Ok here's chapter two. Enjoy! And thank you Falln4DarkAngel, Aayla Fisto, and bndeever, for reviewing!

I cut across the street and followed a different path home, avoiding the alleyway in case one of the attackers was back on his feet by now. It was past midnight, and I figured I'd head home. The rest of my walk was eventless, although I did have to take a short detour to avoid some gang members I saw loitering around SE 3rd and Kennedy.

Reaching my apartment building, I turned the corner and headed down the adjacent alley until I got to the old, rusting fire escape. I peered in the dark for the handlebar, and pulled down the ladder silently – I always kept these hinges well-greased. I grasped the sides of the ladder and lifted my foot to start climbing, only to jolt backward and muffle a small scream. Ewww, I thought silently as I heard the scratching of a rat scuffling down the ladder bars. I hastily wiped the hand that it had run across on my jeans – the rat probably wasn't any dirtier than I was, but still. Some sense of decency must be preserved.

The ladder now rat-free (I checked), I proceeded to ascend to the third story of the building, grimacing at a small scraping sound from my shoe that seemed to echo loudly against the walls of the two brick buildings surrounding me. Quieter, stupid, I chastised myself mentally.

But without another incident I made it to my destination, a dirty window on the third floor that was smaller than the rest around it. It was our apartment's bathroom window, and the only one I could easily access from the fire escape, making it basically my very own front door. I slipped into the building as easily and silently as I had slid open the window pane.

Pausing just inside the bathroom door, I listened for the sound of movement in the hall. None came, not that I was expecting any. I slowly pulled the door open and peeked into the hall before flitting from there into my bedroom next door. My door safely shut and locked, I was free to collapse onto my bed and think about my adventure that day.

Far more interesting to me than my fight with the muggers was the fact that I had met Bruce Wayne, the most famous (and probably only) billionaire in Gotham. I tried to remember what he looked like: short, jet-black hair; square jaw; a tall, erect, and surprisingly well-built body. He must work out, I thought to myself, and nearly giggled. Here I was, joining the thousands of other girls and women who daydreamed about Gotham's most eligible bachelor. Who'd have thunk it?

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"Shut. Up." she said, staring at me wide-eyed. I smirked.

"Yep," I replied.

"What was he like?" she asked breathlessly.

"Hot." I said, my smirk turning into a full grin. "But kind of weird…" My smile faded as I gazed past my best friend Sarah and thought about Mr. Wayne's strange actions last night. We were sitting in the back of history class, talking in low tones and completely ignoring Mr. Weathill's lesson on the Seven-Years War.

"Weird how?" Sarah persisted.

"I don't know," I answered. Third period is the first time I get to see my best friend Sarah, and today I had wasted no time in telling her the story of my adventure last night. "Besides the fact that he chased me across rooftops and pinned me against a wall?"

"Yeah…" Sarah nodded in agreement, frowning. "I guess he's just really…athletic?"

"Girls…" Mr. Weathill called in a stern tone. We turned toward the front of the class, and I hurriedly copied down what he had written before turning back to Sarah. While I was writing I noticed Jimmy Carsten passing a blank, sealed envelope across the aisle to a boy I didn't know. Subtle, I thought sarcastically. I glanced up and accidentally met the eyes of Dick, the boy with the pretty eyes and unfortunate name. He had noticed the drug deal as well and seemed to have had the same amused reaction I did. I gave him an "I know, right?" smile and eyebrow-raise and turned back to Sarah.

"So how's Aaron?" I asked, feeling like I had talked dominated the conversation so far.

"Oh, he's alright," she sighed, looking a little glum. "His grandmother still has him grounded 'cause of that bust a while ago."

"Damn," I said in sympathy. "That sucks. What is it, going on two weeks now? Talk about strict."

She shrugged resignedly and started to focus on the lecture Weathill was still giving. I knew she was failing this class, so I thought I'd better leave her alone to try and catch up. Still tuning out the lecture, I began to pursue my usual classtime activity – spacing out and watching my fellow students.

