Her name was Helena Bertinelli.

Bruce lounged on the bench, one arm resting on an armrest, the other holding a bag of unshelled peanuts. It was a bright day today with very few clouds in the sky. It made for a convenient excuse to wear sunglasses and a baseball cap. Moving a hand, he reached into his bag of nuts and pulled a couple out, popping them into his mouth as his fingers brushed against the thin mustache he wore. There was a bus that was scheduled to show up in fifteen minutes, though he wouldn't be getting on it. He was just a guy waiting on the next bus, nothing more.

Or at least that's the impression he wanted to give.

After leaving the Huntress in that alleyway, he had some work to do. There had been a high speed chase in a nearby neighborhood, one that he put to a stop the moment he caught up to it. Smashing in the hood of a corvette by landing on it and dragging the screaming driver through the shattered windshield had been very satisfying. Then there had been a couple muggings that resulted in a couple men losing some teeth and a potential broken nose. Busy work for the most part, but it provided him ample time to wait for Huntress to head home.

He had placed a tracer on the inner lining of her cape when he had touched it. Batman checked its location every so often throughout the night until he noticed she was making a beeline for a particular neighborhood. Tracking it down, he found an apartment complex of modest means. After a confirmation of the apartment number and address, he returned to the cave for a quick background check.

Surprise had been the first thing he felt when he discovered the name Bertinelli. A little digging showed that Huntress was the daughter of Franco Bertinelli, former lieutenant of Salvatore Maroni. It was strange to see the daughter of a made man moonlighting as a vigilante.

That prompted him to do further research into her, such as how she spent time abroad, specifically Italy and Sicily. She had moved to Gotham a couple years ago, oddly enough around the time he had taken to the streets as Batman. Pure coincidence to be sure, nothing more.

Yet, despite her family influence, she had taken on a more respectable profession, that of an elementary school teacher.

Which brought him to this bus stop, right across the street from Bertinelli's school. Currently it was recess time for her class and her students were out playing. Bertinelli was standing by the school doors watching the kids with a protective eye. Occasionally one of the kids would run up to her, where she would bend down to their eye level and talk to them. Usually whatever she said would send the kid running off smiling, which in turn brought a brief smile to her face.

Bruce glanced down to his watch, taking note of the time, before he moved to pick out a couple more peanuts. So far, she seemed honest, if that was a word he was willing to use. She was nothing like that violence-seeking woman he had met last night. Another mask she wore in certain company.

He could certainly relate to that.

It was then a buzzing went off in his pants. Looking to his pocket, he felt the incessant vibration against his leg, prompting him to reach in and pull out his phone. The dark-haired man didn't recognize the number, but considering he was playing a role at the moment, he chose to answer it. "Yeah?"

"Yeah? Is that how you answer a phone now?"

Bruce jerked his head up, an unconscious reflex he regretted. He was playing a role at the moment and a man sprawling himself on a bench was not someone that flinched at a phone call. Well, maybe if his made-up boss or wife called, demanding to know where he was, then maybe…

Nevermind, he was getting too caught up. "Zatanna," he greeted. "Mind telling me how you got this number?"

"Well, first I picked up a phone book, you know, since I was trying to find your home number. After that I called your house, but your butler guy told me you were out. So then he gave me your cell phone number and said to try that."

"You could have said that to begin with."

"I could, but then I'd miss a chance to build suspense and leave you wanting more."

"Right. So why are you calling?"

"Because we need to talk. Somehow most of my troupe thinks we slept together."

Bruce paused before moving his phone from his ear, looking at it as if it an alien was growing out of the receiver. He kept staring at it until he began hearing Zatanna calling out to him. "Hello? You still there?'

Bringing the phone back to his ear, the dark-haired man replied, "Yeah I'm here. Mind telling me why everyone thinks we slept together?"

"Not really, no. But it is getting a lot of attention and I figured I'd give you a head's up in case you heard anything about it. So we can keep out story straight and all."

"We need to be keeping a story straight?"

"Uhh, hello? Remember what I know? What you showed me? I'm pretty sure we need to come up with some cover story since I was at your house for so long."

Bruce admitted it was nice to hear those words, that this woman was taking his alter-ego so seriously. Still, this call left much to be desired. "What was wrong in saying we talked about your refund pledge? I'm sure that would have worked."

