Disclaimer: I do not own Gotham, or any of the characters except my OCs.

Chapter 1

I pulled my jacket tighter around my thin frame as I huddled in the corner of the cab's backseat. The cab driver apparently had no heater, but he'd offered to drive me to Wayne Manor at a reduced price. I'd spent most of my pitiful sum of money on small snacks to tide me over during the two day bus trip, and I'd only just barely had enough to pay the cab fare.

My eyes drifted out the window, and I took in the city of Gotham for the first time in five years. It was… a lot more gray than I remembered it to be, even during the winter. I spied homeless people on virtually every block I passed. I know that I hadn't been very attentive to the world around me at thirteen, but I would have remembered seeing so many people living on the streets. Gotham had changed. But so had I.

It was long past rush hour, so the ride was blessedly short. Before long, the gates to Wayne Manor came into view. The manor was just as I remembered it. It was still just as grand and imposing as before. At least something had remained constant.

Alfred Pennyworth appeared at the manor's front door practically the moment the cab wheeled into the driveway. As soon as the car came to a stop, Alfred opened the door for me and gave me a gracious bow. I watched him carefully as I slid out of the cab and onto the gravel.

"Welcome back to Wayne Manor, Miss Danielle," he said with a kindly smile. "I trust your journey was pleasant?"

I nodded and forced my lips upward into a smile. It must have looked awful. God knows that it felt awful just making the expression.

"Dany!"

A pang of… something hit me in the chest, and it suddenly felt hard to breathe again. No one had called me that in a long time.

I turned to see a boy, maybe about twelve or thirteen, come barrelling out of the house toward me. He stopped just a few feet short of me and hung back. He must have seen my alarm.

My eyes raked over the boy. Straight black hair, dark brown eyes, the Wayne nose, and my Aunt Martha's smile. I'd recognize that boy a mile away.

"Hey, Bruce. Long time, no see," I greeted softly. My smile became a touch more genuine. "Been getting into lots of trouble, I hope?"

"Not since you've been away, Miss Danielle. Thank god," Alfred replied for him.

I crossed my arms. "Has he been smothering you with rules, Bruce?"

Bruce grinned. "It's not that bad, Dany."

"Oh no, the apocalypse has truly began!" I cried in mock terror, clutching my hands to my heart dramatically. "Bruce Wayne has actually started to behave himself! This offense to nature must be remedied! Tell me Bruce, when was the last time you-"

"Not in this house, Miss Danielle," Alfred cut me off with a warning note, but I could tell that he was secretly amused.

"Spoilsport," I muttered, feeling my teeth vibrate against each other. Sweet Mary, I was cold.

"Come with me, Dany. I'll show you to your room," said Bruce, beckoning me forward with his hand. "Alfred, if you would get her bags please?"

"As you wish, sir."

I thanked Alfred and went to follow Bruce inside. The moment I stepped through the front door, I let out a soft sigh of relief. For the first time in years, I felt as though I had come home, really come home. My father's house in Metropolis had stopped being my home the day mom had passed. It had been a gilded cage, nothing more. But this, this was home.

"Hey Bruce, I just wanted to let you know how grateful I am that you and Alfred are letting me stay here," I began as I followed him through the manor. Bruce paused and turned to look up at me. "I… I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't invited me to live here. So… thank you."

Bruce smiled and darted forward. Before I knew it, his arms were already encircling me in a big hug. I froze and grew completely stiff in panic. My heart began to beat an ungodly rhythm in my chest. His small, slender arms were like chains around my middle, and I felt an urge to rip them off of me.

"We're family, Dany," he said firmly, then pulled back slightly. "No thanks are needed."

I summoned enough willpower to keep still and force a pained smile. I lifted a hand and patted Bruce gently on the back, hoping that would be all the physical contact needed for this moment. I could not handle more, not without losing my head.

If he sensed my discomfort, he gave no sign of it, and he let go of me after a moment and continued to lead me through Wayne Manor. My heart rate began to slow back down to normal. I took several deep, quiet breaths to calm myself down, and I focused my attention on my surroundings.

Little had changed on the inside of the manor, either. I could find my way through the house blindfolded, if need be. I did not need the help getting to my room. It was the same one that I'd always used in the past when I used to visit, but I suspected that Bruce wanted my company. Who was I to deny him? As long as he didn't try to hug me again, I would be fine.

