A/N: So sorry for the delay. Again! Sadly, another update probably won't appear for the next month since this is the busiest time of the year at the office. Thanks for your patience!

Also, apologies to any Russian readers about how I've mangled Russian names and customs and whatnot. J

Russia- Three Years Earlier

Bruce and Selina engaged in their new favorite pastime: watching the baby sleep. Which she did non-stop. The quiet of the small apartment was interrupted only by the small sounds of the baby, each noise bringing a smile to the besotted new parents. With the newborn between them, they lay on their sides gazing wonderingly at the tiny person who had taken over their lives.

"We should probably give her a name," Selina said quietly, alternating between watching their daughter and watching Bruce as he stared at the baby.

"Probably," Bruce agreed, touching the baby's soft hand. "Any ideas?"

"So much pressure," Selina replied, thinking that this perfect creature deserved a perfect name. "She'll be stuck with whatever we choose forever."

They tossed names back and forth not finding one that fit and it was another two days before they finally found the perfect one.

Balashov had invited them for dinner, luring them out of their apartment with promises of warmth and Borscht. It was his wife's special recipe and the elderly man was proud to prepare his favorite dish for the American couple who had become important to him in such a short time. They couldn't refuse such an offer and left their apartment for the first time since they had returned with the baby.

The baby slept silently in Bruce's arms as they crept down the stairs avoiding the creaky steps. They hoped to evade the attention of the other tenants who always found the slightest excuse to knock on their door to see the newborn. Selina was far more tolerant of the intrusions letting the elderly widows hold their daughter while Bruce hovered close waiting to catch the baby if one of the women happened to drop her.

They entered the apartment to find Balashov seated on his favorite chair. He beckoned them closer, holding out his arms to hold the baby.

"You think I know nothing of babies?" Balashov asked at Bruce's concerned look. The aged man radiated fragility but Selina suspected the old soldier had the strength to safely hold their daughter.

"Don't be offended. Bruce thinks everyone is going to drop her," Selina said as she gave Bruce a fondly teasing smile.

"Never," Balashov said as Bruce placed the newborn in his arms. "It's been decades since I've held one but I know not to let go."

Bruce sat on the edge of his chair, nervous, for a few minutes until he seemed to persuade himself to relax and trust Balashov. Knowing how difficult it was for him not to worry, Selina patted his shoulder before sitting on the arm of his chair. The apartment fell silent as they all gazed at the newborn.

"She brings you joy, yes?" Balashov asked them.

Joy. There was the word that had eluded Selina to describe what she had been feeling in the days since the baby's birth. The word was a familiar one, of course, but she had never experienced that emotion and now Selina finally understood the meaning of joy.

"She does," Selina said, leaning over to caress the baby's soft dark hair.

Balashov angled the baby to present her to the photo of his wife. The cherished photograph sat on the little table next to his chair always within his sight. "Helena, look at this precious baby!"

Selina's eyes met Bruce's and they knew they had a name for their daughter. If Selina had thought about it, which she assuredly did not, she would have marveled and been slightly alarmed to find herself so in sync with another person. It had happened naturally enough; the last months of pregnancy, the birth and now the arrival of the love of their lives had forged a unity she had never experienced.

Upon learning of the baby's name, Balashov beamed with pride. Unashamed, his eyes teared as he thanked them for the honor.

"She will do very well with such a name," Balashov told them. "My Helena will watch over yours."

Weeks later when Bruce received the paperwork formalizing Helena's existence as the Wayne heir, he paused over the last name.

"It's gotta be Wayne," Selina said. Other than her existence, her name was the only thing her parents had given her and it was pretty worthless at that.

"We could hyphen it," Bruce replied, casting her an uncertain look.

"Bruce, my name doesn't mean a thing to me. But yours?" Her gaze returned to the baby nursing at her breast. "Your name opens every door for her. Mine…not so much."

That was another something Selina had not expected about motherhood; the desire for everything to be perfect for the little person that she brought into the world. Helena as Selina Kyle's daughter was all well and good but Helena as Bruce Wayne's daughter was momentous.

"I want her to have…everything," Selina said softly, feeling an unexpected rush of emotion.

Bruce set down the stacks of papers and sat next to her on the bed. She didn't have to explain what she meant, why it was important that Helena have choices and options that she never had. He got it.

