I'll dabble a bit in the Batman fandom. Review and give me your opinions! Thanks.

Title: Bird of Prey
Rating: T for now
Summary: One of the most renown journalists in Gotham comes back from a year long hiatus. While gone, a Dark Knight is discovered, and an insane criminal is released from Arkham Asylum. The only person Batman can trust is the reporter who has all the secrets...
This is AU in the comic book world, but takes place one year after Batman Begins.

Chapter One

Charity

A gathering for the rich and famous wasn't my ideal way to spend an evening, but I tried to make the most of it. A fundraiser event was planned at 9:00 pm, and if the socialites attending had anything to do with it, the party would continue all night long. This meant I was being forced to wear painful stilettos, a risqué dress that stopped just shy of my thighs, and an up-do hairstyle pulled tightly and neatly towards the center of my head, causing a migraine to form.

I wasn't a happy person.

But despite the celebrities and famous icons of Gotham City, this event was for a good cause. It was a charity performance, raising money for the reconstruction of the East End of Gotham City. Because crime and vandalism had destroyed most of the East End, citizens united together in order to repair damages caused to homes and local businesses.

But the socialites present at the event had no clue as to what was happening outside of their own worlds. They had never experienced poverty, larceny or the murder that existed in the East End. They were protected in their fancy homes with top-notch security systems and customized Ferraris. The only possible explanation of their arrival to the fundraiser was to have their name plastered on the front page of the Gotham Gazette. Well, that, and it was the social event of the season.

The Gotham Gazette: I couldn't understand why this year, and for the past ten years, my company would host such a party. It, to me, was a ridiculous social gathering that only included the elite of Gotham City. Unfortunately, as a journalist for the Gotham Gazette, I was obligated to attend.

I entered into the elaborate ballroom where the party was hosted.

The first outrageous and unreasonable thing I came across was the grand staircase that led to the ballroom. It was made out of limestone marble. Based on the size of the staircase, I concluded that the money used to construct it was a sum too large for me to fathom.

My quick strides led me to the bottom of the staircase and eventually to the crowd of people mingling and socializing.

This I hated doing this more than anything else—being just like the people that surrounded me. I had learned over the years to immerse myself into the smiling facades of the privileged of society. So, displaying a fake smile and a weak laugh I grabbed the nearest glass of champagne.

Conversations grew between the people: they discussed latest fashion, economy, their acquaintances, businesses, and of course, money. I continued to smile and nod my head to any current conversation at hand.

"Excuse me, ma'am," a polite persona that I concluded to be phony announced behind me, "You wouldn't happen to be Helena Bertinelli?"

I turned to face the man. He was in his fifties and dressed to perfection. His head was slightly balding, but that didn't dishearten the young woman latched to his side. He seemed to have an air of dominance, of controlling power floating about him. His cold, gray stare read, "I know that I'm better and more important than you, but I'm trying not to show it." I smiled, stifling a laugh at the man's apparent cockiness.

"Why, yes, I am Helena," I replied to him, sticking out my hand to shake. "And you might be…"

"Benjamin Hawks," he retorted. Instead of shaking my hand as I expected him to, he gently held the back of my palm up to his lips. He's a kiss-ass.

"Well, Mr. Hawks, what do I owe this pleasure?" Benjamin didn't release my hand. Instead, he brushed aside the woman latched onto him and began to walk, leading me away from the crowd.

"You, Ms. Bertinelli, are one of the most renown journalists in Gotham. Am I being too modest in saying so?"

"Not modest enough, I'm afraid. The only difference between the other journalists of Gotham and myself is that I don't fabricate stories. I make no false assumptions in my articles, and I do my best to offer the truth in everything I write. The Gotham Gazette isn't corrupt unlike some of our competitors in the media today, especially in this city."

"That seems to be quite a large difference involving you and other journalists. Perhaps that is what makes you and your writing…so unique."

"Perhaps, Mr. Hawks."

"And am I correct in assuming that you were on a temporary hiatus for nearly a year?"

I slipped my hand out of his, becoming slightly uncomfortable by this stranger's interest in me. "Yes, I was. I took some personal time off from work."

"It was a pity. The Gotham Gazette could have used you during the time that the Batman first appeared."

