"Bruce."

The boy barely looked up from his place on the couch, surrounded as he was by boxes of files. "Good evening, Detective Gordon," he said, formal as always. "Are you hungry? Perhaps Alfred can make some supper."

"It's six in the morning," Jim said dryly. "Have you been up all night? Never mind, I already know the answer. Why have you been up all night?"

"Was I?" Bruce asked distractedly, his attention already re-focused on the piles of boxes, all crammed with files, that were stacked around him. "I've been busy."

"I can see that," Jim said, reaching over and taking the file from Bruce's hands. "Alfred asked me to throw all of this straight into the fire."

Bruce sat up straight now, his eyes sharp. "I told him he couldn't," he snapped, his attention finally focused on Jim. "And neither can you. That's an order."

Jim let out a short, barking laugh. "So you're giving orders now?" He tossed the file he had been holding to the side. "Up. Come on. We're going outside."

"What?" Bruce scowled. "No I'm not. I'm exhausted."

"That's not my fault," Jim shrugged. "But if you don't want to train with me today, that's your call." He turned and walked back towards Alfred, who was standing by the door.

"Wait," Bruce ordered sharply, but the command was just slightly less haughty, and he pushed his files to the side and jumped to his feet. "Don't. Don't leave."

Jim turned back to face the boy, whose face was pale behind his flashing eyes. Jim couldn't tell which he saw in the boy's face—anger or fear—but emotion was twisting it unexpectedly.

"Don't leave," Bruce repeated, a note of pleading in his voice. "Please."

This time there was a definite shake to the boy's tone, and Jim's face softened. He nodded briskly. "I'm not ditching you," he said. "But you're not in any shape to train today."

"I'm fully capable," Bruce said, drawing himself up to his full height and raising his chin stubbornly. "I was just"—

"A bloody stubborn fool?" Alfred suggested helpfully, and Bruce reddened slightly.

Jim placed his hands on his hips as he surveyed the boy. "Okay," he said. "We'll run today and then go down to the courtyard to spar. And then you're going to get some sleep."

Bruce nodded. "Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Going to get sleep?" Bruce asked, looking astutely up at Jim. "You have dark circles under your eyes, too. Did you sleep?"

"No," Jim said shortly. "I had other business."

"Were you working?"

"No," he said. "I had a…friend…who was in the hospital unexpectedly."

Bruce's eyes sparked with concern. "It wasn't Barbara, was it?" he asked.

"No," Jim said dismissively. "It wasn't Barbara. Come on. Let's go."

Bruce followed him outside, blinking as they emerged into the gray pre-dawn light. "What happened to your friend? Why are they in the hospital?"

"Did you wait to ask me until we got out here so that Alfred wouldn't scold you for being rude?" Jim asked as they started running down the long path away from the house.

Bruce grinned, and it was an unfamiliar sight on his usually serious, pale face. "Maybe."

Within a few minutes Bruce was breathing heavily, and Jim eased up on the pace. "You okay?"

The boy nodded.

"You sure?"

"Yea," Bruce said rather breathlessly. "Are you going to tell me about your friend in the hospital?"

Jim rolled his eyes and picked up the pace again. "I guess it's kind of a work thing," he said. "She was a witness in one of my cases. A kid. She took quite a beating late last night."

"A kid?" Bruce looked up at him. "Why was she out so late? And what case was it for?"

Jim looked down at him. "She doesn't have a home," he said abruptly, picking up the pace still further as they neared the lake on the Wayne's grounds. "She was one of the children in the snatcher case."

"I thought they were all sent to foster homes," Bruce said, and Jim let out a short, sarcastic laugh.

"Most of them were sent upstate to a juvenile detention center," Jim said. "A few of them were sent to foster homes, if they were lucky, some to group homes if they weren't. A few of them knew enough about upstate to escape the round-up."

"That's horrible," Bruce said, indignant despite his shortage of breath. "How can they do that?"

Jim let out an impatient breath. "They shouldn't be able to," he said. "But there aren't enough people in power who care about kids like her. So they take the easiest route to keep those kids from becoming what the mayor calls 'public nuisances.'"

Bruce fell silent for a long moment. "Your friend," he said finally. "Will she be okay?"

"I hope so," Jim said shortly.

"Is there anything I can do?"

Jim shook his head. "No," he said. "Thanks, kid. But you can't help this one."

They were silent for the remainder of the run, but Jim could almost see the wheels turning in Bruce's mind, and when they circled around the lake and ended their run in the courtyard behind the mansion, the boy spoke up again. "I'll talk to Alfred about the Wayne foundation," he said. "I'd like to establish a branch of the foundation that does something for the homeless children."

"What do you have in mind?"

"You're skeptical," Bruce said, folding his arms and looking up at Jim, who simply raised his eyebrows. "You don't think I can do it."