"Alfred will have lunch ready in a little while, but in the meantime, here's your room." Bruce motioned to a familiar bedroom with equally familiar drawings on the walls. My jaw dropped, and I lifted my hand to lightly touch the frame of a particularly old sketch of Gotham's city hall, complete with the people and traffic milling about it. I had forgotten about that piece.

"We kept a lot of your artwork. My dad was convinced you'd be the next Michelangelo, and he wanted to have an original of yours," Bruce said from behind me.

My hand dropped back to my side. "Michelangelo was a sculptor, not a sketch artist," I replied with a frown. "And I have not touched a sketchbook in years. I have no inspiration for such things anymore."

"You will again. You always found inspiration here."

"Perhaps so…" I trailed off, thinking back to the days where I used to spend hours just drawing. I'd forego my homework just to sketch down a picture that had been nagging me all day, and I'd spend an entire afternoon with just my sketchbook, pencil, and a cup of hot chocolate.

A thought occurred to me. "Is Rosie's Coffee Shop still open?"

Bruce nodded. Then a pleased smile broke out across his face.

"After lunch, Alfred will drive you there, if you want," he suggested. "I know you loved that place."

Go back to Rosie's Coffee Shop? Could I do that? Could I reclaim that place where I'd been so content and hopeful? Would it even the be same, or would it simply be another cafe as it was to everyone else?

There was only one way to find out.

"That… would be lovely. Thank you, Bruce," I replied hesitantly.

"Don't thank me, Dany. This is your home now."

I opened my mouth, but no words came. There was nothing to say, simply accept. His words squeezed my heart, but the feeling of happiness felt hollow. Everything felt hollow, forced. Instead of speaking, I just nodded in mute agreement and watched as Bruce turned to leave.

With one foot out in the hallway, he stopped and whirled back around. He looked as though he had a thousand words to say but couldn't think of the first to use. He stood there in silence for a moment, deliberating before finally speaking.

"I don't know everything about what happened to you," he began with a firm note in his voice, as though pushing forward with only his will. "Alfred won't tell me. But I know enough. I know that you were very brave in what you did, and I don't blame you one bit-"

"Nothing about what I did was brave, Bruce," I snapped, feeling my hackles begin to rise. "Kick a dog enough times, and it will do the same thing."

Bruce blinked, taken aback, and he stared at me, wide-eyed. He collected himself quickly and swallowed.

"Regardless, you did what you had to, and I'll never hold that against you. I just wanted you to know that."

He turned on his heel and was gone. I stared at the space where he'd been, processing his words. After a moment, I sighed to myself, shook my head, and began to take off my jacket.

A flicker of color out of the corner of my eye caught my attention, and I looked up, coming face to face with my reflection. My gaze rested on the dark purple and green bruise that encircled my left eye and spread down across my cheekbone, and I cringed. It really did look horrible, even after nearly a week.

I supposed that I should feel somewhat grateful. After all, my eye was no longer swollen shut and bleeding. Yay.

Pursing my lips in irritation, I took down my ponytail, allowing my dark hair to fall around my shoulders. I pushed my bangs over my black eye. Since my hair was naturally black, the style made me look somewhat emo, but I really didn't want people to stare at my bruise when I left the house. And I learned from experience that makeup only covered up small bruises and would not cover up this.

Lunch was a quiet affair and went by quickly. I remember there being a conversation, but I don't recall the particulars. What I do remember is asking Alfred for a ride into town, and then climbing into the back of the car not long after.

Gotham was the same as I had seen it only a few short hours ago: gray, tired, colorless, and lifeless. At least, that was how it seemed to me, but that could have been my empty heart shining through, tainting what I saw. Perhaps it was beautiful. If so, I could not see it.

The car turned down a familiar street, and I found myself staring at a red sign with "Rosie's Coffee Shop" emblazoned on it in gold writing. My eyes travelled down the cafe's storefront, and I found myself smiling ever so faintly. It was as quaint and unique as I had left it.

I thanked Alfred and let him know to pick me up before dark, which was only a couple of hours from then. Then, steeling myself, I headed into Rosie's Coffee Shop.

