Disclaimer: I own no part of the Batman franchise (but I wish I owned Mr. Bale!).

Bruce did not dream of Molly that night. Instead he was plagued by his usual brand of nightmare, though to be honest, he hadn't had this one in a while: Rachel calling for help while burning alive. Dent's accusatory glares and the bitter curve of his mouth. He woke up in a cold sweat twice that night and finally reached for his bottle of Advil PM before he was able to sleep peacefully for any amount of time.

It was late the next morning when Alfred set a breakfast tray at his knees, judging by the slant of the sun streaming through his windows. Normally he would have placed it on a nearby table or desk, but today he took one look at his master's face and the bottle of pain killers and headed directly to the bed. His jostling and cheery voice woke Bruce up, who groaned and flung an arm over his eyes. One hand groped along the bed covers until it came to the tray and he felt along it for his protein drink.

Alfred raised an eyebrow and scooted the glass forward into his hands.

"Late night, Master Bruce?"

Bruce shook his head and finally sat up in order to bring the drink to his lips. He downed it in a series of swift gulps and set it back onto the tray with a bang. He winced.

"No, Alfred."

"Ah. Nightmares, then."

Bruce eyed him and then picked up the tray, placing it to the side. He swung his legs from the bed and stood up.

"Did I say that?"

"You don't have to, Master Bruce. It's written all over your face. So the lovely Molly Weil did not grace your dreams with her presence then?"

"Since when did you get so nosy about my affairs, Alfred?" Bruce asked as he hit the floor and began his morning exercises.

"Since you began taking sleeping pills," his butler responded. "That's a very healthy breakfast, you know. You should try the rest of it sometime."

Bruce looked up from his push-ups and smiled. "I will after I'm finished here. Is that all for now?"

"Miss Weil did leave her contact information for you, along with several other young women- and a few young men. What shall I do with it?"

"Put it in my office, please."

"Yes, sir. I will leave you to it, then."

Thirty minutes later Bruce had a forkful of the egg-whites, a few spoonfuls of the cantaloupe, and trotted out of his bedroom holding the morning paper in his hands and carrying a piece of whole-grain toast between his teeth. He swept along the upper corridor of the mansion and walked into his office where he took a seat behind his desk and turned on his computer. Well, his desk top. His state-of-the-art military grade test computer that was the size of a school bus lay several feet below him in his caverns.

He smiled to himself and set the paper aside before he discarded the rest of his toast and turned his attention wholly to his inbox. Emails from board members…a few from some of the guests from last night…with a sigh he made his way through the responses and finally picked up the hot pink post-it note Alfred had stuck next to the key board. It was shaped like a rabbit. He smiled. Who in her right mind carried animal shaped post-its around in her purse at a charity fundraiser? Molly Weil, middle school teacher, apparently. Her handwriting was smooth and well trained- not too curvaceous, and there were no incriminating hearts dotting the Is. It was a pleasant script. He quickly opened up a new window and composed an email to her, thanking her for her time and ideas last night. He was just hesitating over whether to invite her for a 'business' meeting over lunch or- better yet- dinner, when Alfred knocked on the door frame and walked inside.

He looked up quickly. "What is it?"

"You have a twelve o'clock interview with that reporter from the ladies' show, Master Bruce. Just reminding you."

"What time is it now?"

"Eleven twenty."

"Shit." He smiled apologetically at Alfred. "At the new Italian place on Forty-seventh, right?"

"Correct. I've taken the liberty of laying out a suit for you."

"Thank you, Alfred."

He reviewed his email to Molly and contemplated it for a few more seconds. Expelling his breath with an angry whoosh he hit the delete button. He would have to figure out what to say to her later. If he was going to court her it had to be exactly the right thing. Alfred had been right; she was different from the other women he knew- even Rachel. Rachel at least had worked with the criminals he brought to justice. They had similar goals in life. Molly, on the other hand…she was working to prevent people from becoming criminals. It was a different mind-set and social order, with its own mores and ideals, despite the fact that their hearts were basically in the same place. He had a feeling that simply being his charming self as he had last night would not be enough to reel her in. She'd demonstrated that by walking away from him just when things were getting interesting.

And he felt quite certain, after his dreams last night, that he wanted to reel her in. He'd spent too long wallowing in past defeats. It was time for him to invest in the living, instead of holding shrift with the dead.

