Chapter Four

Bruce leaned back in his seat aboard his private jet and glanced through the details of the Queen Consolidated proposal with a disinterested eye. Even though he had turned over the majority of the day-to-day operations to Lucius Fox he still kept abreast of everything that went on at Wayne Enterprises. He was a self-admitted control freak and that need for that level of control extended not only to his job as Batman. Still, the only thing he had on his mind was Oliver Queen and his mission and just how involved Felicity was in it.

And was she just involved in his mission or was it something else? Something more?

He looked at the picture of Oliver Queen on the tablet before him: tall, dark blond hair, rakish good looks, well-bred, well spoken, a ladies man (pre-island at least). Older than Felicity but still younger than he was by several years, he could see how she might find him attractive. She wouldn't have touched the Oliver Queen before he was lost at sea with a ten foot pole, but the Arrow…

Felicity was good at fixing broken things and, in Bruce's experience, it took a broken man to do what he and this Arrow did every night while guarding their individual city's streets.

He wasn't a pretty boy either. Used to be, not anymore. The island had aged him, scarred him, took away some of the fat he had developed as a privileged member of the 1%. Those muscles weren't from half-assing it in some trendy gym, no. Bruce could recognize the shape and stance of a fellow warrior from a mile away. No matter how many alibis this Queen came up with there was no doubt in his mind that Oliver Queen was the Arrow.

Alfred had, as always, been meticulous in building his dossier on Queen, especially in regards to his personal life. He was both a partier and a player before the island and it appeared that he wasn't overly careful with his women back then either. According what Barbara managed to uncover by hacking into his medical records and his attorney's computer, he had apparently fathered a child when he was eighteen. His name wasn't on the birth certificate but there was a confidentiality agreement on file along with other legal documentation signed by the boy's mother where she absolved Queen of any and all financial responsibility for the child in exchange for a lump sum child support payment of two million dollars. Last year he amended the agreement and set up a trust as well as made provisions in his will including a life insurance policy, but he'd made no effort to get visitation rights or to officially establish paternity through a DNA test. In fact, he'd signed his parental rights away right before making those same provisions and shortly afterwards Sandra Hawke and her son completely dropped off the map.

Barbara searched but, near as she could figure, they'd been taken into Federal Witness Protection following the boy's abduction by Malcolm Merlyn and subsequent rescue. WITSEC wasn't handling it though; it had all the earmarks of an ARGUS operation. The records weren't just wiped; it was like they had never existed to begin with. ARGUS being involved at all with it was a big red flag as far as he was concerned.

Another thing that bothered him about that whole situation was that after Merlyn was taken out, Queen allowed them to remain in hiding. While he never thought of himself as a particularly good father, Bruce did believe in taking his responsibilities seriously. While Queen appeared to be taking financial responsibility the fact that he would sign away his parental rights and cut off all contact to his own child so completely bothered him. Plus, he knew Felicity well enough to know that she would never be with a man who could abandon his child; the fact that she knew this about Queen and still stayed was disturbing on many levels.

It appeared that, while the younger version of Queen was reckless, the newer version was much more cautious. He'd settled down considerably since taking the on the mantle of CEO and when it came to relationships, Queen had a type: tall, beautiful, ambitious, articulate, a bit cool, a bit damaged, and intelligent. From what Bruce could tell, he wanted to find a woman who could play a brunette version of Moira Queen; in other words, someone who was the complete opposite of Felicity. Oh, she was beautiful and intelligent, but with her hair the color of winter sunshine, warm nature, and sweet stumbling speech, she was definitely not his type either before or after the island. She didn't fit his pattern and, despite being the adopted daughter of Lucius Fox, she had not been raised in the spotlight of high society. Lucius was an intensely private man, a thing Bruce very much respected about his friend, and had kept her as sheltered and safe as he could. Felicity was many things but she was not the type of woman who would easily tolerate the life and constraints of a society matriarch.

Bruce had met Moira Queen once. She was warm and welcoming in as much as a woman born into the world of the extremely wealthy could ever be. Oh, she loved her children, worked tirelessly for charities, and was an excellent hostess, but her eyes always seemed to lack that spark of human kindness, her laugh just a little too measured and cool, and never a hair out of place. She was the type of mother who enjoyed spending time with her children after the nannies had cleaned them up and who had no idea what their favorite foods were or who their friends were because she had a staff to deal with that sort of thing. She spoiled her children, yes; but she did not raise them. Moira Queen was the epitome of the cultured elite, or had been before her death in two years previously.

She and her daughter had been targeted by a mercenary named Slade Wilson who was hired by the man running against her for mayor. After allegedly murdering Moira Queen and his supposed employer, Sebastian Blood, he completely disappeared.

As intriguing as the circumstances surrounding her death were, it was also irrelevant to the matter at hand. Moira was dead and either Slade or the Arrow killed Sebastian Blood, aka Brother Blood, and defeated his supposed 'Blood Army' shortly afterwards. This Slade Wilson was presumed dead or on the run after the Arrow and his team consisting of known members of the League of Assassins and Amanda Waller's Suicide Squad dropped a city block on top of their heads then trapped the rest in a tunnel and shot them full of tranquilizers before hauling them off to ARGUS's own Super Max.

Bruce looked at the date in the file. He, Tim, and Dick had been dealing with the aftermath of Damian's death around that time and none of them found out about the attack on Starling until it was over. It wasn't until they were heading home on the jet from confronting Ra's and Talia that Tim got the messages sent to him by a frantic Tam. The grid was down; landlines, cellular networks, even the internet was blacked out. No one could get any word on what was happening in Starling City. Initial reports said it was another massive earthquake but, unlike the one that was caused by the Markov device, this one was affecting the city as a whole and not just the Glades. He'd been a wreck but the minute he heard Tim's frantic call to Tam and Dick instructing the flight attendant to have the pilot head straight for Starling he'd snapped out of it. They were halfway there when Tam was able to confirm that Felicity was safely out of the city and at a tech conference in Las Vegas the entire week.

Now…he sighed, now he didn't know what to think. He'd been so ragged after that…

He'd had a bit of a breakdown for a while and took off for several months to get his head together. Knowing what he now knew, he was fairly certain she'd been lying about being at a tech conference. Now he wonders if, not only did he fail Felicity by not continuing on to Starling that day, but if she hated him so much that she was willing to die rather than reach out for his help.

He pushed that out of his mind and concentrated on the dossier in front of him. While the Detective in him found the circumstances of Moira Queen's murder interesting, what he was now concerned with was her son. Specifically the choices he made when it came to the women in his life: Laurel Lance, Helena Bertinelli, and, if rumors were true, Isabel Rochev.