The rich smell of brewing coffee assaulted my senses the moment I stepped inside, and my smile grew. For a moment, I felt as though I was thirteen again, dorky and naive with a sketchbook always in hand, and all was right with the world. None of that was the case for me anymore, but it was nice to pretend.

I stepped up to the counter, and the barista looked up, shot me a welcoming smile, and asked for my order. She was a slight creature, probably not much older than me, and she had nervous fidget that didn't seem to ever stop. Vaguely, I was reminded of a squirrel, jumpy and wide-eyed.

I shook my head slightly to clear my thoughts and ordered a hot chocolate. The squirrelly barista nodded and set to work getting my order. I waited patiently by the counter, content to simply stand and take in the peaceful atmosphere.

However, that atmosphere was not to last for long. Within seconds, a harsh cologne wafted over to my nose, and I gagged slightly on the offensive smell. I was so focused on the cologne that I did not notice the man coming up behind me, and I jumped when he entered my peripheral vision.

"Hey, Suzie! Get me a coffee, will you sweetheart!" he called to the barista. She squeaked and nearly dropped the pot of dark brown liquid.

"I-I just a moment, Hunter. I'm serving another customer," Suzie protested weakly, her hands starting to shake far beyond her habitual fidget. She was scared.

I watched Hunter out of the corner of my eye. He was a plain looking man of maybe twenty-five or a little older, and now that he was up close, I noticed the scents of stale cigarettes, alcohol, and sweat that hung about him like a cloud of filth. I fixed my expression into one of complete neutrality and continued to wait patiently for the barista to clean up her mess and get me my hot chocolate. As soon as I could, I'd move to a spot in the cafe furthest from that smelly creature.

Something warm and rough grazed my butt, and I froze, not wanting to believe that this Hunter had the nerve to touch a stranger. It had to have been an accident. But then, the sensation returned, except this time it was deliberate and a bit forceful. Immediately, my body became rigid, and I felt my fingers curl into claws as bile crawled up my throat.

"Aren't you a pretty one," Hunter murmured to me. "You must be new around here. Why don't we get to know one another?"

My lip curled in utter disgust. "Get your hand off of me."

He chuckled and his hot, foul breath blew across my face. "Just being friendly, sweetheart. No need to be rude."

I snapped and my vision became tinged with red. In an instant, my hand shot out, closed around Hunter's wrist, and twisted hard till I felt his joints protest. He yelped and tried to pull back, but my grip was strong. I met his shocked gaze head on and glared.

"I slit the throat of the last man who touched me without my consent," I hissed in a low voice, feeling my fury burn in my veins as I stared down the vile man. "What makes you think that you'll be any different? Hmm?"

"Get off me, you crazy bitch!"

In response, I twisted harder, and he fell to his knees, crying out in pain. I brought my knee up in one quick motion and slammed it into Hunter's face. Blood sprayed out from his nose and onto the tile floor. Satisfied, I let go of him and stepped back.

"Word of advice, get out!" I growled at him.

Holding his bleeding, broken nose, Hunter scrambled to his feet and stumbled out the door. It slammed shut as he left, and the shop keepers bell rang into silence. Then, all at once, applause broke out around the cafe. I blinked, taken aback, and whirled around to see most of the customers and the baristas clapping.

"Finally, someone kicked his ass!" a teenager at one of the back tables yelled out across the din.

Chuckles sprang up around the cafe, and I ducked my head in embarrassment and turned back to the counter, cheeks flaming. I had not taken into account that others would be watching. Of course they'd be watching. But I'd been too absorbed in my anger to notice anyone else in the shop.

"Ahem," coughed the barista, Suzie. I started and began reaching for my wallet. My eyes grazed over the added whipped cream and chocolate syrup, and I frowned in confusion and alarm. I couldn't pay for that, not with the add-ons.

She noticed my frown and smiled gratefully, sliding the cup towards me. "It's on the house. Thank you for getting rid of him. He's a brute."

"I… uh," I stumbled, not sure of how to respond to her thanks. "It, uh, was no problem. Thanks for the drink."

Still blushing furiously. I grabbed the hot chocolate and headed toward the one deserted corner of the shop. I plopped down on a cushioned seat and hunched over my drink, as though I was trying to disappear from view. That didn't work, and, looking back on that moment, I'm rather glad that it didn't.

