Tell me more, miss?"

"Trainer, Kristen Trainer," she says, extending her black tipped fingers to shake his hand.

"Let me guess, you're the brains behind the operation," he says as an easy smile finds it way one his face.

"More like conductor. Without me none of this," she makes a circling motion with her finger, "happens."

"Ah, I get it. The boss's boss."

"What can I say, being and executive assistant is glamorous."

They share a chuckle and then a silence falls over the pair.

Trainer breaks is first, a coyness flitting over her blue eyes, "So when are you going to ask me to dance?"

"Oh, I'd never assume you'd want to dance with me, I practically ran your boss away."

"Like I said," She nearly glides as she takes his hand and leads the pair of them to the dance floor. "You aren't the worst we've had."

Bruce can't help the smirk that crosses his face as his arm settles around her waist. Perhaps he wasn't as off of his game as he thought he was.

***

Jason was more than sure that Bruce always stuck him with the shit jobs. If he was only a few years younger, he would have been proud to take them. He would have thought that Bruce trusted him with the more troublesome parts of the jobs, that he was preparing him to be his true successor. Being older, wiser and having endured more than his fair share of torture proved to him that it was probably the opposite.

Even now, it always felt like Bruce testing him, waiting for him to go rouge, do something that broke the rules. He knew that the older man was always waiting for him to slip up, coiled to attack anytime he did something less polite than beating a thug senseless.

The thoughts cause Jason’s shoulders to tense in irritation, but he can’t let his annoyance distract him from the mission. At the moment, he found himself on the top floor of the once vacant wharf building. If one were to enter from this floor, you wouldn’t assume that a high-class shindig was going on downstairs. Comparatively, it wasn’t the worst place that he’d ever been in; there was a distinct lack of rats that he was more than grateful for. The bare walls and exposed beams were a little strange though. According to the intel provided by the Brownie Woman, they’d had several parties in this place and the company owned the building. Who quits renovating when the project is only halfway done?

‘Someone who’s more worried about appearances than substance,’ He thinks to himself with slightly pursed lips.

He rolls his shoulders as he prepares himself to explore the building. He wouldn’t be able to do it for long. Since the assholes hadn’t finished the place, there wasn’t a steady supply of air flowing. Having already climbed up into the building after gently detonating a small explosive on one of the back walls, he didn’t want to risk alerting anyone just to accommodate his breathing.

With a sigh, he approached one of the newer-looking walls. It looked thin, like it was only a standing piece of paper, and mostly, he had been right. With a slight wind up, his fist had easily found its way through the wall, white particles crumbling around his hand as the sheet rock easily gave way. The wall continues to splinter as he works his hands through it, and soon enough he has a hole big enough for him to slide through.

When he gets to the other side, he’s not totally surprised to see a mostly dilapidated area. Cobwebs, fallen pieces of plywood, and exposed pipes let him know that he’s in a part of the building that has barley had any traffic. What has him slightly surprised though, were the construction lamps littering the floor. As the holes in the floor allow him to see both above and below him; the glow from the lamps on the other floors hit his eyes like fireflies. Despite only having worked to make some of this place look nice, there was activity going on throughout the whole wharf. It was strange really, buying out multiple buildings on the wrong side of Gotham just throw parties? The only way he wouldn't have found the situation not strange is if Bruce had been the one buying up the land. At least that way he'd at least have a guess what the man would be doing. And it was especially strange for an accounting firm to buy property that had nothing to do with campus expansion.

‘Unless they’re washing money for the mob.’

The thought hits Jason, and he can’t help the smirk that crosses his face.

“Hey dipshit,” he says connecting to Bruce through his earpiece. “Are there any familiar faces in the crowd?”

He gets slightly irritated when doesn’t get a response right away. The old man wasn’t going to ice him out because he called him a few names, was he? How professional.

“I don’t seem to know many people here.” Is the response that comes back over the ear piece and Jason’s haunches relax a little. He wasn’t being ignored, Bruce was in the middle of a conversation.

Jason doesn’t hear the response from the person who was talking with, but her gives about fifteen seconds pause, a chance for Bruce to listen to the other person, before he responds.

“You sure?” Jason questions skeptically, as he maneuvers father into the building, careful to avoid loose or weak floor boards. “This place looks like the perfects spot to was some dirty cash.”

“I really thought I knew everyone there is to known in this town,” Bruce responds with a bit of a chuckle.

Not a familiar face insight? That was putting a damper on the idea that these people had some kind of mob ties. When it came to mobsters Bruce has a practically photographic memory of their faces. For him not to recognize anyone meant that either there was a new organization or there was no mob there at all.

“I’ll keep looking,” he responds slightly irritated. He doesn’t get a response, and he doesn’t need one.

It's not long before he comes up to the next connecting wall. Pressing his hand up against the wall, he finds that it's almost as thin as the other one he'd come through. With another well-placed fist, he easily forces his way through the wall once again. As he pulls out the rubble, sensors in his mask begin to go off. He pauses in his excavation for a moment, silencing his one movement. It's quiet for a moment but then there is a rhythmic thumping streaming into his right ear, then the sounds stop. There is the creaking of wood and then the thumping resumes and fades out. The thought comes to his mind before the computer in his mask flashes the analysis on the screen.

Footsteps.

A patrol route.

Now that he had found what he was looking for, he'd have to be more careful. The general rule was if he could hear them, they could hear him. And although most people didn't have access to the tech he did, he was sure that the rule had saved his ass multiple times.

Carefully this time, he pulls himself through a smaller hole, he wouldn't make more noise than was necessary. Almost immediately he could see the shadows of movement dancing against the yellow lights of the construction lamp. The presence of these shadows made his heart jump slightly; if he was asked about it later he wouldn't say he was afraid, just a little freaked out. His sensors had only picked up the thudding of one person, he was sure of that. But right in front of his eyes, and how the shadows played with each other, he could tell that they're at least six people in his immediate vicinity. He had been lucky that no one had been just on the other side of the wall when he had ripped through.

'No footsteps?' He questions internally with a slightly panicked voice that he would yell about to himself later.

He crouches down, his knees bending easily to accommodate the familiar position and his weight as he moves forward with as gentle a step that he can muster. Some might be surprised by how stealthy the young man could be, especially wearing the heavy combat boots he loved so much. But Jason practiced that much harder to mask his sound, he'd keep his aesthetic and be the deadliest thing you'd never hear coming.

