Chapter 1: The Gala

*September 18*

I felt my body tremble in both excitement and fear. This predicament was new for me; I was surrounded by the wealthy and significant people of Gotham. Their eyes seemed to bore at the back of my head, waiting for me to slip up so that they could banish me from their social realm. Every glance I received had an inevitable score or rating behind it. They themselves having already met requirements in the tight knit cluster, were now using that position to chastise others. I had been standing by myself for approximately two minutes, yet I already craved the comforting approval of my date. That's right, I was asked to partake in this high stress fiasco. And, I agreed!

Despite the fact that the high and mighty of Gotham acted as if they owned the place, I had a good reason to be here. Arkham Asylum was raising money for the medical department and as a doctor, I was to walk around and discuss the topic of how the money would be spent in hopes of a donation from some of Gotham's philanthropists.

I haven't been a doctor for long though. I finished my residency four months ago and joined Arkham's staff due to my former, and current, bosses recommendation. The reason I was invited to this event was twofold: to keep my date in check, and to raise money. My superiors figured that I could calm down my boss and his know-it-all attitude since his previous efforts at fundraising events had led to fewer donations and more retribution. He held all the facts and I translated them into words the populace of Gotham would understand. It was fun, being in charge of my boss.

I deeply respect him though. He was, after all, the man who granted me permission to intern at Arkham in the first place. A brilliant individual who discreetly displayed his affection for me. That is, until he blatantly asked me out on the first week of my employment as a surgeon at Arkham. At least he was subtle; he cornered me in the elevator and pressed the emergency stop button thinking I wouldn't respond right away. Instead he received a swift reply, but had to wait for an hour while the janitor tinkered with the elevator to open it's ancient doors. I was very grateful he waited for my two year long internship to end beforehand, lest he spoil my reputation as a respectable young lady.

We had been 'dating' for the past few months, neither of us wishing to put a label on our relationship just yet. He was a very refined man. The most we'd shared were passionate kisses and a few gentle caresses, nothing too bold. He had ventured off into the sea of flesh and satin to get some champagne to fuel us for the long evening we had yet to endure. However, my date was not the only man maneuvering through the crowd. I watched as a well-kempt man faultlessly joined in on conversations, making a bee-line for my location. He was beat to the punch though.

A long, slender finger prodded my shoulder. Turning to see my savior I reached for the flute of champagne I was offered and held the glass in a light grip, scared that I may shatter the crystal if I held it too securely. My date grasped his own glass effortlessly, giving me a smirk as I struggled with where my hands should be placed. He corrected my grip on the flute and let out a soft chuckle at my beet-red face.

"Thank you Dr. Crane," I paused, he hated it when I used his title outside of work. He raised a slender brow while I corrected myself, "Sorry, thanks Jonathan."

"My pleasure Mireille," he responded, his eyebrows returning to their proper position. As I took a sip of champagne to sooth my tense nerves I noticed that once more, Jonathan was undressing me with his eyes.

As opposed to my usual long-sleeved turtlenecks and skirts, tonight I went all out on my appearance. My hair was free to roam my shoulders and brim my face, released from its usual confines of a French braid. I donned a sleeveless, tight, long dress. The satin clung to my slender form and left little to the imagination. It was a darker shade of purple with black accents. I wore heels to increase my height from a dainty 5'3" to a respectable 5'6". Despite this, I still looked miniscule compared to my tall date. His arm discreetly snaked around my waist and he rested his hand on my opposite hip. Placing my own glove covered hand over his, I looked into my date's light blue eyes.

Dr. Crane was not a very expressive man at times; however, I could always understand how he felt by looking at his eyes. Like so many others, I find them to be windows to the soul. Whenever he was focused on a problem in his work, the blue irises seemed to become icy and hard, but now… they were tender and glimmered like pools of trepid water. His usually tense brow had relaxed as he granted himself permission to just enjoy the moment.

The sound of a man clearing his throat broke me from my trance. Jonathan nonchalantly retreated his arm, fingertips gently brushing against my back as he did so. My date's expression became serious, as did my own. For before us lay the main event in our opinion. Bruce Wayne.

This may have been a date, but we were still here on a matter of business. The playboy philanthropist before us held the money necessary to restore Arkham Asylum's medical wing to its former glory with a mere swipe of the pen.

My mind lost all sense of control as I held an internal conflict. Part of me wanting to curtsy, one telling me to extend my hand palm down, and the final piece recommending I kiss his cheeks. I settled for stunned silence. Thankfully, my partner in crime had my back.

