III
A TURN OF GOOD LUCK

She cried in the grimy bathroom of a fast food restaurant, while Max waited faithfully in their apartment and Sebastian stared at her worriedly from the changing station. It was a hot, raw flush of tears that left her throat dry and her knees wobbly—the kind of bone-deep cry that most little girls indulge in after their first heartbreak. But this was no adolescent tantrum; she was a much-too-young single mother, alone in a big city, with her psychotic ex-husband tracking her down. She had no one to turn to. Her face was wet, blotchy, and snot was running down her face. She wiped her eyes with a stiff, scratchy brown paper towel and leaned against the sinks.

"Mommy?" Bash spoke up, anxious and concerned, his tiny brow furrowing, "Mommy, are you okay?"

Rosie sniffled and tried to smile, but her lower lip kept trembling and she couldn't stop it. "Yeah, baby, Mommy's just trying…"

(trying not to have a psychotic breakdown)

"…Trying to think of what to do next." She kissed Sebastian's hair and wiped her eyes as best she could. "Do you want to live with Auntie Aimee?" She asked this question seriously. If she had been alone, she would have fled the city immediately after her little spat with Aimee. Running to Tucson or Colorado Springs or Spokane seemed like very good, viable options for a twenty year old girl with a dog and a broken-down car.

But not for a single mother.

Bash's hand was creeping closer to his mouth. It looked like he wanted to suck his thumb very badly and Rosie smoothed his hair again, hoping to deter him.

"I dunno," Bash said, kicking his little feet. "I like Auntie Aimee."

"I do too," Rosie replied tremblingly, "I love her very much."

(but oh god she can be queen of the bitches sometimes miss high and mighty like she has everything under control)

"Do you think we should stay with her?" Rosie asked her son. He was nearly four and sometimes frighteningly perceptive—he was a very bright boy. Being a mother was wonderful and frightening at the same time, like being in the eye of a storm. She hadn't planned on Sebastian but she refused to be the single mother who treated their child like a mistake. Sebastian would grow up in a loving home. Or so she had thought.

Bash's hand fluttered towards his mouth but he disguised it as a nose picking. "Umm…" he mumbled, and looked down, still swinging his feet. "Yeah…maybe…"

Rosie hugged her tiny son tightly. "Okay," she whispered against his soft cheek, "Okay, okay, okay. We'll go live with Auntie Aimee."

Ironically, twenty minutes after making this decision, the universe decided to reward her by destroying the car.

It was probably a nail from the fast-food place parking lot, but as soon as she got on the main road, the tire-pressure signal began flashing on her dashboard. The whole car was listing to the left and she heard a gummy, empty flap of loose rubber. It terrified her, and she tried to navigate into the breakdown lane while sweating bullets. She half made it, but was forced to jump out of the car and direct traffic around her rear bumper.

"Shit," she said thickly, looking at the flat tire. "God-fucking-shit, this is not what I need right now!" She slammed the heel of her hand against the hood and tried not to burst into tears again.

She was seventeen when she had Bash and before that had not been suitably equipped with any real life-skills. Randy had certainly not been interested making sure his wife functioned in the real world. Rosie had no idea how to change a tire and didn't have a cell phone to call a tow truck. She didn't even have one of those tow services, like Triple A, which would have helped immensely.

The only option would be to walk the three or so miles back to the gas station and find a payphone. And what to do with Bash? She would have to carry him.

These thoughts all flew through her mind in a matter of moments. Rosie contemplated it for a few seconds and then got to her feet and circled the car, popping the trunk to look for a spare tire. Where even was the spare tire on this car? Under the carriage? In the trunk? She had no idea. Not to mention she wouldn't even know what to do when she found it.

She turned to face traffic and looked at the endless march of headlights for a wild, desperate moment. Could she flag someone down and try to hitch a ride? But there was no booster seat for Bash and this was Gotham, after all, the city with the highest crime rate in the country.

Just as she was thinking this, a Mercedes put in its blinker and pulled over into the breakdown lane. It was a ridiculously expensive looking car and she thought for a brief, irrational moment, that it was some rich person coming to tell her that she couldn't break down here.

An older black gentleman got out of the driver's side and started towards her. He was perhaps in his mid to late sixties, with hair that was beginning to powder white. His suit was impeccably tailored and he was dressed in casual business elegance—nice watch, gold earring in his left ear, and a mild silver tie around his neck. The man was probably wearing more in his suit than she had ever seen in her whole life.

"Got a flat?" he called out over the busy sound of traffic. His voice was rich, deep, and his friendly smile was reassuring.

She made a helpless, strangled gesture. "Yeah," she answered, her voice cracking.

(god you are so hysterical and pathetic you miserable whelp now STOP crying and act like a grown woman goddamnit!)

He crouched down by the tire and tested it with his thumb. "Whew!" he exclaimed, and laughed. "Got quite a tear in there."