He makes his way to a worn wooden wall, marked with holes about the width of a small child's fist, perfect for getting an eye on a target, so he could know what he was dealing with. As he presses himself against the wall, the dancing of the shadows gives way, and he's clear about how many people that he would deal with on this floor.

He'd only been one off, seven instead of six. But the thought of being mostly right didn't give him any sense of victory. His stomach twisted into knots as two of the figures moved past each other. He wasn't crazy, he damn sure knew that, but he was sure as hell that his eyes were playing tricks on him, because he was seeing double. Two carbon copies of the same person walking past each other with small barely visible flashlights cradled in identical vine like fingers. The words thin and tall didn't seem to do justice to the visage of men he sees before him, but those are the only words that come to mind. That and their faces are obscured with long black hair that is so thick, he isn't even sure there is a face underneath. They're filthy, he can tell that even if the nature of their outfits is muddled by the dimness of the surrounding lights. Their pale skin has brown almost black splotches of dirt or soil that almost seem pressed into their skin. The skin itself is so pale and sickly that it is almost a green color; he gags slightly about how awful they must smell.

Finally, he looks down, and he hopes to see what is blocking out the sound of their footsteps from coming through on his sensors. He's surprised to find disproportionately enormous feet. Grimy as the rest of their bodies, he can tell that the men are extremely flat-footed. The way their feet meet the sections of floor that they walk on causes their toes to widen, spreading out what little weight they had evenly throughout their step. Coupled with the fact that they moved rather slowly, taking only the most deliberate of steps, the two beings in front of him were virtually silent. The only sound that seemed to give way to any hint of their presence was the air that seemed to be forcing its way out of their chest. Like the wheeze of an asthmatic, the beings swayed slightly whenever they had to breathe. Luckily for Jason, the minute difference in their breathing was enough for the computer to pick up on, and a visualized patrol route formed right before his eyes.

Time seems to slow as he watches the forms move back and forth. It's not a large beat, about the visible width of the building; but even though the route is small, the guys were slow. Would he be able to pounce on one without alerting the other? Or would that be too much of a risk to take? While he had keyed into their breathing, he hadn't been able to locate any more guards. He probably wouldn't know they were there until he was right on top of them.

Jason decides that it would be best to avoid them. He doesn't know their strength and the amount of noise that he could generate isn't worth the hell that it could bring down upon him.

He watches them for a moment longer, there is a moment in their path where they stop and stare at each other, as if they are sharing information about what they'd seen on their walk around. That's when he'd make his move.

It doesn't take long until they meet at the center of the room, standing in front of one of the construction lamps. They meet each other, staring into the dark void where their eyes should be. He breathes in deeply, his muscles tighten as he focuses. With a push he's off.

Quickly, he's around the walls and trying to push himself to the next darkened area that he can find. There he could make his next move and try to get his bearings about where he needs to go. His first push is quiet, and he's able to launch himself forward with no issues. His practiced eyes instantly start scouting out where he should aim for. He should have planned for his destination before taking off, but he had always been an impulsive boy and that probably wouldn't change regardless of how many years of experience he got underneath his belt.

His eyes go directly to the wall on the other side of the floor, it’s where the other drywall had been, and he figured that it was likely the only way to get away from the danger of the unknown. He's slightly surprised however to see a change in floor planning. Instead of the crumbly wall that he had been punching through repeatedly he saw brick, but not just that, a door.

'Into the lion's den,' he thinks aiming his body in that direction.

His foot hits the floorboard in a soft practiced motion but a loud squeak still scratches out of the piece of wood underneath him. The wheezes of the guards that are playing in his ear stop mid breath, and he can almost feel them scanning for him. But he's quick. As soon as his other foot comes down, he's launched himself into the shadows of a jagged wall. He pauses for a moment. One of the dim flashlights glides over his general vicinity. When the light passes over the end of the floor, it lingers on the door surrounded by brick. After several seconds, a low grunt sounds in his ear. The computer in his helmet shows that the route of the guards has changed. They are headed over to the wooden wall where he was previously hidden.

He doesn't hesitate, and he's off again, this time his approach is silent, and he reaches the door with no issue. A curious part of him wants to turn around and get a glimpse of those "guards" but he thinks better off it. He opens the door quickly and quietly, and he pushes through to the other.

Unsurprisingly, much like the rest of the building, the room he's in now is almost pitch black. The only things lighting up the place are yellow industrial lights nestled into a brick wall. However, unlike the rest of the building, he finds himself at the top of a black metal staircase that seems to spiral down, seemingly endless in the thick blackness. He’d be an idiot to continue with no back-up. To top it all off, the sensors in his ears have rung again. Not with the wheezing breaths of the first guards he met, but with the thumping footsteps that had seemed so distant when he first started. He wasn't keen on finding out what was causing them. Did he think he could kick whoever or whatever it was ass? Of course. But fighting in a place like this admittedly left him at a disadvantage, wasn’t a good idea. That and he didn’t want to make good on Bruce's premonition that he would have to be bailed out at the end of the night.

With an irritated roll of his shoulders, he starts down the stairs, but not before he turns on a tracker. If shit did hit the fan, he didn't want to be stuck underground for the rest of his life.

The swirl of the downward spiraling stairs seems to go on forever and based on how long it took him to reach the bottom, Jason is sure that he's underwater at that point. The pounding of footsteps in his ear irritates him, but he doesn't turn it off because they begin to get louder. Aside from that, the sensitive pieces of tech have picked up chatter. At least he thinks it's talking. He can't really be sure, the sound is staticky and descending further below doesn't seem to help. Either he's picked up on some shitty talk radio show or there is something partially dampening the signal.

It doesn't take too much more time before he reaches the bottom of the stairs. It's so dark that he wouldn't be able to see the toe of his boot if he didn't have the helmet on, though he might have been grateful for the lack of sight when a gigantic rat ran over his boots.

The stairs let out into a dank wet hallway. There is enough water on the ground that it covers his ankles. Clearly, no one had given a shit about drowning when they were "renovating" this part of the building.

