OOC: So, I've been meaning to come back and edit this for a while now, and I finally sat down and did so. Enjoy it, and please review. My writing can only improve with feedback from my lovely readers!

Disclaimer: All Batman-related material belongs to Christopher Nolan and DC comics.

Bruce sat in his father's well-kept study for the first time in seven years, contemplating Gotham through the remarkably clean window. So many years had passed since he'd even considered coming home, a term he used lightly. He felt entirely too uncomfortable; he didn't know where anything was, he hated the vast size of the mansion, he missed the freedom of independence. But now he had a mission, a mission that required that he suffer these discomforts: Gotham needed a savior, someone who could rip the city from the criminals' clutches. Was he that savior? No, but he hoped that Batman could begin the transition, could make the good people of Gotham brave enough to come out of hiding.

Living once more in the mansion reminded him of his parents, specifically of his father. So much of what Bruce did now was because of Thomas Wayne, Gotham's true savior. Bruce missed him so much, even after all these years…

He also remembered Rachel and Margaret, the two people he'd spent the most time with in the years between his parents' murders and his disappearance (his 'death', as Alfred loved to remind him). He knew next to nothing of what happened to them after Chill's trial, though Alfred had spoken readily of Rachel, telling him of her promotion to Assistant District Attorney. Bruce feared for her. He agreed that Gotham needed morally good lawyers, but he didn't want Rachel to find herself in danger, as was certain to happen if she continued to fight against the mobs.

Of Margaret, on the other hand, Alfred said very little, only that she was alive and well. If she was as pretty and rich as he remembered, Bruce guessed that she was already married and settled.

A part of him wanted to visit his old friends, especially Rachel, but he knew he couldn't. He needed to be an rich, arrogant playboy, and rich, arrogant playboys didn't visit old friends and show that he cared about their well-being. He cared only about himself and his beautiful (if empty-headed) date for the night. So, he stayed in his home until he was fully prepared to emerge as Bruce Wayne, the filthy rich idiot of Gotham society who was now more than ready to enjoy spending his parents' money.

"Pardon, Master Wayne," Alfred called from the doors of the study. "There's someone to see you, sir."

Bruce turned, his forehead furrowed in question. "Who, Alfred?"

"Miss Carmichael, sir."

Bruce barely hid the sudden attack of panic. "Margaret? How does she now I'm here?" Miss Carmichael… so she isn't married?

Alfred only inclined his head and said, "I don't know, sir. Perhaps you should ask her yourself."

"Ask me what?"

Suddenly, a flash of red hair appeared behind Alfred's shoulder. Bruce shifted his stance and got a good look at the petite woman. She was dressed rather casually in dark jeans and a soft green top, which surprised Bruce since she had always been one for elegance and propriety. Her fiery hair was pulled back in a ponytail, giving him a full view of her smiling countenance.

"Margaret!" Bruce replaced the brief smile with a roguish smirk and rose to meet her. Only then did he spy the walking stick she held in her right hand.

"I go by Meg, now," she said, without noticing Bruce's paralyzed position.

Bruce didn't answer, studying Margaret's bright, gray-green eyes that seemed to focus on something behind him. The truth was a blow to the chest.

She was blind.

He suddenly realized that Alfred had said something, probably because his silence had stretched for far too long, even though to Bruce it had lasted only a second. As soon as Alfred finished speaking he left, shaking his head at whatever Margaret had told him. Fortunately, Bruce had gained control of his speaking abilities.

He swaggered towards her. "You look good, Margaret."

"Bruce I told you. Everyone calls me Meg these days," she said with a smile. "But you never did listen to anything I said, and I don't think you'll start now."

"I guess I haven't changed much." He so badly wanted to hug her, but he couldn't. The 'Bruce Wayne' of the past would have done it; the 'Bruce Wayne' of the present, no.

"Oh, you've changed," Meg said quietly. Bruce detected… something hidden in those words, but decided to ignore it for the time being.

"You've only been here a minute and you're already passing judgment," he said.

"Bruce Wayne, what I do is not called 'passing judgment.' It is 'reading men,' an art that women must develop if they wish to keep their sanity."

"I drive you insane?"

"Without a doubt."

Bruce chuckled. "You've changed, too, Meg." The Margaret in the past would've never taken part in such playful banter.