"I think it was a nail," she babbled, "from the parking lot. I don't really know, I'm not used to the city." As if flat tires were reserved strictly for strange, looming, unknown cities.

There was something kind about the way he looked at her—sympathetic, but not pitying. "A real country mouse, mm? I'm a city boy, born an' raised, so all this—" he gestured to the rushing traffic, "—doesn't bother me so much."

She tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled weakly at him. "Thank you so much for stopping," Rosie said. "I'm Rose, by the way, Rose—Springfield." The urge to add Lloyd after her first name was a habit she would need to break. She wasn't married anymore, despite still keeping her wedding and engagement rings in the glove compartment.

"I'm Lucius," he said amicably, and began loosening his tie. "You got Triple A, ma'am?"

The fact that he called her ma'am, despite their obvious social class difference, was almost enough to drive her to tears again. She ground her teeth and gave a tired, watery laugh. "No, I'm afraid I don't," Rosie made another helpless gesture with her hands. "This is my first time in Gotham. I'm…"

She took a chance. "I'm alone."

That was her trouble. She was alone. There wasn't any support for her—she was too proud to reach out to a homeless shelter and refused to accept charity; only grudgingly did she turn to her sister and even then, she had stomped off at the first sign of condescension. What was wrong with her?

Lucius surveyed her, honestly and openly, and then said calmly, "Don't worry, we're gonna get you all fixed up. Why don't you bring your son out of the car? He's your son, correct?"

"Yes," Rose said, and unbuckled Bash from the car seat, bouncing him on her hip. "His name's Sebastian."

The man was rolling up his sleeves and removed his tie, tossing it over the roof of the car. Seeing the callouses on his hands and his dark forearms calmed her somewhat—he moved quickly and with great surety, as though he'd done this thousands of times. He located the spare tire in moments and withdrew a perfectly functioning car jack.

"Thank you so much," Rose began, "Really, truly, thank you so much, I don't know how I can thank you."

He flashed her a wide white smile and shook his head. "No thanks necessary. Just pay it forward."

It took him less than ten minutes to change the tire, moving with a speed and dexterity that belied his age. Seeing the wealthy, well-dressed man lying on his back changing a tire was a far more humbling experience than Rose would have guessed. The far-narrower spare tire looked rusty and disused, but it would work for the time being. Now that the more immediate task was out of the way Rose was beginning to add up the cost of a new tire, and not liking the result. The only had four hundred and sixty dollars to their name; she had been planning on getting a job immediately, but she didn't expect something like this to happen.

"All set," he said easily. "There's a garage not far up the road."

"Thank you," she repeated, feeling grateful and useless all at the same time. It occurred to her that half her life she'd been relying on the kindness of strangers, like some old book heroine—and this was a bad thing for someone who didn't accept favors well.

"No problem, ma'am. I'll follow you up to the garage, make sure you get there safe. Gotham's a rough neighborhood, you know."

"I know," she said, feeling a wave of exhaustion crash over her. "I've spent the last thirty six hours finding out how rough it is."

He put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "We give a pretty poor welcome, I s'pose, but it's worth sticking around. Gotham has its charm. Lotta good people."

"Like you," Rose said simply, and tried to hide the hysterical little laugh bubbling up in her chest. "Thank you again, I need to drive up to that garage." She tried to come across as casual and definitely not-desperate when she asked, "How much…how much do you think a new tire would cost?"

"Car like this?" Lucius said, eyeing the old vehicle, "Probably one-twenty, one thirty. Depending on how much the mechanics try to rob you blind." He smiled at that.

She nodded, feeling pale. "Okay…okay, thank you." Even at one twenty, that would put a serious dip in their savings. A chunk like that was unexpected. But they would learn to adapt—she could get by on one or two meals a day. It was making sure that Sebastian was fed properly that would be the trouble.

Lucius got back in his expensive car and she got back into her little old jalopy. It was a five minute drive to the mechanic and when they got there, she fully expected him to toot his horn and keep driving. Instead, he parked his car and got out, following her inside. Rose felt another wave of helplessness and gratefulness tug at her heart; she talked to the mechanic while he made a discreet phone call.

When he came back inside, she was sitting on one of the chairs in the waiting lounge feeling numb. "They said it'll cost about one sixty to replace," she said, trying and failing to sound offhand and neutral. Three hundred dollars. That's all she could think of. Three hundred dollars away from being penniless.

He sat next to her, sliding his jacket over the back of the chair, and fished around in his pockets. "Here," he said, giving a quarter to Bash, "Go ahead and get yourself a sucker from that gumball machine."

"What do you say, Bash?" Rosie reminded him. He looked up at Lucius and mumbled something that sounded like "thamkyoo" before rushing over to the gumball machine.

"You really don't have to sit and wait," she said to Lucius, "I mean, I'm sure you have places to be, you've done so much already."