I stopped walking. He stopped only a few steps ahead of me and turned. "What do you mean, Mr. Hawks?"

"That was when you were gone, wasn't it? When the Batman first arrived in Gotham?" He smiled. "You are an excellent journalist, Ms. Bertinelli. And, from your previous work, an excellent investigator?" he questioned.

I hesitated. Why was he asking me such strange questions? "I'm sure, sir, that there is a point to your questioning?"

Benjamin continued to smile. He walked up to me and placed his hands on my shoulders. "Have a wonderful evening, Ms. Bertinelli." With that said, the strange man walked back towards the large crowd and to his female companion. She seemed somewhat relieved that Benjamin had returned to her.

"What in the world…" I whispered to myself.

Taking a sip of my champagne, I strolled around the large ballroom, watching as people conversed and laughed with one another.

That is when I saw my boss: the senior editor of the Gotham Gazette, Ricky Hudson and his wife Carol. I strolled over to them, careful not to bump into anyone or spill the expensive champagne on their even more expensive clothes.

"Ricky! Carol!" I quickly gave the latter a large hug. "Thank God you're here. I was going crazy without you."

Carol smiled, pulling back from the embrace. "Well, I'm glad to see that I'm wanted. I almost didn't come but Ricky convinced me otherwise. Now that I'm here, I still wish I were at home. No offense to you."

"None taken, Carol." I turned to Ricky. "Have you decided who will write the article on this magnificent event?" I asked sarcastically.

"Helena, you already know that you'll get the job. You'll interview someone and write about how they have contributed to Gotham City. But it's not just someone—it's the man who donated the most to the charity."

"Rather than listing all the socialites on the front cover who attended?"

"That's right."

"I can't stand the rich and sophisticated elderly. They think they're so high and mighty."

"Bertinelli, there aren't any old people here."

"I mean…anyone over the age of fifty," I replied, sarcastically.

"Well then, I suppose it's a good thing I'm only 47 and not rich."

"Not sophisticated, either, but I suppose so." Helena paused to sip her champagne before continuing. "I'm slightly confused about the topic, though. What do you mean 'how they have contributed to Gotham City?'"

"Anything that they have done to improve the city's conditions, help people, etc."

"Hmm…" I gathered. "That's an interesting way to approach the article."

"Well," Ricky smiled, "I figured you would approve of it."

"Not that you need my approval." We both smiled, although mine seemed to resemble annoyance. I was going to be stuck with a snob for what could be hours, discussing their cars, homes, yachts, and who knows what else. "So, who's the lucky tycoon?" I asked derisively, surveying the room.

"Uh…" he paused, looking at Carol. "I haven't exactly seen him here…yet."

I sighed, rolling me neck to relieve the tension. "Great. How am I supposed to interview the jerk if he's not even here?"

"Helena, I didn't say he wasn't here, I just said that I haven't seen him yet."

"Well," I stated, somewhat peeved, "if you see Mr. No-Show, can you inform him that there is a very impatient journalist waiting to interview his sorry little butt so he can get the recognition from the public that he so desperately does not need?" I tilted my head to the side, waiting for a response from Ricky.

"Ricky!" I heard from behind me. His eyes instantly went past mine to distinguish a gentleman not but a few feet away from the three of us. "There you are. I've been looking everywhere in here for you."

"You had me worried, there," the stuck out his hand for Ricky to shake. "I was beginning to believe you wouldn't show."

"Of course I'd show. I owe you one, especially after that big fiasco…" his eyes landed on me, "…that never needs to be repeated again."

The two shared a brief laugh. "Good."

He stuck out his hand (which seemed to be a customary trait for him) towards me. I shook it, knowing that the next few moments were going to be extremely awkward. He was the interviewee. "You must be the journalist—excuse me—the impatient journalist waiting for my sorry little butt."

I closed my eyes, sighing. "You heard that," I said, barely above a whisper.

"I did…but everything you said was completely understandable."

"Oh…not only did you hear that, but you heard everything. Great." I wobbled my head, smiling in disbelief. "I'm Helena Bertinelli."

"I'm Mr. No-Show…but you can call me Bruce Wayne."

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