"But I get to pick the middle name," Selina added with a mischievous grin. In their search for a name, Selina had come up with a few that, from his expression, pained Bruce to hear.

"Prudence?" He asked, going through her list of names. "Lucy? Julia? Rita?"

"Lovely Rita…" Selina recited.

"Let's hope she aspires to more than being a meter maid." He kissed her lightly before continuing her list of names. "Michelle? Eleanor?"

"Helena Eleanor? I'm not a cruel person." Privately, Selina thought Pearl would be a good one but she didn't want to lie to her daughter when she would eventually ask how she ended up with such a name. "Elise."

"I don't know that one."

"A sad song," Selina said as she passed the baby to him. "But one of my favorites."

Bruce nodded not understanding but any other follow-up questions were forgotten as the baby distracted him. Just as Selina had known would happen. She was very clever with the parceling of information about her past and if Bruce noticed, which he undoubtedly did, he never called her on it.

Finding any excuse to knock on their door, the widows of the building continued to bring food and gifts. Helena had amassed quite a collection of homemade booties, sweaters, hats and blankets. The women offered many suggestions on baby care as they passed Helena between them. Ever vigilant, Bruce watched, uncomfortable, but trying not to be rude in his desire to get Helena back.

"They could drop her. Or get her sick," he complained later when they sat down for dinner at a café. He handed Helena to Selina who curled the baby close as she took the menu the waiter offered. "You don't seem very worried."

"I'm not," Selina said absently as she tried to decipher the menu. "If I survived infancy, anybody can."

"What does that mean?" Bruce asked sharply.

Selina looked up to meet his concerned gaze. "It means that my parents were two idiot teenagers who probably never visited a pediatrician and definitely never consulted a baby book and I lived."

Her words sounded harsh and defensive to her ears. She didn't want him feeling sorry for her but telling stories about her parents invited pity. Pity she didn't want or deserve because she'd long ago accepted the reality of the people her parents were. To an outsider, her relationship with Jimmy and Lisa would seem sad but it wasn't sad to her. Not anymore.

"I'm just saying kids are tougher than they seem," Selina added, closing the door on the parents she had gladly excised from her life. At his knowing look, she felt a tinge of guilt and cracked the door on a safer aspect of her life.

"One of my best friends has three kids," she told him. "The first one she worried about everything. The second one, not so much. The third? Well, the kid could eat off the floor and nobody cared. And they are all healthy, happy kids."

Selina smiled at him, feeling pleased with herself. Bruce looked like he knew what she was up to but he also looked like he wanted to return to the previous topic.

"DeeDee," she answered the question he didn't ask. "My most legitimate best friend. Legitimate in that she's not a criminal but a mom with a real job and a real husband. I know," she said at his surprised look. "Shocking, isn't it?"

"It is," he agreed, leaning back in his chair waiting for her to elaborate. Her guilt surfaced again at how absurdly interested he was in the few crumbs of information she offered.

"DeeDee is…my equal friend. She doesn't need anything from me except friendship which is a refreshing change. I can rely on her, have fun with her and the best thing is I'm not responsible for her."

Their food arrived. Selina shifted Helena so she held her with one arm while she ate.

"You remember Jen?" she asked after the waiter left. "I tend to find people like that. People I have to take care of or…mentor."

"Mentor?" He asked, amused at her choice of words. "So, she was your protégé?"

"Yes!" She nodded, grinning at him, feeling more comfortable with the direction of the conversation. Strangely enough, it was the tales of thievery and conning that she felt most comfortable imparting to him. She hadn't shied away from providing details of jobs gone wrong and very right. "Now there's a career path I could follow. I could be like the Yoda of thieves. Not sure how I would advertise my services though…"

Over the next month, Selina settled into a peaceful existence that had eluded her all her life. The extreme anxiety that plagued her throughout her pregnancy had vanished and Selina couldn't understand what she had been so worried about. DeeDee had told her she would fall head over heels for the baby but Selina hadn't been able to see past her fear to heed her friend's words. DeeDee was so right.

Gotham – The Present

Hoping for some inspiration on an otherwise dead end case, Detective Jessica Massey returned to the scene of the crime. Three days following the homicide, workable leads continued to elude her. Despite sporting bona fide prison tats, the John Doe was not in any database. Her other victim who had barely survived the assault still slumbered the sleep of the deeply wounded and her sole suspect was protected by the Commissioner himself.

