Disclaimer: I do not own any of the recognisable characters in the Batman universe. They are the property of DC Comics, and the movie rights belong to Warner Brothers. I make no profit from the publication of this story, and mean no copyright infringement. I do however, claim ownership of Connie Tate and other characters original to this piece of fanfiction.

Author's Note: Hello! It's been a while, hasn't it? If you're one of the readers who followed my previous stories (Smoke & Mirrors and Cloak & Dagger); welcome back! It's so nice to see you again! If you're new; welcome to you too! I hope you enjoy your stay. This is, as you might have guessed, the opening chapter of the follow-up to Cloak and Dagger. It's been a few months in the making...I needed a break from writing, and from Batman (as weird as that sounds) to find my muse, my motivation and my love for the characters again. And, with the recent release of TDKR, I thought it would be a good time to publish the next chapter in the Connie/Bruce story. I think that's all I have to say for now - questions, comments, reviews and general geekery about Batman (or TDKR) are all gratefully received, and I do my best to reply to all of them. Enjoy!

Cover/picture credit: Suzie101 on Flickr. Picture used under Creative Commons License.

"All men have something to hide. The brighter the picture, the darker the negative"

Every day in Blackgate Penitentiary was routine. An entire stay in Blackgate consisted of endless routine, from booking to release. Of course, the inmates tried various methods to shake the never ending repetition – they fought, they gambled, they did drugs, they even tried to get away with the odd escape attempt. But somehow, no matter what the prisoners did, no matter what happened, Blackgate always reverted to the routine.

06.00 am – Wake up. Wash your face, make the bed, and be ready for the first count of the day fifteen minutes later. Counts can go on for quite a while, if someone decides not to cooperate. In Blackgate, that's a daily occurrence, so the count usually drags on for about an hour before you're allowed to start moving towards the first meal of the day.

07.00 - 08.00 am – Breakfast. Try not to piss anyone off enough to get yourself killed.

08.00 am – Stand and be counted again. Start work. And while you're working, be aware that some officer is likely ransacking your cell for contraband. If he or she finds anything, expect trouble.

11.30 am – Lunchtime. But before that, another count. Then, the continuous challenge of not getting yourself killed over prison food.

12.30 pm – Back to work.

14.00 pm – Guard change. Another count, then more work.

16.00 pm – Finish work. Be counted again, then, when everyone is accounted for, be escorted to dinner.

17.00 pm – Dinner. Try to stay alive until it's over.

18.30 - Get a couple of hours of recreation, if you're lucky. Again, not getting killed is a priority for most of the inmates. This is also when you get your mail, your medication and your phone call, if you qualify for any of that.

21.00 pm – Another count before the cells are locked down for the night, and you're on your own again, in a six by eight cell. One hour until lights out, and then it all starts over again in the morning.

Jimmy Creed was as familiar with the routine of Blackgate Penitentiary as he was with his own heartbeat. Twenty years on inside would do that to a man. He tried to stay away from the new gangs as best he could, the ones where killing gave you more prestige than anything else. Jimmy Creed was no saint, and the reason he was in Blackgate to begin with was because he'd done one too many jobs for the Gotham mob back in the day. But back then you worked your way up; you started out running errands, then, if they thought you had potential, maybe they'd throw you a bone – use you as a low-level enforcer, cut you in on some deals…make sure you were loyal. Then if they still liked you, maybe they would offer to make you a made man. Jimmy would usually shrug at the newcomers boasting about their reputation – it did them little good in Blackgate, aside from making them prime targets for ambitious members of other gangs. Kill, be killed, or keep your head low in hopes of avoiding trouble, those were pretty much your only options once you entered Blackgate.

The young punks think they have the run of the place, but that's only because the old timers, like Jimmy, keep to themselves. They're all old school, of the opinion that it's possible to be a criminal and a good man…back in the day, when crime was the best paid job in the city, even if you were just a runner, or an enforcer, that was possible. Not anymore. Now, criminals have to be violent…ruthless. Jimmy and his buddies follow the routine in Blackgate gratefully, thinking that the world outside has really gone to hell.

That evening was no different from any other. The TV in the rec room showed a GCN reporter from inside its metal cage, and most of the men in the room were watching, because the coverage was of a fundraiser at the stately Riverside Hotel, and if there was one thing lacking in prison, it was the sight of beautiful women dressed to the nines.

