Part I. II — "Rules of Engagement"


After Valerie left, Bruce gathered his suit from the bathroom, and started tossing the scattered pieces of Kevlar armor inside the case, his harsh movements creating sounds that suited his current predicament. If she wanted to be in, then perhaps she would just stay in, not storm out of his side to go to a goddamn hotel.

His expression souring even more, he threw the last piece inside, and banged the metal lid of the case forcefully. He couldn't keep her in if she wouldn't stay in. But Valerie, being her usual impossible self, of course wouldn't understand that. No, she just had to prove herself to—herself and—to him.

One month ago, after the late breakfast, she had suddenly announced that she was moving out of the manor. Bruce had looked at her as if she had gone mad, but then she had said it would be better if she had gotten her own place, instead of occupying his guest room.

Bruce had tried to be understanding of her wishes. He had known she wanted to have a place of her own, not just his main guest room. Most of her life, she was always alone, so he recognized her needs to get her own place. He had even offered her the penthouse in the city, knowing she would feel more comfortable in the town, being a city girl in heart, and also knowing he would be more comfortable if she stayed somewhere he knew one hundred per cent sure was safe, but she had refused again.

No, she had decided that she wanted to live in a hotel.

Where each person walked through the lobby would be a threat, countless workers to make background checks, countless rooms to survey, countless exits to cover up... It had been a nightmare, so much that he had had to purchase the damn hotel itself to set up his own surveillance; that ended up them having their biggest fight to the date when she learned what he had done.

Another thing she had taken as "breaking the rules".

His teeth gritted, he turned and walked out of the bunker, cursing silently her damn rules.

February, 2009

Her eyes riveted on his, she walked to him. Her pace was slow, but each step was decisive, her eyes never running away. She had decided to stay, to take whatever he could offer.

He knew it wasn't the best, but it was better than nothing, and perhaps one day...when things weren't this complicated, and when they weren't this—broken, they would—one day.

A few steps away from him, and from the bats that surrounded him, she stood, still staring at him, but she couldn't take the last step, as bats glided around him, like a protected net. He turned off the summoning device in his hand, but flying away from him, bats went toward her.

With the sudden attack, she retreated, her left arm raised over her head to protect herself, as the other waved in the air to fly off the bats assaulting her.

This time he walked to her, and gently held her arm, and lowered it down, as the indigenous habitants of the cave this time surrounded them. "It's okay," he assured her, like his father had done to him years ago, his voice low and soft, "They're just afraid."

"Oh, please!" she cried out, as still waving her free arm in front of her, her eyes turning to him, "Did you really need to do that?" she asked, her gaze dropping toward his hand, at the summoning device.

He grinned, as bats drifted over their heads in the heights of the cave. Breathing out heavily, inches apart from him, Valerie glared at him. "Thank you—" he then said. Thank you for coming, thank you for staying, thank you for trying.

He was staring at her, he couldn't help himself. The light green of her eyes had turned to a darker shade, but this time it wasn't because of anger. He glanced at her lips, and he saw her slowly swallowing...He could feel her breath itching over his skin, warm and musky, and hot, so hot... His legs moved on their accounts, as hers did, but backwards.

He blinked, and exhaled a sharp breath out, as Valerie put a few steps between them. Turning around quickly, she surveyed the cavern, as he closed his eyes half way, his mind snapping... So stupid, so stupid.

When she turned to him again, desire that had darkened her eyes just seconds ago was gone, instead there was an incredibility sparking in the depths of her green. Slowly, she started wandering around the cave.

Her hand raised, she touched the stone walls...wiggled her fingers through the waterfall at the northern corner. She inspected his work station, her eyes narrowed, and the working area; the machines, apparatus, devices he used to make Batman's tools, brushing her fingers over his work bench. She looked at the infirmary, the laboratory he had set up for his crime scene inspections, then turned to him.

She smiled a little. "So Batman really do have a cave?" He reflected the same smile back. "What's it called?" she asked, her voice turning playful, "The Batcave?"