At the end of the hall there is a single hanging lamp, casting a dreary white light on the familiar red brick. And there is also another door. He splashes his way through the water to reach the end of the hall, and he is almost there before something causes him to stop. The thumping of footsteps had stopped. Instinctively, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and his skin prickled. He was unprotected, he realized, exposed. It really hadn't been a good idea to charge down into this hallway without making a plan. He could go back, get his bearings and then try again.

The thumping resumes, but only for a moment. Whatever was making those footsteps, he realized was listening. Likely, it had heard him coming down the stairs and sloshing through the water. And it's listening to him now, waiting for him to make another move and confirm its suspicion.

He steps back, moving his leg as gingerly as possible, barely stirring the water. It doesn't seem to arouse in any further action, and he makes to move his other leg in much the same way. His breathing seems loud in his own ears, why was he so afraid? He'd gotten the shit kicked out of him before, been on the brink of death. Perhaps it's just his lizard brain just acting up on him. His breathing is getting heavier still, so loud in his ear, almost like... was he wheezing?

The thought and Jason's reflexes happen at the same time. He's tucked and rolling forward just as his thin arm comes arcing through the air. One of the thin men, or maybe another that had been lurking about, stands just out of the light of the hallway and the blow that was meant for Jason sends red dust into the hair as a spidery arm pierced the brick.

'Could've been my head' he thinks quickly as he is standing up again.

But he's not on his feet for long. He almost doesn't hear the loud sloshing of water, and he tries to roll forward again when he does, but it's too late. Enormous arms wrapped around his midriff holding him tight against a large protruding belly.

"Looky looky, little lamb came to see me again."

He doesn't have to turn around to see the voice of the creature that has him hostage. It was the butcher, the one that he had saved Bruce's Brownie Woman from. He didn't understand how, though. Although he hadn't sent the gargantuan man to the grave himself, both he and Dick had confirmed that he had driven that beat up old van into the water. There was no way he would have gotten out in time to survive the depths of the bay.

The Butcher squeezes and shakes Jason from side to side, like he was trying to pop his head off. Not only did he have to contend with that, the wheezing thin man was beginning to slowly make his way down the hallway, his fingers arched ready to aim and fire and stick Jason like a pig.

While his arms are bound to his sides, he has enough reach and wriggle room to reach into his pockets. Once he grips onto what he's searching for, he locks his visor on the thin man in front of him analyzing his form and making him a target. It took longer than he would have liked, but the constant shaking of the madman who had him hostage wasn't exactly the most conducive thing for focusing. He waits until the man shakes him back toward the middle and then with a swift flick of his wrist a compact ball flies out toward the thin man. Just before it hits the water, it lets out a pop and a hiss as gas smoke fills up the room.

The butcher doesn't stop his shaking, unfazed and singularly focused on the task at hand. The Thin Man, however, lets out an annoyed screech. Jason can see the form of the man through his visor and just as he hoped, the Thin Man brings his arm back getting ready to attack. Jason slides down as much as he can and then tucks his head into his chest, guarding himself. He hears the fingers cut through the air, and before he knows it the shaking stops. A groan is leeched forth from the man holding him and his arms fall slack just as Jason is freed, he feels a thick liquid fall on his back. Looking up, he sees trails of viscous black blood flow from the neck of the Butcher.

As Jason had hopped the Thin Man and pierced right through the Butcher killing him almost instantly. The large heavy frame fell backward, landing with a splash into the water filling the hallway.

'One down, one to go.'

He turns his attention back to the slow-moving creature that was coming up behind him, its claws having finally retracted into the shape of a hand again. A gasping growl comes forth from the creature, as it takes a step back.

"Don't like working alone, I take it," Jason voices smugly.

The creature doesn't respond, but it's fine with Jason. He charges the Thin Man placing a few well-placed punches and kicks before the creature finds itself on the ground. However, as he stomps the creature, he realizes it's just absorbing his blows and not even trying to fight back. If he could see its eyes, perhaps he would get at least an inkling about what it was thinking, but in the water its mess of thick black hair seems to obscure its face even more.

He pulls back and stands over the creature for a moment. A bullet to the head would cause too much noise, and there's no guarantee that it would work anyway. He watches with a frown as the Thin Man twitches in the water and pulls himself away. Jason lands a heavy boot on its chest holding it in place. It writhes and wiggles pathetically underneath him. Unable to put distance between the two of them to launch his attack, the Thin Man was helpless.

Finally, it stops wiggling. Its arms fall to the sides, and it lays there listlessly as if it had given up.

Jason doesn't remove his boot at first, but the surrounding water turns a cream color and bubbles. He jumps away from the man, and he watches in slight horror and amazement, as the Thin Man disintegrates, well most of him. By the time the bubbling is over, and the cream seems to have disappeared, all that's left is the thick mass of hair and presumably the head of the creature.

"What the fuck?" Jason whispers to himself.

He uses his helmet to take a picture of the scene, but he doesn't understand exactly what he’s witnessed. Instead of dwelling on it, he moves on; past the dead Butcher, who had started to bubble, and through the door at the end of the hallway.

***

The door leads to another dark hallway, one that seems to be suspiciously empty and long. He imagines, however, that whoever was in charge of those goons wasn't expecting anyone to make it past them. He doubted that they even thought anyone was on to them.

As he goes deeper down the hallway, he realizes the ground underneath his feet is changing. No more soppy wood or concrete. It is a see through steel grate that he was walking on; a catwalk. He stops mid step and bends down to see if there is anything under the grate worth checking out. It's pitch black, but his helmet quickly clears up the image, and he can see individuals milling around in the dark. They don't seem scared, and their body language suggests that they are simply conversing with each other.

"Talking in the dark? Some party." He mumbles to himself. He tries his ear piece again, he's sure that the voices he heard earlier are coming from these people, but their voices are still being distorted.

Before he can even think about how to clear up the signal a light comes on, a spotlight to be precise. It illuminates a woman who is standing on a stage, and from what he can tell, she definitely looks like she should be at the party. She's a tall redhead, in a fancy dress, and even from this distance he can tell she's a commanding presence.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," she starts, and at the sound Jason almost thinks his ear piece is back working, but it's just the sound echoing through the walls. "I'd like to welcome you to the party."