Zatanna sounded sheepish when she replied, "The thing is, I did try that. No one really believed that and...well...alright, my manager was getting annoying. So when he kept pressing me about it, I may have hinted that we had...sex. There, happy?"

No, not really. Bruce could almost picture it in his head. Zatanna was standing in front of her manager, the two of them arguing, and she just blurted out the first thing that came to her head. She had been that way as a teenager and apparently she was still that way as an adult. Suddenly this identity revealing thing was not looking like a good idea.

Then again, it never really was to begin with.

Taking a deep breath, he dropped his bag of nuts onto his laps and pressed the palm of his hand against his head. Letting out his breath, he finally said, "So then we need to make sure everyone believes I got you into bed."

For some reason, Zatanna seemed taken back by that. "Umm, uhh, I guess?"

"Then that's the story we go with. You came to my house, offered me your refund, I haggled with you and we wound up in my bed. Does that just about cover everything?"

"I think so. Umm, what should we say about the sex?"

Bruce dropped his hand from his forehead and shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever you want. With my current reputation, I can say anything and half of the people wouldn't believe a word I said."

"And the other half?"

"Would come up with an even more exaggerated version. Honestly, there's going to be more stock put into your words than mine. If anything, your words will be taken out of context as well because it's me you're talking about."

"Oh. Well, I guess that's it then."

She was bothered by his words. He could tell from her tone, the way her earlier, chirpier octave had dropped to a more depressed one. It made him feel a little bad. Leaning back further into his seat, he looked up at the sky and pondered a rather dangerous thought. "Are you busy tomorrow night?"

"Uhh, I don't think so. Why?" she asked curiously.

"Because there's a gala being held and I need a date. Now, if we're going to cement this story of ours, logically it would make sense that my haggling not only got you into my bed, but a date too. The normal order of the date is backwards, but we can account that to my very convincing charm."

He heard a snort on the other end. "You? Charm? Yeah, right. And I'm the Queen of England."

"Is that a yes or a no?"

A few seconds ticked by before he got his answer. "Alright, I'll come. But don't be expecting anything afterwards. I'm not that kind of girl."

"Of course. I wouldn't think otherwise. Though, I will have to at least try to woo you."

"Oh, I've got to see this. I'd love to see how you intend on getting me into your bed."

Bruce grinned at that. "It worked once before."

There was a long silence at that. He could just picture the blush that was burning across Zatanna's face at the moment. It was a satisfying feeling, if he didn't say so himself. But like all good things, it had to come to an end. "I'll pick you up tomorrow. Take care."

And with that, he ended the call. He was sure he would hear about this tomorrow, but he doubted any reprimands she could come up with would be of any consequence. Looking across the street again, he noticed Bertinelli rounding up her students, ushering them back into the school. It looked like his observation time was up.

Standing up from the bench, Bruce began walking down the sidewalk. He'd be seeing Ms Bertinelli later.

Vicki stared at her computer...well, more like she glared at it. Seriously, how hard was it to find information on a guy what with the connectivity and interactivity of today's digital world?

The Joker guy, there was nothing on him. The redhead had tried everything she could think of, ranging from government databases, hitting the pavement in search of someone that knew an iota of this guy, and even a freaking Google search. And all she had to show for all that work was zilch, nada, nothing. It was as if this man never existed until he appeared at the Jezebel.

Which was wholly impossible. He had to have parents, a hometown, an address of some kind at some point. As it was, it was like he was some sort of ghost that no one knew existed. Considering the description of bleach white skin, red lips, and green hair man, that sort of thing sticks out. That wasn't including the flamboyant clothes he wore either.

All in all, it was frustrating the hell out of her and all she wanted to do was go home and soak in a hot bath.

"Vale," a voice called out to her, causing Vicki to tear her eyes away from the insulting image of a blank screen on her computer monitor. Harry, her editor, was walking up to her with a spring in his step. That ass, what right did he have to be in such a good mood?

"So tell me what you got on this Jezebel thing," Harry stated as he came to a stop next to her desk.

Vicki resisted groaning. Of course the only thing he'd want to talk about is the very thing she hadn't been able to make progress on. So, instead of beating around the bush, she bluntly said, "I've got nothing. I've done everything I could think of and there isn't so much as a letter proving this Joker was around before the theater heist."

Harry frowned. "That's not what I wanted to hear."