Jimmy Creed slid into a chair at the back of the room, just as someone towards the front whistled at the sight of a busty blonde in a skintight dress. He didn't say anything, even as the cheers of a couple more inmates echoed in the room, but one thought crossed his mind.

She's way out of your league

He was joined shortly after by another old-timer, Johnny Trench, who folded his thin-as-rails body into the chair next to Jimmy and gave him a look that said 'here we go again'. The two of them had know each other since they were both free men, which, considering the time they had done, and would do in Blackgate, said something.

Slumped in their chairs, they barely listened as the camera moved back to the reporter who enthusiastically proclaimed that next they would get a look at the Prince of Gotham himself, Bruce Wayne. From the front rows came a flurry of shouts, it seemed the inmates felt strongly about being deprived even a couple of minutes of watching the gorgeous women of Gotham's social elite. The shouts subsided for a few moments when it turned out Bruce Wayne had seen fit to bring an escort, but started up again full volume a few seconds later with comparisons of this woman versus some of Wayne's previous conquests. It seemed the majority of the inmates thought Wayne had taken a step down the ladder, but some defended the new woman.

Jimmy Creed thought to himself that maybe, just maybe, Wayne had taken a step up. This dark haired woman had some classic beauty to her, as opposed to the ditzy types Wayne seemed to prefer. Maybe the man's tastes weren't so bad after all?

But there was something else too, that drew his attention to the woman currently on the screen, as she exchanged casual small talk with the reporter. The caption on the screen read 'Connie Tate'.

"Hey, Jimmy…" His friend leaned over, not willing to raise his voice.

"Didn't you know a Tate once?"

Jimmy Creed nodded slowly.

Inside the Grand Ballroom at the Riverside Hotel, the party was just getting started. Connie glanced over her shoulder, towards the frenzied lightshow that had met them when exiting the car. She took a deep breath, glad to be out of the limelight, and quickly looked down her own body, hoping that nothing had slipped out of place on the walk from the car to the hotel. The last thing she wanted was to appear on the cover of one or more gossip magazines with some kind of indecent exposure going on. Luckily, the tape that helped hold the neckline of her dress in place still did its job, and she could breathe another sigh of relief.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Bruce give her one of his sly smiles as he wrapped one arm around her waist.

"That went pretty well, don't you think?"

Connie snorted.

"Easy for you to say."

But she was smiling as she said it, and Bruce grinned, stroking one hand down her back and leaning in to kiss her. As they pulled apart, she could feel him inhaling the scent of her perfume, and he quickly bent down to kiss her neck before straightening again.

"Why do you always wait until we're out of the house to get frisky?" Connie asked jokingly, raising an eyebrow in combination with what was a suitably sly grin.

"Because every time we go out, you look completely irresistible…and I just can't help myself."

Connie chuckled. She rather enjoyed it when Bruce was this forward. His advances were usually far between…not that she doubted his devotion; he still seemed to care about her, love her even. But since that rainy evening when they had agreed on their mutual second chance, she had learned what it was like to share the man she loved with the city of Gotham, in more ways than one. She reminded herself that she had known, at least in part, what she was getting into, and that she would rather have this…whatever it was, than nothing. But it still felt like affirmation of her feelings when he did act like her lover.

Slipping her arm into the crook of Bruce's elbow, she surveyed the room. She saw some familiar faces, but most of the people present were ones she didn't know. She had become more used to socially navigating a room full of strangers, but every time she accompanied Bruce to these events, she realized just how far she had to go. Bruce's way with the crowds appeared second nature, and he always seemed to be up to date and able to retrieve tidbits of information at a moment's notice. Every bankruptcy, every divorce, every new mistress or wife, Bruce never seemed to miss a beat.

It didn't exactly surprise her, after all, this was the man who had admitted to giving her a very thorough background check when the two of them had only just met, and who had even dug up a juvenile record that she had been assured by several city officials had been expunged years ago. No, she wasn't surprised, but in certain situations she wished she had his capacity for retrieving and storing information.

For the moment, she satisfied herself by tugging very gently on his sleeve and asking in a whisper:

"Is there anyone I should know?"

Bruce glanced around the room, and nodded discreetly towards a tall, blond-haired man standing by the grand piano.

