Disclaimer: I do not own and am not, in any way, affiliated with the Dark Knight franchise.


"No matter how far you travel, you can never get away from yourself."

― Haruki Murakami, After the Quake


Chapter Two

The warm water and bubbles were the perfect combination to combat her sore muscles. Audrey sighed and leaned back, letting the steam rise around her. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Barsad, towel wrapped around his waist, trimming his beard over the sink. He caught sight of her in the mirror and winked at her.

"How would you feel about eating in tonight? I'll just run down and nick something from the kitchens."

"That sounds amazing," she murmured. "I'm wiped and I don't think falling asleep at the table is considered polite in… anywhere, actually. Picture it now: me, face first, on a pillow of mashed potatoes."

He shook with silent laughter. "I'd make sure to pick the gravy out of your hair before I put you to bed."

"I am not worthy. Oh!" she said brightly, remembering something she'd wanted to bring up earlier. "What do you think about going to Praia da Laginha this weekend? We keep saying we're going to go and-"

"Ah." He froze mid-way through wiping his face with a towel. "I can't. I'm sorry. I'm leaving the day after tomorrow."

"Oh?" she asked casually, turning her head so that she was looking at the ceiling again. "Where are you going? Or is this one of those things you're not allowed to talk about?"

"Audrey…"

Apparently she had not been as casual as she thought. Damn. She could see her toes through the bubbles on the other end and wiggled them slowly. "I'm not mad, I just- I hate not knowing where you're going. Plus, I don't understand all the need for secrecy. I'm sure this has something to do with the UN deal we've all been working on. I don't think I need to remind you that I'm on the council too."

"It is and, no, you don't. I think you might've mentioned it." Still watching her in the glass, he began dabbing on aftershave. She caught a whiff of the spicy, woodsy scent, and felt the tug at her heartstrings. "I can't say more than that. Need to know basis only. We've talked about this." The firm yet exasperatedly delivered reminder made her feel all of five years old.

"Arjun's gone out with you on one of these super-secret missions." She emphasized super-secret with finger quotes. I am an adult, she told herself as she splashed her feet back under water and sank lower in the tub. "And now I sound like a clingy girlfriend. Cool."

"Arjun knows how to defend himself properly. If you'd learn to- never mind. It's not worth rowing about." Barsad sighed, but when he turned to look at her, his lips were quirked up in amusement. "Did you just call yourself my girlfriend?" he teased. "Does that make me your boyfriend?"

"I was using generic terminology, but," she sniffed in a dignified manner and turned her nose up, not even bothering to hide her red cheeks. "If that's what you choose to assume, so be it. Personally, I like to think of you as my live in admirer."

They both laughed and when they stopped, he was looking at her appreciatively. "You know what I wonder?"

"How you ended up with someone as witty, beautiful, smart, charming, and amazing as me? Did I mention smart and beautiful?"

"Actually, I think it was more so what goes on in that head of yours?"

She shrugged, causing the water around her to ripple. "It's a great mystery of our time. One I don't think they'll ever be able to solve, sadly."

"I don't doubt it. Are you going to be out soon?" He picked up her towel and held it out to her. "Or is your plan to sit there long enough to turn into a prune?"

"Why? Do you have something against prunes?" Audrey sat up and reached her hand out to take it from him. When he was close enough, she skimmed his wrist with wrinkled fingertips.

"Blimey!" he exclaimed, dropping the towel as he recoiled. "That's disgusting." Her laughter followed him out of the room.

"So you do have a weakness!" she called out triumphantly, stepping out of the tub and quickly drying off before slipping into an oversized shirt and pair of sleep shorts. The water drained slowly and she watched the whirlpool form at the drain. "Old people hands and wrinkly fruit."

When she walked into the bedroom, he was sitting up in bed, flipping through channels on the television. Unnoticed, she paused to admire him. His dark hair was short now, the result of being back at work full time, but his blue eyes were their usual sleepy selves. He was wearing basketball shorts and a plain black shirt. I'll never get used to that. Basketball shorts. Who would have thought? The thought made her snicker, drawing his attention. "What's funny?"

"That you hate the elderly." She flopped next to him on the bed, crinkling her nose at the movie, something with a young Clint Eastwood, he was watching. "This movie sucks."

"I don't hate the elderly." He raised an eyebrow. "Do you even know what film this is?"

"The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly?" she guessed. He looked at her with disbelief. "Uh… the Enforcer?"

"That's not even a Western! This is a Fistful of Dollars and it's classic."

Her head slanted to one side, dark hair to falling out of the pile on top of her head. "You know, I seem to recall an agreement… about dinner… in this room?"

He reached over to the side table, picked a laptop up from it, and tossed it in front of her. It landed on the cream colored comforter with a soft thump before he rolled over and out of the bed. "Fine. But you gen up on Clint Eastwood while I'm gone."

She stared at him blankly. "Sometimes I feel like I need a translator to understand you." He gave her a quick kiss and left the room.

As soon as the door was closed she switched the television off. Sorry, Clint. Not today. Her book lay in the middle of the bed, next to the laptop. She reached forward, hesitated, and drew the computer toward her. After it was powered on, she opened the browser and ran her hands over her face. Do you really want to go down this road right now?

"I am a glutton for punishment," she reminded herself and typed in Facebook. Although she was fairly sure that all internet usage was monitored, she didn't care. Barsad had said something about a VPN blocker, but all the fancy technology terminology went straight over her head. As long as she didn't explicitly state their location, she couldn't screw it up. What she was doing required no actual updating on her part anyway.