"Hey, I'm not happy about it either."

"Well, I didn't give you this assignment for you to come up empty-handed."

The redhead had to bite down as she could feel Harry's dismissal coming, or at least his drawing of a line for her. Do her job or watch someone else do it for her. Neither of which were pleasant. "Alright, then tell me what you know about the Joker? You're about the only person I haven't asked and not gotten an 'I don't know' from. The government doesn't have anything, freaking Google has nothing, so what do you expect me to find when every source has been exhausted?"

If anything, that made Harry scowl even harder. "I pay you to find that out, regardless of any difficulties. If this is too big for you, then I'll give it to someone else. Now do your job and find me something I can print." And with that, her editor spun around and stormed off, much to the redhead's ire.

Oh, so he thought it was so simple. What a prick. She was sooo over tonight. Shutting down her computer, Vicki grabbed her purse and stood up from her desk, making a beeline for the elevators. She'd get back on this mess of a story tomorrow morning after some freaking sleep; it wasn't like it was going to walk off or anything.

Of course, she would've prefered a different sort of night, one that included fine wine, rose petals, and a rather handsome man, but that just wasn't in her life right now. There was some ball coming up if she weren't mistaken and she didn't have a date to it nor the right guy to take her. Damn it, if only things had gone the way she had wanted them to last year, she wouldn't have to be wondering if a press badge could get her inside or not. As it stood, the only thing left over from the shadow Lane had cast on this newspaper company was actually getting a date with the richest man in the city.

Reaching the elevator, Vicki hit the down button, pleased to find the door immediately opening for her. Stepping inside, she hit the 1 button and watched as the doors closed in front of her before the sense of falling overcame her. She was totally over tonight.

The apartment room was simple. There was a main room with an attached kitchen, a bedroom and a bathroom. The usual furniture was all there, ranging from a couch, tv set, coffee table, a bed, a bedside table, and other such things. There were pictures hanging from the walls, showing the occupant in various locales. Italy, Sicily, and a few East Coast cities from the look of them.

Batman left her bedroom window open, a breeze causing the curtains to flutter. He silently crept about the room, taking in everything. It all looked like a place an elementary school teacher would live in, from the furniture to the potted plants to the stacks of school work lying haphazardly on the coffee table. From what he could see, they were English papers, half of which had various red markings on them, indicating incorrect spelling and grammar mistakes. There were a few notes jotted here and there in cursive handwriting and a number circled at the top. It seemed Ms Bertinelli took her students' work seriously.

Giving another cursory glance around the main room, Batman returned to the bedroom. The bedsheets were rumpled, tossed aside without being made. If Alfred had seen it, he would've had a stroke then and there. There were even clothes lying about the floor. A lot of them. Blouses, skirts, pants, and underwear were scattered about, discarded without a thought.

None of them were of the ones he saw the woman wearing earlier in the day, so she wasn't out in Gotham in her other outfit. Now where did she keep it? Under the bed seemed too obvious, if not inconvenient. Still, that didn't stop him from kneeling down and looking under it, finding nothing but empty space.

Back on his feet, he moved to her partially open closet, pushing the flimsy wooden doors aside. She had some clothes, much of it suited for her day job. There were casual clothes on one side and her work clothes on the other. Her shoe collection was neatly organized on the floor, leaving room for not much else down there. On the shelf above were small boxes, none of which would have held her vigilante equipment.

So where did she keep it all? Returning the closet doors to their original position, he turned to search elsewhere when something caught his attention. In the corner of the room was a rug, a dull, circular pattern on it. On top of it rested another potted plant. It seemed innocuous at first glance, but there was one thing off of it: it was not in direct view of the window. Considering plants needed sunlight, its placement left it at a distinct disadvantage of obtaining it.

Striding over to it, he moved the plant and rug to a side. Beneath it he found a square outline in the floor, a latch towards one side. Noticing a lock next to the latch, Batman reached to a side pocket on his belt and pulled out a small box. Opening the box, he removed a thin metal pick and a L-shaped metal piece. Setting the case on the floor, he stuck the short end of the L-piece into the bottom of the lock, then the pick into the upper end. He searched for the tumbler inside, finding it after a moment and put pressure on it. At the same time, he moved the L-piece to the left, the lock face turning ninety degrees until it came to a stop. Removing his tools, he then pulled on the latch and opened up the square door.