Laurel Lance was a former girlfriend with whom he still maintained a somewhat amicable relationship. As a former-ADA with a father on the force, Quentin Lance, it made sense that he'd keep it friendly; that was a nice contact to have in your back pocket if you spent part of your life as a murdering vigilante. She left the Starling City DA's office a few months ago to enter a treatment facility for bipolar depression and substance abuse and was now in Central City living with her mother and doing volunteer work with Legal Aid.

Helena Bertinelli was the daughter of a crime boss and just as flexible a sense of morality. She currently billed herself as a vigilante but Bruce knew what she was the moment he set eyes on her; a killer. She had been swallowed by the dark and, sooner or later, she would have to be dealt with. If she hadn't dropped Felicity's name on the roof he would have tossed her in Arkham until she forgot what the sun even looked like. Felicity was his priority at the moment but, as soon as he had her back home where she belonged, taking down the Huntress was on the top of his to-do list.

As for Isabel Rochev—well; she was a piece of work. Even Alfred couldn't find much but what he did find was more than enough to earn her a spot on the Batman's watch list.

Just as he was fairly certain that a man like Queen had no real emotional attachment to Felicity he knew she probably had plenty of feelings for him. It was in her nature to care about someone so obviously wounded. Either way he saw his proximity to her as a disaster in the making. Any way you cut it, this man was going to get her hurt. At worst he was a bored rich boy with mental issues and a history of poor judgment, at best he was a well-intentioned amateur that was destined to either get caught or killed and he was going to take everyone in his orbit down with him. No, Queen was not going to be using Felicity any more, not if he had anything to say about it.

Alfred had also included a file on her showing that in the four years since she'd left Gotham, she went from her position as a senior IT manager at QC to Oliver Queen's EA overnight and when she wasn't at his corporate headquarters she was at some nightclub he owned in the slums called Verdant where she was on the books as his IT Consultant.

Bruce snorted to himself. "Subtle."

Hell, maybe he'd open his own club in the East End called, 'The Dark Night'.

He closed the file and settled back into the plush leather cushions of his seat. 'Why in the hell would she get caught up in something like this?' He thought to himself. 'Why would she deliberately align herself with some killer posing as a hero?'

He thought back to what Barbara had told him, how she had warned him that his presence in this matter would not be appreciated. She was right, he knew that. Felicity would not be welcoming him with open arms, and he didn't blame her. Not after what had happened between them. Still, she was his responsibility whether she acknowledged it or not. He's the one who drew her into this world, who exposed her to the mission. She should have never been touched by the darkness that consumed him. It was his fault she was in danger, his fault that she was now at risk, and even if this was a life she had chosen for herself, if he hadn't hurt her the way he had, she never would have fled to Starling City to begin with.

He allowed his mind to go back four years previously when everything had changed for them.

Alfred was in England visiting his sister who was having surgery and Dick had already been spending more and more time in Bludhaven, slowly cutting his ties with the team. Tim had taken his spot as Red Robin but Damian coming into the picture had strained their relationship. He had taken an away assignment to get some space and Bruce had let him go. The arrival of a biological child he'd never known about was bad enough but the fact that his son was basically a child version of the Joker had left him feeling hollow inside. His entire team was in chaos and rather than deal with it, it was just easier to let them go their own way.

Damian and Felicity had only met one time and what had happened afterwards had chilled him to the bone. It was the only time he'd ever truly lost his temper with the boy.

Felicity had come over to work on the Watchtower system and was under the console chattering merrily away when he walked in. He watched from the shadows as she and Damian interacted. The boy was perched birdlike on the desk, his eyes following her every move as she talked to him about what she was doing, programming and AI theory; about everything and anything under the sun. From a distance it was a pleasant little scene but something about the way he was watching her chilled him. He listened as Damian, in an almost sweet voice, asked Felicity if she would like some cocoa. Damian never did anything that he considered 'servant's work' so it instantly put him on alert. Just as Felicity was about to reach for the cup, he stepped out of the shadows and called her over.

He led her away and asked a few pointless questions about how the systems were coming along, he couldn't even remember half the conversation now. When he was done he told her to go home and watched as she headed up to the manor before turning to the boy.

The boy was almost pouting; a look of dissatisfaction had pulled his lips down in a frown. Bruce picked up the cup he had offered Felicity and sniffed it then handed it to his son.

"Drink," he told him.

"It's cold now," Damian said flatly.

"Drink," Bruce commanded.

"I don't want it," he told him.

"What did you put in the cup, Damian?"

Damian looked at the cup then back up to Bruce, "Nothing."

Bruce gripped the cup in his fist and flung it at the wall. The child said nothing, just continued to stare at him with those dark cruel eyes so like his mother's.

"Stay away from Felicity," he told him in a growl. "You will not hurt her, do you understand?"

"Why does she matter?" Damian said dismissively then sneered. "Really Father, I was trying to do you a favor. You indulge these cattle you surround yourself with too much. She's only a servant and she prattles too much. There she was, kneeling at my feet, thinking she could teach me—me! Frankly, she was acting far too above her station. Death by poison was really too good for-!"

Bruce gripped the front of his son's shirt and snatched him up from his perch until he was looking him dead in the eye. "If anything happens to any of my people, if I find out you've tried to hurt anyone else on this team including Felicity and Alfred, there will be consequences."

"You won't kill me," Damian said with a smirk despite the look of rage on his father's face. "I'm your son."

"Maybe not," Bruce conceded, "but when I'm done you'll wish I had."

"Meaning?" He asked off-handedly but something in his eyes told Bruce that Damian was beginning to wonder if he hadn't gone just a little too far this time.

He tightened his grip on his collar and shook him slightly, watching in grim satisfaction as the boy's eyes grew wide and clenched his teeth together as he spoke in an almost feral snarl, "Meaning that if I feel you are completely beyond redemption I will see to it you spend the rest of your life heavily medicated and in a straightjacket, do I make myself clear?"

The smile was instantly wiped off his face and Damian responded sullenly, "Yes, Father."

The next day Damian disappeared. He hadn't even looked for him figuring he'd eventually turn up again but secretly praying he wouldn't. When Damian returned after Felicity left…Bruce closed his eyes and tried to suppress the painful memories of his son again.

Meanwhile, Dick's pulling away from the team had also affected his relationship with Barbara so they had gone out of town on a romantic getaway to try to figure things out. After much cajoling, Barbara had convinced him that Felicity could be trusted to run Watchtower from the cave alone. He hadn't liked it, not one bit, especially not knowing when or if Damian would return, but his team had insisted.

The chaos that had entered his sanctuary had put him into overdrive and he'd been hitting the streets hard. They knew he'd go out alone if no one was there to monitor coms and, without someone monitoring the chatter, he'd be out there blind without any sort of back up. So, even though he vehemently expressed his discomfort at the plan, he went along with it.