Sitting in her car, Jessica went over her notes, trying to see what she missed when an expensive black Range Rover pulled up behind her. Bruce Wayne had a lot of cheek to show up here.

"This is a crime scene, Mr. Wayne," she called out to him as she slammed her car door closed.

"It's also my property, Detective," he said with a grin that probably caused most women to go weak in the knees.

Jessica wasn't most women.

"Bet you think that charm gets you out of just about anything," she said, her eyes narrowing. Jessica hated it when suspects were too handsome for their own good. "I think you're too used to getting whatever you want."

He regarded her for a few moments. "Not really," he said and she believed him.

"I heard what happened at the hospital." The duty nurse had described him as quite a fighter. Her words had described him as "amazing" but Jessica refrained from adding to this man's already inflated ego.

"Does that clear my name?" He asked.

Even though Wayne was fading in her estimation as a viable suspect, Jessica still wasn't quite prepared to let him off the hook. Her instincts, which were usually spot on, told her this guy didn't have it in him to commit such a horrific crime. Besides, Jessica reasoned, if he wanted his girlfriend dead, a guy like him could afford to hire the best in the business. Fly them from the moon if he wanted to. Still, she knew from painful experience that seemingly benign men were capable of monstrous acts. Crimes of passion were exactly that, crimes committed in a haze of rage and jealously, often with no warning.

"You could have planned that in an attempt to deflect suspicion," she answered.

"That seems a lot of effort."

He didn't sound worried. Was that an act? She hated that she couldn't get a handle on this man. The man standing in front of her was different from the man portrayed in the tabloids. More down to Earth than she expected.

"What are you doing here?" She asked.

He looked around the deserted street, before settling his gaze on the warehouse, studying it. "Seeing if there's anything that's been overlooked."

"Not much faith in us, huh?"

"No, that's not it," he said, giving her an earnest look. "I know Selina. How she thinks. I may see something you wouldn't know to look for."

"And you would, of course, share that with us?"

"Of course," he said, not even bothering to lie convincingly.

He followed her inside the darkened building.

"You want the story our crime techs tell?" Jessica decided this might be a good opportunity to observe him. She hoped she wasn't getting fooled by a handsome face.

"Yes," he said, his voice carefully neutral.

The portable lights the Crime Scene Unit had employed were long gone but Jessica knew where every speck of blood had been found. As they walked up the steps to the second floor, she described the scenario they believed occurred. Wanting to gauge his reaction, to break through his tight control over his emotions, she was cold and blunt, not sparing him the harshest of details.

"Ms. Kyle was subdued by a shotgun blast to the chest." She paused, letting that sink in. "The shells were filled with salt. We found salt residue on her clothes. Not lethal but painful. Won't break the skin but it will stun you. So, we're thinking she got stunned with the blast over here." She pointed to a darkened hallway. "She falls over and then gets injected with a very mild tranquilizer that would knock her out for a short time."

His eyes followed her hand as she gestured to the points of interest.

"She's moved to the kill room," Jessica said, watched him closely. As she had hoped, her choice of words elicited a glimmer of emotion. He hid it quickly but she had seen the flash of pain at her brusque words. Another point in favor of innocence.

"Do you want me to go on?" She asked, her voice softening with sympathy.

"Yes."

"She was tied to a chair, her hands bound with rope behind her back. She must have had a knife on her so she was able to saw through the rope, her wrists cut in the process. Most of the damage on her left wrist, causing her to bleed, allowing us to follow her trail. Her hand was smashed with the same weapon used to kill the JD. By the layering of the blood, it looks like the JD was killed first, then the murder weapon used on Ms. Kyle. The coroner believes the murder weapon to be a club, or bat, wrapped in barbed wire."

If she had any doubts about his innocence, his unguarded look of pain at that piece of information chased away any lingering suspicions. All in all, it was a pretty horrible story and Massey could tell it was affecting Wayne.

"At some point, there was a helluva fight here. Your girl gave as good as she got and caused enough damage that they bled."

Bruce looked up sharply. "They?"