He stood up and made his way from the office, pausing to speak to Alfred again.

"You seem to know a lot about her."

"Miss Weil?"

"Yes. You helped put that guest list together; what do you know that you haven't told me?"

"Master Bruce, if you're interested in this woman I suggest you approach things the old-fashioned way."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Don't subject her to one of your high-tech computer searches. Why not get to know her in a more traditional manner?"

"You mean a date." Bruce stared at Alfred, frowning. "You just said last night that was a bad idea."

"A date doesn't necessarily mean the woman ends up in your bed at the end of the evening, Master Bruce," Alfred replied smugly before sniffing and walking away. "Which car will you be taking?"

Bruce watched him go, a bemused smile on his face. "The Porsche. I'll get it myself."

An hour later, said car sped around a corner and pulled to an abrupt stop at the curb outside the new Italian restaurant on Forty-seventh street. Bruce's tall frame exited the car gracefully and he quickly handed a key to the valet, who eagerly took his place. In a few more seconds he'd swept into the restaurant and found his table easily, making apologies for his tardiness and selecting the finest house wine for the meal. The woman opposite him was dazzled into submission almost immediately.

The first hour of the interview, conducted over an appetizer and then salads, was typical. It wouldn't appear live- it was being taped for airing tomorrow during the show's morning time slot- so they were a little more relaxed about getting things just right. He smiled and was quiet at the appropriate moments and the reporter managed to keep her drool from hitting the table cloth. When the main course arrived, however, questions about his latest event, the charity ball from last night, arose.

"The word is that the event was a huge success- that it even spawned the funding of a new charity headed by Wayne Enterprises."

Bruce raised an eyebrow and took a sip of his drink. He knew word spread quickly whenever he made a move, but this was a bit much, wasn't it? He looked at the woman again and smiled.

"I don't know who you've been talking to, but yes, that is correct. It won't be a singular effort, however. Wayne Enterprises is simply the flagship at the moment. We hope to involve a great many other groups and eventually make it a public non-profit foundation to be used entirely for the support and reform of Gotham Public Schools."

"This is wonderful news, Mr. Wayne, as I'm sure you can imagine. As a parent myself, I understand the difficulty of deciding where to send one's child for education. My husband and I had to choose private school- the situation of our inner city schools is deplorable."

Bruce felt himself bristle a little at her choice of words. Molly wasn't the first who had made it plain to him that it was parents like these who encouraged the state of the system.

"If it is deplorable, as you put it, then it is entirely our own fault- yours and mine, Ms. Turner. If we put our efforts into these schools instead of ignoring them, the situation might be quite different."

The woman's face turned an interesting shade of pink and she glanced down at her notes before moving on. "Well…well…so, how did you come by this idea? What sudden inspiration hit you to start this last night, in the middle of the event? Was it your acquaintance of Molly Weil that encouraged you?"

This earned her another tight-lipped smile. "I was privileged enough to hear opinions and advice from several different people through out the evening. And, being as interested as I have in our local politics and police force in recent years, I have a better understanding from parents who are on a limited income what kind of options they have for their children's educations. Salaries that are too small for the actual work they experience is part of what drove so many officers to go bad to begin with, wouldn't you say?"

"That's very true, Mr. Wayne. But you're avoiding my question. I was asked to do a little research before our interview, as one of my fellow hosts was at your event and you were spotted spending quite a bit of time speaking to Ms. Weil. Would you like to know what I found out?"

"Ms. Turner, did you really ask for an interview so we could talk about a school teacher?"

She smiled at him. "She's not just any school teacher, Mr. Wayne. She was at your event- a last minute invitee who grew up in Gotham's city schools and has spent all her time outside the classroom trying to garner support for reforms in the public school system."

Bruce leaned back in his seat and spread his hands. It was clear this reporter- tv host- what was she again? He gave a small shake of his head. Either way, she wasn't letting it drop. Normally this was the part where he would begin to make references to the time, and shouldn't he be going, but he did want to know what the woman had to say. Aside from that, the more they talked about education, the better publicity it would be for the new foundation, even if it was a risk to involve Molly directly.