Taking a deep breath, she clicked on Beth's profile. Pictures and silly status updates immediately popped up on the page and Audrey felt the familiar pangs of sadness. In the time she'd been away from Gotham, she had checked the page countless times, eager for some insight into Beth's well-being. All she had managed to learn was that Beth was no longer with Blake and that, even in the pictures where she was surrounded by people, she no longer had the same carefree smile.

Audrey opened a new tab, wishing she had wine or a stiff drink to help her through this. When her inbox appeared, it was clear except for a 1 in the drafts section. She clicked on it and stared at the email she had been trying to compose.

Beth,

That was all it said. Because this was her Sisyphean task, her boulder to roll up the hill. To say it was a struggle was an understatement. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard before typing out some nonsense apology which she promptly deleted. This went on for several minutes before the door creaked open and Barsad came in carrying two plates, a bottle of wine tucked under his arm. She could smell roasted potatoes and chicken, the garlicky fumes made her stomach growl.

She looked up at him, brown eyes full of unspoken gratitude. "Have I told you that you're a good man, Charlie Brown?"

"Once or twice." He started setting everything up on the table in the middle of the room. "Trying to write Beth again?"

The top of the case clicked as she closed it and joined him. "How can you tell?"

"Your entire body language changes." He sat down and poured a glass of red wine, pushing it toward her. She breathed it in before taking a sip. "How can you, of all people, not know what to write?"

"I read. That doesn't automatically make me a word wizard." She waved her glass gently in the air. "I'm not good at feelings. Or apologies. Name three times I've apologized to you."

He touched a finger to his lips. "I can think of two."

"One of those doesn't count, that was out of desperation."

"Point taken. Though I'm gutted now that I know it was a sham."

Her shoulders came down from around her ears and she smiled. "I have excellent self-preservation skills."

"That is up for debate." He took a drink from his own glass, leaning back and putting an arm around the couch, near her shoulder. "I was thinking-"

"Oh boy."

"Hear me out." He leaned forward and set the glass down. With his fingers laced together between his knees, he looked up at her. "What if you took Tara to the beach with you? Might be nice for you to have a friend."

"So you're setting me up on play dates now?"

He shook his head. "It's not like that. But you haven't talked much about Beth or anything since that first day you got here and, if I'm being blunt, I'm worried about you."

She took a long drink and considered this. Her first reaction was to blow up, anger swelling in her chest, but his eyes were full of concern, real concern, and she couldn't bring herself to be mad.

There was truth in what he was saying anyway. Audrey had thrown herself into her work with a ferocity she had not previously thought possible in order to distract herself from thinking about Gotham. This included volunteering for things that did not specifically pertain to her line of work. Even when Barsad directly asked her about it, she avoided the subject as much as she could. Her letter to Beth was the only exception. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I'll invite Tara out. She's really nice and maybe you're right. Maybe if I talk to her, or whatever, it'll clear my head."

He took her face between his hands and kissed her. The sudden motion sloshed her wine around dangerously close to tipping point, but she relaxed into it anyway. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Can I eat now?"

"Unbelievable."

A small smile touched her lips as she picked up her fork again. "What? This crazy guy I'm working with has me on a very strict training regimen. I'm hungry all the time!"

"He sounds like a right prat."

"He is," she agreed emphatically. "Total wanker."

Barsad, who had been eating, made a strangled sound and coughed. "That accent is rubbish," he said when his throat was clear.

"Your accent is rubbish," she mimicked, tossing a potato at him.

They ate in companionable silence. When they were finished, Audrey turned to lay sideways, putting her feet in Barsad's lap. He started rubbing one foot and she stretched out like a cat in a patch of sunshine. "I ran into your mate, Adam," he said at length. "You never did tell me what you two were chin wagging about earlier."

Peanut butter and jealous, eh? The temptation to tease him about it was strong, but she fought it. She sat up a little bit to look at him. "He's not my mate. I think he feels bad for me. Who can blame him? I feel bad for me. He offered to help me with some training on the side. It's not a big deal."

"Right," he agreed, still massaging her foot with one hand while picking up his wine glass with the other. He drained it. "Just… be on your guard when you're around him."

"I'm still not sure why you don't trust him. Bane clearly does if he's sending him on missions and stuff. Worried that you're going to be replaced as the golden child?"

"Hmph. Not bloody likely." He switched feet. "Might be a bit paranoid, but something about him seems off."

"Is it… because he's friendly? You don't like friendly people." The pressure on her foot lightened and she knew she was veering into dangerous territory, but she could resist the urge to mock him no longer. "Or… because he's American? You don't like yanks either. Or- uhm- goddamnit!" She giggled as long fingers tickled her sole. She squirmed, trying to get away, but his grip was firm. "I surrender!" she cried, moving forward to wrestle his hands away from her. She managed to extract herself and ran for the bed. Barsad gave chase but just missed her as she dove under the covers and tucked them around her legs for safety. She threw one of the throw pillows at him, which he batted away.

"Are you quite done?"

"Are you?"

"Truce?"

Her eyes narrowed and then she patted the spot next to her. "Truce. But if there's any funny business, you're on the couch."

After he was settled in, she scooted closer to him. He wrapped an arm around her and she snuggled into his chest. She wished he didn't have to leave again, but didn't have the courage to say it out loud. Sensing this, he reached out and picked up Macbeth. "Where were we?"

"I read ahead," she confessed. "But I think I remember." A thumb ran along the length of her neck, rubbing behind her ear. It's the little things. "Ah! Found it." She cleared her throat. "'Thunder. Enter the three Witches meeting Hecate. First Witch: Why, how now, Hecate! you look angerly.'"