His smile grew a bit. "Actually, yes."

Her eyes widened. "No!"

"It was Alfred's idea," he defended himself.

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head at him, then her smile vanished, as her eyes picked up the glass vault at the corner. She let out a sharp breath, her eyes fixated at it.

Slowly, she started walking toward it. Bruce did the same too. Soon they stood in front of it, looking at his armor inside the vault. Her fingers raised and she touched the suit. "Did you build this yourself?" she asked in a whispered breath.

He shook his head. "No," he answered, "It was originally built as a Nomex Survival Suit, for advanced infantry," he explained, "Never got in the mass production."

Her eyes skipped at him. "Like the Tumbler?"

"Yeah—" Bruce shrugged with exasperation. Like Fox had said, it was hard to make bean counters happy.

She brushed her fingers over the breastplate. "What's this?" she asked, "Kevlar?"

"Kevlar biweave," he corrected, "reinforced."

Her eyes stuck at the suit, she nodded, then her hand reached out to his cowl, and she probed the tip of the mask with her fingertip—"Ouch!" She pulled her hand back, as her finger started bleeding. She turned to him. "It's sharp."

Nodding, he smiled. "The tips are serrated—" She looked at him blankly. "Sometimes they try to hold me by—" his hand went over his head, "—ears," he finished.

But she was still looking at him with the same baffled expression. Bowing his head, he shrugged. "Everything can turn to a weapon," he remarked.

In return, she sighed, and muttered, "It's so weird."

He looked at her back straight in the eyes. "It gets easier." It had to. He wanted her to be part of his life, he wanted her inside. What he had told her was truth. He had gone to her for his selfish reasons. The thought of her being there alone… without his protection… even the thought itself was enough to make him drop on his knees—no, he couldn't lose her, too. He had already lost too much.

As if she had understood the same thing, her expression stiffened, and became resolute as if she had decided something. He knew she had. She was as much stubborn as he was. She wasn't going to admit defeat, not without fighting first.

Her eyes wandered around again, taking every detail in, then she announced, with a low but certain voice, "We need rules."

His head snapped at her. "What?"

"If we're going to do this," she said decisively, "We need to define the ground rules."

"The ground rules?" he asked, his eyebrow arching on its account.

"Yes," she answered without moving an inch, "So that we'd know the boundaries."

Ah... He nodded. "Okay."

"You will respect me," she started seriously. He tried to interfere, but her hand rising in the air, she stopped him. "No, don't interrupt me. Listen." Her eyes took on a new fire, "You will treat me as an equal, not as some sort of damsel in distress that harbored under your roof. You will treat me as your partner, and you won't keep me out—You promise?" he asked.

"If only you promise you won't act imprudently," he countered with same seriousness, looking at her straight back, his eyes lit on a challenge.

She took it. "If you can restrain your controlling nature," she said with a daring smirk, "I'd restrain my recklessness, too."

He nodded back, "Else?"

Her resolution wavered a bit before she pulled herself back, and answered. "Under no circumstances, we mention what happened in the—backseat—again—" Her voice faltered but quickly she started again, straightening her shoulders. "That thing doesn't exist anymore."

His mind drawing blank for a second, he looked at her, the exact thing that she wanted to erase assaulting the blankness... He wanted to opposite her. He wanted to scream at her... He wanted to take her in his arms and have her until she admitted it wasn't something that could go away like that, that it wasn't just sex... He wanted to—

Her eyes lit with something he couldn't decide, she closed on in him. "I want this work, Bruce," she told him, her voice pleading, and he recognized what was inside her eyes… "I want us to be— friends—" She looked at him, her eyes glazed with unshed tears, "We can't let that ruin us."

She was right. That thing between them...it was dangerous, like playing with fire. He took a small step back away from her, because temptation was so big, was so...sweet, she was just there, and if he reached out and took her, he knew she couldn't resist anymore... But he couldn't do that, he couldn't burn her…

So he promised, "We won't."