At the word party, a curtain lifts from behind her, revealing several large television screens, all showing different angles of the ballroom and the party goers. But that was the tamest part.

Behind the woman and below the screens sat a group of five individuals; Bound, gagged, bleeding and mostly naked. Jason felt his stomach churn at the possibilities of what these people were about to endure.

"By the end of the night the five highest investors will get to have their way with one of our special guests," the woman lets out a chuckle at the word. "In any fashion you choose. There is no limit."

There is a pause of the small crowd followed by a polite applause.

“For example,” she says with a smile as she gestures with a hand to the side of the stage.

Someone pushes a bound man out on the stage. Unlike the others his eyes aren’t blindfolded, but he’s so weak that he stumbles around the stage.

Jason is slightly surprised when another Thin Man makes his way on stage. He is only up there for a minute, as his duty was to hand the woman a revolver.

Jason’s heart pounds in his ears, his body realizing what’s about to happen before he can think it.

“Goodbye Geoffrey”, the woman says in a sugary sweet tone.

The man’s eyes widen, but he seems too out of it to move.

She points the gun at the man’s head and before he can groan out in protest; she fires the bullet.

He falls to the ground dead in less than a second.

She turns and faces her audience, “Who would like to make the first offer?”

All hands in the room raise.

Chapter Text

Kristen believed that most American platitudes were made to keep the people docile. There was no other explanation that she could reasonably understand. People didn't like to be told that the world was against them. That the hand that was dealt to them when they were born would be the plight they kept when they died. That's why she couldn't help but roll her eyes whenever someone told her that hard work would pay off. For whom? And when?

The only thing that she truly believed in was the fact that time was money. And she had had little of either. Her earliest memories were of the rush that her mother was always in. A rush to wake her and her brothers up and get them off to school. A rush to get to work. A rush to prepare her father's dinner. And a rush for Kristen to go up sooner rather than later. The summer Kristen turned ten, she understood why her mother had always been in a rush, all the way up until she died—breast cancer.

It hadn't slowed her mother down—not that she was allowed to. Her father either hadn't known his wife was sick or hadn't cared. Kristen had a month to grieve before he gave her the look. A raised eyebrow and frown on his hard face. She hadn't realized it, but her brothers had been giving it to her too. And in the pit of her stomach, she realized she had rather quickly become a mother of three two weeks before her tenth birthday.

There was always so much to do, never enough time, and never enough help. Not that she could ask for it anyway. She did "woman's work now." Even though she didn't feel like a woman and that her work didn't feel any less important than what her father did.

When she did find herself at school, she could barely keep herself awake enough to pay attention. To do the bare minimum felt like pushing a boulder uphill. But her teachers passed her anyway, and after her third year of barely making it, she realized that it wasn't their sympathy for her situation that was keeping them from failing. They saw themselves in her. A person being ground to the bone burnt out before she would even graduate high school. She hadn't even been tossed into the meat grinder that was adult life yet. They couldn't bring themselves to be the straw that broke the camel's back.

It wasn't until she finished squeaking by in high school that she realized that she didn't have to be like her mother, her teachers, or, God forbid, her sorry excuse for a father. There was more out there. She could have more and be more.

Out of all the phrases, the one that she found the dumbest was the adage that money couldn't buy happiness. Every time she thought about it, she wanted to laugh. Since pulling herself from under her father's thumb and scrounging a living out in Gotham, she had seen more than enough to know that money was happiness. And she would do anything that it would take to get hers.

In Gotham, she had seen every end of the spectrum. Poor, wealthy, insane and poor, megalomaniacal and wealthy. And while being poor in Gotham wasn't something that she'd wish on her worst enemy, being wealthy in Gotham could get you anything.

Her time catering to her father and brothers had given her one skill she'd be ever grateful for, and that was to anticipate others' needs. To know what they wanted before they knew they wanted it. And in Gotham, she found that she had a ready-made clientele that had just been waiting for someone like her.

For those few in society who had always known wealth, always known luxury, and had never had so much as a brush with want, money made the world mundane.

And for the obscenely wealthy, combating the mundane is something they would throw an endless amount of money at.

And Kristen could do that. Find things, people, places, and activities that were out of the ordinary.

The problem with most procurers of the extraordinary was that they had morals. Some lines that they weren't willing to cross. Kristen was not bound by such things. She had experienced enough in her life to know that the true wants of human nature tended toward the dark side, and she knew exactly how to appease them.

She was lucky to find such a treasure in Gotham, and it was part of the reason that no matter how successful she got, she would never leave.

Still, she wasn't successful just because she had a niche product. She was a salesman at heart and a damn good one too. Better than her so-called bosses anyway. All of the clients that the firm had come on her ability to sell herself to the customer. Carlisle would have floundered without her—a pride that she tried hard to hide. Sure, she played at being a secretary, but this was her true passion. Where she truly shined.

Before the body hits the floor, it wavers for a second. Head slumping forward and dragging the body down to the ground with its momentum. A pool of dark liquid forms where the body lies. The pool of liquid lies stagnant for a moment before it seemingly starts to hiss. Then it begins to writhe as it changes color and bubbles up.

The crowd of onlookers looks back in fascination as the body begins its strange rotting process in front of them.

She can see them now. Their mouths pulled tight in anticipation, pupils blown with hunger, fists clenching as the implications of what was just shown to them. They are all ready to devour what she has to offer; she just has to name her price. But Kristen isn't a fool. She can bait a one-time customer easily, but she needs repeat clientele.

The screen behind her unfolds as the hum of a projector cuts through the air. Her captive audience looks up at the screen in front of them, and gasps ring out through the room.

"That's me!" someone screams out. She can't tell who; the lights of her little stage play aren't conducive to recognizing faces. But she'll have their identity soon enough.

"Oh, my God!" Another person screams out. "Clara's not even in the country!"

More and more murmurs of recognition ring through the crowd, a frenzy of chatter and excitement running through the attendees as their minds run rampant with possibilities.

The image flickers to an image of a man with fashionably cut brown hair. He's chatting happily with a woman at the bar with a cocktail in his hand. It's Geoffrey, a low-level account manager who was eager for promotion. And as such, he was willing to consent to anything that was asked of him, even if he was asked to sign a suspiciously long and overly complicated contract.

