Disclaimer: I don't anything. But certain characters such as Anne are of my own creation.

A/N: I have come upon new inspiration. The latest chapter will take a long while for it to finally be posted because I am determined to rewrite and edit all the chapters in most of my stories, but this is my number one priority. [Also, I've made some changes to the history of some characters and to the plot, but none are too drastic. I hope you enjoy this!]

Summary: Bruce Wayne's life wasn't perfect and neither was Anne Vera's, but when they met – perfect seemed possible. Well, Fate knew that, but they didn't. Both are haunted by their pasts. Both are dealing with what their past made them. Yet perfect isn't easy to get or to have. How long will it take for someone to realize that perfect isn't really perfect? (Post The Dark Knight-about five months.) [Once The Dark Knight: Rising comes out, you might see elements of the movie in this story.]

"Calm down, Anne. Please, just calm your shit down. Everything is going to be just dandy. I know it. Breathe! Breathe… Oh my God, I don't think I can breathe."

Anne Vera looked at her reflection through the bathroom mirror. She inspected her attire: long blue-gray dress, a simple cross around her neck, a bracelet around her left wrist, and simple black flats. She next checked out the makeup she put on herself. It was nothing special. Just a few hints of blush, eyeliner, and lip gloss to make her lips look fuller.

Makeup sucks, she thought to herself. She never liked wearing makeup. She believed that makeup was for two types of people: women who were smart enough and knew how to use makeup wisely, and women who wanted to look pretty when they really weren't. I'm neither. She only put on makeup because her friends peer pressured her into doing it. She didn't want to put herself out as a go-getter. She just wanted to remain as herself; to remain as Anne Vera.

She touched the birthmark on the right side of her neck. She remembered her mother telling her that some people believed that a birthmark was an indicator of fatal wound someone received in their past life. Someone definitely shot me. Knowing that she had about ten birthmarks, she decided that someone or some people had shot her or stabbed her in her past life multiple times. Anne looked into her own green eyes, down to her slightly sharp nose, and back to her sharp cheekbones.

Closing her eyes, she heard a low, creepy voice mutter, "You're so pretty." She slapped herself on her left cheek. She wasn't going to go into one of those moods again. She was stronger than that. I can always hear… No. It wasn't the time to let her insecurities get the better of her. She had to think positive. Or at least try to.

I look alright, she thought to herself, amused. Sure, she wasn't the most beautiful person to ever grace the planet, but she didn't mind. She would take whatever God gave her. "Sharp everything," she muttered slightly. Sharp wit, sharp eyes, sharp nose, etc.

Tonight was supposedly one of the most important nights in her life. Or so her friends and owner of the gallery told her. "This will change your world," she mocked slightly; imitating one of her friend's voices. Not! She disagreed with all her might about doing an exhibition of her artwork. All she wanted was to let her artwork be what they were. Sub-par.

But alas, the gallery owner of Purple Metro disagreed. He said that she should invest in her artwork, and continue painting. Blah, blah, blah. Painting was supposed to be her hobby. Nothing more. Now some man, thanks to the suggestion of one of her girlfriends, wanted her to prostitute her paintings to the public.

"Maybe that's a bit harsh," she told her reflection. But still…Purple Metro? "What kind of hotel name is Purple Metro? Sounds a bit stupid to me."

She picked up a comb from a drawer, and proceeded to comb her long and layered black hair. What could she do with it? Nothing. She had what people called to be "Asian hair." Her hair could not be fixed. It just wanted to stay straight. Did she try to curl it? Yes. Nothing. Did she try to put it in a bun or something? Yes. Still, nothing. It was a useless endeavor. As far as she could tell, no machine nor hair product could make her hair being something other than straight.

Beauty kills. She thought dressing up sucked. It took too much work. Why did she have to dress up to go to some exhibition that she didn't want to be part of? Anne stared off into space, and then sighed. She couldn't lie to herself. Some part of her wanted to have this exhibition. Some part of her wanted to show off her paintings. But why? She didn't know. All she knew was that she was nervous. She was surprised that she wasn't shaking. Yet.

"Breathe…" she whispered.

She felt her insides shake. This was a once and a lifetime opportunity. She wanted to freak out. She wanted to explode because she couldn't imagine how damn stupid and lucky she is for having her artwork exhibited at a highly respected art gallery in Gotham. It just couldn't be real. It must be dream. I should like pinch myself. She did, but all she got was pain. Talk about more pressure I'm giving myself.

She looked at the clock hanging over her mirror. 6:40. "Oh, great. I've got thirty minutes." She left the bathroom, and walked to the small table that stood beside the couch. Grabbing the purse that was upon it, she grabbed her keys from the key holder beside her door, and walked out her friend's apartment.

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Alfred Pennyworth watched as his charge Bruce Wayne put on his Kevlar suit as well as the entire accessories that went along with being Batman. He noticed all the scars that the young man had acquired over the months. They are all not just physical. "But mental," he mouthed to himself. His concern over his charge's safety increased with each night he would go out being what he was: a vigilante.