"Yeah," Jessica replied. "We've got blood from two other people in addition to Ms. Kyle and our John Doe. We also got DNA from under her nails and the DNA is consistent with what was found at the scene. I ran the DNA on the perps but haven't had any luck yet." She paused, looking at him searchingly. "There's also nothing at all about Ms. Kyle or our John Doe in any of our databases. And that is especially odd considering the JD did time."

"That is odd," Bruce agreed with an impenetrable look.

She stared at him knowing he knew something she didn't.

"Anyway, I don't know how she got away but she did." Jessica led him out of the kill room and down the hall pointing at the bits of blood that were found, revealing the trail Selina had left. "I think she threw something down the stairs so the perps would think she went that way. Then she hid under this desk until the coast was clear and she could climb out the window."

As they walked down the darkened hall Jessica pointed out blood traces that had been found. "The perps did a thorough search of the area but I guess they didn't think to check the roof. Maybe if they had more time but I think the cops scared them off. There's a back alley where I suspect they parked."

They walked toward the stairwell that had been discovered by the crime scene techs. The locked door had been obscured by a barricade of desks and chairs. After opening the door, Jessica paused and turned to Bruce.

"I think it was a trap," she told him as they walked up the stairs to the roof. "These people planned this, laying plastic on the floor and over the windows. The only thing they didn't count on was Ms. Kyle. As a result, other than the blood evidence we have nothing. No fingerprints, no signs of forced entry. This place is clean from top to bottom. Which is unusual for a building abandoned for over thirty years."

They emerged on the roof.

"And here's where she ended up," Jessica said, looking at the bloodstained spot visible under the harsh early afternoon sunlight. "I gotta hand it to your girlfriend. Most people wouldn't survive this kind of thing. Makes me think she's got serious street smarts."

"She does," Bruce said absently as he looked around the roof.

"I cannot even begin to imagine how she climbed to the roof with a smashed hand but I believe that's what saved her life."

"Selina is…" he started before giving her a quick glance, not willing to share private feelings with a stranger. "…very resourceful."

In her research on Bruce Wayne, Jessica hadn't come across anything about Ms. Kyle. That relationship was very low profile but, Jessica supposed, for a man who grew up under intense media scrutiny, his privacy must be a precious thing indeed. Protecting that which was most important to him.

After observing his reactions inside the warehouse, she had no doubts about his regard for the mysterious Ms. Kyle. She wondered how gossipy John was feeling. Probably not very concerning this guy. It was weird but she got the impression that John harbored some kind of hero worship for the filthy rich former playboy who had once dazzled the tabloids with stories of models and dancers and throwing money away like it was garbage.

"So," Jessica started, wanting to get back on track and stop with her speculating. "Why the roof? It's not the usual method of escape. Must be because she couldn't have climbed past that double layer of chain length fences with razor and barbed wire. Which, why is there so much of? I mean for an abandoned warehouse, it sure is locked up tight."

He shook his head, not knowing the answer. They stood on the edge of the roof, looking out over the adjacent field. From this spot, the oddness of the double layer of fencing stood out.

"Must be nice to have so many properties you can't keep track of them all."

"It's a pain in the ass, actually," he said, his gaze speculative as he looked at the fencing. "Especially now."

"The phone she had was a burner phone. The only number called was yours," Jessica said, looking up at him. "I think maybe it was an emergency only phone. So why would she call you and not the police?"

"You'll have to ask her that."

"I will."

"Why is he protecting you? The Commissioner?" Jessica asked, unable to contain her curiosity on that matter. "He never struck me as the kind to get bought off by the wealthy."

"He's not," Bruce replied, a tad defensively. "We're old friends."

She heard fondness in his voice.

"How does he get to be friends with the likes of you?"

"We shared the same interests," he replied, his gaze steady on hers.

"Like what? Polo?"

He smiled. "I don't play polo."

"It's of interest to me, the Commissioner's regard for you. And John's," she added. "It doesn't make sense."

He shrugged unwilling to offer an explanation.

Her phone rang. She looked at the caller then apologized and took the call, walking away from him.

"Goddammit!" She said as soon as she hung up.

"Problem?" He asked.

She waved him off. "I have to go. You coming down?"

"No. I'm going to look around."

She nodded, distracted, and started to leave but stopped.