"As you can see, Geoffrey is alive and well." She starts smoothly. "Luckily for him, he'll never know the fate of his well."

Kristen looks down at the slowly dissolving body and steaming puddle. She kicks it lightly with her heel and gives a sly look to the audience.

"Other self."

As she finishes, she gets a bit of a chuckle from the audience, all of them primed and ready to hang on to whatever it is that has to sell them.

"Unless, of course," she walks to one of the captives on stage and removes a good. "I'm lying."

The same young man on the screen, laughing, is currently bent on stage with his hands tied behind his back. Wrists chafing against his rope tidings as he strains out a scream into the cloth gag of his mouth. He shakes as he tries to understand where he is, but some lights are blinding him. He can barely see the woman next to him, let alone the crowd that is in front of him.

"Who knows?" she croons as she watches the boy shake in front of her.

For a moment, the room is silent again as she presses the barrel of the gun to the back of the young man's head.

She can hear them all breathing. The young man next to her was whimpering with fear. Her captive audience huffed in anticipation like the animals they were, eager to see what color liquid came out of the poor boy's head. She quickly pulls the weapon away from the boy and holsters it on her ankle.

Both the boy and the crowd slump when she puts it away.

"But tonight, for the right price, someone in this room gets to find out who is the real one and who is fake."

Kristen can't wait for the clamoring.

She casts a sly gaze on the other four captives, who are all in various states of distress. "And of course, Geoffrey is only the opening act for tonight. We have a whole show planned."

She walks to the front of the stage, arms outstretched in invitation.

' This must be what it feels like to be a star'

It's all she can think of as her audience begins to yell their price. A shiver runs down her spine in ecstasy. The pleasure of knowing what she's accomplished tonight is almost enough to outweigh the yanking in her heart. She doesn't falter for a moment, though, not even when the yanking feels unbearable. If anything, she can only smile wider. If tonight is successful, even her boss will be pleased.

***

If you chewed on your lip anymore, you were sure that it would start bleeding. To say you were worried was too loose of a term.

What had you gotten them into?

At least out here, you could think. It was too much to be inside the manor. Everything felt oppressive -- heavy. Not that it wasn't beautiful; there was just a weight haunting the place. A grief that seemed to scream through the walls. And with your anxiety, you weren't really in a place to mentally deal with it.

Out here, though, in the garden, you've found a little bit of peace. Save for a few flowering patches of white blossoms, there was not nearly the same amount of weight out here as there was on the inside. The implication was there, of course. The hedges were cut to impersonal, perfect rectangles and ovals, and with the occasional tree offering shade, the garden itself was more like an oversized lawn than anything. And that was perfect for you right now. Later, maybe you would interrogate the owner over the lack of foliage or any kind of scheme for this patch of nature. But right now, as you find yourself perched on a stone bench, you are grateful for the lack of anything obtrusive. Because from Wayne Manor's gardens, you could see clearly across the city. And while you didn't have supervision, you could swear you could almost see your apartment building from here. Camille's brownstone too.

The thought causes you to bite the inside of your cheek in distress. So much has happened, almost too much.

When this was all over, how were you ever supposed to go back to normal? How was she? While you somehow find yourself at the center of whatever whacked scheme is occurring, you will never understand what Camille has gone through since being abducted. How was she? How was her baby? What were they doing to her? You hadn't had the heart to call her fiancé, Brian, back after the abduction. What could you say to someone who was likely grieving the loss of both his wife and child? The possible loss of them both was not something that you were ready to process, and you probably would never be.

You let your eyes run over the skyscrapers, taking in all that you could of the Gotham skyline. You never let your eyes wander too far, not toward the harbor, or at least in the direction of it. Even with this view of the city, you couldn't see that far out, but your heart knew what was in that direction, and it beat erratically with worry every time your gaze so much as drifted toward that direction.

It seemed like hours since they had left. And while you know that you shouldn't worry, especially since this is their job,

"Bruce and Jason are fine, you know."

"Ah!"

You jump.

A steadying hand grabs your arm and pulls you back toward the stone of the bench you were sitting on.

Kind blue eyes look at you with a slight apology as twitching lips try to quiet a laugh.

Bruce had left Dick Grayson in charge of both you and Damian before he left. A part of you felt slightly irritated at the notion of needing a babysitter, but you quickly realized that his presence was more for your comfort than your protection. The likelihood that someone would abduct you from Wayne Manor was slim. But you alone, with your thoughts, wouldn't have gone well, and you both knew. It's not like you would rely on Damian to reassure your rampaging mind. He's a child, and you wouldn't alleviate your trauma by forcing him to be around you. Besides, he was still very skittish around you, preferring to only make an appearance when you could bait him with sweet treats. Like baiting a stray kitten. And Alfred was kind, but every time you spoke to him, you realized there was a strange look in his eye. You weren't sure if calculating was the right word for it. Questioning perhaps? As if he was wondering just how long you would be around for. You imagined you wouldn't feel the breadth of his warmth until he determined whether you would be a permanent fixture of his employer's life or not. So yes, perhaps leaving Dick Grayson to accompany was the right move.

"Don't laugh," you say, hearing the slight whine in your voice as a frown pulls at your lips. This was at least the third time he's snuck up on you.

"Sorry," he says with a chuckle. "You were off in La-La land, I called your name like three times first."

You let out a sigh.

"I know it's nerve-wracking," he says quickly. "But they'll be back, at least by the time you wake up."

It's not the first time that he's said something like this tonight, and you get the feeling that he's trying to get you to go to sleep. So that when you wake up in the morning, everything will be alright. He's good. The most emotionally mature of the four you've met, although you aren't sure how much of a compliment that is. Neither Bruce nor Jason would know the meaning of "opening up" if it punched them in the face. And while you wouldn't judge Damien too harshly considering he was a child, you weren't too careful to admit that you would find him insufferable if you didn't want to pinch his cheeks so much. You were sure there was some sort of ache within Dick, too. No matter how much he smiled, there was always a little bit of hollowness in his eyes. An ache that you weren't sure stemmed from his nights of crime fighting, but you know wasn't exactly helped by it either.

"It's not like I'm worried about their capabilities, you know," you start after you begin to mull over the words you wanted to say. "It's the guilt that's getting me."

