The news was blaring through every radio, on every television, on the lips of every person; Harvey Dent was dead and the Joker was in custody. On the street a woman stopped to watch the memorial service on the screen of a shop's TV. The woman was twenty-two. Her hair was long and dark and curly and her mouth was a little pouty. She had glasses, freckles, and the look a person gets when they have perhaps a little too much money.

A Lamborghini pulled up next to her and the suicide door opened for her to get in. Bruce Wayne flashed her a smile. People began to stop and stare as they recognized the playboy multi-billionaire. He motioned for her to get in the car. She reluctantly obliged.

"What's wrong, Darling? Change your mind?" Bruce gave her a seductive side glance and roared through a yellow light. His right hand trailed to her knee.

"Something like that," she mumbled, still looking out the window. She pushed his hand off of her knee and really looked at him. He was hiding behind this fake mask. On the surface he came off as a little sleazy, a little horny, a little mysterious, but underneath he was still mourning and nothing could hide it from her. He truly was a Byronic hero. "You don't really want me. Why pretend?"

Bruce pressed his lips together and the speedometer pushed past forty, fifty, sixty. The woman looked back out the window and pulled her dress down over her knees.

"I do want you, we just haven't had time to-"

"You want what you can never have. She's gone."

Seventy, eighty – and then a police car's siren. Fifty, forty, thirty.

"What can I do for you, officer?"

"Mr. Wayne, you were speeding. This road is forty miles-per-hour. We clocked you at eighty-three."

"I do beg your pardon. My lovely companion was distracting me." Bruce looked over at her and she smiled coyly at the officer.

"I understand, but I'm still going to have to write you up."

"Very well, very well."

"May I have your driver's license? Thank you. I'll be right back, sir."

"Quill, thank you," Bruce said. Their eyes met and his mask slipped off for a moment.

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne. You know what to do with this," the officer said as he handed Wayne a ticket. "Drive safe, now."

"I will, Sir, thank you." Bruce rolled up his window and they took off at a lethargic forty miles-per-hour. They pulled up to his penthouse. "Hello, Alfred. Sorry for being late. I got pulled over."

"Another speeding ticket, Mr. Wayne? Tsk tsk. Good afternoon, Ms. Tranquil. You look lovely today."

"You, too, Alfred. I love that tie." The woman planted a kiss on Alfred's cheek and the three went inside.

"Will you be needing anything else, Mr. Wayne?"

"No thank you, Alfred. I'll ring if I need you."

"Very good, sir."

The woman stood on Bruce's bed, looking out at the city. He climbed up next to her. She was looking toward the memorial service which was still going on. He felt a pang of guilt.

"Let's sit down and talk, hm?" Bruce ushered her toward his dining table. She hopped off of the bed and adjusted her glasses. She sat down opposite Wayne and locked eyes with him. "I would like for you to move in with me."

"Are you going to speak seriously to me or not? Because I know you are still in mourning. It was only a few weeks ago. Please don't take me for such a fool, Bruce."

"But that's the point, Quill, darling, you aren't a fool. You aren't dumb. You don't love me for my money. You want to be with me because of who I am and I want you to be closer to me. You're fantastic in bed and I-"

"You party all night and fool around all day. You are a womanizer and the only woman you've ever loved is Rachel Dawes. I am your toy right now. If you want to have sex let's not play around, but know that I know you for what you really are."

"We don't have to have sex."

"Let me tell you a story. This is why I know you're lying about loving me. This is why I'm colder than all the women you typically seduce..."