When he returned to the manor, Alfred was nowhere to be seen. Bruce went directly to the study. The night was still young, and as the option for going out eliminated, at least for tonight, he had better get some work done. This new task force, though, he needed to prepare a plan to deal with them. He couldn't take them at his tail each time he stepped out of the cave.

Alfred must be dealing with his upcoming birthday party in the next weekend. Bruce had opposed the idea, he really had, but Alfred had already made his mind; after the last—disastrous birthday celebration, it was time to Wayne Manor had another dinner party for his guest. When Alfred had pulled out of his sleeve his last, but the most powerful reserve, his family name, Bruce had had to accede.

He passed through the staff that was preparing the manor, shaking his head. Surely, it shouldn't take this labor to throw a party. Sighing heavily, he walked in the study. At least, Valerie liked parties.

Away from the cluster, the study was blissfully silent, as together with the dinner room in the second floor, it was the place the temporary staff in the manor was banned to enter. Walking to his study desk, he turned on his computer.

What he had seen tonight had only enforced his new plans regarding to the Dent Act. The new desperation wave was rising from the depths of the ghettos of his city, Narrows had it the worst, and while the Dent Act was necessary to keep the big fish in the pond, it was also making the pond a way too crowded. The balance was tipping off.

These people were needing another chance, a second chance. His time in North Ireland with Valerie had made him realize something that he hadn't understood entirely before, even his time abroad while he had been wandering trying to understand the mechanism behind criminality.

There was crime, and there was crime; first simply spawning from the inequality and unfairness of the world that could be fixed, but the second from the dark part of the human soul, cruelty, and depravity. He was going to fight against the second one until his last breath, but the first one, he was going to fix. So that no child would watch their parents gunned down because of desperation.

He opened the Tabula Rasa Program documentation. The program had been causing distress among the board, as if it worked, in a few years the program would have all Wayne Enterprises industries taking in the service at least half of their staff with employees with juvenile records and/or victimless crime. The conditions were hard and long, but it would give the opportunity for a life beyond criminality who were seeking it, proved that life was not their destiny. It was the same thing his parents had tried to do, give people who had born with less luck a chance to change their future, and he was going to follow their steps.

Though, the board and the rest of the upper management wasn't taking his decision well. Lucius had been taking the brunt of their dissatisfaction, unfortunately, as being the notorious Bruce Wayne, he couldn't make such suggestions that went out of character with his playboy persona.

But he was determined. The kids he had seen tonight should not to be handed to the minds of like the Joker on a silver plate. No, they were not destined to live like that. He had power, he had means, and most importantly, he had will to act, to change it, and change it he was going to.

He switched his screen, and the high ceiling conference room at the top of the Wayne Building came over the screen, under the darkness. There was no movement inside the room, everything silent. He watched the oval room for five minutes, and until he became sure there was no one.

Someone had bugged the room, he had found two device last week. He didn't know for certain who was behind the scheme, not yet. He had left them in place so that he would find out at least who he was going their back. The board had started playing dirty, and he got an idea from where the dirt was mostly spreading out; William Earle.

He wished he had a way to force the damn man away. He had been nothing but a nuisance since the time their path had crossed, he had tried to change his company to something that would produce death… His jaw settled with a grimace, he glared at the screen.

He was determined. They could not stop him.

He closed the tab, and switched to his usual rounds before he called it night, and went to the bed, dawn approaching. The white, clean structure of Hopkins Medicine stared at him from his screen. As per usual, the clinic was having a peaceful night, deep in slumber.

Quickly, he switched through the wings, halls, corridors, until he found Daniel Braden's room. Still in the same condition he had left him behind, Valerie's kidnapper was sleeping in the bed, an IV bag tied to his arm. During the nine month, he had lost weight, his cheeks sunken, straightened over his cheekbones, his legs and arms like twigs… He looked pitiful, but there was no pity in Bruce's eyes as he looked at the man. If Valerie hadn't managed to escape…. He shook his head, stopping his thoughts. He didn't even want to complete the rest of that thought.

