DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything except the story and the O/C.

I was a fan of Shakespeare when we read his plays in school. Most students would groan at the very mention of his name, but I liked to delve into a culture and a language from so long ago. The stories were mesmerizing to me. His words came alive all on their own, I could close my eyes and see them. For a while, I had even wanted to be a playwright because of the brilliance of his works.

Every writer I've met always has bigger dreams at first. They want to write mystery novels, comic books, create compelling fantasy worlds that readers get lost in. Those dreams fade pretty quickly. Thankfully, I got hooked on journalism instead, the exciting kind. I liked my research, sometimes a bit too much. It may not seem exciting to most people, but I was addicted.

Still, I carried Shakespeare with me to the city, for the sake of holding on to dreams. I had a whole collection, many of his known works in my possession. I still loved them as I had when I was younger, with one exception.

I never had, and never will have, any love for Romeo and Juliet. Star-crossed lovers were uninspiring and frankly, they were stupid whiny children throughout the entirety of the play. It was supposed to be a tragedy, but it only made me laugh.

So, sitting in ridiculous shoes and an uncomfortable ball gown I had every intention of returning the next day – those things are not cheap – I was made extra irritated by the show I was seeing. As I was parked right next to my new boss however, I had no choice in the matter. She had excitedly told me just as it was starting that Romeo and Juliet was her favourite. I was doomed to watch the damn thing, complaint-free. It could have been worse. It was a charity event after all. I had also been promised free drinks.

Mildred, my boss – who had insisted I call her Millie – was trying to butter me up. She asked me to go to the event as her guest, I assume because it was at Wayne Manor and I was supposed to find that impressive. In reality, it was disgusting. It was a beautiful building of course, really high quality stuff, but so large. We were currently sitting in 'ballroom one' and I had to wonder exactly how many ballrooms there were, and how many had stages like this one.

I was startled suddenly by people clapping, giving standing ovations to the clearly emotional cast. I stood and clapped with what was probably very obvious disinterest. Thankfully, Millie was too busy sobbing next to me to notice.

"How beautiful," She gushed, "I love it more and more each time I see it. Don't you?"

"Oh, absolutely."

The cast went backstage and a microphone was hauled out by a nervous looking old man.

"H-hello. Thank you all for coming. On behalf of the GiveForKids foundation, I would like to personally thank Mr. Bruce Wayne for his generous contribution, and for hosting this evening's events." There was a generous round of applause. "Truly a humble man, he has asked not to speak tonight, so be sure to thank him when you see him. I'm told we're now to proceed to the second ballroom for food and drinks." I rolled my eyes.

Great, so that's two ballrooms for sure. I had half a mind to grab a quick drink and ditch the party to count the rest of them, but Millie wrapped her arm tightly around mine as we exited.

"Now, I'm going to leave you to socialize but I'll be checking in frequently to make sure you're having fun, alright?"

"Sounds great." My tone was bordering on sarcastic. I was going to need a drink stat. Almost everyone was chattering about how great the play was, but I heard a group of women behind us more concerned about a different topic.

"Did you see Bruce Wayne tonight?" One asked.

"I caught a quick glimpse, he looks so handsome."

"I'm going to try talking to him. He still hasn't found that special lady, you know."

"I doubt he ever will, he's hardly one to settle down."

"I really don't mind. I'd be happy with just one night of him."

They burst into a fit of laughter and I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Sure, I'd heard the guy was handsome and he was by all accounts a decent man, but us regular women were hardly his type. Hadn't he dated supermodels? Plus, he had multiple ballrooms.

I glanced back, the women were all gorgeous. Leggy blondes and brunettes with stunning dresses. The tag of my own gown was digging painfully into the back of my neck. I itched at it as discreetly as I could manage, which was almost certainly not discreet at all. It wasn't just the tag, the whole damn dress was made of irritating fabric. It didn't seem fair to complain, as I would be returning it the next day. The dress was a simple thing, a deep navy blue that contrasted sharply with my skin and strawberry blonde hair. I probably looked every part the out-of-towner that I felt in that moment. One of the girls met my eyes and my face heated. The prospect of socializing suddenly seemed rather daunting as we entered the second ballroom.