Already an emotional basket case, living in such close proximity to Felicity had been a living hell for him. The littlest thing she did would send his thoughts in a tailspin. He tried hiding his reactions through gruff monosyllable speech and grim silence, but she had seen right through it. She spent the entire week living in the manor with him, cooking simple meals in the kitchen for them both, and running his coms by night. As the days and nights drew on he became more and more distracted by her: Felicity curled up in his study while he worked, not saying a word, just reading a book and bundled up in a fluffy afghan. Felicity laughing at him as he tried to figure out how to cook one of the meals Alfred had prepared and frozen for them before he'd left. Felicity's sweet, soft chatter as she spoke to him through his ear piece as he leapt from one rooftop to another…

He closed his eyes for a moment as he allowed the pain to wash through him. He lost so much the day she left, the day he pushed her out of his life. Her name literally meant 'joy' and, for just a brief moment of time, that emotion had begun to creep into his cold, cold heart and it was all her doing.

For years he'd just thought of her as 'Baby', the little girl who would color him pictures and who Lucius would brag about in board meetings whenever someone asked how she was doing in school, and then one day that started to change. She grew up when he wasn't expecting it. It threw him off, made him uncomfortable, so much so he'd almost managed to convince himself that the oddly protective and territorial feelings he's started to develop towards her didn't arise from a physical attraction but because of his friendship with Lucius.

He'd stepped in to help before, after all, although never with the other man's knowledge. Lucius had told him of the incident that led to Luke nearly tearing the arm off a frat boy who had been practically stalking Felicity her freshman year at MIT. The boy, Sebastian Hady III (grandson of Sebastian Hady, one of the most corrupt mayors in Gotham history who had been on his list for a while) had been arrested for harassment and stalking, somehow managed to have the charges dropped due to his family's shady connections and decided to get payback by suing them for damages he'd suffered due to his injuries. After hearing what this young man had intended to do to Felicity, the Bat had paid the rich young punk a visit to convince him that it would be in his best interest to drop the matter and to stay off his radar from now on. Despite the intimidating appearance of Gotham's vigilante in his path, money and a lifetime of privilege had convinced the little bastard that he was invincible and he arrogantly remarked that he was just trying to do the 'little slut' a favor so he cured him of his misconceptions by breaking his other arm in two places. At the time he'd told himself he was just looking out for the daughter of one of the few men he trusted but, deep inside, he knew that wasn't it. Not really. If that had that been the case he wouldn't have brought her in to begin with…not that he'd meant to.

Barbara had been struggling for a way to improve the Watchtower Protocol for a while when Felicity published her article in Scientific American which was based on her doctoral thesis. The minute she read it she called him, sent him a copy, and asked him to look it over. Felicity, who had worked in the MIT Computer Science and AI Lab had come up with a theoretical AI program based on mobile applications and decryption technology she called LAIR, which would later be the basis of the new Watchtower program she and Barbara would go on to develop. It was, quite frankly, an evolutionary leap in the field of computer programming. Reading it convinced him to approach Fox on seeing if his daughter might be available to consult on some theoretical research he was working on as a, quote, 'special project'; a code phrase they had developed by unspoken agreement for anything related to the Batman's mission. None of them realized just how perceptive young Felicity Fox would prove to be until she fixed him with a steely eye and asked him outright that if she were to agree to build his supercomputer could she get a ride in the Batman's tumbler?

He should have walked away from her then but she'd had that spark, that fire in her eyes that he'd seen in all of his young charges when he first encountered them. It wasn't the same burning rage that drove him, or the overwhelming urge to prove themselves that Dick and Tim had. It wasn't even the sense of justice that fueled Barbara to first take up the mantle of Batgirl only to lose the use of her legs and continue the fight as Oracle from behind a computer screen. No, with Felicity Smoak it was much simpler. For her it was simply a matter of right and wrong; if someone was hurting, you fixed it. If it's the city that's suffering, then you do what you can to bring justice to the streets and make it right again.

Felicity's character was shaped by a painful childhood. Lucius Fox was a brilliant engineer and successful businessman and her mother, Evie, had been a beautiful and talented artist and they had a happy, if brief, marriage until she died of leukemia just after Felicity turned four. As open-minded and liberal as the Gotham elite pretended to be, Lucius Fox was still a black man in a white man's world and he was married to a platinum blonde bohemian artist with an illegitimate child who had 'stolen' a married man from his family.

Evie, and by extension Felicity, was most definitely given the cold shoulder at every opportunity. The same people who smiled in Lucius's face and prided themselves on having the courage and liberal sensibilities it took to invite a black man to their dinner table saw Evelyn Fox as a conniving whore who attached herself to a married man just because he had money. It didn't matter that she was a celebrated artist by then, all they saw was the Vegas cocktail waitress she'd been before her art career took off and that she wasn't one of them. Felicity, even as a young child, had to endure the not so subtle whispers about Evie Smoak long after her death. She heard the words 'bastard' and 'daughter of the whore' from adults and her classmates and had taken it upon herself to shield her father from that pain. She isolated herself because of it, retreating into a quiet, almost non-existent presence within Gotham society but she never let him see how much she truly resented the mother she could barely remember and who he would love with an enduring passion for the rest of his life. She was his champion, even as a child, and she endured it unflinchingly.

The other things that shaped and defined her were her kindness, empathy, and willingness to forgive. If you asked Lucius where those qualities came from he'd say it was Evie's final gift that taught both of them that lesson. Tanya, his first wife, had begged him to slow down, to spend time with her and their children. She'd even left him just to wake him up and get his attention and then he met another woman and completely changed. For years, he'd neglected his family but he was willing to shower a woman half his age and a child that wasn't even his with all of the love and consideration he'd failed to show her. Understandably Tanya had been devastated and there had been a backlash against what Gotham society viewed as a rich man's trophy marriage. After Evie passed and he'd finally understood what Tanya had gone through, their relationship greatly improved. Tanya, much to her credit, accepted his apology and never appeared to hold any hard feelings against the child of the woman her husband had fallen in love with. They became the best of friends and co-parents, even reconciling to a certain extent but never remarrying, and raised all of the children as full siblings. Felicity spent just as much time in his ex-wife's care as his children did in his own. Tanya and Lucius were often praised by their contemporaries as having one of the most amicable relationships between exes they'd ever been witness to. Lucius often said it was the only good thing to come from his wife's death.

Felicity may not have been his biological daughter but she had inherited that aura of integrity Lucius had around him. Bruce had felt it at that moment and he knew that she, just like her father, could be trusted with his secret. He and Lucius had never openly discussed his mission or Felicity's involvement and he had never pressed the issue but he suspected that the older man knew she was doing a bit more than simply consulting. He'd hinted, only once. He'd said to him one day when they were alone in his office, apropos to nothing, "She's all I have left of Evie, Bruce. Keep her safe." And he did, he'd tried.