A boy, probably around my age, with flaming red hair, dark green eyes, and the most mischievous smile I'd ever seen, slid into a chair opposite me. He grinned broadly at me, laughter in his eyes as he took me in.

"Heya, gorgeous. I'm Jerome." Immediately, I stiffened and my back went ramrod straight under his gaze. Unfortunately, that caused my side bangs to sweep slightly back. He whistled. "That's quite the shiner. How'd you get it?"

"I'll give you a demonstration if you keep this up," I growled threateningly.

Jerome laughed. It was a high, utterly gleeful sound that had my lips twitching upwards, despite myself. I pursed my lips into a thin line and glared stonily at the redhead.

"I'm sure you will," he chuckled. Then, he leaned forward and rested his chin on his palms, green eyes sparkling with childish excitement. "So, who'd you kill? Was it the same guy who gave you that?" He motioned to the black eye.

"Wouldn't you like to know," I muttered neutrally, not entirely certain how I was supposed to deal with this odd boy. What was odder still was that I didn't feel at all threatened by him. A little uncomfortable, yes, but not threatened.

"Oh, I would," he said, still grinning.

"Why?"

Jerome laughed again. "Isn't it obvious? You're the most gorgeous creature I've ever seen. The way you made that man bow to you…" his eyes fluttered shut for a moment before popping open, glee oozing from his gaze, "Riveting! You're a born showman. Well, woman."

"You're weird," I replied, taking a sip of my hot chocolate. His smile dimmed slightly, and I immediately felt bad for saying that. He was weird, but he was beginning to grow on me, odd as that sounds. Maybe it was his open admiration. Yes, that must have been it.

He shrugged casually. "Weirdness is all a matter of perspective. That slimeball you threw out probably thought you were the epitome of weird. If I remember correctly, he called you a, what was it? Oh, right. A crazy bitch. Now, I know you're not crazy, and the bitch is debatable."

Debatable? I snorted. "You really know how to charm a lady."

"Why thank you!" Jerome laughed. He pulled back in his seat and gave a small, but showy, bow. My lips twitched again involuntarily. He was so odd, yet rather amusing.

I took another sip of my hot chocolate, my eyes still focused on the red-haired boy in front of me. He was watching me closely, probably waiting for me to speak again. I set my drink down and sat back in my seat, gazes still locked with Jerome. My fingernails drummed softly on the wooden tabletop, and I began to wonder what would happen if I told this stranger everything. What was the worst that could happen? It seemed to me that I'd never see this boy again, so why not?

"My father."

He blinked, obviously not quite understanding what I meant.

"You wanted to know who I'd killed," I clarified. "It was my father. And you're right, he did give me this." I motioned to my bruised eye.

Jerome's grin vanished and he stared at me in something akin to shock, but there was more than shock in his eyes, more that I couldn't quite place. Then, something in his expression shifted, and his eyes, which before had only been excited and mischievous, were now hungry. A slow, dark smile spread across his face, and he leaned in over the table.

"Don't stop there, gorgeous," he encouraged. I probably should have stopped at this point, but there was something about him that made me want to keep going. "Tell me more!"

And so I did. I took a deep breath and began, "It's quite simple, really. He was drunk and angry, like he always was. He wanted to… well, it doesn't really matter what he wanted me to do. I said no and told him to go fuck himself. He came at me and knocked me down, kicked me in the ribs a few times, then he began to punch me." I lightly touched the purple bruise and shuddered as my mind brought up images of that night.

"And then what happened?" Jerome egged on in an enraptured whisper when I didn't go on. I took another sip of hot chocolate.

"We were in the kitchen," I continued. "When I fell, I knocked over the knife block by accident and they all went flying across the floor. When he bent down to hit me with his fists, I grabbed the nearest knife and brought it up in one slice. One slice was all it took, and he fell right beside me. I watched him bleed out and die in seconds. I called the cops. They came and ruled it as self defense. Now I'm here. So there you go."

I took a gulp of my drink, still watching Jerome as I did so. He had not moved a muscle as I had been speaking, and he remained unmoving after I'd finished, eyes locked on me with unhindered fascination. Despite myself, I found that I liked that he was looking at me with such intensity. It was different, and interesting.