Millie gave my arm a reassuring pat before drifting towards the food in her grey pantsuit. Even she had some semblance of grace in her older years, elegance. And there I was standing like a deer in the headlights. Fight or flight.

In the interest of dignity I decided to make a beeline for the alcohol. My eyes searched wildly and landed on a kind looking older guy holding a tray of champagne. I'm sure I must have startled him, because I all but sprinted in his direction. Despite being caught off guard he offered me a genuine smile.

"Enjoying your evening, Madam?" I was shocked by the formality. He had just the hint of an accent, British I guessed.

"Oh, um, yes of course."

"Hmm." He handed me a glass. "Forgive me, but I only ask because you look rather off put."

"I-I'm sorry. I'm not used to this kind of thing."

"First time at an event of this caliber?"

"Am I that obvious?"

He cleared his throat. "You would be less so, ma'am, if the tag on your evening gown wasn't so visible." I cursed under my breath and reached to tuck it back in. No wonder the itching had stopped.

"Thanks." I mumbled.

"Don't worry, dear. I'm sure you'll do fine." I smiled gratefully, and wondered secretly if I could hang out with him for the rest of the evening. "If it is your first time in Wayne Manor, may I ask what you think?"

"Well, um. It's very pretty."

"You don't sound entirely convinced."

"It's a bit much though, isn't it? It's very large. Who needs multiple ballrooms? How many are there even?"

"Four." He wasn't smiling anymore, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. "There are four ballrooms ma'am. You might enjoy the library if the party becomes overwhelming. There's an unlocked door downstairs at the end of the hall."

With that, he skirted around me and went to pass around more glasses of champagne. This left me with no one to talk to again and no mystery about ballrooms to solve. However, he had offered me a place of solitude. I considered my options. To stay or go? I should be polite, Millie did invite me here. But really, I wasn't sure I could stand another minute. I didn't belong in this high class world. Every eye that turned my way seemed to be a judgmental and disapproving one.

I was a low income girl from a small town. These were silver spoon users. The only reason I'd moved to the city was because Millie's company had offered me an impossibly good job, and it came with more than a few perks. Lead investigative reporter, I wasn't even sure it was a real position elsewhere. The paycheck was divine. Millie called and said she'd seen my previous work, that there would be so much more opportunity for me in Gotham.

Before, I'd done the few odd articles but what she was most impressed by was my article on the drug scene in a neighbouring town. Some of my investigative type of research had led to arrests. Apparently they needed people like me in the city, and I was more than willing. I'd tracked a large amount of the drug activity to Gotham during my research, and so Millie had me hooked.

Speak of the devil. I downed my glass of champagne as Millie came hurrying back over to me.

"How are you doing, Georgia? I thought I'd show you off a bit." Before I could remind her that I prefer to go by George, she'd begun hauling me towards a gathering of people. Among them, the man himself. Bruce Wayne didn't seem to notice me as I was practically thrust in his direction. I barely had time to catch my balance before she was positively gushing. "Bruce, I'd like you to meet Georgia Duvall." He turned and our eyes met. There was a flash of emptiness within them before charm and interest washed over in hues of bright blue.

"Nice to meet you." For a moment I was fooled. I could have sworn he was being genuine, but I'm a reporter. I can spot a fake, I can see through a lie. He refocused immediately back to a beautiful dark haired woman. I don't know what I had been expecting, but that was the last straw. Even Millie seemed a little taken aback by his blatant disinterest.

"Miss Duvall is our new lead investigative reporter"-

"Millie." I stopped her, Wayne wasn't paying any attention, no sense wasting her breath. I needed a break, not even a half hour in.

"Yes, dear?"

"I, uh. I-I have to use the washroom."

"Oh of course. Find me when you get back."

I nodded. She didn't seem the slightest bit concerned that I headed in the opposite direction of the bathrooms and instead slipped into the hallway, grabbing one last glass of champagne from an abandoned tray on my way out. I felt a pair of eyes on me, but attributed it to nervousness. Guests were probably not supposed to be wandering the halls, but I had special permission from the nice man. Nothing to worry about.