"Are you going to the gala, Master Bruce?" he asked. Another party to show off your façade. He knew that it was only for the best. The young master knew what he was doing, or at least was good enough to pull him along for the ride. But parties are parties, and Alfred knew that Bruce didn't enjoy them at all.

Bruce nodded as he colored his eyelid with black charcoal, "Yes, I am. I was personally invited by the owner himself." He raised an eyebrow at the thought of going to another "party" but it didn't matter. The Bruce Wayne he showed the public had to be there. There are no breaks.

Alfred was always concerned about the psychological repercussions that he knew Bruce was suffering from due to seeing his parents murdered in front of him. It didn't help that the young man was off gallivanting as a pompous playboy in the day and as a vigilante at night. He could not help but be there for the man as a support system. Heaven knows that he won't rest no matter what I tell him.

"Do you think you will make it, sir?" he asked.

Bruce shrugged nonchalantly, "I will make it. Crime seems to be sleeping tonight." For once. Not sure that will last long.

"Seems, sir?" Alfred looked Bruce deep in his eyes. He too thought the same thing. As cliche as it sounded – crime doesn't sleep.

"I'll check the Narrows and so on. Wait for me at seven so we can go." Bruce replied as he grabbed the cowl and put it on.

And with that, he jumped out into the dark of Gotham.

Alfred watched as Batman flew off into the night. He looked down at his shoes, back to where Bruce jumped off, and then wiped his brow. Nothing has ever been the same. Nothing has been normal as one would call normal. But things were even more different now. Bruce was even more reclusive thanks to Rachel's passing. Nothing has been the same since the Joker ran amuck on the streets of Gotham. Batman was a wanted man, but despite it all he still prowled the streets because that was his purpose in life.

But that didn't stop him from worrying. He loved his charge like a son. He would never stop worrying.

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Anne checked her watch again. She was going to be late. She knew she would be. Why did Louisa force me into sleeping in her apartment? Didn't she know that the Narrows wasn't particularly close to Purple Metro? Her frustrations grew when she looked around her. Everything was dark. The noise wasn't soothing either. It was all just plain eerie.

The Narrows were a part of Gotham that was always filled with trouble and mayhem. The area has never been the same since that mysterious gas came into the city. Mob bosses, serial killers, low key criminals… She shuddered at the thought of those types of people. The thing was – nothing has ever been the same in Gotham. The city itself was going down a dangerous path. Crime was rising, and one of those who were lost was probably the most important man in the city: Harvey Dent. Batman, whom intrigued many-, was the man who killed him. Or so the press says…One can never know. He was now hated and chased by the police for such a crime.

Everything was just different.

She tugged at her coat and pulled her purse further up her arm. A shiver ran up her spine. The weather was stark. She felt nothing but cold. More shivers ran up her back. It didn't help that she was walking alone in The Narrows which wasn't the happiest place in the world. All she had to do to keep herself safe was to be aware, and to make sure she kept a fast past. She had to make it to the train station; the rail system that connected everyone from one side Gotham to the other.

"Hello, prettttty."

Anne's eyes widened at the sudden voice. Not only did the voice come out of nowhere, but it also sounded creepy and it held the word she hated to be called. Pretty. It didn't sound good to her at all. Her instincts told her that it was a sound of trouble. She forced her legs to keep on walking. She had to keep on walking. She knew that she mustn't panic or else she would really be in trouble. It was nothing. It was nothing.

The voice didn't go away though. Instead it kept on saying, "Hey, pretty. Preeeettty!" To Anne's horror the voice was different from the first, and it seemed closer than it was before. Warning signals alerted Anne immediately. There were definitely two of them now. This is not good. She started to quicken her pace a little more.

"Hey! Hey, Pretty! Why don't you tell us your name?"

The voice terrified Anne. She knew that type of voice. She knew what kind of intent the bearer of the voice had. "You're so pretty…" The recognition of the horrible intent made her freeze. She felt the panic rise within her. "Goddamn it," she hissed. "Move legs. Move!" But they refused. She was stuck.

She heard footsteps, and they were getting closer. My luck couldn't get any better. Here she was in a blue-gray dress with a silk jacket covering her. Not only was she walking alone in the Narrows. No wonder someone called her pretty. But still, the word itself terrified her. If only I was wearing like jeans or something…

"Say, pretty, why don't you tell us your name?"

Anne felt her heart race in terror. She could feel the sweat dripping down her body as the hairs of her arm stood up. She was getting colder; so much colder. The urge to move went away. She could now see them clearly. There weren't two men as the voices would make it out to be. No, there were five of them. Five! Oh fuck! She resisted the action of clutching herself. I really don't want to be gang-raped, she thought to herself.

One of the men came up in front of her; just a few steps away from her. He was chubby with no neck, and a Hitler like mustache. Two other men came upon her side. They were skinner than the man in front of her, but they were bald and she could see that their arms were hairy. She could only guess that the rest of the Horrible Five were right behind her.