"Abooouut?" he questions playfully, his legs stretching out as he folds his arms behind his head and looks up at the stars.

For the first time throughout the night, you look at something other than the Gotham skyline.

"Oh wow," you say with a tinge of awe in your voice. You'd been so busy, wrapped in your head, that you hadn't considered your position. You are outside of the city for the first time since you moved cross-country. The lights of the city usually dull the night sky; all but the brightest of stars are lost to pollution. Here you can see the twinkling of the stars and the faint outlines of constellations. It brings a smile to your face. You used to love looking up at the sky with your family.

You cast a glance at the boy next to you; he doesn't press, but he still has a questioning look in his eye, waiting for you to answer the question.

"I voted yes to move here, you know?" You start with a huff. You can feel your toes curl anxiously in your shoes. "I voted that I should move here from San Francisco, and now all this has happened."

"That's not-,"

"Camille voted no. She didn't want to leave. She loved the city, the bay, and the people."

One of her favorite things had been to wake up early on a Saturday morning and drive. Whether it was going down to LA for a concert or finding a trail to go hiking in the redwoods, you had taken that away from her.

"And now, we moved here, and people from my company are terrorizing this place!"

Weight, it felt like so much of it was on your shoulders. And the thing that made you feel even worse was the fact that you couldn't even solve the problem if you tried. They say there's no use crying over spilled milk, but what else are you supposed to do when you can't even clean it up?

He doesn't say anything, and for a moment, your anxiety begins to gnaw at the back of your mind. 'Is he thinking I'm at fault too?'

The sting is unexpected, and it stuns you for a moment before heat begins to radiate from the center of your back. Then comes the pain.

Your shoulders snap back unexpectedly fast, almost as fast as the slap on the back you received from the young man sitting across from you.

Dick looks at you with comically large, sheepish eyes as he hides the offending hand behind his back.

"Y-you," you start with a gasping realization.

"I-it was supposed to be like a cheer-up thing," he squeaks out quickly. "I wasn't trying to hit you. I mean, I was, but not that hard."

Still, even with his panicked tone, he can't hide the slight playfulness of his tone or the twitching of the corner of his mouth that lets you know that he'd rather be laughing than apologizing.

It strikes something in you—something familiar. And your body reacts before you can understand what's happening.

The thumb and forefinger are primed in a well-practiced position. And perhaps because he didn't expect any real form of realization, he is left to the mercy of your type of grip on his cheek.

"I can't believe you just hit me," you say, pulling his cheek in irritation.

"Ow!"

"You can't just go around hitting people!"

"What do you mean? I do that all the time!"

The two of you share a look.

"Pbst-"

You laugh, both of you. And for a moment, it feels like you can forget your troubles. A moment of happiness in your grief.

"I was going to go for your ear," you admit.

"Like a grandma?" He questions with disbelief.

It gives way to another round of snickers.

As the bubbles of amusement die down in your chest, you feel your shoulders slack. A wave of tension that'd been keeping you awake, snapping.

Your companion shoots you a knowing look accompanied by a triumphant smirk. You'd only seen the like on your younger brother's faces whenever they thought they'd gotten the better of you. Whenever they'd thought they'd be able to get away with saying, "I told you so."

You slap his arm.

"Didn't we agree that hitting people is wrong?" he says with mock offense.

"Only when you do it," you correct. You roll your shoulder to prove a point, your flesh is still slightly sensitive.

"Ah."

The lull gives him enough time to recollect his thoughts. To return to the real reason why the two of you were out here.

"It sucks," he starts honestly. "To know that there is somebody you care about being hurt and you can't do anything about it."

You listen quietly, seeing the subtle ticks of his features as he tries to reconcile the emotions behind the advice he's giving you.

"But the only thing you should probably feel bad about is being a poor judge of character."

He can barely keep serious for more than a moment.

"What?"

"I mean, seriously, your boss didn't give you icky 'I-kidnap-people-for-fun' vibes?"

You force your lips into a pressed line to keep the small smile from pulling at your lips.

He throws up his hands in mock surrender.

"Bad guys are gonna do what they do. Something tells me that this would have happened whether you guys stayed or not. At least now you hear from us. And we might not be the sanest people either, but I still think we're pretty cool."

"Hey," you scold, an unserious frown coming to your lips. "I'm older than you, you know. I should be the one giving you rational adult advice. I used to be good at it too."

"I bet you were great at it," he says with an easy smile and a crinkle of his eyes. "And I'll ask you for some when I need to make a pound cake or something. But on this stuff, I've got you beat."

His words make sense—more than you would allow. And you want to let them into your mind and absolve yourself of the guilt. But there is always that little voice in the back of your head telling you the opposite.

You barely have time to process your feelings before you hear a rustle in the bushes.

"Oh shit," the exasperated tone of the young man next to you gives you a clue about what's going on.

And the dull colors of red and yellow running from one bush to another confirms it.

"Damian does this all the time, doesn't he?" you say with slight disbelief. He was like a cat, coming and going as he pleased.

"Yeah, I suggested putting a leash on him, but what do I know?"

He stands quickly, and you realize he intends to go and retrieve his brother. He gives you a look, one that urges you back inside, as he had asked many times earlier that night.

You smile at him, and he lets out a slightly exasperated sigh. It seems that in a short time, he's gotten good at reading you. He knows that you have no intention of going inside. But you decide to give him a little bit of peace, something that alludes to the fact that you'll get at least a little rest tonight.

"Make sure you bring him back before it's too late in the morning; I'm making biscuits."

He gives you a mock salute: "Yes, ma'am."

He's gone quickly after that, and you're alone in the garden again. Alone with your thoughts.

'Now I just have to wait for everyone to come home.'

Home...?

Oh, that's new.

Chapter Text

Bruce Wayne is confused, and there is a fly in his ear.

The sting of the champagne rolling back over his tongue leaves him feeling buzzed by the time it pools in his belly. The warmth languishes there like a pool of warm honey. It only takes a moment before the sips of alcohol blossom in his veins, and he’s feeling more lightheaded than he was before.

Is this what it feels like to be drunk?