It felt good even simply to be out of the stupid ballroom. The sound of my heels echoed through the empty corridor. Portraits of stuffy looking Waynes glared down at me. I blew a kiss at a particularly snobby looking one and started down the stairs. I nearly fell twice in my heels and stripped them off. With a glass in one hand and a hellish pair of shoes in the other, I padded down the next hallway and pushed open the door into the library.

I was immediately awestruck. It was huge. Spiraling staircases and seemingly endless rows of mahogany shelves. There was an area with a fireplace to sit down and read. I dropped my heels and – it's embarrassing to admit – ran in search of a Shakespearean section. What can I say? Old habits.

The rows were even labeled. Labeled! Like a real library or bookstore. I found an entire section on plays and my jaw dropped at the sight of his Shakespeare collection. It had to be every play. Newer copies and volumes older than any I'd seen. I was so consumed I didn't even hear the door open.

"Oh my God." I breathed, pulling out a copy of A Midsummer Night's Dream. It was bound beautifully, with designs of ivy and flowers blooming across the front cover.

"Be careful, I think the spine on that one needs a bit of work."

I nearly jumped out of my skin, wheeling and holding the book to my chest protectively. There, holding my heels and looking quite pleased with himself, was none other than Bruce Wayne.

"Sorry, Miss Duvall, I thought you'd heard me come in." He was going full on charm now, and that made me immediately suspicious. "I saw you leaving through the wrong doors, I thought you might be lost. Alfred filled me in."

"Alfred?"

"My butler. Served you champagne? Told you about the library?"

"Right." My eyes flickered to my shoes and back up to his stupid handsome face. He seemed, in that moment, nothing more than a very rich, very attractive bully. I had to show him that his charisma didn't impress me. I straightened my back. "I'm surprised you remembered my name."

"It rang a bell. You're the George Duvall that worked the pound case, right? Impressive."

That struck me as odd. A millionaire playboy like Bruce Wayne had taken an interest in a drug case from a small town hours away? An alarm sounded in my head, and another part of me wondered if he knew anything. He did have his hands in a lot of Gotham corporations, after all. I had to test the waters a bit.

"Yes, I did. I tracked the drug here, actually. To Gotham."

"I'm not surprised. We do have a very high crime rate these days." He was playing it safe. I had a sense that he did know more than he was letting on. He was too nonchalant. And he was still talking to me, which was weird.

"Forgive the reporter in me, Mr. Wayne, but you haven't heard anything about it, have you?"

He shook his head, "No, that's not really my area of expertise. If Jim Gordon had made an appearance tonight I'd suggest you talk to him." I bit back another question. Something told me he wasn't going to be interested in talking about whatever he did know. Then again, maybe I was reading him all wrong. Hadn't something traumatic happened to Bruce Wayne? That would explain the odd emptiness I kept seeing in his eyes. I decided to drop it. "Should we be worried about the drug, Miss Duvall?"

"It's George, and yes. Absolutely. Distributors call it pound because it gives the user a lot of extra strength."

"Like PCP?"

"Yes, but stronger."

"Interesting. I imagine that could be beneficial in the hands of criminals."

"Exactly!" His jaw tensed in a small flicker of a genuine smile. A silence hung in the air, and we both laughed a bit uncomfortably. "Sorry, proper social etiquette isn't exactly my strong suit. We should probably be talking about the play or the weather or something."

He laughed, "I'm actually finding this kind of refreshing, aren't you? Though maybe we should change the topic." He set my shoes down on a bookshelf and gestured to the book I was still clutching tightly. "Are you a Shakespeare fan?"

"Absolutely. I thought my collection was impressive but this is incredible."

"It wasn't all me, my mother purchased most of these. I just finished what she started." I had to wonder briefly if he'd done that in her memory. I suddenly remembered the tragic passing of his parents. He'd seen it, hadn't he? "Is A Midsummer Night's Dream your favourite?" He asked.

"No, I'm not sure I could pick just one. Could you?"

"Hamlet, I think."

"Interesting." Privately, it was one of my favourites as well. "Very tragic, full of revenge. Not exactly what I would have thought."

"No?" He grinned. "What would you have thought?"

"I pegged you as a Romeo and Juliet kind of guy." I teased.

Bruce Wayne cringed. "Oh God, is that punishment for my terrible first impression?"

I laughed. "Consider yourself forgiven."