With she entered in his mind, like each night he did before he went to sleep, he opened the Sundale Hotel's surveillance systems. Like he had done with the clinic, he quickly went over throughout the hotel, making sure everything was in order. The hotel, however, unlike the hospital, was still bursting life, the clienteles rounding up over the tables in the dining rooms, having heated discussion over the drinks, and music and laughter drifted over them in the air…

At East Midtown, in the bohemian side of the city that housed artists, writers, and craftsman from all kind of walks of the life, The Sundale Hotel was an old establishment, with a certain character. He could see why Valerie chose the place, like her old apartment it was close to the city center, but still secluded from the cluster of it, and more importantly the clientele, having bigger personalities than mountains didn't give a damn to each other.

Bruce Wayne could walk among them, and none of them would even cast him a glance. Their egos would never let them.

Still, he had put his surveillance, together with an alarm system that would warn him in the minute something was wrong. He knew he was being overly protective, but he really didn't know how else he would take her living in a freaking hotel. Oddly enough, after yelling at him for a good measure learning what he had done, Valerie let him do it, too.

She was trying too hard not to blow this off, even letting him put cameras inside her room, not taking her bracelet off…letting him do background checks on every soul she met or wanted to contact. He had placed her in a glass house, and she was trying to do her best not to break her promise.

His eyes skid toward the file on the desk, the file he had prepared for the "idiot" before Valerie had approached him in the bar. Sighing with frustration, he threw the dossier in the waste bin, and switched the channel to her room.

She was in the bed, already asleep, her face facing the door as she lay on her side, her arm arched toward the cushion, almost protectively. He knew her handgun was under her cushion, always, and he also knew that she was sleeping facing the door so that no one would catch her unawares.

Each minute he stared at the screen added another load to his pain and shame… She shouldn't be there sleeping alone. He should be there with her, holding her, so that her arms would hold him back, instead of inching toward her cushion unconsciously.

But he could not… And he had to accept that now. His grimace turning grimmer, he closed the tab, and turned off the computer. They had made rules, and for everything she was willing to forsake to stay with him, he at least should keep his promise to her.

He stood up, and went to look for Alfred. Tomorrow he would make up to her. He was going to apologize for what he had done tonight, and he had better not to do that with empty hands.

And he knew exactly what kind of gift he should bring with himself.


Before her alarm beeped at nine o'clock, Valerie's eyes snapped open. She turned on her back in the bed, and stared at the ceiling. She needed to prepare but she didn't want to leave the bed. The fight from the last night had left her brain scattered, even after a seven hours sleep, if anyone could call that restless closed eyes state sleeping.

She barely could. But she really needed to get up. Today was the day for her exam. She had been working for that damn thing like eight months now, and she would be damned if she failed another time, not after what had happened the last time, and certainly not because of a damn billionaire. The anger gave her the energy she needed for moving, so her lips turning to a snare, she threw the duvet off her and stalked to the bathroom.

Thankfully, Bruce had still enough decency not to bug also the bathroom…as long as she knew. She grimaced. She didn't want to believe that he could do it, but again how she could be sure? He had bought a hotel in the middle of the city just to make a better surveillance, and easier to sneak in.

God, she didn't need to deal with this shit, at least not today. She had always known this was going to be hard, of course; their time in Belfast had made sure of that, but all in frankness, she hadn't expected that much, either.

But then again, like always, Bruce Wayne was full of surprises.

Rolling her eyes, she turned the tap, and washed her face, keeping her eyes dutifully away from any mirror or reflected glass. Her nerves were already frayed, as it was, thank you very much, no need for extra charge.

For a moment or so, she thought if she was overreacting, because of—today. This test was making her…nervous in a way that was unacceptable, skittish even, and there was no logical reason to feel like that. She was more than well-prepared; Jason could be a lousy father but he had been a great teacher, and she hadn't spent her last nine months with the world's greatest detective with chitchatting about weather.

No, she was fitted to the job. It was just that…when she had entered the exam room, and sat one of those desks, and the invigilator starting giving the booklets, she felt something she hadn't felt for a long time… panic. An utter, bottomless fear.