He laughed quietly, jingling the change in his pockets. "Nope, I'm off the clock for the day. Besides, if my wife was broken down somewhere I hope someone would do this for her."

"Well, you're a very nice man," Rose said firmly, her lips tightening, "one of the few good ones."

"Oh, we're not that few and far between," Lucius said, taking a seat next to her. She wrinkled her nose.

"Experience has taught me otherwise," she replied, trying not to sound so burned out and bitter.

"That experience have anything to do with being alone in a big, new city?" he asked gently.

Rose looked away. "Yes," she said at least, and that one word was enough to put a crack in the dam. It wasn't like crying, but almost like word-vomit: each sentence explaining her situation burned coming out of her throat and she felt vulnerable and pathetic during the whole ordeal. She told him everything, how she had gotten pregnant at seventeen, had married Randy out of pride and a stupid, blind love; how she had stayed with him for three years despite the frequent beatings, the emotional and physical abuse. She half expected him to touch her or pity her in some way and she wouldn't have been able to stand that if he had. But Lucius was quiet and didn't interrupt or make sad, pitying noises so she took that as a good sign. By the end, she was crying a little and glad that Bash was off playing with the tire display so he wouldn't have to see his mother cry twice in one day.

When she was finished, Lucius didn't say anything, but wordlessly pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. She wiped her eyes, and made a funny huh-huh-hah noise that could be interpreted as a breathy, sad laugh.

"So I'm just…here," she said at last, "I don't know if my ex-husband is going to spring from the woodwork and drag us back home, or we're going to die broke and alone in some homeless shelter somewhere."

Lucius was quiet for a very long moment, and she snuck a peek at him. He looked very grave. "When my mother was around your age," he began, looking at his own age-spotted hands, "she was in a similar situation. My daddy was nowhere to be found, you see, and so she was stuck tryin' to make a livin' for me and my sister. She got a job cleanin' folks' houses, workin' six days a week, eighteen hours a day sometimes, tryin' to put food on our table and clothes on our backs. Somethin' about mothers, they just 'bout work themselves to the bone for their children. But I wish there'd been someone around to give her a better job. Somethin' to make life a little easier."

He looked at her frankly and continued. "I'd like to offer you a job workin' at Wayne Enterprises, Miss Springfield."

She stared at him stupidly for a very long moment.

"Wayne…Wayne Enterprises?" Rose said, her voice turning funny and high-pitched. It sounded very far away in her own ears. The Wayne Enterprises, one of the biggest corporations in the world?

"I am the CEO," he said, with a trace of pride, "I think I'm qualified to hire a receptionist here and there. Do you have any experience in clerical work?"

Rose blinked very rapidly. It felt as though her heart had tripled in size and was pressing against the roof of her mouth. "I once scooped ice cream for a summer in high school," she replied thickly.

"You're hired." He said with a smile.

She gave up trying to talk and just flung her arms around him, attacking him in a hug.

That night, after Rose had bought herself and Sebastian a celebratory dinner of spaghetti and meat sauce, Major had a dream. As dogs go he was a remarkably faithful and astute one—cleverness was an inherent trait of German Shepherds and Major was no exception. He had a very vivid dream about being ALONE and a BAD DOG. He had done something wrong. He had let his master go somewhere she wasn't supposed to go. This place was not safe and someone was going to come and hurt them.

He woke up, terrified and whimpering, and immediately trotted into the other room to check on the little master. He was asleep, but it was not a good sleep either—Sebastian was having a nightmare, too.

While Major went back to the bedroom and comforted himself by sneaking onto the bed next to his master, Sebastian fought with his nightmare. The clown was back, standing at the foot of his bed with a black, dripping knife. His smile stretched all the way around his head and it should have toppled off, but it was stitched together oozily. Something rank and fetid, like the presence of a corpse, washed over Sebastian and the little boy cried out in his sleep.

Come here, the clown whispered shiveringly, and his voice sounded everything and yet nothing like Daddy's. Look what I have for you.

He held out his mommy's head like he was presenting a new toy. Mommy's pretty dark hair was matted with blood and her eyes were rolled way back up in her skull. Sebastian tried to roll backwards, crawl away from this horrible present but like in most nightmares, he couldn't move. He couldn't scream, either, and was frozen in terror as the clown approached and stood over him, grinning down.

Let's play, the clown breathed, let's play let's play let's play let's play…

So we have our first canon character! :D I do want her in the middle of the action but I thought this was way more realistic than, "Bruce Wayne sees a beautiful woman while driving in his convertible and offers her a job as his personal assistant on the spot". Not slamming any other stories that DO use that, it just feels…like, really unrealistic. xD Plus I feel like nobody uses Lucius Fox as a character in fanfiction, when he's actually quite interesting.

Don't worry ducklings, the Joker will show up within the next couple of chapters! Maybe even Bruce, who knows. :3 xoxo, Sassy Bigfoot