"That's Warren White, he's an investor. I'd be careful around him if I were you…he's got quite the reputation. They call him the Great White Shark. I'd never trust him with my money… actually, he tried to get his hands on some of the company shares, but failed…"

"Because of your intervention?" Connie asked in a whisper.

Bruce nodded in response.

"I have enough conscience left that I'd never allow a man like Warren White to get any kind of control in my family's company. Needless to say, he doesn't particularly like me."

Connie shrugged.

"It seems few people in these circles actually care about each other at all."

Bruce shot her a sideways glance and smiled.

"That's a generalization, and not entirely true, as you very well know. You seem to have become very good friends with Andrea Walker, for one. There are just as many good people in our circles as there is anywhere else in Gotham. But the bad ones are just as numerous, and more difficult to pin down."

They were interrupted by a woman's voice calling Bruce's name, and Bruce turned towards the sound only to be instantly embraced by Leslie Thompkins. Connie, who had briefly imagined a spectacle like the one Talia al Ghul had orchestrated months before, relaxed seeing Leslie.

"Hello, dear. I'm so glad you could be here tonight. Have you seen the plans for the new clinic? It's going to be wonderful, and we're already well on our way to financing the equipment we need…"

"That's great, Leslie." Bruce offered her a genuine smile and leant down to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.

Straightening, he gestured towards Connie.

"You've met Connie Tate."

Connie took a step forward, and Leslie embraced her too, while replying:

"Yes, I have."

The two pulled apart, and Leslie held Connie at arm's length, studying her.

"You look well, Connie. I'm glad those meds worked. I don't mind telling you now that we weren't too confident about giving them to you, but at the time we didn't really have a choice. You did a very brave thing, and probably saved quite a few people…"

Connie blushed, and looked down. She didn't like being reminded of how close she'd come to dying while playing Edward Nashton's games. Being reminded didn't feel brave, it felt like one of the stupidest things she'd done in her entire life. She still gave the woman who had saved her a genuinely grateful smile. She tried to think of something to say, but while she did, a tall man in a dark suit, with immaculately trimmed silver hair and beard had walked up behind Leslie and proceeded to whisper something in her ear. Leslie rolled her eyes and waved him off with an irritable:

"Oh, alright!" for a reply.

He smiled, and nodded a silent greeting to them before disappearing back into the crowds. Leslie rolled her eyes again.

"I'm sorry about that. That was my chief of surgery, he keeps telling me to mingle. Like I even know what that is! Oh well, I guess I should do as he says… It was lovely to see you both."

"You too, Leslie." Bruce replied.

"I'll be seeing you again before long, I imagine." Leslie said with poorly concealed exasperation.

"In the meantime, give Alfred my best."

"Of course." Bruce smiled, as Leslie turned away.

"What was that about?" Connie asked when Leslie was out of earshot.

"Something best not discussed in too much detail in public." Bruce whispered back. When Connie looked at him, he smiled.

"Let's just say that poor Leslie has some strong opinions about my nighttime activities."

"As any doctor would, I'd imagine." Connie replied, eliciting a grin from Bruce, and ending that particular conversation.

"So," Bruce asked after a few moments of silence.

"Where were we?"

"I believe you were telling me which of these people you would caution me against being associated with."

Before Bruce could continue their whispered conversation a new distraction presented itself, in the form of a slender woman about his age, dressed in a knee-length dress that looked like it had been dipped in diamonds. Her hair reached almost down to her thighs, was brushed pin straight, and was a shade of platinum blonde that Connie had never seen on anyone before, natural or otherwise. In the light of the crystal chandeliers it gleamed silver.

"Bruce! Where have you been? We missed you at Trisha's party in the Hamptons last month. You should have been there, darling, it was a complete disaster. We would have had such a laugh, you and me."

Bruce smiled towards the newcomer, and Connie felt that odd combination of hurt and anger that was jealousy poke her in the ribs. But she remained standing where she was, half a step behind Bruce, and waited.

"I'm sure we would have, Silver. You'll have to give me the details some time…"

Silver smiled, and her smile proved just as dazzling as her dress.

"Oh, I'm sure I will have forgotten most of that by the time this party is over. Rumor has it that Audrey Thorne is planning on making a grand entrance."