"What was it like?" he pushed.

My brows knit together. "What was what like? The beating? Worse than normal. Being poked and prodded and questioned by cops and doctors all night long? Boring as hell."

"No silly, watching him die." I paused, frozen. "What was it like to watch the life leave him? What was it like to know that he could never touch you again?"

"What, are you some kind of shrink or something?" I snapped. He said nothing and just continued to stare at me with those dark green eyes with such fascinated intensity. It was as though he would cease to exist if he did not receive an answer.

Unwittingly, my mind went back to that night. In my mind's eye, I saw my father choke on his own blood and reach for me, face slack and white with terror and blood loss. I had just stared, unable to take my eyes off the sight. Then, for the first time in five years, I had smiled. Really smiled.

"Freedom," I said, not even realizing that I had opened my mouth to speak. Jerome's eyes lit up. "It felt like freedom."

Jerome leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, smiling softly. "Thank you," he whispered. I glanced at Jerome, suddenly a little worried.

"Should I be concerned?" I asked, raising an eyebrow in question.

He opened his eyes and refocused on me. "Concerned?"

"Yeah, I just told you about my father's violent death, and you look like you're about to have an orgasm. You're not a serial killer, are you?" I eyed him carefully from over the top of my mug as I took another gulp.

"Would that bother you if I were?" Jerome asked, his trademark grin reappearing.

I paused to consider my answer. I almost lied out of habit, but it did not seem right for me to lie to this boy who I'd shared so much with. He was not like everyone else. He did not flinch when my less than human pieces came through. He smiled instead.

"Not particularly," I replied coolly. "I just like to know my chances of being chopped up and put into a freezer at any given moment. I like living, you see."

Jerome threw back his head and laughed aloud, green eyes sparkling with mirth as though what I'd said was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. The sound was infectious, and before I knew it, I was grinning. He caught sight of my smile, and his laughter died down a little. He pointed at me.

"You, gorgeous, are priceless. I like you," he said, still cackling to himself.

I snorted. "Oh joy. Now I can put down in my journal under highlights, 'A serial killer said he liked me today. My life is complete.'"

"I'm not a serial killer, gorgeous. I promise," he said, but the sincerity in his voice didn't quite match up with the amused grin on his face. "Even if I were, I wouldn't hurt you."

"Uh huh. That's what they all say," I replied, half serious, half sarcastic. "So, Jerome the serial killer, tell me about yourself. Surely you do other things than prey on the helpless."

Jerome rolled his eyes. "Well, when I'm not cutting people up and storing them in my trailer, I work for the circus with my mother. We're in town for the month."

A circus? "Mobility. That is important when you want to avoid capture," I deadpanned. "What's it like working for the circus?"

"Never a dull moment. Especially with mommy dearest around." To my surprise, there was the faintest traces of venom in his tone, but it wasn't directed at me.

"Oh? Do tell. It sounds like there's a story."

"Well, since you asked," he sat up straight in his chair, almost as though he was preparing to tell a story of epic proportions. And he began.

Jerome was a very good storyteller, that much was clear. He recounted some of the humorous and ridiculous stories that he'd seen play out at the circus, and his energy and enthusiasm brought a faint smile back to my face as I listened to him. It was impossible not to smile, and every time I did so, Jerome's face would light up, his enthusiasm became brighter, and my smile only grew. It was cycle that that continued on until I was chuckling at each funny moment.

"...and then, the three of them fell out of the trailer, all naked and covered in purple paint! The two men limped off, trying to put their sodden clothes back on. They had to walk through the entire camp to get back to their cars."

I chuckled at the mental image. "Oh Sweet Mary, that's terrible! What did the snake dancer do? She must have been mortified."

Jerome scoffed. "Oh no. Mother dearest has no shame. She went over to where I sat and yelled at me to clean up everything. Then she waltzed back into the trailer."

"The snake dancer is your mother?" My jaw dropped.

"Don't forget to add 'circus whore' on that list," he said with the barest hints of bitterness coloring his voice.

I shook my head. "Wait, so you put paint bombs in your own trailer? Surely you knew that you'd have to clean the mess up, right?"

Jerome shrugged. "If I hadn't, they would have been at it in the next room all night. It was three in the morning. I made them stop so I could get some sleep. Paint only takes so long to clean up."