Unlike his other adopted 'children', Bruce had not tried to put her out in the streets. Even when she asked he refused to train her or to allow Dick to encourage her tentative inquiries into how he and Barbara had joined him in his mission. Felicity was only to be on the Watchtower Project, nothing more. She had access to the Batcave, knew all of their secrets and then some, but she was never to be in the line of fire. He'd even tried to see her as one of his charges, if not as a daughter then as a niece, but…

Bruce sighed as the memories he'd try to suppress came to the forefront. It shouldn't have happened. It was a mistake, one he still regretted. He was almost twice her age, already in his mid-thirties, a grown man with a lifetime of experiences she couldn't possibly understand. It didn't matter that she'd graduated college and successfully defended her thesis in one of the most prestigious doctorate programs in the country; to him she should have been a child. He'd known her since she was practically a baby and his experiences had hardened him, aged him beyond his years, and she was 19 years old and sheltered to the point that she had never even been kissed.

Felicity had always gotten under his skin and brought out his most protective instincts. She was always with Lucius, always playing in his office, so he'd seen her grow up. Add to that the fact that she had been painfully shy as a child and awkward as a teenager, she slipped under his radar until it was too late. Somehow he'd missed the fact that she was just as haunting a beauty as her mother ever was until one day he looked at her and was struck dumb by it. That's when he stopped thinking of her as Lucius's daughter and as a woman. Between that, her intelligence, and her fresh-faced innocence, she would prove to be his utter undoing.

It wasn't just him though; over the year or so that she spent working by their sides in between her graduate studies and other obligations, his entire family fell under her spell. Barbara had taken her in under her wing as they bonded over developing the communication and decryption software that helped run Watchtower. Dick, who'd always carried within himself a bit of an inferiority complex, found her to be a kindred soul. Here was someone even more socially awkward than himself, who felt just as displaced as he did growing up as a child of humble roots adopted into vast wealth, and who looked up to him with a bit of hero worship. Tim got along with everyone and their closeness in age combined with his infatuation with her sister made him even more welcoming toward her. Alfred was simply delighted to have one charge under his wing that could be spared the scars of Batman's mantle while still helping to shoulder their burden. He saw her as a source of light chasing away the shadows that haunted the rest of them. He'd even tried to play matchmaker a few times, dropping hints about Bruce's own parent's May/December romance when he'd caught his gaze lingering a few times.

Damian had been the only exception. He, unlike the rest of them, had been completely immune to her gentle charisma. In fact, he had a murderous umbrage toward her that Bruce had yet to understand. It took him days to decide to eliminate Tim as a rival but he tried to kill Felicity within the first hour or so of their meeting. How he saw her as the greater threat when Bruce hadn't even been in the room until the very end he still didn't know. Perhaps it really was just that Felicity had tried to be kind to the boy. For whatever reason, it was visceral; an almost instinctual hatred toward her. Even after she left it had been there. He never mentioned her name or her absence until the day he taunted Tim about taking his place as the new Robin. In addition to making disparaging remarks about the other young man's skills and sexuality, he brought up Felicity's name in a less than flattering context. Tim, in response, had given him the beat down the boy so richly deserved.

He had frozen up and let it happen because there was nothing else he could do. The truth was, as the filth about Felicity poured from his mouth, he'd been so tempted to do what Tim had done he'd been horrified. He'd had to leave the room; he just couldn't deal with it. The boy was a sociopath and a killer, but he was still a child and Bruce's first instinct had been to...

He sighed, Tim left after that and he couldn't blame him. He let him go thinking he'd be better off. Hell, in the end he wound up fobbing Damian off on Dick because he was the only one who had the patience to deal with him. Had he continued to try to take over Damian's training he was afraid that eventually he would lose control like Tim had and the consequences of that just wasn't something he was prepared to deal with.

After that there had been an accident in which he had lost several months' time with absolutely no memory of what had transpired. He had been hunting a man named Roman Sionis, aka The Black Mask, when he encountered a strange machine in the madman's 'collection' known as 'The Omega Device'. They were struggling when he fell against the device, damaging it, and then simply disappeared. Everyone presumed he'd been killed, vaporized; everyone except Tim, that is. As much as he had disappointed the boy, Tim was always his most devoted child, the only one he actually ever considered to be his son. It was Tim's insistence that he was still alive that convinced Dick and Alfred to hide his 'demise' from the general public. Instead he was reportedly 'traveling' and concentrating on his Foundation work for a while. Not even Lucius was told the truth. Tim took the reins at Wayne Enterprises with Dick stepping into the office when necessary. He found him months later with no recollection of what had happened to him other than a few confusing and disjointed memories and hallucinations that he had never been able to make sense of. He remembered being part of a primitive tribe, of going back to meet his ancestors, even of aliens and alien landscapes where he encountered people who were parallel versions of their true selves.

Tim wound up tracking him down after he'd been discovered unconscious and lying in a pile of garbage near Arkham with drugs in his system and no clue how he got there or who had been holding him. Whatever had happened, he appeared none the worse for wear after the drugs left his system other than a bit of dehydration, some cuts, a few new and unexplained scars, and some minor burns. He'd probably never know what had happened even though he'd tried to find out. He hadn't been held for ransom and no one had any clue as to why anyone would take him then just release him again. Sionis himself could offer no clues as he'd been killed by another member of the Bat's Rogue's Gallery before Bruce had been recovered. The device itself had also disappeared. According to his sources, it and all the other items in Sionis's possession had been confiscated by ARGUS and destroyed. When he returned he tried to reconnect with Damian and, for a short time he thought he might have actually succeeded, but then he died.

All that time lost. Damian had been dead for almost two years and he still felt like a failure. He even failed Tim in the end. After all the hard work he'd done getting him back, after all the loyalty he'd shown, when Bruce shut down after Damian's death he had taken it to heart and left. The loss of Tim's respect had hit him almost as hard as Damian's death had. Going after Felicity after all that would have been unfair to her. He'd thought about it, God knows it had crossed his mind several times over the last four years, but she couldn't have fixed him. He'd driven everyone but Barbara away in his grief and had he done that to Felicity it would have been the final blow to his already fragile psyche.

His mind flew back to how he'd catch himself looking at her, watching her as she worked and of the feelings of guilt and disgust with his own lechery that would overwhelm him. He was technically old enough to be her father, for God's sake! To combat his attraction to her he redoubled his efforts to find Selina, convincing himself that it was just loneliness on his part. He began to use his failed relationship with the former Catwoman as a shield, putting her forward whenever she seemed to get too close. He tried to warn her off with gruff speech and a sour disposition but she always seemed to see right through it. He'd finally settled on a strategy of just ignoring her but having her in the cave manning Watchtower made that impossible.

