Juliet is a college student attending Gotham University. She is studying Journalism and forensic science because she wants to be a hard-hitting Journalist. Right now she has an internship at the Gotham Chronicle. Juliet had lived in California first, but she wanted to be an investigative Journalist and she believed Gotham was the best place for this.

So let the story begin!

Juliet's POV…

"Matthews!"

This shout you knew very well. It was the shout of the Head Editor, Charlie Rutter. Charlie was a 45 year old man with a nicely developing beer gut and receeding hairline. He had a knack for finding the juiciest of news, and he knew exactly how to push buttons. With a nervous tug of your hair, you slowly walked into his office and closed the door behind you. He turned around in his chair, taking his eyes off the view of Gotham, he gazed at you. His eyes were a sparkling green and they spoke of a knowledge.

"Matthews I have a story for you," he said. You perked up at this. Lately you've been only running errands, delivering papers, or getting coffee. So the idea of a story caught your attention. You sat up a little straighter in your seat and gave him a smile. "We're doing another personality piece on Bruce Wayne and his business. And because everyone else is busy running the paper I need you to go get some interviews." You slumped a little in your seat, a sigh of exasperation escaped from your lips. ANOTHER personality piece? On Bruce Wayne…again? Charlie saw the look on your face and put a steady hand on the desk. He rooted around in the drawer before pulling out a recorder. Handing it to you, he turned around in his chair and back to the view of Gotham.

"I don't care if you WANT to do it, you HAVE to do it. Wayne is a big supporter of our paper…and of the city for the matter…and he is the most famous man in Gotham. So, get to work." And with that lovely sentiment, you sighed and walked out of the office. Grabbing a cup of coffee and a dohnut from the stand, you sat down at your small desk in the corner and began researching away online.

You typed in BRUCE WAYNE to the search engine and got his profile and his website. WAYNE Enterprises is funded by many different corporations and controlled many others. This multi-billion dollar company boasted many things including: technology, philanthropy, and many other things. You scrolled down the list and shook your head. You didn't want this. Everyone knew about what the WAYNE Enterprise did for the community. This website probably got 5,000 views a day. What you wanted was to learn about the REAL Bruce Wayne and what really is going on with his company. So, you typed in BRUCE WAYNE into the search engine and came up with a more personal profile. It talked about how he was living in Gotham in his big mansion. He had been a philanthropist all of his life and he lived alone. Commonly found with famous to-do women, he has never been married or has had any kids. Not much of a traveler, his home-life is still clouded in mystery. Yet, one thing is known: he has a butler named Alfred Pennyworth who has been in his service since he was a young boy. He is the only living Wayne member left, his parents having been killed when Bruce was young.

You frowned, feeling a slight pang of sympathy for the billionaire. Your father had been in a care accident a long time ago, leaving you alone with your mother. But at least you had one parent. You then looked up images of the man and found many. He was about 6 feet tall with very broad shoulders and dark hair. His eyes were a bright blue, and a smirk seemed to always be on his lips. Every picture he was in was of him and at least one beautiful woman (mostly supermodels) on his arm. You rolled your eyes. Of course, even an ugly billionaire could be seen with at least one bimbo accompanying him; and Bruce Wayne was not ugly. One picture intrigued you. It was taken 10 years ago and it was of Bruce and a small boy. Clicking on the picture you found a link leading you to a decade old Chronicle snippet article about how Bruce had adopted a nine year old boy named Dick Greyson. Frowning to yourself, you opened a new window and typed in DICK GREYSON into the search engine. A file came up of news articles on the report of a death in the Greyson family. Now fully aware, you looked into it a bit more. Typing in GREYSON DEATH into the engine, you came up with several new files. Apparently the family had been the famous Flying Greysons, acrobats who were part of the Haley's Circus act that traveled around the world. Ten years ago the family had met their deaths when a super villain had entered the ring and blasted the whole family and audience. Young Richard Greyson was the only one left alive.