"Please, enlighten me," he said with a smile on his face. It was best to be honest in this case- they would never believe anything he said, but if he made it clear he really had only just met her, that might take the heat off his real interest in her.

Ms. Turner's smile grew predatory and she leaned forward. "You really don't know anything about her?"

"Not really, no. She simply struck me as a valuable asset to Gotham's schools and a passionate teacher. She had some excellent advice to give me and is genuinely invested in the future of our public schools. So if you tell me she's been working hard, I believe it. Isn't it about time we start recognizing the people who keep the system running, despite how 'deplorable' you say it is? In fact, I really won't take any credit for the foundation's origins. I spoke to several people last night- they're the brains behind it. I'm only the face of the pocket book, if you will."

Bruce was still congratulating himself as he left the restaurant. He'd managed to learn a little more about Molly, but had steered the conversation away from her personal life and back onto the goals of the fledgling foundation. Surely the interview couldn't cause too much damage to his pursuits- public or personal.

Either way, he didn't have too much time for reflection. The remainder of the day was taken up with a trip to the office, a business dinner, a phone conference with Tokyo and, sure enough, a rendezvous at the Bat-signal. In fact, the news of a Russian mob conglomerate trying to move into Gotham was an unforeseen problem that would keep the Batman busy for three days and caused Bruce Wayne to take an unexpected sojourn in Prague.

His interview, however, did not escape prying eyes and while it made the future investors of the foundation happy, it upset one important party.

The next morning dawned cloudy and the smog levels over Gotham were through the roof. Molly wasn't sure whether these days were blessings or curses. Her coworkers thought of them as gifts, because while the smog deprived them all of precious oxygen and vital brain cells, it also meant the children were subsequently quiet and less rowdy than usual. She personally hated them because they made her question her ideals. Was that really what it would take to give these kids and this school system a chance? Drugs? It was a sickening thought, but she was certain more than one of her coworkers had questioned it before.

With a determined smile, she pushed open the door of the teacher's lounge and walked in, coffee mug in hand and a forced, "Good morning," on her lips. One of the other teachers glanced up at her.

"Hello, Molly."

"Where is everyone?" she asked, not immediately spotting anyone else.

John tilted his head behind him. "Watching the TV. That talk show they all like. You know."

Molly raised her eyebrows and nodded before pouring herself some hot water for tea. "I know. Complete crap."

She glanced towards the corner the TV sat in and saw a few other teachers seated around it. One of them looked over at her with a funny look on her face.

Molly raised another eyebrow and took a seat at the table next to John. "Grading papers?" she asked.

"Uh-huh. Oh, you might want to be careful- apparently one of the batty women on the show interviewed Wayne about that charity event the other night."

The hand holding the tea bag string stilled and she looked up at him. "Oh?"

"Yeah- they've been discussing his idea for a new foundation for our school system. Sounds a lot like that thing we talked about last year."

One of the women in the corner had stood up and was walking towards them. "And the year before that and the year before that," she added. "In fact," she continued, sitting down across from Molly, "she asked about you specifically and we all know you got an invite at the last minute."

"They even have some pictures from the ball!" one of the other women called out.

"Oh," Molly said quietly. "Well, John, Charlotte, I guess I can't hide it any longer." She looked down at her tea and then back up at her peers. "Guys, it's official, I'm pregnant with Bruce Wayne's child ."

John laughed immediately and the other ladies joined in. Only Charlotte continued to peer at her, a suspicious smile on her face. Molly eyed her in return, taking a few cautious sips of her tea.

"They were interesting photos," Charlotte offered.

Molly shook her head. "He's a philanthropist. Just because a man dances with you doesn't mean he's interested. Don't cheapen this, Charlotte. It's a huge opportunity for our schools, for the children."

The other woman smiled wryly and stood again. "If you say so. But he never denied interest in you, you know."

"Oh, please. Let me see this ridiculous interview-" she stood and walked over to the television, eager to disprove whatever harebrained theories her coworkers were eating up.

By the time her break had ended and the bell rang for the next hour, she was somewhat livid and it was suddenly a good thing that her classes were more subdued than normal. And by lunchtime, every teacher she passed gave her an equally funny look- ranging from flirtation to congratulations to glares that she would sell herself out like that in order to get her stupid fund.

Somewhat livid? No, very livid was more like it.