"You're one crazy kid," I grinned. Jerome's expression dropped. "All the best people are. Normal is overrated."

His smile returned in full force. "Couldn't have said it better myself. Does this mean you're crazy too?"

I was just about to speak when my phone began to chime in my pocket. I dropped my hand from the now-empty mug, and I fished my phone out of my pocket and brought it to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Miss Danielle, I am waiting outside Miss Rosie's to bring you home. Do you require assistance, miss?" Alfred's voice came over the speaker.

My eyes widened, and I glanced down at my watch. I was supposed to have met Alfred outside over twenty minutes ago.

"I, uh, no thank you Alfred. I apologize for the delay. I will be out momentarily," I ended the call and slid the phone back into my pocket. "Fuck me," I cursed.

"So soon? Don't you want me to buy you dinner first?"

"What?" I looked up, confused. Then I realized what I had said, and I blushed. "No, no, no, no! I was supposed to meet my ride half an hour ago. I lost track of the time."

I fumbled with my wallet, pulled out the remainder of my snack money, and placed it on the table as a tip. Then, I began to stand up.

"Will you be back here again?" Jerome stood up at the same time.

"I certainly hope so. I used to come here everyday years ago," I replied, meeting his eyes with a smile. "Maybe I'll stop by the circus this week. You can show me your murder lair."

Jerome groaned in fake exasperation. "How many times must I tell you that I'm not a serial killer?"

"One googolplex. I'm slow-witted, so repetition helps," I deadpanned.

"It's a wonder you learn anything at that rate," he shot back.

"It is a burden I must bear." A car horn went off in the street outside, and I was reminded of what I should be doing. "I really have to go now. I'll see you around, Jerome." I made my way to the door, and his hand brushed my arm.

"Wait, you haven't told me your name yet!" Jerome called.

I paused by the door and turned, about to give him my name, but another option popped into my head. I sent him a lopsided smirk and said:

"Now, where would the fun be in that?"

I slipped through the door. It closed behind me, but not before I heard Jerome's unique cackle behind me. A giggle escaped me before I could stop it. That boy really did have an effect on me.

I apologized profusely to Alfred for making him wait so long, and he just nodded and sent me a look that clearly said 'don't do it again.' I climbed into the car, and off we went. I settled back into the leather seat and stared out the window with unseeing eyes, thinking about the unique day I'd had and the odd boy who had made me laugh, something which I hadn't done in what seemed like an eternity.

Perhaps it was my imagination, but I could have sworn that the dark, drab city around me had grown a little more colorful since I'd last seen it a few hours ago. I felt different as well. Lighter, as though a weight had been taken off my chest. There was still a great deal of weight pressing on me, but it no longer hurt as much as it did. It was a wonderful feeling.

My fingers twitched as I rode in the car, staring out at the city blurring past. I glanced down at my hands, which seemed unable to keep still. They had not done that since… since I last felt a need to draw.

The car came to a stop at a red light, and I asked Alfred if he had a pen and some paper. He passed back a small notepad and a pencil, which was all that was available in the car, but I wasn't complaining. It was more than I'd used in years.

For a moment, I paused, deliberating on what I should draw, but the only image that came to mind was that of Jerome's face. Nodding to myself, I began the sketch with a tentative hand, but after a few minutes, the motions grew more and more familiar to me, and I no longer hesitated. By the time we arrived back at the Wayne Manor, the face of a boy with the wildest smile ever had already taken shape on the paper. The boy who had, in one afternoon, sparked an inspiration which had been dead for five years.

A/N: Sigh, I can believe I'm starting another fanfic story. I have too many! I blame you, Jerome! You wonderful psycho!

Anyways. I started watching Gotham again because of Jerome, and I'm still reeling over what happened in episode 3. If he stays dead I will eat my own hat. Actually I won't. That's not very nutritious.

So, I wrote this to deal with my feels for this crazy kid. I hope everyone likes the interactions between Dany and Jerome. Unlike my other stories, this one will be mainly focused on the pairing. Now, as I write it, things might change a bit, but Dany and Jerome will remain at the heart of everything. I don't plan on them taking a backseat to this story anytime soon.

So, yeah. Please leave a review and tell me what you think!