He'd gone out on patrol that night just to get away from her and purposefully stuck to the least active sections of the city to minimize his chances of having to interact with her when he ran into trouble. One of his targets had hired some kind of meta-human swordsman to take him out. The battle had been brief and he'd managed to survive the assault with just a deep cut to the arm (despite being protected by state of the art Kevlar armor) by forcing the other man off the rooftop where he dropped nearly 20 stories only to disappear by the time he'd gotten to when he thought the body had landed.

When he got to the Cave, Felicity was there. Normally Alfred handled his injuries or he'd suture them himself, but the cut was deep and at an awkward angle on his bicep so he'd agreed to let Felicity treat it for him.

He could never decide whether it was him coming off of the adrenaline rush or the loss of blood that caused his resistance to waver that night. The only thing he knew for sure was that it had been his fault, a fact that would haunt him for years. She'd been innocent in that as well.

Felicity, despite being at an age where most girls had some awareness of their sexuality, wouldn't have even known how to seduce him. Even if she had, it wouldn't have been over blood and bandages while dressed in a ratty sweater, t-shirt, and blue jeans, her fresh faced beauty unenhanced by cosmetics. He'd known she had a crush on him for some time; it had been fairly obvious. Whenever she'd talk to him she'd just shine, her smile taking on a brilliance that was nearly blinding in its intensity. So much so, that it even caused his dark heart to lighten when she would enter the room and, if he were honest, it scared the shit out of him.

"Oh crap! Your arm!" She cried out as she jumped up from the console to rush over to him with a towel in her hand. She slapped it over his wound and winced as he gave a low grunt of pain. "Sorry—sorry! Ow, that looks nasty. I'll go get the first aid kit."

"I can handle it," Bruce growled at her as he whipped the cowl off of his face and made his way towards the medbay they had set up near the training area.

"Are you sure?" She asked uncertainly, "'Cause it's kind of deep and you'd have to be pretty bendy to reach it. Not that you aren't bendy," she said quickly. "I mean, I've watched you work out and do all those flips and stuff. You're bendy, just not as bendy as Dick. Not that Dick is better than you even though he's younger." She winced, still trailing behind him. "Crap, no. You're not old! I didn't mean to imply that you were old because you're not old, just less bendy. I like how old you are. You aren't old as much as you are well seasoned, like a really great kind of seasoned. Like a really well seasoned man-steak. Mouthwatering really…" She trailed off and bit her lip as he shot her a dark look. "I'll just stand here quietly while you do that thing you do…all bendy and stuff."

Bruce stripped off boots and socks followed by his armor until his torso and legs were bare before sitting on the cot in the medbay and began to clean the wound. What he really needed was a shower but the cut took priority over his desire to remove the sweat and dried blood from his flesh. Unashamed, he sat in nothing but his boxer briefs so he could assess all the damage he had taken on in the fight. He glanced up at Felicity who was now beet red with embarrassment at being so close to him in such an unclothed state and promptly dismissed her reaction. In fact, it was probably a good thing he'd made her uncomfortable, maybe now she'd leave him to his ministrations in peace. He looked at the bruises on his shins, thighs, and ran a hand over the sore spot on his jaw. The armor had done its job there at least. Some arnica and high doses of vitamin E would help with that but his torso and upper arm were a different matter entirely.

He grunted again in discomfort as he attempted to treat the laceration with his good arm. His side was a mass of bruises from the blows the swordsman had managed to land after he'd been disarmed. He'd been a strong son of a bitch and even though his armor had protected his ribs from being broken they were still badly bruised. They'd have to be wrapped before he could attempt to give himself stitches.

As if reading his mind, Felicity took off her sweater and rolled up the sleeves of her long sleeved tee, grabbing the elastic bandages from Alfred's kit. "I could help wrap your ribs if you want? And I think Alfred has some of that glue he uses to hold together lacerations. Really, I think it needs proper stitches because the glue can leave a nasty scar but you've already got plenty of those so it's not like it'll make a difference, right? Not that you don't look good." She added quickly. Her eyes wandered over his bare chest and he watched as her eyes darkened slightly. "Really, really good." She closed her eyes as soon as she realized what she had said and bit her bottom lip. "Oh man, that sounded creepy, didn't it? Sorry. Just, I mean, you're not horribly disfigured or anything! Scars can be attractive, lots of people like scars! In fact, there are indigenous tribes throughout Africa who use scarification rituals as a way to enhance-"

Despite himself, Bruce was a little impressed by the fact that she hadn't backed down after her initial embarrassment followed by rambling babble. He felt the corners of his lips twitch upwards in amusement. She really was adorable. "It's fine, really. Go ahead and start wrapping my ribs and then you can help dress the wound on my arm."

Her face lit up and she clutched the roll of bandages to her chest like he'd just handed her a prize. "Really?"

"Just do it," he sighed, his lips twitching upwards despite himself, and held out his arms so she could start binding his ribcage.

She focused on her task, her tongue trapped between her teeth as she reached her arms around him. Her loose white-blonde curls brushed against his face as she carefully administered to him and his nostrils filled with the heady scent of her shampoo and the light floral fragrance she wore. After she had secured the bandages with a clip, she reached for the disinfectant to treat his arm. Her hands were gentle as they handled him, an apology for the sting on her lips before she'd even applied it to his flesh. When she finally touched him again with those delicate hands, he stiffened. She bit her lip, worrying the plump flesh, and he felt his ardor rise as cornflower blue eyes, unfettered by glasses, flooded with sympathy for his discomfort. He missed her glasses; it had been easier to pretend not to see the looks she saved only for him when she wore the thick dark frames. Without them, her sweet expressions were excruciating.

He was used to pain, the small sting of the alcohol and betadine a mere nuisance for him. No, the real torture was her: her smell, her touch. She didn't seem to see the man others feared, only a man worthy of her kindness and attention. Bruce had been without such unconditional love for so long he'd almost forgotten what it felt like. If he'd had any faith at all in what he considered the pseudo-science of psychiatry he was sure there would be some sort of nonsense about his mother that would come into play. Probably something along the lines of a craving for maternal affection transforming itself into sexual desire, but that wasn't it. There was no Oedipal Complex at play here, it was just her.

He closed his eyes and willed her to get on with it, trying desperately not to alert her to what he was feeling as she applied the suture gel onto the wound and carefully held the torn skin together until the glue had set. When it was done and she had checked for seepage she whispered, "I know that hurt but at least it was better than me trying to sew you up, right? I can't even sew on a button much less fix an arm." She smiled at him then, her lips soft as the love poured from her eyes and into his own.

Where did eyes that color even come from? He thought. He cleared his throat, dismissing the randomness of the observation from his mind. "Gauze."

"What?" She asked in confusion as she concentrated on cleaning all the blood up from around the wound she had just repaired.

"For the cut; gauze—to cover the wound,"

"Oh! Yeah, right." She blushed. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Bruce said quietly, averting his gaze to the banks of monitors on the far side of the cave.

