DISCLAIMER (for entire story): I don't own Batman…if I did, I'd make him wear pink. All the characters are blah blah blah…I don't own the locations either, would be cool if I did etc. there, disclaimer done.

Author's note: This doesn't take place at a particular point in Batman, except that its after Tim's dad's death. Certain characters probably wont even be mentioned (eg, Stephanie Brown, cos I just don't like her), and others (eg Barbara Gordon) won't be in the story for a while, even though I really want them to be. But, well, the ones I like end up coming into the story somehow.

I apologise if the Bruce is a little OOC…it's hard to write him as a dad. Well, the only things I've seen him act like a father in is the end of Identity Crisis and in Face Off, where Tim's bawling his eyes out like a sissy little girl…man up man!

Therefore, very poor selection of Bruce actually acting like a human being, so forgive me if its weird.

Also, I'm an Aussie, so if there's any terms I get wrong with the americanism's I'll try my hardest to remember, sorry, but I tried.

Anyway, if you still feel like reading my story after that humongous authors note/disclaimer, here it is!

STORY STORY STORY

"And you're sure of it?" The man asked as he reclined in a large, leather boardroom chair.

"Absolutely." The shadowed figure said. "He has a daughter. Once this scandal hits his stocks are going to plummet."

"Excellent." Arthur Goldsworth laughed as he pushed back from the table to stand. "Thank you, you've been a valuable addition to this company's payroll."

"It was my pleasure." The shadowed being stepped out from the shadows to reveal a sultry woman dressed in black leather pants and a blood red top. Her yellow-green eyes shone in the light. "Wayne's never going to know what hit him."

"Sir, you do have that charity ball to attend in an hour." Alfred reminded Bruce, suiting up in his batsuit, for the third time.

"I know, Alfred." Bruce said, grinning as Tim zipped up his red Robin costume as well. "Just tell them we had a family emergency or something."

Alfred sighed. "Master Tim broke his arm again, sir?"

Bruce frowned. "No. Just keep it vague. We've used that one too many times before."

Alfred hid his smile. He sometimes wondered if Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy also the feared Batman, the Dark Knight of Gotham, ever rigged the batsignal to make an appearance before he was expected to attend some social function.

"As you wish, sir." Alfred turned around and walked back out, shaking his head ruefully. That boy was never going to learn.

Bruce hopped into the batmobile, and waited patiently for Tim, but the boy seemed stuck, staring at something on the television.

"Tim, come on." Bruce said, but Tim turned around, shaking his head.

"Bruce, you want to see this."

Bruce sighed and got out of the car, coming to stand besides Tim before he stopped, shocked at the television screen.

"—And the rumors are confirmed. Our networks own private investigator has confirmed, it is viable, and somewhere out in Australia of all places, Bruce Wayne, beloved billionaire of Gotham and philanthropist, has a twenty year old daughter! Well, Brad, I would never have guessed that one." The news reader turned to her counterpart, but Bruce didn't hear the rest of it, staring into space, shocked.

Could they be right? Could he have a daughter out there?

A hand fell on his shoulder, startling him from his thoughts.

"I'll go see what the commish wants." Robin said. "You get Oracle working on that."

Bruce just nodded numbly, before thumbing his earpiece on as Tim raced for his bike.

He needn't have bothered. Suddenly Barbara was on the big screen. "Bruce, you need to go to channel 8 news. They're showing something you really need to see."

He just shook his head. "I already saw it. You need to get checking on those leads the reporters had. Please. I know it's not a case or anything, but-,"

"I'm already on it, Bruce." Barbara interrupted gently. "I'll call you when I have something."

Bruce nodded, before sitting down, slumped at his console. What the hell was going on? He wracked his brain, trying to think of someone around twenty years ago that it might have been. Suddenly his mind cleared, and he knew.

Snapping to attention he typed furiously, looking up at the screen to make sure he was searching along the right path. About fifteen minutes in he found it.

He let his hands slowly fall from the keyboard, staring at the screen. Could it be true?

Because on the screen was an obituary for his one time lover, just over twenty years ago, and a reading of the few years old inscription on the tomb stone.

"Sarah Morgan. Loving Mother, Loving Friend."

The girls mother was dead.

My name's Elizabeth Morgan, and my head felt like it was about to explode. I hear you asking, why? What's wrong? Do you have a concussion of some sort? Are you studying really, really hard for those bitchy uni exams that make you want to hurl? Did you recently have a lobotomy?

The answer to those questions, unfortunately, would be a no. my reason wasn't quite so…glamorous. Okay, so I'm not sure if that was the correct word in this circumstance, but give me a break. I'm not at my best and brightest this morning. Because, yes, I had a hang over. Head pounding, I downed two aspirin, and had almost had my head cleared when the phone started ring.

"God, if that's Stephanie again I'm going to kick her ass." I said. To no one in particular, sure, but I felt better saying it.

"Hello?"

"Is this Elizabeth Morgan?" A professional, but nasal voice asked loudly into the phone.

I winced at the tone. "This is she. Whose this?"

"I'm Sally West, reporter for Gotham's premier newspaper, the Gotham Herald. Would you be interested in an exclusive interview this afternoon?"

"Huh?" I frowned. What the hell?

"Okay," Sally said endearingly. "I'll dumb it down a shade. Gotham Herald is prepared to pay you a LOT of money for the exclusive on your story. In a few words how you've managed without a father for all these years, how it feels to suddenly find out you have one, how the rest of your family feels about this, all that warm hearted sappy crap. What do you say?"