"Bruce Wayne," he started, extending his hand. "It has been a while." Monsieur Wayne took the proffered hand and gave what I can assume to be a firm shake. I interpreted this by the way Jonathan winced slightly and flexed his palm when it was released.

"Dr. Crane," the billionaire replied. "It is good to see you again." Without letting Jonathan return the comment, he turned to me. "And who, may I ask, are you?" He inquired, eyes reflecting the light of a nearby chandelier. His irises were blue as well, but they seemed darker and rather mysterious.

"Dr. Milenkovic." I replied to his query. His hand extended before me, palm up. Recognizing the motion, I placed my right hand in its designated space lightly and allowed him to raise it a few inches as he leaned down to kiss the back of my hand, his eyes locked on mine all the while. A light blush began to form on my cheeks. He was indeed charming, that rumor was correct.

"French?" he asked, referring to the slight lilt of my accent.

"Yes, I'm still working on ridding myself of the accent," I commented, embarrassed to be found out so quickly. I fiddled with a strand of hair and tucked it behind my ear, needing to keep occupied so I wouldn't stare.

"Don't," he smirked, "I find it very attractive." Bruce winked at my pink dusted cheeks, "and I trust you have a first name." he said with a hint of humor.

"Mireille," I offered up for critique.

"Mireille," he tried, pronouncing it 'my'ray rather than 'me'ray. I smiled at his difficulties and heard him introduce himself. "My name is Bruce Wayne."

"It's a pleasure to meet you Monsieur Wayne." I mentally smacked myself, looking to the floor in hopes of him not noticing my embarrassment. He chuckled at the French and then gave me a quick once over.

"It's Bruce," he continued his inspection of me. "Aren't you a tad young to be a doctor?"

"I'm twenty three if you must know," I joked at his obvious curiosity in my age, hoping to expel my former shame. "And my father is also a doctor employed at your company."

"I thought that name sounded familiar," Bruce noted. "So, anything I can do for you?"

Jonathan, happy to once again partake in the conversation, gave his promotional speech and I clarified the more scientific bits every now and then. The basic purpose of the money would be to update the equipment in both the laboratory and the medical wing. The improved chemicals and modern ways of treating patients could promise a faster recovery, quicker releases, thus lower taxes, and hopefully a healthier future. All in all, it was a success and Monsieur Wayne was eager to donate to the cause. He then introduced us to other groups, underlying the message for them to donate as well.

XXXXX

Jonathan and I had covered all of the large donors, so we took a well-deserved break. Our most recent flutes of champagne now empty and on their way to the kitchen, we decided to venture outside of the hall. The gala consisted of several rooms at the hotel hosting the event. There was a dining hall, dance room and the 'mingling' area which was where all the donations and small talk was made. An orchestra was in the dance room next door, so Jonathan and I ventured over, desiring to be alone with each other at least once tonight.

A slow waltz was being performed when we arrived and Jonathan quickly guided me to the dance floor, bowing his head slightly as he offered his hand. I took it and allowed him to pull me closer, resting a hand on his shoulder I looked up at him as he placed a hand tentatively on my waist, his face slightly flushed due to the alcohol. Our remaining hands were clasped together as we slowly swayed to the music. He delivered one of his rare, genuine smiles and gave me a little twirl. I giggled lightly and smiled back up at him. We soon resumed our steps and I glanced up occasionally only to see Jonathan always looking back at me.

A few minutes later, my date's eyes began to roam the room and I watched as they halted when he singled someone out and began to glare. Turning to see the target of his hatred, I saw Bruce Wayne. He was currently flirting with a model of sorts, I would guess Russian since I heard he was currently on a bit of a 'Russian model' streak, supposedly five within the month. I raised the hand that lay on Jonathan's shoulder to his cheek, my fingers running down the jawbone. He looked at me and his face began to soften at the caress. I mouthed to him, 'Let me know when he is looking.' Jonathan smirked and nodded, joining in on the plan.

I replaced my hand on his shoulder and blushed madly as our eyes locked together then, unsure how he would take the rather provocative plan I had set up. The blue orbs zipped away and back rapidly, full of uncertainty. His grip on my waist tightened for a second. I considered this a go sign for Bruce's attention. Removing my hand from Jonathan's grip, I wrapped my arms around his neck. He did the same to my waist with a slight air of uncertainty. As I stood on my toes he began to crane his neck downward, already used to the action prior to kissing me. The whole near foot difference in height was a bit of a bother at times. Our lips met and to better improve Jonathan's confidence in the situation, I reduced the space between us to a mere centimeter. The chaste kiss turned into a series of less innocent kisses, one of which involved Jonathan biting at my upper lip. After catching my breath I rested my head on his chest and breathed in the scent of straw, giggling at the concept of the well-kept Dr. Crane on a farm. He rested his head on my crown and inhaled through his nose.