He chucked and shook his head. "I am sorry about that, I'm so used to dealing with stuffy people at these events."

"It's alright." I smiled. Despite my best efforts, Bruce Wayne was beginning to impress me. The man liked Shakespeare. Looking back at the shelf of books, I sighed. "He was brilliant though."

"He really was." When my eyes flickered back to Bruce Wayne he was staring right at me. "Wasn't he the one who said that eyes are the window to the soul?"

"I think that one's controversial. Some people think it was Leonardo Da Vinci."

"Well, whoever said it was right." His gaze was becoming more than a little intense. "For example, you're a bit of a Rosalind character, only I bet you get into more trouble. Don't you?" He reached out, as if he was going to touch me, and pulled at the tag that was once again protruding from my dress.

Before I could splutter out a response and tuck it away again, a door opened and Alfred entered with a bottle of wine and two glasses, which he set in front of the fireplace. "I've told your guests you became tired suddenly, Master Wayne."

"Thanks, Alfred."

The man nodded politely, gave me a pleasant smile, and closed the door behind him.

"He's my favourite person so far tonight." I blurted suddenly. Apparently all the champagne was taking effect. I was a notorious lightweight. Bruce Wayne looked first confused and then playfully hurt.

"I'll have you know I asked him to bring the wine, I ought to be the favoured person."

"Ah, did you? Well wine can only mean you have wicked and self-motivated intentions Mr. Wayne. One would think you're trying to bring me to bed." Bruce shrugged coyly. "Alfred has been entirely selfless this evening." I walked, still barefoot, right past him and plunked down on the sofa.

"I can't believe you, I threw this event! That's selfless." He laughed, pouring us each a glass of wine. He then strode to the fireplace and started to light it. "He is great though. He's family."

He turned back to me, fire glowing behind him. "I can trust Alfred." A boyish grin broke across his face. "I'm not sure I can say the same about you."

"Excuse me?" I feigned insult, a bit too dramatically. Damn champagne.

"Well you're not honest when it comes to that dress, and you're a reporter. An investigative reporter at that. You could have lured me here for an article."

"Lured you?"

"You were holding a lot of attention in there. Any man would have followed you out of the ballroom."

"That's creepy." I laughed at his defeated expression, apparently he'd been going for a compliment. "Maybe they saw my price tag. I have low rates, I suppose."

"Could be. You're also disarmingly beautiful."

"That's a ridiculous idea. I don't trust you. You brought wine."

"I'm just welcoming you to Gotham."

"I don't believe you, but hell, I'll drink to that." I took a sip of wine. It was red, my favourite. I was no expert or anything, most of my wine was the cheap corner store kind, but it even tasted expensive. I didn't even want to think about the price tag on that. It probably cost more than my ensemble.

I surveyed Bruce instead as he sat next to me and stared at the fire. There really was something about his eyes that bothered me. He seemed tortured within them, angry, but there was a stillness to him that seemed satisfied. Sort of like he had a secret.

"Hamlet." I said, quietly.

"What about it?"

"I-If I'm a Rosalind, you're a Hamlet."

"What makes you say that?"

I shrugged. "Just a feeling. I inched towards him slightly, full of champagne and wine and newfound boldness because of them. "I think you're hiding something Mr. Wayne. The big house isn't you, is it?"

"No." He admitted. "It's all a bit too extravagant."

"So maybe it's the women." I poured myself a second glass of wine. "Maybe that's your secret. You're just a lonely man, and you find comfort in the art of temporary seduction."

"You really don't hold a thing back, do you?" He grinned into his wine glass. "I'm enjoying that."

"I'm also a little drunk."

"I can't say you're wrong about the loneliness, but I do not fill myself up with the company of many women, if you must know."

"Maybe you're a sexist or a racist or something."

He threw his head back and laughed fully. "You think I'm awful. Most people find me very charming."

"One may smile, and smile, and be a villain." I quoted. Still chuckling softly, he shook his head and downed his wine, staring into the bottom of it. "Two sides to you, Wayne."

"Oh yeah?" He turned towards me, an intrigued smile on his lips.

"God hath given you one face, and you make yourself another." His smile faded. For a brief flash of a second, I got a good glimpse at Bruce Wayne's soul through blue windows, and then he leaned in and kissed me.