Silver grimaced, a gesture that made Connie raise an eyebrow. She had expected all these rich women to best friends, at least on the surface. Apparently not.

Silver noticed Connie's look, and said.

"Bruce, darling, you're forgetting your manners. I don't believe you've introduced me to your companion…"

"My apologies," Bruce replied, while adopting a suitably apologetic look, half directed at Silver, and half at Connie.

"Connie, this is Silver St. Cloud. Silver, this is Connie Tate."

"Pleased to meet you." Silver said, giving another one of her dazzling smiles and extending a hand to Connie.

"Likewise." Connie replied, relieved to finally feel included in the conversation.

Just as Silver was about to ask Connie a follow-up question, a hushed whisper ran through the room. Silver looked around to see what the cause was, and rolled her eyes when she spotted it. Connie followed her gaze, and found a young woman, no more than twenty one, standing at the bottom of the stairs descending from the double doors leading into the hall, receiving what she apparently thought were admiring looks from the gathered crowd. From Connie's point of view, the glances were far from admiring, in fact, most seemed indifferent, but some seemed rather hostile.

"I cannot believe she would wear that!" Silver whispered in a tone that managed to be both disbelieving and disapproving at the same time.

Connie smiled to herself. From Silver's comment, she guessed that this girl was Audrey Thorne, and almost despite herself Connie found that she had to agree with Silver. Audrey Thorne's outfit was…unfortunate, at best. She wore a pair of tight jeans that had been bleached to within an inch of their lives and apparently attacked by a crazed knife-wielding designer, because there were so little fabric left that she ended up showing more skin than a woman ever should in a pair of jeans. The top was equally unfortunate, a loose-fitting but sheer number in some sort of flowery fabric. Combined with a veritable array of gold jewelry, and hair that had also been bleached blonde and teased to the breaking point, the first impression was…well, not good. And definitely not what Connie imagined when she thought of someone who had enough money to buy everything they could ever desire.

Connie was torn between feeling sorry for the poor girl, and feeling a new boost of confidence, just from the fact that she was fairly sure no one had looked at her like that when she entered. The floor length, strapless, peach colored dress she'd chosen for the occasion suddenly felt a lot more comfortable, and the chandelier earrings Bruce had given her a couple of months earlier felt like just enough, not too heavy or too much.

More and more gazes left Audrey Thorne, and within a few moments the buzz of the conversation had risen to its earlier level. Audrey herself seemed a little disappointed by the cool welcome, but that did not deter her from getting impossibly drunk on a glass of champagne and laughing too loudly every time someone spoke to her.

As she turned back to the conversation, Silver shook her head in disbelief.

"Rupert Thorne's daughter," she explained, directed to Connie.

"The most annoying, entitled brat I've had the misfortune of having to tolerate. And that's saying a lot, seeing as how I grew up in these surroundings."

It seemed Silver was about to go on, but then she interrupted herself, and instead said:

"I should get back to Evan…the last thing I want is for Miss Entitled to get her claws in him. Granted, he's a politician, but he's got a weak spot for women… I should know."

She caught Bruce's eye, and finished off:

"It was nice seeing you both. I'm sure we'll repeat it some other time."

Watching Silver St. Cloud make her way through the crowd a few moments later, Connie leaned towards Bruce, and said in a low voice:

"You used to date her, didn't you?"

Bruce glanced sideways down at Connie, and smiled slightly.

"Yes, for a while. But you needn't worry; I promise you I am well and truly finished with Silver St. Cloud. Besides, she is dating that senator now."

As if to prove he was sincere, he slipped one arm around Connie's waist, and pulled her closer.

"Let's go and get a drink?"

Connie nodded, and he kissed her hair before they began making their way towards the bar.

The bar was exceedingly crowded, as if Gotham's rich and famous were all in desperate need of drinks after parting with their money for a good cause, and although having Bruce Wayne as your escort bought you some breathing room both Connie and Bruce retreated quickly to a nearby seating area.

Connie sipped her drink, tasting the sweet sugar on the rim coupled with the bitterness of the liquid inside, and looked at the people still milling around the room. Bruce sat next to her, looking unusually relaxed, one arm draped casually on the back of the sofa.