She gathered her supplies then plopped down beside him on the cot and wrapped the wound quickly before taping it off. "There! How's that look?"

He turned his head and examined the bandage thoroughly. "Looks good." He looked up, realizing just how close they had gotten.

She smiled back gratefully, completely oblivious to his licentious thoughts, proud to have earned the praise of a broken man who was far too old for her, and far to hardened to be anywhere near something as pure as herself.

There was no conscious thought, no internal debate, no hesitant look followed by her silent approval. He wasn't some fresh-faced boy who dithered over what he could and couldn't have at that moment. No, she was the innocent, not him. He was battle-hardened, scarred, and too far gone at that point. All thoughts of common decency, of the disproportionate age gap, of the fact that this was the youngest child of one of the few men whose trust he actually valued, disappeared and he acted.

He reached for her, pulling her body flush with his own as he claimed her mouth. It was hard and almost punishing, not the kind of kiss one uses when seducing a virgin. He met her confused resistance and he plowed through. He ran his tongue over her closed lips and when she gasped he opened her up and devoured her. He cupped her head in one hand, his fingers sinking deep into her light blonde hair, tugging and allowing the silken strands to wrap around his calloused fingers.

He laid her backwards gently as he covered her tiny frame with his own, his mouth never releasing possession. The hand at her waist moved upwards to cup her breast through her thin shirt. She whimpered and the sound ripped through him causing him to lose what little sense of restraint he still had.

He pulled away from the kiss to pull the shirt up over her head then unfastened the hooks of her bra and discarded it. He kissed the pale mounds of flesh each in turn, teasing her nipples with his tongue and teeth as his fingers found the fastening of her jeans. He pulled them down without ceremony along with the plain white panties she wore, breaking away just long enough to snatch the penny-loafers from her feet so he could let the last of her clothing drop to the floor. Bruce held back for just a moment to look at her, his angel, her hair a mussed halo of light around her head, and her body flushed with newly awakened desire. He slanted his lips over hers again, pulling his underwear down just enough to free his erection then hitching her thighs up around him so he could grind his hips into her center.

She gasped, both hands pushing at his chest as she felt the sting of him against her. Bruce could feel her heart pounding against his chest in pain and fear. He pulled away from her slightly, jaw clenching as he forced himself to remain still against her even though the only thing he could think about was sinking into her over and over again until he drove out all of his demons. In all his years, among the dozens of women who'd shared his bed, he'd never taken a virgin. He'd avoided it. Virgins were complicated. Virgins made love; they didn't just screw and leave. Again he felt the flutter of apprehension in the pit of his stomach. This is wrong, stop while you can, the voice in the back of his mind ordered but he didn't want to stop. He was too far gone, too close. Even though he knew this would not end well, he wanted this, wanted her. He'd already had a taste of her and he would have rather faced an army with his bare hands than stop at that moment.

"If you don't want this you need to tell me and I'll stop," he told her, his body vibrating in protest as the words left his mouth.

He watched as fear and uncertainty battled with newly awakened desire in her reflective depths and, had he been a better man, he would have done the right thing and sent her away so she could save her innocence for someone more deserving. He should have told her to wait for someone who would speak words that no longer held meaning for him, who would place a ring on her finger, fill her with his children, and live an uncomplicated life far away from the ugliness that surrounded his own. Her first time shouldn't be on a gurney with a bloody and bruised man, stinking of sweat, his soul as scarred as his body, too filled with lust to see to it she was properly prepared before he first pressed his way inside. He should have told her to gather her clothes and never look back. "Tell me," he commanded his eyes dark and almost hypnotic as he willed her to answer in the way he knew would bring them both to completion, "Yes or no?"

"Yes," she said softly and he nearly growled in triumph as he claimed her mouth once again.

His rough fingers reached down through the thin curling strands of nearly translucent silk that did nothing to hide her from his gaze as his mouth claimed her tight pink nipple again. She panted roughly as he licked and sucked at her breast, his teeth scraping until she was half undone by the near painful sensations being awoken within her. He slid his fingers up and down, barely skimming the cluster of nerves that would ensure her readiness for him as he sucked hard at first her right nipple then the left. Her movements beneath him became more frantic. He took her mouth, whispering against her open lips, "That's right, Baby. Come undone for me. Show me." He gathered moisture from her center and found her clit.

She bucked underneath him crying out, her eyes opening wide as she opened herself up to the sensation of being made love to. He looked up into the stark wonder of her face and something dark began to curl in his belly. "Have you ever touched yourself, Baby? Here?" His finger swept over the sensitive bundle of nerves and he chuckled as her eyes slammed shut and she moaned wantonly under his touch. "What do you think about when you touch yourself? Tell me?"

"You," she breathed and he felt his cock jump at the admission.

He took her mouth in an almost brutal kiss as his fingers increased the friction on her clit. He swallowed her cries as she orgasmed, a flood of moisture making his fingers slick. She shuddered and writhed in release beneath him. Releasing her mouth, he pressed their foreheads together as they both gasped for air. "Jesus," he panted, "you are so beautiful. You have no idea do you; no idea just how goddamn beautiful you are?"

She tilted her mouth upward, her lips meeting his in a soft kiss. He moved his lips to coast along her jawline before making his way across her chest and down her waist. He eased off the cot and stripped off his underwear then took a moment to gaze at her most intimate and exposed self. His eyes caught hers and the dark desire he saw there was nearly his undoing. He bent at the waist, pulling her thighs apart, and swept his tongue over her folds, wet and glistening under the florescent lights from her orgasm. His senses filled with the taste of warm musk as she cried out, whimpered, and panted through the sweet torture he was now administering.

He brought a finger into her opening and carefully probed her as he licked and sucked at the sensitive bundle of fibers above. God, she was tight. He continued to explore her as he came up with a game plan. He wasn't the kind of man who felt the need to compare the size of his dick with other men in order to prove himself but he knew he was fairly large and that this wouldn't be easy for her. He'd have to take this slowly. He added a second finger and she hissed, stiffening not in pleasure but in discomfort. He eased back up the cot, his fingers still buried within her, and he kissed her softly in apology. "I know, Baby. I know it hurts but we're going to take this slow, okay? Tell me when."

Slowly her muscles began to loosen and he began to gently probe her once more. She winced slightly but he continued to sooth her with soft kisses and gentle words until she was again moving her hips to the rhythm he set for her, brushing her clit with his thumb to bring her added pleasure. After a while he added a third finger and repeated the process, careful not to tear or bruise her, until his hand was again slick with her juices. When he felt she was ready, he removed his hand from between her thighs and settled himself until he was in contact with the now vacant space. He rubbed himself up and down, gathering her moisture for lubrication before easing forward.

