It was another pale gray morning in Gotham City. The sun had yet to show its face, though night had long since departed. Legrand's taxi stopped at the foot of an apartment building that looked abandoned at first glance. He smoothed his camel hair jacket upon exiting the cab.

"Don't wait around," he said to the driver, handing him a bundle of money. "And keep the change."

Legrand found himself in a generous mood despite the abysmal weather. He looked at the crumbling city block and clicked his tongue. It wouldn't be long before he joined the ranks of social elites like Bruce Wayne. But first, the people on this side of town had to know his name.

Legrand made his way up a sagging staircase to the fifth floor. He followed a long, narrow hallway to a door labelled "502." Three times he rapped, squaring his jaw as he waited. No answer. Three more times he rapped, a little less politely. Finally, the knob turned.

Slowly, cautiously, someone opened the door. A man's face appeared. His hair was dusty blonde and flecked with age. Permanent lines of fret ran across his forehead. He glared at Legrand with hardened, silver-blue eyes.

"Who are you? What do you want?" he growled.

Legrand flashed him a disingenuous smile. "I heard you've fallen on tough times, Arthur. I'm here to offer you a deal."

"Get outta here-" he tried to slam the door, but Legrand shoved his foot in the way.

"I really think you should hear me out. If you ever want Cobblepot to take you seriously again."

The man's face tightened. He glanced about furtively. "Alright. But don't go farther than the kitchen." He opened the door a little wider and beckoned his visitor in. Legrand entered and took a seat at a table that looked older than dirt.

Arthur watched him guardedly, hovering near a drawer that Legrand suspected contained his gun.

"Out with it," he demanded. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm looking to relocate to Gotham," Legrand said, leaning back in the chair and then thinking twice about it as a creak rent up from its base. "So I've been busy scouring the local job market. I had a little chat with your boss-or should I say, your former boss."

His host's face ruddied with indignation. "I can't stand that miserable-"

"Yeah, I feel the same way," Legrand commiserated, cutting him short. "He wouldn't give me a fair shake."

"So, what then? What do you want with me?"

"I thought you might want the same thing I do. A chance to prove yourself." He steepled his fingers together as if he were closing a deal on Wall Street.

"I don't need to prove myself to that old bird," Arthur snapped.

"What about money? Looks like you could use some of that."

His eyes flickered with intrigue for the first time. "What kind of money?"

"Enough to get you out of this hole."

Arthur shook his head, fighting against the appeal. "Rewards don't come without risks. And since you're new to Gotham, let me fill you in on a little problem of ours. You ever notice that signal in the sky after dark? The one that's shaped like a bat?"

"Yes, I've heard of Batman. I also heard about your partner and his unfortunate run in with-what's he called-Nightwing? Cobblepot seemed to think it was your fault."

Arthur's face drew taut. "You think I wanted that to happen to Jeffords? He's been eating through a straw ever since. No, I'm no rat," he declared. "I don't know how the police knew we were going to be there that night."

"What about the other times?"

"Listen, strange things happen in this town. You'll see. Sometimes I feel like even the shadows work for Batman."

Legrand shrugged dismissively.

"Anyways," Arthur continued. "If you believe him, why are you here?"

"Because I don't believe him. It doesn't look to me like you've had a payout from the cops. And your criminal record still stands. I think he was just threatened by you."

Arthur snorted.

"No, really. I heard stories about some of your past exploits. You know security systems in and out. Cobblepot was a fool for letting you go."

Arthur folded his arms. "Your flattery is a tactic. It won't work on me."

"Then what will? I need someone with your skills. And you need the money. What's holding you back?"

But Arthur clenched his jaw, withholding the answer.

Legrand stood and dusted off his suit. "Look, Arthur. I'm planning on shaking this city up a bit. If you want to be ahead of the game, if you want to show Cobblepot who's who, give me a call." He set a slip of paper down on the table and started towards the door.

"Where?" Arthur called after him. "What kind of place are you planning on hitting up?" Legrand paused with his hand on the doorknob. There was a moment of silence.

"The Museum of Antiquities," he finally said.

"You're kidding me, right? That's just a bunch of old stuff barely worth ten bucks for an admission ticket."

"It's not valuable yet." Legrand turned to the dishevelled man still standing in the kitchen. There was a something in his eyes that made Arthur feel uneasy. "Don't forget about that phone call."

The door shuddered as it closed behind him. Arthur sank into a chair and rubbed his temples wearily. What a morning.

After a few minutes, the fridge latched closed behind him. He leapt up, startled. A purple, glossy cake was being carried his way. The small figure beneath it looked even smaller in comparison to the frosted mess. She plopped the cake onto the table with a grunt of effort.

"Morning, Stephanie," Arthur said, sitting back down again. She ignored him, withdrawing a box of candles from her pocket. One by one, she stabbed them into the cake.

"That's too many candles," her father joked. "You're not fourteen yet." He forced a laugh.

Stephanie's eyes darted up at him. "Must be hard to count birthdays when you've missed so many."

He winced. "I'm sorry, honey. Really I am. I was out looking for work again. And when did you learn to bake?"

"I didn't," she retorted. "Ms. Garcia made it. From down the hall. At least she remembered."

Stephanie went to a drawer and retrieved a box of matches. "After I finish lighting the candles you're going to sing to me, okay?" It was more of an order than a request. "Just like when mom was here."

Arthur sang for his daughter, despite the grief that burdened his heart to hear himself singing alone. As he finished, Stephanie closed her eyes and moved her honey blonde hair aside so that she could blow out the flames.

Her father smiled. She looked so much like her mother; the similarity was striking. Birthdays had been a lot more fun when she was alive.

"Hey," he said, cuffing her chin gently. "You know I love you, right?"

She looked back at him, the anger fading from her eyes. "I guess so," she mumbled.

It was then Arthur remembered the slip of paper sitting beside the cake. He set his hand over top of it, hoping his daughter didn't notice. Only a few more birthdays stood between Stephanie and adulthood. He couldn't afford to miss any more. He would have to find a way to make them count.

"Look, things are going to get better, okay? I promise. And-hey do I get a piece of that too?"

She giggled with a mouthful of cake. "Alright, alright, but only one! Don't want it to spoil your appetite!"

Author's Note: Sorry for all the dialogue lately, I promise an action chapter next! Ninjachick, you are so awesome for following along, I hope you like this story just as much as my other one (although I still miss Shadow a lot haha), I imagine there is a pronounced age difference between Pamela Isley and Marc Legrand. I'm borrowing loosely from her origin story in the Earth One comics, which doesn't say how many years apart they are but in my mind she's mid-20s, and he's like 40s.