How dare those bimbo reporters drag her name into it? Of course she wanted to be involved with the thing, but she didn't want her name pasted all over it. And this was exactly why she'd walked away from him that night! She didn't want people to get the wrong idea. She didn't want him to get the wrong idea. Not that it wasn't a little flattering to have people assuming he liked her, but come on! She was a poor school teacher who cut her own hair and had to borrow that gown from her little sister who'd worn it to prom three years ago. She was so not his type. Not that she wanted to be his type, even a little…even if his hands had been strong and cool…even if the fabric of his tuxedo had been smooth against her exposed shoulders.

She ground her teeth and tried to focus on stopping the children from throwing their food at one another.

The whole thing was just…humiliating. And even after one of the other teachers pointed out that it might give her some street cred with her students, she still wasn't satisfied. She'd worked hard to be accepted by her students and had done a damn fine job of it so far- she might be white, but she came from the same place they did. So to think that after one set of photos of her with Bruce Wayne might overtake all her hard work simply because he was rich and that counted more with the kids than anything else…it was infuriating.

She was suddenly glad that he hadn't emailed or phoned her yet. She wasn't sure how she would have reacted just then. She started to hope that any further dealings she had with the start-up would be handled through his secretary or a trustee or administrator…anyone but him. She just couldn't take it right then.

A half peeled orange splattered to a stop at her feet and she signaled to the culprit for a detention. She wished billionaire play-boys were as easy to deal with.

Two days later Bruce returned to the manor- a little bruised, but nothing his cover story of spelunking in the Czech Republic couldn't handle. Alfred sought him out soon after he'd had his customary shower and handed him his shake, mail and informed him the interview had been TiVo'd and there were three newspapers awaiting him in his office. The functions of Wayne Enterprises, though not beyond Alfred's ken, were no longer his concern, as Lucius Fox took care of the business end of things for Bruce.

Bruce thanked Alfred and shrugged into his robe before he trekked across the upstairs once again. He was just settling down at his desk when Alfred reappeared.

"I forgot to mention, Master Bruce, that if I were you, I wouldn't be too pleased with the interview."

Bruce glanced up from one of the papers and frowned. "Why not?"

"You'll see what I mean if you watch some of the news. I believe it's also mentioned on page three of the society section in Tuesday's paper."

Bruce set Monday's paper down and immediately opened Tuesday's, flipping through the pages until he saw it- a photo in the upper right hand corner of him shaking Molly's hand at the end of the evening. The photo was accompanied by a blurb about the new foundation and guesses as to why the attractive 'Ms. Weil' had been so influential. He frowned again and quickly reached for a remote, turning on the television mounted to a wall of his office.

He was just flipping through the channels to find a news cast when the telephone on his desk rang.

Alfred stepped over and picked it up, listened politely, then lowered it and placed a hand over the receiver.

"It's Station 12, Master Bruce. They heard you arrived at the airport a few hours ago and want to know how soon they can schedule an interview with you and Ms. Weil."

Bruce looked back at him. "With me and- what do they mean?"

"I believe they are under the impression you know where she is at the moment," he replied, raising his eyebrows in a condescending expression.

Bruce covered his mouth and closed his eyes. "They're never this obsessive when I shake the models' hands," he murmured, frustrated.

"If you'll forgive me for pointing out the obvious, Master Bruce, you've never personally headed a charitable foundation for a woman you're not sleeping with before, either. And certainly not a woman who's never appeared in the tabloids." Alfred eyed him critically. "Don't tell me your public persona is really as shallow as you've made it out to be. I thought we got over this phase upon Ms. Dawes' death."

Bruce's eyes shot open and he glared at Alfred before snatching the phone from his hands. "I'll take care of this, thanks. Don't you have some silver to polish or something?"

"Just trying to be helpful," Alfred responded cheekily and sniffed, turning and walking out the door.

Bruce glared after him the whole way and then, confident he'd left, gingerly brought the phone to his ear. Maybe he could still salvage things. Or maybe he just needed to write a very contrite note to Molly. He found himself hoping she wasn't as old-fashioned as Alfred seemed to think.

"Hello, Mr. Daniels, is it? This is Bruce Wayne."

AN: When thinking of the television show, picture The View. If you don't know what that is, bless you. :)