"You mean, besides the obvious?"

Bruce licked his lips, unsure if she was giving him permission to ask about it. Though the playboy would've ignored social etiquette and asked away, he felt Meg deserved, just this once, to be treated with respect. Perhaps it was simply her sudden appearance and his lack of preparedness.

"Bruce, if you want to know what happened, you only have to ask."

"I figured if you wanted to tell me, you would."

"We're friends, Bruce. You can ask me anything." She paused. "Well, at least I think we're friends."

Bruce swallowed, pushing himself to stay firm. "Sure, if that's what you want."

Meg tilted her head to the side, her eyes trained in his direction. After a moment, she asked, "Mind if I sit down?"

"Of course, Meg. Sit down. Please."

After they had seated themselves on the ridiculously expensive high chairs, and Alfred had served them each a glass of water with a slice of lemon, Meg spoke again.

"It was a car accident. I was angry that night. I just wanted to get out of the house, away from everyone… basically, run as far away as possible. I didn't see the stop sign or the truck. It was a mistake that obviously changed my life."

Bruce stayed quiet, considering her words. Then, he asked, "How soon was this after I left?"

"Some time had passed."

"I'm sorry, Meg. It must have been difficult for you."

She surprised him with a smile. "At first it was. But now, not so much. Obviously I wish I still had my eyesight, but I've accepted it. It's a part of me, of who I am." She sipped her water. "Now I think it's your turn to tell me a story?"

"Me?"

"Yes. Where have you been all this time? We all thought you were dead, you know. It was hard, especially for Rachel."

"Rachel," Bruce said. "How is she?"

Meg raised an eyebrow but answered without pause. "She's okay. I'm surprised you haven't spoken with her yet. You two were the closest friends in our little group."

"Well, I've been busy." He paused, weighing the good and the bad of asking the next question. "Is she… does she have a…?"

"As far as I know, she's single."

A burden inside of him lifted. She was single. He allowed himself a smile of relief, only because he knew Meg couldn't see it anyways. "Well, I'm sure that it's only a matter of time. She's intelligent, beautiful, compassionate… why wouldn't someone want to marry her?"

"Of course. Why not?"

Meg slowly made her way down the wooden staircase, her arm securely entwined with Alfred's, who smelled wonderfully of herbal tea. When they'd reached the bottom, she kissed his cheek.

"Thanks, Alfred," she said. "You must remember how I used to always fall down these stairs when I could actually see them. Imagine how much further I would fall now that I can't."

"It won't ever happen, Miss Carmichael," said the old butler. "Lucky for you, there will always be someone to help you master them."

"As long as you're around, yes."

"Maser Wayne will always be more than happy to assist you as well."

"No. No, I don't think so, Alfred," she said softly.

When she 'd heard that Bruce was alive and in Gotham, she'd hoped that he was the same Bruce Wayne that she had known so many years ago, even though nearly seven years had passed. But when she heard him speak, she knew without a doubt that he was no longer the childhood friend she used to play with. He was more silent, more mysterious. She'd tried to bring some of the old Bruce back, but to her dismay she only saw hints of him when they spoke of Rachel. Even after all this time, Meg still couldn't compete with her.

From the moment Meg had seen Bruce, running madly around his father's mansion, she had… not loved him, but known he would be something special to her. But Bruce only had eyes for Rachel, the beautiful little brunette who was just as daring as he. What Meg did was of little consequence; Rachel was always put first.

Apparently, nothing had changed.

Meg shoved such depressing thoughts out of her head as she swung her stick along the carpeted floors and began walking towards the front door, knowing generally where to find it, but Alfred's voice, unusually tense, stopped her.

"Did you tell him, Miss Carmichael?"

Meg shut her eyes. "What are you talking about, Alfred?"

"Did you tell him about the accident?"

"Of course I did."

"But you didn't tell him everything, correct?" When Meg said nothing, he continued. "He doesn't know precisely on what night you crashed nor the reason you were there."

"No, Alfred. And he never will."

Never would she tell him that the accident had happened on the day he had left, that she had been furious with him because he'd gone without a word, that he was – some believed – the cause of her blindness.

OOC: Don't forget to review! Be it a positive or negative comment, I want to know what you think!