It had been a mess; suddenly it started leaking out of her, and she wasn't having any idea what was happening, at least not at that moment, she was only aware of her sweating palms, and galloping heart, and that roaring in her ears as the clock on the wall tick-tacked each precious moment away.

Then it had gotten worse. The whole world had started to squeeze, filling up to her chest, and it was cold, so cold, her head spinning. She couldn't see, she couldn't breathe, but she could feel, that cold fear, her ears ringing, her stomach heaving. She sprang on her feet, ran out of the class, and threw up into the first waste bin she found.

Her time in the prison had caused many problems, and these anxiety attacks had been the worst of all. Though, it was understandable given the nature of the ordeal she had had to deal with just before she had released, escaping death being put in a body bag inside the morgue. That would cause anyone a bit of problem, she guessed, or so she had always comforted herself in the lone, long nights.

But aside that quick moment in the crate Bruce had placed her during their first trip to Belfast, she hadn't had an attack since she was in America. She had dealt it, had accepted it and moved on. Life goes on, and all that jazz. But now this…

Valerie had known she needed to do something, so the next morning in the late breakfast, she had announced she was moving out of the manor. The idea had been already in her mind, but for some reasons she had always postponed it for another day, but what had happened in the exam made it a necessity. She could not let Bruce see her that way, she simply could not.

With a defeated sigh, she hung the towel and left the bathroom. She went to the mini bar, and opened a bottle of water, her eyes fixed at cooler's racks. They were empty. She had ordered the room service that she didn't want any drinks other than water and soda, but…perhaps…just a sip, it wouldn't be bad. It would really help, at least would smooth her nerves a bit— Maybe that was the problem, she was trying too hard, too much—to be something else.

Her eyes lifted upward, and she caught a glance at the mirror; smoothed features, shortened hair… Her breath itched. Forcefully, she evened out a breath, then slapped the cooler's door, her body tingling.

She needed to get rid of this tension. She needed to be herself again.

Quickly, she started undressing, not caring whoever might be watching from the other side. She put on a long yoga pants and a sweater, then went to do what always brought her peace.

She ran.


When she returned to the hotel an hour later, out of breath and perspired until her underwear, but her mind mercifully at peace, or it had been until she was greeted by the certain billionaire, waiting in front of her room, his face hidden behind his hoodie.

Bruce Wayne was in the stealth mode. Most of his face was covered with a baseball cap and hoodie, as a sandblasted leather jacket and old khakis completed the image. From other side of the door, she looked at him, titling her head aside. "Did you sneak inside?" she asked, because it really didn't look like he had walked through the front door.

He shrugged with an unabashed ease. And it was a very good thing that she had spent her last hour running like mad or else she might have assaulted him. "What are you doing here, Bruce?" she asked coldly, taking a sip from her water bottle.

His eyes found hers. "I came to drive you to the exam," he answered.

She gave him a look, before she pointed out, "The test is at two pm."

He shrugged again. "I thought we could talk a bit first."

She rolled her eyes. "You mean you wanted to apologize?" she shot back mockingly.

In return, he looked at her merely, but a silent warning edging his eyes. With a huff, she shook her head, and passed curtly the keycard through the slit on the door. She walked in, Bruce followed.

She directly went to the bathroom. "I'm taking a shower," she informed him, then decided to make it easier for him, after all he had come to apologize, and she was in the mood to hear the patented Bruce Wayne, groveling, being all gloomily and brooding over it. No wonder his birthday was coming. The man would make a textbook case for the Scorpio man. "You wanna apologize?" she asked, looking at him over her shoulder, "Get me something to eat."

Fifteen minutes later, she was out again, wearing another clean sets of yoga pants and sweater, and on the table, there was her favorite breakfast; cucumber sandwiches and Earle Grey. Well played, Wayne, she passed in her mind, sitting at the chair opposite of him.