"Look, I'm sorry about earlier," she said, turning to face him. "I'm paid to find killers not be friendly. But I shouldn't have been so… insensitive to what you're going through. For what it's worth, I'm not getting a killer vibe from you but I'm not paid to listen to vibes. Wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't think with my brain. And, as you may have heard, a high percentage of women who are murdered are killed by their significant other. So I had to take that approach."

"I understand."

She handed him her card. "I doubt you will but if you come across anything, please let me know. I'm not here to get into your business. I just want to find a couple of killers."

"So do I, Detective," he replied, putting her card in his pocket.

Russia – Three Years Earlier

Spring arrived and with it the annual shindig that had the town aflutter. The festival was a spring bash for the locals to celebrate the end of winter and the time before tourists descended on the city for the summer. It was a huge deal and even though they weren't locals, Bruce and Selina weren't tourists either so their attendance was desired. The ladies of the apartment house devoted the last few days persuading them to come along. Even Balashov promised they would have a great time and had intended to accompany them but cried off at the last minute feeling ill yet insisting that they go.

"I've used the word 'cute' more in the last hour than in all my life," Bruce commented as they walked toward the town center.

"It is alarming." Selina agreed, glancing at the baby in Bruce's arms. She wanted to hold her but it was Bruce's turn and he would not relinquish his precious charge for anything other than a feeding. If they had arguments nowadays, it was mostly over whose turn it was to hold Helena. "I just can't believe how ridiculously happy I am with her outfit. The hat Petrova knitted matches perfectly with the little sweater from Zetseva. And I don't even think they planned that."

"It's all pink, Selina," Bruce said, smiling down at Helena who at two months was showing more awareness of her surroundings.

Selina exaggeratedly rolled her eyes. "Different shades and patterns and textures, Bruce. Don't you know anything?"

The sounds of Russian folk music indicated they were nearing the city center. Selina looked forward to the evening out, happy to have an occasion to dress up a little. She and Helena had their first mother-daughter shopping excursion while Bruce was out for a run. She'd forgotten how good it felt to get dolled up for the evening. Dressed in a fashionable black short skirt and a tight black cardigan with red four inch pumps, Selina wound her arm through Bruce's feeling uncharacteristically carefree.

They circulated through the crowd knowing more people than expected. The ones they didn't and who had heard of the American couple with the baby introduced themselves eager to visit with the foreigners who had inexplicably ended up in their town. Bruce showed off Helena and managed to not pull her away every time someone reached out to touch her. Which was often. These people didn't seem to understand boundaries very well. Maybe that's why Selina liked them.

Bruce did most of the talking for his Russian was far better than hers. He had taken the time to learn grammar and proper syntax whereas Selina was content to pick up a smattering of the language by watching Russian game shows and soaps and talking with their neighbors.

Finally, Helena got hungry and Selina smiled at her as she took the baby from Bruce. Finding a seat by a group of women from the apartment house, she settled Helena, draping a blanket over the baby as she nursed. Bruce went off to find food.

One of the younger tenants, Zetseva who was a spry seventy-five, scooted closer to talk to Selina. They chatted amiably for a few minutes until Selina suspected the woman had ulterior motives.

"We don't have many men," Zetseva explained. "Especially attractive ones. It would make us all so happy if you could persuade your husband to dance with us."

"Us?" Selina asked.

"You will not be jealous?"

"I'll try to live with it," Selina replied in English then shook her head to indicate to Zetseva that she didn't mind.

The woman clapped her hands in delight. "He can start with Vera," Zetseva said. "She is too shy but she wants your husband to ask her to dance."

At first Selina didn't think she translated the words correctly but when she looked past Zetseva, she saw an attractively aged woman dressed in Russian folk clothes looking apprehensively at Selina.

"I'll see what I can do," Selina replied, her eyes on the lonely woman.

"Thank you!" she said quickly then moved away when Bruce arrived with their food.

"You know those women that keep bringing us food and clothes for Helena?" Selina asked as Bruce handed her a blini.

"Yes," Bruce replied, sitting next to her.

"They are all very good to us."

"They are," Bruce agreed before taking a bite of his food.

"They bring us food…"

As he chewed his food, he nodded in agreement.

"They give Helena stuff..."

He continued nodding waiting for her to elaborate on what she'd gotten him into.

"And they don't ask for anything."

At that, he gave her a look reminding her of the many, many knocks on their door with the flimsy excuses to ogle the baby.