I always thought that watching other people was interesting, and I was pretty good at reading other people, if I do say so myself. Today, however, the class wasn't interesting: Mili was still madly crushing on Todd, and he still had no clue; Jake was still sitting in a stoned stupor two desks away from me in the back row; Max was still carving intricate designs into any space on his desk that wasn't already heavily graffitied.

I turned to look at Dick again, studying the back of his head. His hair was dark and short, cut just like Bruce Wayne's. Of course this train of thought led to more reflection on last night's incident, and I still had no conclusions as to the reason why anything had happened as it did, when I noticed Dick looking at me. With a start I realized I was still staring at him, and I quickly looked down at my paper, hiding my face. I could feel the tiniest little blush starting to grace my cheeks.

I resorted to doodling until class ended, and Sarah and I decided to skip the rest of the day, what with history having fatigued us and all. We spent a few hours wandering around Robinson Park, which was the cleanest part of the city but was only really safe during the middle of the day. Sarah split soon afterwards, going to meet her boyfriend at his grandmother's house in Lower East Side.

I stopped at the library for a book, choosing Pasternak's "Doctor Zhivago." Due to a confusing and unfortunate incident a few years back – in which I was almost entirely blameless – I now had to steal books from the library if I wanted to take them out. It did feel kind of wrong, but I didn't let it bother me – I always brought them back anyway, and isn't that what a library is for?

I headed towards Wayne Tower, downtown. They had a nice coffeeshop in the lobby that was much cleaner and nicer than any other in the area. I often went there to read, and so far no one had bothered me even though I didn't buy anything and didn't really fit in with the more nicely-dressed crowd.

Choosing a stuffed chair in the corner that offered a clear view of the rest of the room, I began to read. Hours went by quickly, and soon enough I was on page 212 and the shop's customers had almost all left, on their way to join the rush-hour traffic out of Gotham. The shop, however, didn't close for another few hours, and I continued reading, un-bothered.

That is, until a man sat down in the easychair next to mine. I glanced over at him from the corner of my eye; then my head snapped up and I stared at him wide-eyed.

"Good evening," he greeted in low, clean tones.

I stared.

"Are your injuries still troubling you?"

I was sure he had never come in here before, sure of it. I mean, I had never exactly known what he looked like before last night, but I would never have forgotten that face, which seemed even more handsome now in a well-lit setting. Plus, I would never expect the owner of a billion-dollar company to come mingle with his workers in the lobby coffeeshop.

"Um......no," I faltered. I tried to think of something more to say, and came up with nothing.

"That's good." He smiled. "You know, I never thanked you properly for your help last night."

I didn't respond to his statement – I wasn't sure how – but I did brighten up. Now this is more like it, I thought exultingly. Show me the --

"How about some dinner?"

mo — what?

"What?" Ohmygod. Was this a come-on? An ask-out? No way. He's, like, twenty years older than me......and way too cool to ask me out.

"How about I treat you to some dinner tonight, to show you my thanks?"

I thought about it. It sure as hell wasn't as good as a check – but hey, dinner with Bruce Wayne. It be worse. I repressed a grin at the thought of telling Sarah about this tomorrow.

"I'd love to."

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I groaned mentally. Why did I do this??

I was sitting in a chair that was way too comfortable for eating in, at a tiny circular table opposite Bruce Wayne. We were sitting at a floor-to-ceiling window high up in Wayne Tower, in the company restaurant. I had never been this high up in my life – there were other buildings this tall in Gotham, but none had working elevators, and the view wasn't exactly worth climbing 72 flights of stairs.

Or maybe it is, I thought as I gazed out on the Gotham skyline. I hadn't even realized how many working lights there actually were in the city, and far, far above the streets you could appreciate the beauty of the city. I had often thought of leaving Gotham when I got older, but I knew that deeper than my dislike of its dirty and dangerous streets, I would always have a love for it.