"I wanted to give you this before the exam," Bruce said, tossing at her a glance, as she started helping herself with the sandwich, and took a cream color envelope out of his jacket—

Her face whitened. "I warn you, Bruce, if that's another letter from Jason, I won't be responsible for my actions." After what had happened in Belfast, Jason had suddenly become resolute making things right with her more than…well, ever. He had started sending her letters via Bruce, and each time she had declined. That part of her life hadn't changed. She still hadn't anything to tell her father.

Bruce shook his head, his eyes looking at her a bit weird. "No," he countered, and showed her a cream color square slim box she had thought as an envelope, "It's—" He paused for a second, "something you'll soon need."

Her eyes lowered, she looked at the box, then glanced back at him. Ah, a gift. He had actually brought her a gift. Her eyes sparked with a playful glee. "Beware of the Batman bearing gifts," she intoned dramatically, opening it, then she stared.

Little rectangular business cards, sturdy stock, with a matte pearl finishing, delicate script…her name;

Valerie West—Private Investigator

She wanted to look away, she really did, but she couldn't tear her eyes off the card she held in her hands… Valerie West—Private Investigator. Her breath itching again, her chest contrived. "I still didn't pass the test," she said, her voice low, but a bit petulant, and she didn't notice the tone until she had heard it with her own ears.

"You will," he only said, looking at her.

She lifted her head from the card, and looked at him back. What had really happened in the test came to the tip of her tongue, but something still held her. She was already as weak as it was. She didn't want him to look at her like that, like she was really a damsel in the distress that needed his constant care. She was strong. She could take care of herself.

Besides, Bruce Wayne's attention and concern more than anything were committed to his city. She had no rights to ask more than what he could give to her.

"I'm sorry about last night, Valerie," he said, proving her once again right, coming to the point, his eyes still fixated at her, "But you know I'd never purposely do something that hurt you."

And that was exactly what was wrong. "But so you can accidently do?" she asked, staring at him coldly.

A frown immediately appeared over his eyebrows. "I didn't say that."

She smiled at him. "I read between the lines," she shot back, leaving the business card on the table, then leaned toward him over the table. "I know this is hard for you, Bruce, but it's hard for me, too, but I'm keeping my promise." She paused to raise her arm to show him the bracelet he had gifted to her before, "I'm wandering around with a tracker on my person not because it's fun. I'm sleeping in a room with little bugs not because I like it. I'm doing those because I know it's necessary—" She looked at him straight in the eyes, and continued, releasing a shallow breath, "And because I know I can trust you. But trust is a two way street. So show me the same courtesy, will you? Because, you see, if there is a task force chasing you—" She waved her hand over the TV set at the wall, as she leaned further over the table, "I'd prefer to learn it from YOU instead of the goddamn TV!"

Bruce was looking at her stiffly, in silence, and again it was her answer. God, this must be really hard for him, she could even see it from the way his jaw settled, and that tightness between his eyes, a proper Scorpio man, but she wasn't Alfred. She wasn't going to take that. She straightened back in her seat, and rested back. "So do you wanna really apologize?" she asked, "Tell me about that task force. Who are they?"

"I'm not sure," Bruce started, his expression still of a stone, as she frowned. What the hell that meant? "Gordon said it's a joint up effort from FBI and ATF," he explained, "but I can't find anything about such a task force." Her eyebrow raised, not because he was hacked into the federal databases, but because he couldn't find his way in. "Gordon asked a few times about them, but each time IA gave him short answers—" He paused for a second, "the Mayor even mentioned once—early retirement."

Her eyebrow vanished above her hairline, as she started understanding what was happening. "You think they're not Feds," she remarked, looking straight in his eyes for an answer.

And she found it in his darkened orbs. "No," he shook his head, "My guess is…" He paused again, "Homeland Security."


The idea of sleeping facing at the door belongs to Persevera, from an amazing little horror story she wrote once.

AND, Bruce is really a proper Scorpio, as it's why I chose to go with October instead of February for his birthday. Valerie is Gemini. Explains why the're constantly at odds with each other.