Her eyes fell on a man who looked to be in his late thirties, with short-cropped auburn hair, and wearing a dark grey suit. He was as tall as Bruce, but leaner in build, square-jawed and with a broad grin on his face. He was definitely attractive, and Connie could see that many of the other women in the room had turned discreetly away from their partners to watch him. She was a little surprised that he paid them no attention, but he seemed to only have eyes for his date, a willowy blonde.

"Who is that?" Connie asked, nodding towards the man. Bruce followed her gaze, and Connie noticed, to her surprise, that he seemed to tense a little.

"That's Roman Sionis." His voice was level, but a note of surprise still managed to find its way through.

"Sionis? There's something familiar about that name…" Connie muttered, half to Bruce and half to herself.

"He's another of Gotham's prodigal sons." Bruce explained.

"His father is Charles Sionis, the founder of Janus Cosmetics."

Connie nodded in recognition.

"Ah, so that's why it sounded familiar. He's not a friend of yours?"

Bruce shook his head.

"Hardly. Our parents fraternized, and we played together sometimes as children, but…we were never friends."

Bruce continued to put up a good front for the rest of the evening, but Connie knew that the reason he'd become more distant all of a sudden had to be Roman Sionis. She wanted desperately to know why Bruce had reacted the way he did. She assumed there was some history there that she didn't know about, and she knew better than to ask – at least in public. So it wasn't until they were in the car, driving back to Wayne Manor, that Connie approached the subject of the Sionis family again.

"What is it about that Sionis guy that you're not telling me?"

"What do you mean?" Bruce asked, in the best casually ignorant tone he could muster. But Connie wasn't falling for it.

"Bruce…"

He shot her a glance over the center console, and she could see a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

"Alright…I don't know. It's just…a feeling. There's something off about Roman, there always has been, ever since we were kids."

"You think he's more trouble than the average fun-loving billionaire wastrel?" Connie asked, pointedly arching an eyebrow towards Bruce, but grinning as she said it.

Bruce smiled, but there was no humour in his voice when he replied.

"He might be… I don't know. I suppose I hadn't expected to see him here. Last I heard he was in Switzerland."

"You know, just because he suddenly re-appears out of nowhere doesn't make him suspicious…"

At this Bruce laughed.

"You're really not going to give me a break tonight, are you?"

Connie chuckled, and reached out to caress Bruce's thigh.

"I might…"

Connie inhaled deeply as she felt Bruce's hand slowly caress the curve of her spine, while he ran a finger along the neckline of her dress, and tugged playfully at the zipper. She heard him chuckle, as she bit her lip and fought with herself not to beg him to hurry, and take her. She knew he sometimes enjoyed teasing her like this, and it turned her on, in a deliciously painful way. Blindly her lips searched out his, and she kissed him hard. As she pulled away she felt his lips pull into a smile, and she opened her eyes in anticipation, but at that moment they were interrupted by the buzzing of a phone.

Bruce groaned, but pulled away and took his phone from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Connie gave a deep sigh. She'd recognized the sound of the alert, it was the one that sounded when the computer in the caves picked up something serious on the police networks.

Bruce looked at her apologetically, and sighed.

"They found a body downtown… some kind of extraordinary circumstances. I have to check it out."

Connie nodded in understanding.

"I know you do."

Bruce took a step towards her, and put his hands on her shoulders.

"I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"It's fine." Connie lied.

"But I want you back in one piece. Two at the most, and then with no more than a finger or a toe missing."

She said it as if she was joking, but they both knew the meaning behind it was far more serious. He smiled, and leaned in for one last kiss. Connie kissed him, and hugged him tight for a second, before letting him go.

"One piece, you hear?"

He nodded, smiled, and ran a hand through her hair before turning away and disappearing from the room. Connie followed him to the doorway, and watched his back as he walked through the hallway and descended down the stairs. She saw Alfred emerging from another door, and both their eyes followed Bruce until he disappeared from view. Then, their eyes met, and Connie said, in little more than a whisper:

"I don't know how you do this, Alfred."

The butler gave her a sad smile, and replied.

"In the hope that one day, it will be enough, Miss Tate."

They stood in silence, looking at each other for a long moment, before Alfred moved to follow his master down into the caves. Before leaving, he gave Connie another, more heartfelt smile, and said:

"Good night, Miss Tate."

Connie returned the smile, and gave a nod to show that she had understood.

"Good night, Alfred."