He recalls the vague memories of being slumped over in a booth, unruly dark hair covering his eyes, and the feeling of teetering between euphoria and absolute misery. From his late teens to his mid-twenties, he always skipped the pleasurable parts of drinking. The minor lightheaded tingling that leaves you deliriously happy. The release of inhibitions that lets one dance on the floor with abandon. He didn’t have time to sit in those moments. The ache in his heart always threatened to consume him, so he quickly chased it away, which was the only way he knew how.

He dove headfirst into punishing blackout nights. He was always glad for the hangovers in the morning. The pounding of his head is enough to drown out his sorrowful thoughts, at least for a little while.

He suffered for his recklessness, though. His recollection of that time reads more like flashes of someone else’s life than a record of his memories. He hated himself, he hated Alfred, he hated…everything. Safe to say that the constant blacking out had been one of his many bad coping habits. In his later years, he’s learned the practical art of not drinking in public. Not that anyone but himself would realize it. He was as good with a slip of the hand as any thief was, save one. He can’t remember the last time he’d been tipsy in public, let alone drunk—well, except for right now.

The annoying buzzing is back in his ear again; It sounds like a fly bouncing around, tickling the sensitive skin, sending small, uncomfortable shocks down his jaw. He moves to use a finger to rub at the irritation, but his rising hand is laced with the slender pale fingers of the woman he’s forgotten that he was in the room with. Her copper-red hair keeps fluctuating in hue. His hazy mind can only recognize it as a function of the dimming lights as his eyes roll back and a pleasurable high rolls through him.

“Bruce?”

His eyes flutter open. Surprise wakes him from his drunken stupor, the familiarity of the tone settling over him like a blessing. His dark blue gaze finds purchase on the slightly parted mouth that called his name. It only takes him a moment to place the familiar lips and the curious orbs staring at him.

The name of his house guest tumbles from his lips, and the being in his arms freezes for a moment. A frown of confusion pulls down her face. She looks at her hands, curiously, and then… acceptance. Bruce is only vaguely aware of those eyes looking at him with a different interest.

“What are you doing here?”

He tries to sound as scolding as possible, but he truly is happy to see her. He remembers that she should not be here, but for his life, he cannot remember why.

She pouts. Lips glistening and more tantalizing than ever. Fingers slide up the lapels of his tuxedo. It sends a new warmth down his spine, and his instincts have him surging forward.

His fingers sink into the plushness of her hips as she presses herself against him. He is reminded of the hug the two had shared previously. He had not been Bruce when he had that hug. He could barely feel her through his suit, and he could not enjoy the warmth of her body pressed against his.

            However, he savored the small puffs of her breath that fanned out against his chin and part of his cheek. He relished the smell of vanilla, sugar, and flour that bloomed in his nostrils. Specks of dough flattened into a paste against the apron she wore, the tops of her fingers caked in the same sticky batter. She had been baking in that state. Her worry-baking caused a pool of emotions in him at precisely the wrong time. How was he supposed to push the image of her baking in his kitchen out of his mind when he needed to focus on protecting her the city?

            Now is the perfect time for him to enjoy her. When he was feeling as loose as he ever had, the urge to press himself against her was stronger than ever. He cups her cheek, and she presses against him even closer. His thumb runs over her cheekbone, and she looks up at him coyly. Then a smile teetering on the edge of seduction spread across her lips. His heart hammers in his chest, and the rush of blood through his body leaves him feeling tingly.

‘But this isn’t right.’

            The thought hit his mind with the same force, a thumping louder than the beating in his chest. It was far more painful than the ache for her could ever be. There was pleasure that tinged a longing for a person; this was pure pain. It was only made worse by the fly voice screaming in his ear. Overwhelmed with the sensations, his mind flashes images of his real baker.

            The last time he touched her, he could feel the chill of surprise roll down her spine. He had seen the shyness in her eyes and felt the flush on her skin. She did not want to pull away from him any more than he wanted to part from her. And while he was sure that she was capable of seducing him if she put her mind to it. The way she would lick the frosting off the tip of her fingers when she thought no one was watching was a clue enough to that.  But that had been far from her mind at the time. She was nervous, unsure. Inexperienced. Even as her lips had parted, and she tilted her head up closer to him, he could see her mind whirling in her eyes; overthinking every movement she made. She’d wanted that closeness but had been afraid to push him too far.

It’d been adorable as it was intoxicating.

            He was lucky that his mission was at the forefront of his mind. Without the focus, he may have wavered and given in to her, indulged in her, and changed everything about their relationship. Maybe they would have sunk in too deep, too fast. He was grateful that he hadn’t. He was even more thankful that the scene happened to run through his mind. The image in his mind of the flushed woman made one thing incredibly clear: this person was not her.

            His body seems to act on instinct. As soon as the thought registers, the woman’s fragile wrists are taken into his hands, and he thrusts her away from him.

            Maybe it’s because of the alcohol, but he does not have his usual strength about him. A push that would have usually cleared a person across the room only moved the woman a few steps back. And from the smirk on her face, that was only because he caught her off guard.

“Maybe we should slow down just a tiny bit.”

            He means it to come out smooth and to have his deep baritone voice do most of the heavy lifting for him. However, he can hear his slurred words and knows the desired effect will not happen.

            The person in front of him, the one wearing the face of his baker, takes a step back. For a moment, they seem stuck. Their bodies become so still that Bruce is unsure whether they are breathing. Then it happens.

            The…creature begins to shake. Skin bubbling and head shaking form fluctuates so quickly that the being becomes little more than a hazy, waxy image. A blur or smudge on the foreground of the room. It’s not until the tendrils of thick copper hair appear in the place where the head should be that Bruce realizes that the creature is transforming.

            He swallows deeply, and his tongue slips over the roof of his mouth, and he must fight the urge to grimace. He does not know how he did not taste it before. The sting behind the honeyed drink he would barely sip.

‘Drugged.’

            The grim thought has him frowning instantly. Even as his mind is sobering up, his body is not as quick to follow.

            The amorphous blob of a face seems to settle on another familiar visage, as the red-headed woman he recalls following up to this suite reappears. There is no seductive gaze to her blue eyes now. No playful smirk pulling at her thin mouth. This was not going according to her plan, which landed him in a very different circumstance than he was in only moments before.

“You’re something else,” she starts with a drawl. “I hadn’t expected you to be quite so…willful.”