"Ok, so they're kind of a nuisance but they've outlived all the men around here and just want to dance with a handsome guy."

He stared at her blankly.

"That would be you," she said, smiling at him. "Aren't you glad you shaved for this?"

"May I eat first?"

"Yes," she replied, fixing her cardigan then putting Helena on her shoulder, softly tapping her back. "And, could you ask her friend to dance before the others?"

"Who?"

"The woman standing by Zetseva. Don't look," she said but he looked anyway. "Now you're committed. She saw you looking at her and she'll be hurt if you don't ask."

"Fine," he said, finishing off his dinner.

The look on the woman's face was priceless when Bruce asked her to dance. Selina whispered to Helena that for a crime fighter her daddy wasn't so bad.

The other women crowded around her, talking excitedly. Selina struggled to follow what they were saying but gave up and watched Bruce charm woman after woman. After each dance, another of their neighbors appeared and Bruce never let on that he wanted to do anything but dance with them.

Selina wondered how she ended up with someone who had such perfect manners. He really had been brought up right. At least until…

Deciding to rescue him, she passed Helena to Anna and made her way to the dance floor.

She tapped the shoulder of Marta, smiling at her as her eyes met Bruce's.

"I was getting jealous," she said as he took her hand then slid his other behind her back.

He looked over her shoulder to see who was holding Helena.

"She's fine," Selina said. "We know those people."

"Yeah but…" He trailed off not wanting to give voice to all the bad scenarios his brain could imagine.

"I'm starting to feel like a bad mother trusting those women."

"No, it's fine," Bruce said looking back at her, smiling a little apologetically. "It's just…anything could happen."

"Yeah. Like a meteor could fall from the sky and kill us all. Why worry about stuff like that?"

"It's not meteors I'm worried about."

Selina shook her head. "God help the person that lays a finger on that kid."

Her calm was momentarily intruded by a quick thought of what she would do if anyone dared harmed Helena. She pushed it away, not willing entertain the paranoid thoughts Bruce had trouble getting past.

"I can't believe I'm the trusting one in this relationship," she murmured.

"Who's that?" He nodded toward the younger woman who now held Helena.

Selina didn't need to turn around to see who he was talking about. "That's Anna's daughter, Galina. I interrogated her for a solid five minutes so she's okay. Should I have gotten her prints first?"

"A DNA sample would be preferable," he commented. "You never know how accurate prints can be…"

They danced in silence, gazing at each other remembering the last time they had danced. It felt like a different life with different people. The fears and worries that plagued her then seemed alien now. All thanks to the man in her arms.

Her hand slid from his shoulder, lightly brushing his neck as it travelled to his other shoulder. She curled her arm behind his neck as she shifted closer to him. Her high heels allowed them to stand face to face. His eyes went to her mouth but he didn't kiss her, aware of the crowd of people and also aware that he wanted more than a quick peck. She leaned closer to him, her face at his neck. Her eyes closed and she breathed in his scent. She felt his lips hovering just above her nape, his breath warm against her skin.

"Do you think she's out for awhile?" He whispered in her ear.

"I think we have a couple of hours," she replied huskily, lifting her head to meet his eyes. What she saw in his heated gaze caused a stab of lust to go through her.

"You get Helena," he said, not wanting to be entangled with their neighbors again. "I'll wait over there."

She nodded then walked quickly to the group of women.

"I'm sorry but we have to go," Selina said as she collected Helena.

"If he were mine, I would want to go home as well," Galina said in English, handing Selina her oversized purse that doubled as a diaper bag.

Selina shared a grin with the young woman then went off to where Bruce waited. He reached for Helena, holding her with one arm, then took Selina's hand and led her away from the crowd. They grinned at each other then quickly made their way to their apartment.

Bruce tucked Helena in the Moses basket then turned and kissed Selina. Her arms went around his neck as she held him tightly against her. Their tongues met and the passion between them rose. They made their way to the bed, shedding their clothes on the way.

Bruce lay down, pulling her on top of him as he hands slid over her body. He touched her in all the right places, eliciting soft sighs. Unsure of how much time they had before Helena woke, they were quick and quiet.

"I have to start running again," Selina said, after, sounding out of breath. She slid off him to lay on her back then turned on her side to look at him. When she faced him, he was already looking at her and in his face and eyes she saw everything she never knew she needed.