You sat back in your chair, taking in all of this information. You went on Youtube and looked up a few videos of the famous Flying Greysons and were impressed by their ability to maneuver quickly and adequately as a team. Richard was the smallest at the time, and he seemed especially capable of handling his own acrobatics. You then proceeded to look up his picture and found that Richard Greyson was now a 25 year old with a full head of hair and muscles galore. There were very few pictures of him, it seems he was now living a sedentary lifestyle. Only a few with him standing stoically by next to his adoptive father. However, that was about it. A lot of questions popped up into your mind; Who was this Bruce Wayne? Why did he adopt this young acrobat so suddenly after his parents' death? These questions rattled around in your mind, and you finally picked up the telephone book and began looking up numbers.

Wayne wasn't that hard. You called his business and left your name and number with the receptionist; you were to have a meeting with him tomorrow afternoon. You then looked up Richard Greyson's number and found that he lived in a downtown apartment right here in Gotham. Deciding that if you called he would probably never call back, you put on your coat and proceeded to head for the ex-acrobat's apartment.

It was a bit mucky outside today, however, you never minded riding the rails. Deciding that he would probably better respond to a business-type person, you wore a floral dress that ended midthigh and a pink peacoat. And you brushed your hair down in beach waves down your back. You looked out the window of the train and watched as the tiled walls flew past you. An occasional tunnel would crop up and you would hear the drone of the rails crashing against the car. Finally, 30 minutes later, you found yourself standing in the Downtown area. People hurried past you either looking at their watches, or staring at the signs up above. Lights and cameras flashed from street to street, and priests stood on corners warning the sinned of their misdeeds. You loved the city. It was so full of life and ambition, it just worked wonders pumping you up. Walking around 5 blocks, you finally came upon a small apartment condo complex on the North side. You read the slip of paper again. It said that his room was on the third floor. Double checking to make sure you had your recorder, press pass, and notebook, you confidently stood at the door of the building…only to find out that you couldn't get in because you weren't a resident. A lock was stuck to the side of the door, requiring you to present a key. Pushing your hair out of your face in frustration, you tried pulling and kicking on the door to no avail.

You knew that there were call buttons available for you. However, you didn't want to alert Greyson to your presence. People got kind of freaked out at the sight of press. So instead, you pressed the one on the floor above him. The little piece of paper told you that it was a new comer. Perfect. "Hello?" it was the nervous voice of a kindly older woman. You tried to put on your best innocent voice.

"Yeah, hi….um…Mrs. Longfield…I'm Rachel…Greyson. My brother and I share the condo on the floor below you." There was a slight pause on the other end, you held your breath until it clicked on with life.

"Oh yes, hi. I don't believe we've met. I just moved in. Did you forget your key dear?" she asked nicely. You smiled, almost jumping into the air with triumph. You pulled yourself together and cleared your throat.

"Yeah, that would be great. Thanks!" you exclaimed. There was a buzz, and the door swished open. Quickly moving, you rushed in and up the stairs. A thrill of excitement coarsed through your veins with the success of such an illegal act. Well, it was all a part of the job…You arrived on the outside of his door. Number 235. Clearing your throat, you built up enough courage to knock three times on the wooden door. To your delight you heard the scuffle of feet behind the door and a slight pause in which you assumed he was checking his peephole. There was the sound of a click before the door swung open.

There you stood facing the 6 foot 2 dark-haired acrobat. As you stood there dumbfounded you realized that those pictures did not give him justice. His dark hair was spiked out naturally and his muscles rippled underneath the grey t-shirt and jeans he was wearing. Right now his bright blue eyes gazed at you intently, seemingly analyzing your every thought. He folded his arms across his chest. Shaking your head slightly you brought out your press pass. "Hell, Mr. Greyson? My name is Juliet Matthews and I'm doing a Personality piece on Bruce Wayne for the Gotham Chronicle. I understand that you and he are pretty close," you said, feeling very professional. Richard Greyson raised an eyebrow, however, he was silent as he glanced at your pass and then back to you.

"How did you get in here?" he asked suddenly. You blushed slightly, figuring that it probably wasn't a good idea to admit to a crime. So, you just raised an eyebrow and brought out the recorder.

"Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

There was a slight pause on Greyson's end in which you thought you saw a small smirk. He opened the door a bit wider for you, and you walked into the large condo. Looking around, you saw that the living room was a big open space and connected to the kitchen. The kitchen boasted of a small oak table and new appliances. A hallway lead to back bedrooms and bathrooms. Greyson watched as you surveyed the room and he gestured to the table. You sat down across from him and analyzed his features a little more.

He obviously went to the gym a lot. This wasn't even being covered up. But there was something else there. Wisdom? Kindness? Wit? You studied him a little bit more, and he stared back at you. Finally, realizing your social faux pas, you cleared your throat and turned on your recorder. Pulling out your notebook, you got down to business. "So, Mr. Greyson-," you stared. He raised up a hand to stop you.

"Dick, please," he said with a kind smile. You smiled back and wrote down his nickname for future reference.

"Alright…Dick…just to let you know, this is a personality piece on Bruce Wayne. I understand that he adopted you when you were nine years old?" you phrased this as a question, just to make sure he didn't feel like you were being aggressive. He raised his eyebrows and sat back in his chair. He looked impressed.

"Yeah…wow usually you reporters don't look in that far," he stated. You smiled and shrugged your shoulders as if it was no big deal. You then got back down to business, refocusing on the mission at hand.

"I understand that your parents died in a circus accident…I'm so sorry for your loss," you said gently. "Mr. Wayne adopted you shortly after your parents died…how long had you known him before this happened?"

He gazed at you quietly, assessing his answer. Finally he responded: "About a year before. Bruce had been coming to the shows, and one year before the accident he was backstage and we talked for a long time. We became pretty close." For some reason you thought this sounded a bit too rehearsed…and what struck you about this was the fact that only after a few meetings with Bruce he was willing to move in with the guy. You raised an eyebrow and wrote a few of these questions down.

"So, you had a few meetings with Mr. Wayne…and you were willing to move in with him?" you asked incredulously. He nodded his head, his jaw suddenly going rigid.

"We had spent a few days together. He had been there during the accident. Bruce felt bad for me, so he took me under his wing; gave me a place to stay, food to eat, a good education…," he trailed off with a vague gesture. For some reason you got the feeling that he wasn't telling you the whole story. But you didn't want to alienate him, so you didn't push it. You wrote a few things down then began asking other questions. What was Bruce like as a father? What is he like as a business man? How does he spend his free time? On the surface questions that you would normally ask for a puff piece. An hour and a half later you found yourself out of questions, and an almost dead recorder. You turned off the recorder and faced him, another question brewding in your mind. Clearing your throat you gave him a genuine smile.

"Uh, this is purely off the record…," you began, Greyson's eyes got a little wider with curiousity. "What happened….the accident?" you asked slowly. Dick sighed and pushed back in his chair. You could see him tense slightly, his back going rigid.

"A madman by the alias of Mr. Penguin was at the circus during one of my family's stunts; Bruce Wayne was also there watching in the audience. It was to be a night for the rich and famous…a sort of charity act. Anyway, the Penguin came out with a bunch of his goons and they began firing at the audience. My family tried to stop him, but they ended up falling from the rafters. Batman appeared and sedated the Penguin before he could cause any more destruction. I was the only one left alive from my family….Bruce found me and took me under his protection," he said slowly. You nodded your head, letting the words sink in. Of course you knew who Batman was, but it wasn't like you ran in the same crowds. You've never been in the vicinity when any supervillians have struck, and you've never been much a damsel in distress (or a fangirl for that matter). So, you merely wrote another note down and made a mental note to check it out some more later. Finally, you stood up and held out your hand. He shook it and walked you to the door. You fished out a card from your purse and handed it to him.

"Thank you so much for your time Mr….uh, I mean Dick. If you think of anything else, just give me a call," you said business-like. Dick nodded his head and bade you good-bye before closing his door. It was only 3pm in the afternoon, so you rode the train back to Main Street and went back to work. For the next 2 hours you researched everything you could about Mr. Wayne. Apparently he listed Skiing, Hiking, and Cave Diving as his favorite hobbies. You then looked up the information on the things and began to become an expert on them. You looked up some more pictures of him and his butler before logging out and leaving the office.