            With his body not under his control, he realizes that he is entirely at her mercy. The thought that scared him the most was that he still did not understand what the woman wanted from him. Even her interest in him at the party had not been noticeably clear. And now, with her supernatural abilities on display, he was even more uncertain. He cannot help the concern wrapping through him, his tongue feeling even heavier in his throat. She eyes him shrewdly, like a lion stalking her prey.

            If he did not think through this situation quickly, he doubted he’d be leaving this party the same way he came in.

*Buzz*

            The annoying noise is back in his ear again. At least now, he can make it out as microphone vibrations and his son's raspy voice yelling.

He could hear it now, the familiar rasp of his son’s voice echoing in his head.

“I know you hear me, old man.”

            The younger boy tries to say it confidently, but his tone is resigned. Bruce does not blame him; he has no idea how long Jason has been trying to reach him without getting a response. As much as he hated Bruce, he would not let him die—not like this, at least.

Bruce moves his numb fingers up to the receiver of the earpiece, but the only response he can give the boy is a grunt.

            His captor thrusts a strong fist into the middle of his abdomen and finds himself stumbling back. His weight falls on top of the wooden desk in the center of the room,

            He underestimated the situation, but he accepted that fact quickly. Later, his pride would urge him to punish himself for the mistakes he made here tonight. Deep in his core, he knew this was not how the night should have gone. He was better than this. He had done better than this. He had planned better than this. And worse, he knew that she deserved better than his failure tonight. Even now, he could picture her worried face, how she would fret over him when he returned.

            If he returned.

            He would like to smell the scent of vanilla and sugar again.

“Just move the fuck out of the way.”

            Bruce does what he can and throws himself behind the desk—just in time. The moment he does, the room fills with smoke, and he can hear the familiar thick snap of breaking wood. Jason is never as careful of collateral damage as Bruce would like.

“Augh!!”

The creature’s scream is followed by a gurgle, and less than thirty seconds later, rough hands are pulling his body up from the ground. Bruce is blinded by the same smoke his attacker his, but the grip on his frame is familiar.

Jason expertly heaves his unresponsive body onto his shoulders. The younger man does not comment, but he does make a grunt of strain before he can comfortably settle Bruce’s weight over his shoulders.

Then the boy takes off as quickly as he can. Bruce can only imagine the goal of getting him back to the manor and back to safety. But he is becoming delirious again and can only utter a small, “Thanks,” before he passes into unconsciousness.

***

The strain of irritation is already prickling at her shoulders. She cannot help the scoff that falls past her lips as she watches her form dissolve into a puddle of filth on the carpet of the small office.

To have an infiltrator was one thing. To lose a prize like Bruce Wayne was something else.

Kristen bites the inside of the corner of her mouth until the familiar iron taste of blood washes over her tongue. It is something she does to remind herself that she is the real her. She is alive, although she does not know how long that will be with her recent string of failures. It also helps give her a release when she is unfathomably angry. She would not punch a wall like some petulant child. Her failures are her own, a result of her miscalculations.

She walks over to the small drink caddy on the far side of the room and pours herself a drink.  How could she have known that Bruce Wayne was protected by one of the Bat’s many proteges?

‘Explains so much.’

She thinks it bitterly. One person in this town always escaped physical danger more than others. She cannot remember when someone successfully robbed Wayne Manor or extorted the billionaire. At least now she knows why.

‘His own personal boogey man to protect him.’

She downs the drink before placing the glass back down. She should let him go. She knows she should. Plenty of other rich sacks are in town, across the country, and around the world. Tangling with Batman or Bat-Lite tends to backfire on people.

She hears footsteps. Soft, softer than any person should be. A weight settles over the room. And the lights seem to dim on their own. A patch of skin on her body begins to burn. With the burning, she can feel the pattern of her master’s mark coming to life. She knows that if she were to turn around, a figure would be staring at her from the doorway and waiting for her. Waiting for her to give what their master is due. But her hands are empty once again tonight.

She knows she should leave Bruce Wayne alone, but has already promised to deliver the man. Failure to pay meant that she would be the one on the chopping block next. Kristen was willing to give up many things in this life—family, love, other people’s lives—but she was not willing to give up herself.

            Not ever.

***

Bruce Wayne has woken up from a rough night in many ways. Achy, hung over, sweaty, screaming, and some combination of all.

He does not remember the last time he’s woken up like this. Body warm, face cool and damp. With a gentle wipe over his forehead, he quickly recognizes the softness of one of his bathroom hand towels. It is damp, slightly overly so. A drop of water rolls down from his forehead to the inner corner of his eye, causing it to twitch at the intrusion. At the moment, the towel is removed from his forehead.

Time seems to stop for a moment. He cannot discern any movement. It’s been quiet so long that he almost wonders if he dreamed of the towel on his head.

“Bruce?”

She breaks the silence with her sweet voice. Concerned and quiet as if she is worried that she’ll disturb him if he is not truly awake.

Bruce’s eyes flutter open, squinting slightly as the rays of the morning sun hit his still-adjusting retinas. The bright light dims when her face fills his vision.

He chuckles.

Her furrowed brow, tired eyes, and lips pulled down into a concerned (now irritated) frown.

“Why are you laughing? You almost died?!” Her voice is high with incredulity, worry, and the tiniest bit of anger.

“You look just how I imagined you would.”

Her face relaxes almost instantly, and his words are softer than he intended them to be. It takes her a moment to register what he says before her gaze suddenly turns bashful.

As flattered as she is, her following words are still a complaint.

“You shouldn’t have been thinking about me,” her cheeks puffed with a hint of frustration. “It’s probably why you look half dead in the first place.”

He wouldn’t burst her bubble and let her know this was normal. Not the being saved by his angriest son part, but everything else came with the territory. He’s had more bruises, scars, injuries than he can count, and injuries that will never heal. But what good would telling her that do?

“I couldn’t help myself.”

Her mouth opens and closes for a moment, shocked by his open flirtation, but the way she cuts her eyes back and forth lets him know that she is anything but repulsed by it.

They sit in silence after that.

As his eye begins to feel heavy and close, he feels a smaller hand slip into his outstretched hand. The palm is hot and slightly clammy. She no doubt had to fight back more than a few nerves to do this.

“I’m glad you’re home,” she whispers.

He smiles.

“Me too.”