"Pretty, pretty, pretty...," the man in front of her cooed horribly. He was so ghastly that Anne felt like she would gag. I should have stuck to those Karate classes…. Or was it Tae Kwon Do. Through the corner of her eye, she could see her would-be-assailant slash ugly-not-wanted-annoy-er stepping closer and closer towards. She shook her right arm and felt her only weapon fall into her hands.

Pepper spray.

The man to her right was getting closer and clearer, and to her chagrin she could see him pull a pocket knife from out of his pants. Not good. "I want some of you pretty," they all said. I have a feeling that I'm not going to like that word even more than I already do. She braced herself as the man on her left started to walk towards her. The guy on the right, on the other hand, was only a step away from her. She decided to do what her brain told her to do. She had no time to really think if her next move was the smartest thing because the certain situation she was in wasn't so pleasant.

She needed to get out of it. She needed to get out of it quickly. So as fast as she could muster, Anne sprayed the guy on her right whom she quickly nicknamed "Skinny" straight between the eyes. "Skinny" cried out in shock and pain; scampered back. The guy on her left who she called "Baldy" ran straight for her. Anne surged in movement and kicked "Skinny" where it hurt; right in the groin. She then game "Baldy" his own share of pepper spray.

There were only three left now so Anne tried to run to the stair case that "Skinny" had been hiding near. As she did that she tried to get her cell phone, but to no use. The two men behind her had grabbed her before she could do anything else. Her purse, her weapon of choice – the pepper spray, and her mobile phone fell to the ground.

"That wasn't such a nice thing to do, pretty…" one of the men who held her said with a harsh hiss. "Hiss-y" hissed again. She cringed. Get a breath mint. She couldn't believe that she thought that. Here she was in an obviously deadly situation and all she could think about is that "Hissy" had one of the worst breaths that she had ever smelled. Wonderful. I know I'm scared, but God, Anne, you are insane.

"What should we do with her?" said the other man. Nothing, Anne quickly thought to herself. "I don't know about you, but I sure would like a lovely kiss." 'Hissy' replied. Hearing this made Anne brace herself for a horrible feeling; the feeling of being kissed by a piece of scum like "Hissy."

Suddenly the three of them were forcefully pushed to the ground. This made Anne grunt at the hit. The second man who was behind her got up first and went to check out who hit them. Anne, who fell along with the hit, slowly and hesitantly moved to get back on her feet. She felt that someone was trying to grab her leg so she just kicked as hard as she could at whoever grabbed her. This made the mysterious hand let go which made her quite glad.

Finally, she was able to get back up. What hit us? But then again, she didn't really care. What scared her the most was that she couldn't hear a damn thing. She fell back to her knees slowly and quickly picked up her fallen belongings. She blinked as the sweat fell, and thanked Jesus. Goddamn, I hope the dress doesn't look bad. It would really suck having to go to that party looking like I just got mugged. Or worse. The thought made her shiver. She found her cell phone, and quickly pressed hard on the number two button which was the speed dial for the police. Next she grabbed the pepper spray, and got up again after hearing a loud thud. It sounded like someone fell hard on the ground. She took a deep breath. Somebody either saved her for good or worse, for himself.

She heard footsteps behind her. They sounded so different from the Horrible Five. No, these footsteps sounded heavier, and more certain. Anne gripped the pepper spray tightly. Whoever was behind her was getting closer. Too close!

She swerved to spray the mysterious attacker or savior, but couldn't. Before she could even dare to press the button that would unleash the pepper spray, her arm was caught. Her wrist was instantly taken control of. Let go of me you bastard. The fear turned to anger, but quickly disappeared when she saw a familiar symbol. A bat. She let her eyes go to her wrist. The hand that was holding it was covered in black; like a black glove. She raised her eye further up and knew that everything was real.

This was Batman! It was the man that everyone talked about whether in love, in fear, in admiration, in hate, in disgust, or in confusion. There he was; in front of her. She was never entirely sure what to make of The Batman because she would hear so many different reports about him. Five men killed that night when the Joker was caught. Some of those men were police officers... But... It doesn't make sense. You saved the city so many times. Why kill people? It was true. It didn't make any sense to her. So it is safe to say that she would like to give him the benefit of the doubt, and this only reinforced the thought. She always held the belief that Batman was innocent. Somehow she knew. And now there he was. He was real. She didn't know whether to feel excited or anxious.

Anne's breath caught in her throat. She looked into The Dark Knight's eyes; curiosity overwhelming her. The eyes of the Caped Crusader were almost brown, but they looked a lot more hazel then coffee colored. So intense…so shadowed… Her eyes refused to look away from him. She was captivated.

A grunt was made behind her. Anne frowned slightly. She knew that grunt. It was Hissy's. She ripped her arm out of Batman's grasp and turned to see Hissy on all fours just two steps away from her. She quickly gave him two doses of pepper spray. Hissy screamed. She smirked slightly, turned to say something to her Good Samaritan, but found him gone.

Sounds of siren suddenly filled her ears. Anne looked around to find all the men wasted on the ground. She looked at where Batman had once been and smiled slightly.

"Thanks."

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TBC

End-note: Well, all the edits have been made. I hope you all still enjoy what you read! Review! Read the next chapter!