Her fingers gripped his shoulders painfully and he winced as she put pressure too close to the wound on his arm. "It's okay; I won't go further until you're ready. We have all the time in the world." He reached up, easing her hands downward until they grabbed his hips and kissed her once more. He waited until the pressure of her grip loosened and again pressed forward, repeating the process inch by inch until the final barrier was passed and he was finally seated fully within her.

For a moment, they just breathed. He stopped, allowing his heartbeat to calm. He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against her shoulder as he calmed the beast within him that wanted to simply take that which he now knew belonged to him and him alone. He could hear the low hum of the computers, the fluttering of wings in the shadows of the cave, the uneven tempo of her breathing. Slowly he began rocking his hips, in and out, his thrusts gradually deepening until she was gasping more from pleasure than pain. His jaw clenched as he felt himself being squeezed within her walls, the sensation almost overwhelming. He tried to keep himself centered, tried to hold off the rush of his own release, but it quickly became apparent that he would not last long enough to give her the full measure of her first experience he had desired to. That would have to come later.

He increased his strokes, pushing deeper and deeper, his mouth open in a silent cry as the blood rushed to his head and he unleashed within her. She cried out as well, in pleasure and feminine triumph if not orgasm, and he shuddered until he was fully spent.

He eased onto his good shoulder, pulling out of her as he drew her into his embrace. He felt her sob against him, overwhelmed by everything they had done and felt together.

"Are you okay?" He asked softly, kissing the top of her head, the guilt and self-recriminations already coming to bear. What had he done? Christ, what the hell had he been thinking? He was way too old for this shit and she was far too young for him. He looked down at her tears and swallowed, the first flares of panic erupting in his chest. Shit, what if he'd hurt her more than he realized? "Baby? Answer me; are you okay?"

She nodded against his chest, her breath hitching as she spoke in a small voice, "I'm good, you?"

His head tilted back and hit the padding of the gurney as he snorted in relief. He lifted his head smiled down at her, a rare and beauteous thing. "Oh, I think I'll live." He took a deep shuddering breath and pulled her tighter against him. "You are going to be the death of me, you know that? You snuck in under my radar and now what the hell am I supposed to do?"

She smiled, a small sad little smile, and in a voice that was hardly more than a whisper she told him, "I love you."

There was something in her smile; something in the way she said those words that nearly broke him. He could see it; the knowledge that this was probably a one off that would never be repeated again, the recognition of the fact that he could never be hers but knowing that this was the last chance she probably had to tell him that she was his. More than anything he wanted to take that sad realization from her eyes and spend the rest of his life making sure she never had to feel that way ever again; so much so that he was tempted to say the words back to her even though they had long lost any meaning to him. He wanted that, but he knew it could never happen. He was no longer capable of that kind of life with anyone. He wouldn't compound his sins by lying to her. If he still had a heart that could break, then that was the moment it would have chosen to shatter into a million pieces. He would not be able to fix this and they both knew it.

His heart clenched and he dropped a kiss against her forehead before getting off the table to walk over to the sink. He wet a towel and washed off his genitals before wringing out a wash cloth and taking it over to her. He patted her thighs to indicate that she should spread her legs. She blushed, but obeyed, and he carefully cleaned her wiping the blood and semen from her center before tossing it into a nearby hamper and offering her his hand. "Come on, get up."

"Where are we going?" She asked.

"Upstairs," he told her with an upturn of his lips. He might not be able to give her forever but he'd give her what he could for the brief time they had left. "We need to take a shower and, call me old fashioned, but there are some things that I would prefer to do in the comfort of my own bed."

"I don't mind," Felicity said shyly as she reached down for her shirt to hold it against her naked breasts.

He chuckled and smoothed his hands over her goose-pimpled flesh. He leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Oh, but Baby, think of how much fun it will be without a cold draft and warm sheets?"

They made love all weekend; glorious, passionate love that made him feel young again or, at the very least, his true age and not the unfathomable decades the responsibilities placed upon him had added to the thirty-six years he'd already spent upon this planet. He allowed himself to let go of the tight control he normally maintained in every aspect of his life so that he could experience everything through her eyes. He let go of his pain, his regret, and his anger for her. It wasn't those three words, but it was still just as meaningful in its own way.

They spent days in his bed leaving only to scavenge for food or to use the bathroom. He taught her all the ways he knew how to make love; in his bed, on the floor, in the shower. The one thing he denied her was, in fact, those three words; the very words she so wholeheartedly gave him. Every time she'd whisper them to him when his eyes were closed or when she thought his attention was elsewhere his heart would clench and he became even more determined to leave her with the best memory he could of their time together.

Thinking back on it now, he wondered if he'd done that for himself as well. He'd loved women, many women; some with a passion that bordered on true love, but she was different. Felicity was pure light, the only light he had ever felt in his entire existence it seemed. It was as though she shone from the inside and everything became clearer in her presence; emotions, thoughts… He became a better man, a better version of himself around her, and he was loathe to let that go. There were days to come where the only thing that kept him going was the memory of those words and the taste of her lips on his.

On the last night of their stolen weekend together, everything changed. He opened a drawer and seen the box of unopened condoms there and realized that he hadn't even thought to protect her. How that had happened he had no idea. It was as though all good sense had abandoned him and he was faced with the possibility that he might have forced her into an impossible situation because of his thoughtlessness. He went to her to discuss the situation and she assured him that she had been on the pill since she was fifteen in order to regulate her cycle and that they had nothing to worry about. To his surprise he'd almost been disappointed by that revelation. That had shocked him but he chalked it up to low blood sugar or some primitive instinct that had merely crept up from his subconscious and was just as quickly dismissed. Later as he held her close, sleep pulling at him and causing his mind to wander to places it had no business going, he thought about days yet to come, of the possibilities and outcomes that he knew lay within her own innocent dreams. He dreamt of giving her the life he could never have, the family he had never wanted, and when he woke up he knew that their brief respite had come to a close.

On Monday morning he explained to her in a detached voice that he couldn't give her the kind of relationship she deserved. He told her that whatever the weekend had meant to her, for him it was just sex and she had just been a warm body to lose himself in for a while. He couldn't do commitment and marriage because it wasn't possible. Not for him. He told her he did not love her but that he had enjoyed their moment. He assured her she would be welcome to remain on the team, but they could not remain lovers.

Part of him thought she'd plead with him, beg him to reconsider. He expected tears, but was surprised and then somewhat relieved when she calmly nodded in acceptance. She thanked him for his honesty, assured him that she could make her own way home, and he left her to use his shower and get dressed but not before making sure she had adequate cab fare home. He didn't try to kiss her goodbye. At the time he'd wanted to do the honorable thing, make a clean break and not play with her emotions by sending mixed signals, but later he'd come to regret that decision. He should have kissed her just one more time. When she didn't come back to the cave…

He should have kissed her.