"I think you have enough power through Wayne Enterprises to do whatever the hell you want," Jim said frankly. "I'm not sure it'll be a good idea."

"Why not?" Bruce's forehead furrowed in confusion. "Somebody should help them."

"First, the girl who's in the hospital right now would probably not trust you and Wayne Enterprises enough to accept help in the first place," Jim said. "Second, adults in power have already proven that they are willing to put almost everything before the safety and health of these kids, so who could you find that would manage that kind of foundation?"

"I could find good people," Bruce said defensively. "You could help me. We could have a home built, and you and I could find good people to staff it."

"What if none of the children you're trying to help want help in the first place?" Jim asked. "And what if none of them want help from you, a person who's just a boy their age?"

Bruce scowled. "So I should do nothing?"

Jim hesitated, surveying the young boy carefully. "No," he said. "I think you should do something. I just think you should be careful how you do it. You got me?"

"Yea," Bruce said. "Can we spar now?"

Jim nodded. "Do you want to use the staff Alfred was teaching you with or do you want to practice disarming someone who's carrying a gun?"

"Disarming," Bruce said. "And your friend. Could I meet her? She could help me decide who should run the children's home."

This last request—coupled with the image of wild, savage little Selina helping the privileged son of the Wayne's—made Jim grin.

"I'll ask her," he said noncommittally. "Now, do you remember the takedown I taught you—the leg-sweep—from yesterday?"

They had practiced for barely an hour, because, despite the boy's protests, Jim could tell he was utterly worn out.

He had told Selina he would return to ask her questions on the following evening, and he had specifically told her six pm, because his shift ended at four, and if she had any intentions of running, he could hope to prevent them by arriving early.

She was surprised to see him, and he could see the scowl overtake her face as she realized exactly what he had done.

"You're here early."

"Shift ended," he said. "Thought I'd stop by."

"You look like shit," she said, and he smiled ruefully.

"I had to be up at three this morning because some kid was trying to catch a murderer on her own," he said, and a tiny smile twisted the corners of her lips.

"I'm not on my own, though, am I?" she said, and he folded his arms. "Not anymore."

"You know, instead of playing bait for a murderer, you could have just showed up at the station and asked me to work with you," Jim said.

Sam, the nurse who had called Jim the night before, pushed open the door and entered, relief passing across her face as she saw Jim standing there. "You have no idea how worried I was that she was going to run off," she whispered, and the girl grinned.

"I heard that."

Sam rolled her eyes. "She hears everything."

Jim looked at her sharply. "Apparently she also has sharp eyesight," he said thoughtfully, and the girl unexpectedly bristled under his gaze.

"She's actually scheduled to be released in an hour," Sam said. "That's why I'm here. Social services said they don't have a place for her to stay until late tonight, but hospital administration said she can't stay here"—

"I don't need a place to stay," Selina snapped. "I don't want a place to stay."

Jim looked at her skeptically. "You had the hell beat out of you last night," he said. "You're not going back out on the streets looking like that. Looking like a target."

Sam looked at him, and then he sighed.

"You'll come home with me," he said, and Selina shot straight up in the hospital bed.

"What?"

"Barbara's making dinner now," he said calmly, ignoring her outraged look. "You can have dinner and tell me what you know, and then I'll take you over to social services later tonight when they have a place for you to stay."

The girl relaxed slightly, though her shoulders remained tense and her body was coiled as if she were ready to run at a moment's notice. "What's it going to cost me?" she asked, and his face softened and he exchanged a look with Sam.

"You're going to answer my questions and not attack anyone, including my fiancé," Jim said impatiently. "Now come on. You okay to walk?"

"Of course I am," Selena said indignantly, jumping to her feet and then swaying slightly. "I've had harder knocks on my head."

"Of course you have," he said, taking her arm to steady her. She let out a soft hiss, but didn't fight him on it, and Sam followed them out to the parking lot.

"Thanks, Jim," Sam nodded. "I owe you one."

He nodded, and Sam turned unexpectedly, reaching a hand out to brush a few curls off of Selena's forehead.

"Take care of yourself, Cat," she said quietly, and to Jim's surprise, Selena didn't push the woman's hand away. Instead, the girl nodded once, swiftly, and then slipped into the passenger seat of Jim's car.

Sam turned and walked away, and Jim pulled out his phone, dialing Barbara's number.

"Hey," he said softly. "I have a visitor coming home for dinner with me."

"You already have a visitor," Barbara said, her voice shaking slightly. "She says her name is Fish. Fish Mooney."

Hey loves, apologies for the long wait between chapters. Life at uni has been crazy, and I've also had some family stuff to attend to this weekend. Also, I need your thoughts: I'm thinking of crossing this over with Agents of Shield (a kid-fic with Grant, Skye, and Coulson, and possibly FitzSimmons and May too, we'll see). Are all of you familiar with that fandom? And do you think it would add or detract from this story?