She looked away, irritated at herself for thinking such a thought. The baby stirred and Selina was grateful for the excuse to hop out of bed. Shrugging on a short silk robe, she padded over to where Helena still slept. A loving smile appeared on her face as she gazed at her daughter. The kid was undoubtedly the best thing that ever happened to her by far.

But what about the man she'd just left alone after a passionate bout of extremely satisfying lovemaking? The little voice inside her asked. Selina pushed that thought aside. Too dangerous. The baby was one thing. The man was another.

Yet it was difficult to guard her heart when it was so open. Helena had broken through the last of her defenses. If Selina wanted to be honest, she would acknowledge that those defenses had already been breached by Bruce Wayne. But Selina was an expert at lying and deceit. Even if she was only fooling herself.

Gotham - The Present

Bruce watched Detective Massey drive off then called Alfred asking him to look into the warehouse. He gazed out at the vacant lot enclosed by the double layer of chain length fence. The fence seemed relatively new, certainly nothing like the fencing surrounding the other abandoned buildings along the street. Most of those were old and sagging with holes vagrants used to slide through seeking the relative warmth of empty buildings. He told Alfred to check on all expenses relating to this property.

Helena got on the phone, chattering about the duckies at the park, asking if she could have one. He smiled, telling her the standard "We'll see." She asked if he was bringing mommy home. Feeling guilty at leaving her confused about her mother's continued absence, he offered her the same lie. After assuring her he would be home before dinner, he ended the call.

He turned to assess the roof, keeping his gaze away from the bloodstained spot where Selina had been found. Bruce could see what Detective Massey could not: how Selina had arrived at the warehouse. She had crossed over from the building next door.

The gravel near the ledge indicated someone had put down there. Without a second thought, he jumped the five feet to the next building. His knee protested at the landing and he felt a swell of anger as he imagined Selina making the dangerous jump. He continued over four more buildings until he reached a building adjacent to a small abandoned parking lot. Across the lot, he noticed a slight indentation on the weary barbed wire that traversed the length of the chain link fence. On the ground, was a folded piece of cardboard, probably used to cover the barbed wire to get across.

Climbing down the same way Selina had climbed up, Bruce felt his anger rise again. Selina had gone to enormous trouble to shield her arrival at the warehouse making him believe she knew she was up against dangerous foes.

On the other side of the fence, sitting on the ground waiting to be reclaimed were two Yummy Donut coffee cups. Using the discarded cardboard, Bruce climbed over the fence. As he jumped to the ground, he scanned the area not seeing another soul or an abandoned car. On the ground, near the cups, were a few cigarette butts. He picked up one of the paper coffee cups, recognizing Selina's shade of lipstick.

Across the street, there was a scrap metal dealer with way too many security cameras. Bruce almost grinned at that piece of luck. One of the cameras was pointed in the direction of the parking lot.

A bored receptionist, who perked up when he entered, greeted him with a happy smile.

Bruce flirted a little, feeling bad at flattering the woman who looked like she didn't get many compliments. After a few minutes of polite chit chat, he persuaded her to check the security feed, sliding her a hundred dollar bill. She looked at the bill then back up at him, worried about what he wanted. He told her he was a private investigator looking into a cheating husband. She nodded, approving of the bastard getting caught and led him to the back room.

She hovered at his shoulder as he found the file with the correct camera's feed. As he searched, he kept up the flirty banter all the while calculating the time he needed to access. He had the timeline in his head. Selina parked her SUV at 8:50 a.m. at the mall parking garage. Depending on morning rush hour traffic, the warehouse was between forty and fifty minutes away. He started searching at 9:30, finally finding her at 11:17.

For the first time, he could see the John Doe. Not a clear enough picture to see his face but there he was, walking along with Selina only a few short hours before he would be dead. He was talking, telling her a story if his gestures were any indication. They arrived at the fence, the John Doe spotting the cardboard then laying it over the barbed wire. Selina set down her coffee, talked earnestly to him, handed him a phone, and then stepped into the JD's threaded hands as he hoisted her over the fence. The way they moved together made Bruce think that wasn't the first time they'd performed such a maneuver. Selina disappeared out of sight.