I pulled myself out of my overly-sentimental musings and looked back at my dinner partner. He was gazing out at Gotham as well, and if I could read minds I'm sure I would have heard him thinking the exact same thing.

At that moment, the waitress (it hardly seemed right to call her that; rather than an apron-clad, gum-popping teen, she was one of the most elegant women I had ever seen) arrived with our food.

"Thank you," I said politely as I gave her a small smile. She smiled graciously back at me, but I thought I could see a trace of confusion at the sight of a poorly-dressed teenager dining in her restaurant.

I was in fact in my every-day dress: worn, comfortable, fourth-hand clothing that I had never given a thought to until the moment I entered this restaurant. In general I never cared much what strangers thought of me, but sitting in a room with all these fashionable people was enough to make even me feel ashamed. And more than that, people kept looking over at the strange pair Mr. Wayne and I made. I was glad the food had arrived; it broke the increasingly awkward silence that had hovered around the two of us ever since we sat down.

"Thank you," he echoed as she left the table.

I looked down at my plate and was surprised to see a delicious-looking – but tiny – selection of meat. I had accepted Mr. Wayne's offer to order for the both of us, as I had no clue what any item on the menu was.

As I picked up my knife and fork (deciding not to even bother trying to figure out which ones I was supposed to use), I tried to suppress the growl I could feel in my stomach.

"Hungry?" Mr. Wayne asked, amicably enough.

"Oh. Uh, yeah. I guess. I, um, didn't have lunch today."

He actually looked mildly concerned.

"Why was that?" he asked.

"Oh. Er…" dammit, Sam, where's your eloquence now? "Well. I, uh. Wasn't hungry."

"Well, you certainly must be hungry if you haven't eaten since breakfast," he continued.

I looked down at my plate, avoiding showing him my face. What did it matter to him if I never ate breakfast or lunch? Each one costs money, and those things add up.

I didn't respond and instead took a bite of the meat, which I quickly realized was chicken. Very, very good chicken. I took another bite, and almost stopped mid-chew.

Ohmygod. Best. Chicken. EVER!! I thought. Hunger swept up out of nowhere, and I ate my tiny portion at a rate so fast it crossed the border into impolite. I even ate the lettuce that I'm sure was just a garnish, but the food was so good I didn't care.

When I finished I looked up at Mr. Wayne who was watching me bemusedly.

"You really must be hungry," he commented with a smile.

I managed a little smile and blushed, embarrassed by my behavior and by the truth of his statement.

"Would you like another?"

I was about to refuse, but stopped. Well, I thought. This is probably the best food you're ever going to eat in your whole life. Plus, he can afford it.

"Actually," I said with a sheepish smile, "that'd be great, thank you. You know…skipped lunch and all."

"Of course," he nodded. He ordered a second dish for me from the waitress, and we were once again left to ourselves. The awkward silence descended once more.

"So…" I said, feeling like I should make conversation. "How's … business?"

He chuckled at my attempt at conversation.

"It's well enough. How is school?"

"Mm." I nodded noncommittally. "Good, good."

"I really must tell you how indebted I am to you for your rescue last night," he said again.

"Oh yeah, sure, sure." I had given up hope of a pecuniary thank-you by this point.

"Where did you learn to fight? And throw?"

"Oh. Well…" I thought about it. "I didn't really learn, I guess. I've, uh, been in some fights," I admitted embarrassedly, "and … yeah. I really don't know." I looked back at my plate. The silence returned.

Why did I agree to this?? Why?? I was still thinking twenty minutes later as Mr. Wayne and I stood in the elevator, awkward silence intact, on our way down.

"Well, shall I give you a ride home?" he said cheerfully.

I thought quickly. He was bound to have a ridiculously cool car, and getting a ride in it would only be add to the awesome experience I would tell Sarah about later. On the other hand, he would drop me off in the Upper East Side, and it would be a hell of a long walk home. I did have a friend that lived just south of City Hall District, that was close enough – I could spend the night at his place.

"Sure, thanks," I said. I could not wait til third period tomorrow.

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