"You look beautiful tonight," Jonathan commented, a hand rising from it's placement on my waist to play with my brown tresses. I giggled at his cliché compliment.

"And you sir," I started, poking him in the chest. "Smell like straw." His face collapsed and I stifled a laugh when I saw his shocked expression. I pulled him down a few inches and commented, "I like it."

Jonathan grinned and kissed me with haste and I tightened my grip on his neck so he couldn't stop. Then I felt a wet muscle prod my lower lip. I was shocked at first, finding it interesting that he was the one introducing French kissing. We had yet to try it and I believe his willingness to prompt the act was based on the amount of alcohol he had consumed tonight. Jonathan was a reserved man, as I mentioned before, so instigating this passionate act in the presence of a multitude of strangers was also probably to be blamed on the alcohol.

I opened my mouth and let him take his time to adapt to the new sensation. As expected, he tasted strongly of alcohol, but also a more appetizing taste to say the least. As things began to heat up I desired a tad more privacy and tugged playfully at his tie. Getting the message, he followed me out of the room, allowing himself to be towed. I smirked at Bruce's bemused expression as we passed by him.

While Jonathan and I traveled the halls together, we came across an unlocked room. Curiosity getting the better of me, I opened the door fully to reveal a concert hall. On the stage that lay before us was a grand piano, the curtains surrounding it drawn up and hundreds of lush chairs perfectly set to encompass the instrument. I took a step forward to observe the surroundings better when a squeak of surprise escaped my lips.

Jonathan had lifted me into his arms bridal style and proceeded to run to the stage's raised platform on his long, slender legs. I giggled at his drug induced loopy and affectionate state. He then sat on the piano bench and placed me on his lap so that I was straddling his waist. It was one of those rare occasions where our heads were on equal planes. I planned to take advantage of this.

I started out by tenderly kissing his lips. As he applied more and more pressure I found my fingers sinking into his hair, reveling at the soft feel of the reddish brown locks. His own hands rested on my hips to hold me in place, thumbs gently stroking my waist in small, tight circles.

He prodded his tongue against my lips, asking permission to enter again. I opened my mouth slightly and nipped at his tongue playfully before allowing it inside as I ventured into his own. As Jonathan began to understand the ropes, he moved his hands to my back, pressing us flush to one another. He opened his mouth to receive much needed oxygen before continuing his conquest. I couldn't get enough of that mesmerizing taste. Winding my fingers in his hair, I ran my tongue over the roof of his mouth and enjoyed the small grunts of pleasure he emitted. When both of us needed a break, Jonathan leaned back and began to stroke my cheek. I smiled at the movement and pressed my forehead to his. Our breaths intermingled, lips mere centimeters apart as we regained our composure, heat radiating off our cheeks. I wrapped my arms around Jonathan and hugged him lightly, my head in the crook of his neck as I took in a small whiff of his cologne, my eyes drifting shut.

Jonathan's fingers had resumed their gentle ministrations on my lower back and I didn't want this moment to end, but time will not stand still for anyone. I sensed his discomfort at my weight and kissing the pale neck that lay before me before standing up, thinking we were going to leave. However, Jonathan turned his body so he would face the instrument now. I watched in silence.

Fingers reaching toward the ivory, he placed his long digits on the keys, and began to play.

Jonathan told me he knew how to play the piano a while back. I had assumed he just meant he could play a tune or two, not an advanced piece. The song he played now was beautiful. His fingers did not trip; they pressed the keys fluidly, and without hesitation. The music was slightly haunting and slow paced; his eyes focused on the keys as he went through the motions. I drew back on memories of my father listening to classical music in his study and recalled this one. 'Moonlight Sonata' I mouthed, not wanting to interrupt him.

I draped my arms over his shoulders and took in a deep breath, allowing myself to be swept away by the music. When Jonathan finished the piece I watched as his hands retreated and were placed back on his trousers. I was grateful for Jonathan. Our work at the asylum was strange and scary, yet I felt so safe with him. He took away all my fears.

"Thank you," I said, unsure how else to convey all the emotions I felt for him.