Bruce fast-forwarded the video, watching as the JD smoked cigarette after cigarette. He drank his coffee, checked the phone, drank Selina's coffee, and smoked more cigarettes. Bruce could identify when the guy started to worry. He paced, running a hand through his jet-black hair, looking around anxiously. Finally, at 11:50, he climbed the fence and disappeared.

The first text Bruce received that day was at 12:16 and he could only assume that the sender was the John Doe. Bruce continued fast-forwarding through the security feed, seeing nothing of interest until a patrol car sped past, its lights flashing.

"So, that's it?" The receptionist asked, sounding disappointed there wasn't anything juicy on the feed.

"Afraid so," Bruce replied, standing up. He smiled at her, infusing his most disarming grin. "The guy's a real jerk. Trying to get custody of the kids. So if anyone asks if anybody was looking into this, could you…?" He handed another five hundred dollars to her.

"I won't tell a soul. Hope that guy gets what he deserves."

On his way out, he asked where the closest Yummy Donuts was.

"Real close. Just over on Wilshire."

"Is it walkable?"

"Sure, if you're into that kind of thing."

He nodded his thanks.

Wilshire was a ten minute walk away and Yummy Donuts another five. When he asked the cashier if she remembered a woman with long dark hair from three days ago, she gave him an impatient you've-got-to-be-kidding-me look. He bought a coffee, leaving her a big tip.

Standing on the street, outside the bakery, he scanned the area, taking note of the high traffic, both cars and people. It was a busy neighborhood, working class with lots of hustle and bustle. A great place to blend in. Across the busy street, he noticed a beat up car with several days' worth of parking tickets. As he walked closer, he noticed that the old Camaro wasn't nearly as beat up as it seemed from across the street. The paint job was faded, the car had once been black but it was now a faded dark grey. The car also looked like it hadn't been washed in years.

On a hunch he took out Selina's keys and wasn't surprised to find one slide into the lock. The door opened with the creak of older cars. He sat down and looked around. The car may appear beat up on the outside but, inside, it was kept up beautifully. The upholstery looked to be updated but kept with the original style. Red.

This was her. Selina. For the first time in a long time, he was feeling the Selina he'd first met years before.

He noticed a picture lying on the passenger seat. The photo was of a sad faced young woman who would have been quite pretty if she hadn't looked so petrified. Messy blonde hair with clear blue eyes that were filled with despair, fear, pain…who was she?

In the backseat, he found Selina's old satchel that had been their constant companion for four years. Looking through it, he found the clothes she'd been wearing when she left the penthouse that morning. He also found a piece of paper with the address of the warehouse scrawled in unfamiliar writing. Other than that, there was nothing. Again, she'd taken precautions ensuring that whatever she was doing would not lead back to them.

He opened the glove box and found a loaded pistol. Frowning, he emptied the chamber, tossing the bullets in the glove compartment and stuffing the pistol under the seat. As he did, he found another gun.

"Jesus, Selina, what's the use having these things if you're not taking them when you need them?" He asked aloud.

After unloading the second weapon, he rifled through the glove compartment finding the car's registration. The 1969 Camaro was registered to 'S. Gallagher, 1414 Canton Street, Gotham'. The registration did not match the license plate. After running the plate, he found that the plate had been lifted from an airport rental car.

He then performed a thorough search of the car, finding another pistol duct-taped under the trunk.

Removing the parking tickets off the windshield, he started the Camaro. The engine noisily roared to life. The well maintained engine was powerful, emitting that low, loud rumbling found in American muscle cars.

As he listened to the engine idle, he called Blake.

"Can you pick up my car for me?" He asked, revving the engine.

"Are you serious?" John asked, not sounding offended.

"I am."

"Is it the Lambo?"

"No."

"Are you ever going to drive that and leave it somewhere?"

"Selina's Range Rover is parked in front of the warehouse. Alfred will leave a key with the doorman. Any luck with Jen?"

"No, she left that apartment years ago but I think I'm close to finding her."

"And the Congressman?"

"In Europe with the wife since March. Their usual ski trip. Gordon's asking around about him, seeing if he has a less than savory reputation. Well, worse than it already is."

Bruce had suspected as much.

"Keep on Jen. Let me know as soon as you find her."

He ended the call then picked up the photo of the young woman. This is it, he thought. Here's what why Selina was doing what she was doing.