I shook her head, staring at the phone like it had suddenly grown fangs. What the hell indeed. "Uh, sorry, Sally. I think you've got the wrong number." I said, before quickly hanging up the phone. Well, that was a wake up call if you ever needed one.

No sooner had I placed the phone back on the cradle it rang again. More cautiously this time I answered it. Who knew what nut could be on the other end of the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi, this is Lois Lane from the Daily Planet. Can I ask to speak to Elizabeth Morgan please?" this woman sounded more pleasant at least, but I wasn't biting.

"You're a reporter?" I asked warily.

"Yes, I am. I was hoping to offer you an exclusive interview on how it feels to be the daughter of Bruce Wayne, Miss Morgan." The woman said into the phone, and I frowned. I had to stop doing that. It would give me wrinkles.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I said slowly, moving to sit down on the couch, wondering what I could say to get the woman to tell me more about what was going on.

"Haven't you been contacted yet?" The reporter asked. "Haven't you seen the news? It's all over the place. Look, I'll tell you what. You agree to meet me for coffee, and I'll tell you everything, in exchange for an exclusive interview."

I bit my lip, before turning on the television, muting the sound until I was off the phone.

"I'm going to have to think about it Miss Lane." I said softly, before ending the call on the woman's protests.

Because on the TV, on those morning shows that every gossip in town loved, was a photo of a good looking man, probably about forty, forty five years old. And they were calling him my father.

"What the hell-," I slumped back suddenly, glued to the T.V. At least I'd find out what was going on.

Bruce exited the jet, nervously tugging at his clothes. It had all checked out, even under the closest scrutiny that Barbara could perform. She had even managed to dig up results from a blood test a hospital in Brisbane had when his daughter had glandular fever. Babs had compared the DNA results between Miss Elizabeth Morgan and himself. And it was positive.

Now all he had to do was find her, which wouldn't be difficult at all. Her address had been the first thing Oracle had dug up. He hurried down the runway to the bag and security check and joined the cue from a commercial flight, willing to wait the line out if it meant he wouldn't draw attention to himself. All he needed now was someone to recognise him and create a scene. It was going to be hard enough to get to the girl the press were claiming to be his daughter without them knowing he was even in the country.

And what about the heat in Australia? It had been winter in Gotham, close to Christmas, and freezing cold, but here it was sweltering heat. He had sweat dripping down his back from the short walk from the plane to the air-conditioned inside of the airport as it was.

He had been on his laptop the whole way from Gotham to Brisbane, checking the latest updates on the news of his…daughter. It seemed so strange. How the hell had he not known she existed? And now she was without a mother as well. It was just like him. Just like Dick, and Jason, and Tim. All without family. He was cursed.

He hopped into a waiting Mercedes, before pulling out his cell phone, dialling the number on the piece of paper clutched in a sweaty hand for the most part of his journey. He knew she probably wouldn't answer. The poor girl had probably had dozens of people calling already. She'd probably disconnected her phone by now.

Bruce held the phone to his ear, holding his breath. No. nothing. The phone rang out. He sighed, flipping the phone closed. He would try again later.

I sat in my room, with my T.V, and my curtains drawn firmly closed, ignoring the insistent knocking on the door.

I had tried going outside, but when I did the camera's started flashing and people swarmed me, asking me questions and shoving news cameras in my face and microphones.

So no. I wasn't going to try that again.

I had my mobile next to me, ignoring every number except my friends. Though I had started to ignore some of them as well. Mostly every one of them that had rung was angry I hadn't told them earlier, and those that weren't were asking very similar questions the reporters were. Questions I wasn't ready to answer yet.

How did I feel about finding out about a father I never knew about?

Pretty damned confused. It had been an hour, and still I couldn't think about anything other then why hadn't he been there?

My phone rang again. I let it ring out. I wasn't answering any phone calls. If only my mother was here. But no, she was dead. And I was stuck with the mess she left me. What was I going to do for food if these reporters didn't leave? And fresh air. I like fresh air. I couldn't even open the windows without someone snapping a picture. Not even the bathroom window, even though they were frosted glass. Would they ever leave? And why were they so interested? It was my life. It's not that fantastic, but so what if I just found out I have a father.

Why weren't they harassing him?

It didn't seem fair, none of the TV shows I saw had reporters at his front door. There had been some interesting information on Bruce Wayne.

Billionaire. Philanthropist. Playboy.

That last one worried me. Playboy? The gossips on the morning television show had run through a list of his previous girlfriends. All models. Or movie stars. And he was my father?

No wonder Mum had never told me about him.

The knocking on the door ceased for a moment, and hope sprung up in me. Maybe they were giving up?

Then shouts of, 'Mr. Wayne!', or 'Bruce Wayne' began, followed by harrowing questions about…me?

Wait, did that mean he was outside?

I jumped up, suddenly angry. What was he doing here? It was only going to make more mess. More trouble. The press would be even worse now. And if he thought for one second I was going to let him into MY home, he sooo had another thing coming.

I heard a masculine voice. "Excuse me, excuse me." He sounded kind. "I'll answer all your questions, I promise, but only after I visit Miss Morgan."

Pfft. Like that was going to happen.

The press hushed, and there was the sound of shuffling feet, moving away from my front door. I almost smiled. Then I heard whispers at my window. Great. So instead of at my door they were going to try and catch a glimpse by the window. Fan-frigging-tastic.

Then a strong, steady knock on the door, along with excited murmurs from some of the press. I waited. I was NOT going to open the door again to some random.

"Miss Morgan?" the mild, friendly voice sounded again. "I'm Bruce Wayne. Can I come in?"