The first few days after she left he was able to completely expunge her from his thoughts or at least pretend to. They had both entered into the situation with eyes wide open, the itch had been scratched, and now it was over he kept reminding himself whenever his thoughts would wander in her direction. The fact that she had been a virgin or that she thought she was in love with him was irrelevant. He had his mission and the mission was where his focus had to remain. She would only have been a distraction. To remind himself of that, when his team returned he worked them hard, determined to make up for the days he'd lost as he held her in his arms.

By Wednesday night, while staring over his city, he realized that he shouldn't have been so harsh with her. After all, she seemed to handle their encounter rather maturely. And besides, this was Felicity and not some innocent little run of the mill teenager. She was brilliant and, although she was young, she was more poised than women twice her age would have been under the circumstances. Perhaps, just perhaps, there could develop something between them. Yes, there was a not so insignificant age gap but he was incredibly fit due to his nightly activities and still a relatively young man. They wouldn't look ridiculous together and if anyone could handle the rigors of his double life it was her. Perhaps he had acted too hastily.

By Thursday he had left her several messages that had gone unanswered. He began to worry then. His mind began to tumble between guilt and jealousy. Perhaps she had already moved on. At her age the idea of sex without commitment or emotional fallout had become the new normal. He thought of the look in her eyes that first time, her acceptance of what was happening between them, and wondered if another man had already caught her attention. He quickly discarded the notion but the thought still lingered. Someday, sooner rather than later, there would be another man, a man who would say the words he couldn't. Felicity was a beautiful woman, she wouldn't be alone long. He became short tempered and snappish with his team and even more distracted.

Finally, on Friday afternoon, he bit the bullet and went to see Lucius to do the right thing and state his intentions before pursuing anything further. If Barbara knew what he was about to do she would have slapped him upside the head and called him all kinds of stupid, and she was right; he was an idiot, but that didn't make him wrong. He'd decided sometime during the day as he bounced between feeling completely lost and distracted, to falling into a temper rarely seen outside of cape and cowl, that he would just cut through all the nonsense and marry her.

As completely insane as it was to think about it now, at the time it had sounded reasonable. He was at the right age for marriage. Forty was creeping up on him and he was getting too old to pull of the playboy routine without seeming pathetic. There would be no more rumors to deal with, no more having to explain his quick exits to whatever woman was hanging off his arm. Felicity was smart; she could help him both in the boardroom as well as on his mission. She was, after all, the daughter of Lucius Fox and although she had always seemed uninterested in the business side of the technology field he was sure she'd step up to the plate and learn what she needed to. As Mrs. Wayne she could represent him at all the inconveniently scheduled meetings he now had to miss when mission business came up, attend the endless scores of society parties on his arm and then stay and offer a distraction as he slipped off into the shadows. Also she was young enough that they could wait a few years to start a family. Although fatherhood was not something he had necessarily ever wanted, she deserved to have children and he'd make adjustments for it if he absolutely had to. After all, it was the least he could do.

Already his body was showing the strain of his nightly activities and, in a few years, he'd have to turn the mission over to Dick or Tim or some other younger man and then he could devote himself to raising a family upstairs while he trained a new generation of guardians below. He might even expand his mission globally. He'd been thinking on that for a while and Felicity could use her technical skills to help make that happen. This wouldn't be a marriage based on hormones or the ridiculous concept of romantic love; no, they were better than that. She was an intelligent woman and once he laid it all out before her she'd see that. Besides, he did care about her deeply and they were sexually compatible; their union would be a happy one, he'd see to that. Now all he had to do was actually get her to talk to him. He walked into Lucius's office with that singular plan in mind and determination in his step.

A little past midnight on Saturday, one week after he'd made love for the first time to the woman he'd decided to make his wife, he was sitting on a rooftop overlooking the city, cape and cowl in place once again. Felicity had accepted a job offer in Starling City that she had been considering for some time and had left earlier in the week to scout for apartments. Lucius had been proud of her, proud that she wanted to do it on her own and without his interference. The only person at the company aware of the connection was his friend, Walter Steele, who assured him he would merely look out for her as one concerned parent to another and he would allow her to succeed or fail without his intervention. There was nothing hidden or guarded in the other man's speech so Bruce had accepted his story that this was not a sudden move for her and that it was a decision she had made long before he took her into his bed.

He should have kissed her, was the one thought that kept chasing him that night. He thought he behaved the way he had for her sake but that wasn't true. He had been so worried about hurting her feelings, of making her feel as though he'd taken something from her under false pretenses, that he'd never stopped to think that perhaps he'd be the one in pain when all was said and done. The truth was that if he had kissed her, if he had shown the slightest bit of tenderness toward her that morning, he wouldn't have been able to let her go.

The hardest part was when he realized that while he had wasted a week wrestling with all that in his head, she had already moved on.

For the next six months after she left town, his family had to deal with a Batman in the foulest mood they had ever seen him in since Selina had left almost two years previously.

Bruce rarely drank. He hated the loss of control that came with overindulgence, but as he sipped the glass of twelve year old Purcell's Single Barrel Straight Bourbon held within his hand he appreciated the warm burn of it as it slid down his throat. It was the only liquor he ever drank and then only rarely. The American whiskey wasn't as trendy or refined as the more popular single malt imported scotches but it he had been his father's drink of choice. In the last several years he'd only tasted it four times, this being the fifth; once for Jason, once for Stephanie, once for Damian, and now twice for Felicity. That hurting her equaled the pain he'd felt at the loss of one of his 'children' was something he chose not to examine too closely.

He let the notes of hickory, caramelized sugar, and fruity bites of cinnamon and cherries roll over his tongue as he thought of how he'd treated her and of the fact that he had no right to interfere in her life. He left her alone for a reason but this was different. This wasn't him going to rekindle a love affair; this was her life at stake. He'd changed and so had she. She was no longer the 19 year old girl whose innocence he had taken so long ago. She was an adult with her own life and a successful career. For all he knew she and Queen could be sharing a bed together, her memories of him merely a novelty to be trotted out occasionally. Perhaps it was Felicity who sought the Arrow out instead? Perhaps she had traded one broken vigilante in for a newer model? Maybe Queen was his replacement: A younger, faster, newer city guardian who, if caught in the same position, wouldn't be afraid to look like a walking talking midlife crisis with a sweet faced blonde on his arm. Perhaps he had already given her those words he couldn't and had actually meant them.

He emptied his glass and sat it down on the tray table, waving off the attendant as she offered him another. One was his limit.

He needed to keep a clear head because, even if all that was true and more, Felicity was in danger; whatever the case, whether this life was something she had chosen for herself or not, the Arrow had put her in the line of fire and that was unacceptable. Not only that but he allowed his trash to muck around in his city and that would not, could not stand.