And there it was. The purple costume looked back at him, folded neatly into a square. He caught sight of several boxes, a few of them containing metal arrows. He could see her retracted bow staff and utility belt, along with more boxes containing smoke pellets and throwing stars that were shaped into rounded H's.

The vigilante had his confirmation. Satisfied, he closed the trap door and relocked it, placing the rug and plant back on top of it. Standing back up, he walked into the main room, moving to a corner of the room and turned to face the door. There was just one last thing he needed to do here.

It was a while before he heard a key enter the door lock. The grating sound of the lock being unlocked was made and the door swung open. Helena Bertinelli walked through the door, a couple plastic bags full of groceries dangling from one hand. She shoved the door closed and took a step forward. Here she raised her back foot up to her back side, where she snatched off her high-heel shoe and tossed it to the floor. Her other shoe met the same fate a moment later.

"You keep late hours."

The dark-haired woman stiffed for a half-second before she whipped her head towards him, hair flying behind her head and smacking her on the side of her face. Her eyes were wide open as she saw him standing ramrod straight, his white lens staring back. Her grocery bags dropped to the floor, making a thud when they hit as she forced her body into a defensive stance.

"I'm not here to fight you," Batman said, keeping his amusement buried beneath his stoic front. He was at the advantage here and they both knew it. Still, he wouldn't put it past the woman to try and fight him off. It was obvious she considered him a threat.

"W-what do you want?" she stuttered slightly, her full attention on him.

"It's obvious, don't you think?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Faintly, Bruce recalled saying those exact words recently. Incidentally enough, they didn't work for him at that time and they certainly weren't going to work for Bertinelli here. "That's not going to work, Huntress."

He couldn't have hit her harder than with those very words. One of her legs lost its strength, causing her to stumble back a step before she righted herself. "Hu-Huntress? Who's that?" she asked weakly.

Batman chose to ignore those words. "I found your suit, Huntress, along with a stocked supply of arrows. It's under the rug in the corner of the room. The one with the circular pattern and the potted plant on top of it."

Whatever defense she wished to keep up crumbled. Bertinelli's postured sagged as her head tilted down, hair masking her face as it fell over it. "How did you find me?" she finally spoke, totally resigned to him.

"I followed you. I've done a full background check on you, Bertinelli." Her body stiffened again, though this time the vigilante got the feeling it wasn't from shock. "Mind telling me why the daughter of a known mobster is running around at night crippling people?"

Her head tilted up and her eyes were full of anger, the same from the previous night. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides. Gone was the trembling school teacher and the raging Huntress was here in her place. "Why should you care?" she barked at him. Turning away, she bent down and picked up her grocery bags, carrying them into the kitchen where she set them on the counter. She flicked on a light switch and light poured into the room, beating back at the growing darkness in the apartment.

Batman followed her to the kitchen, removing a shuriken from a pouch and holding it hidden behind his cape. Standing before the kitchen entrance, he watched as she roughly unpacked some bags of vegetables, a carton of milk, and a couple TV dinners, setting them down on the counter. "I want to know why you're doing what you're doing. Considering your family ties, I find it hard to believe you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart."

Bertinelli stopped her unpacking and placed both of her hands on the kitchen counter. Her head was low again and her hair hid her face. "Do you know what it's like, living with those kinds of people?" she said softly after several moments.

When he didn't answer, Bertinelli turned her head and he was surprised to see her eyes watering up. "I grew up watching my father threatening and beating people up. I actually watched one of my cousins shoot an old man in the face because he didn't have his protection money ready. I can still see Jimmy's face, laughing and spitting on that poor man's body.

"My entire family is mob, but you already know this. You probably already know just how arrogant and selfish they are. Every uncle, aunt, and cousin I have has a rapsheet, some of them reaching from the floor to the damn ceiling. And they were all proud about it as if it was some sort of achievement! 'Oh look, Ricky's in jail for robbing that piece of shit crack addict again.' 'Hey, Tommy's about to get out after that pig busted him for narcotics, someone should go pick him up.' That was normal. Normal!"

The dark-haired woman was shouting at the top of her lungs, facing the dark-clad vigilante. Batman remained impassive as he watched her outburst, soaking in her confession. What energy she had gathered though, began slipping away from her as she looked away from him and continued weakly, "I had to get away."

"So you left for Italy," the vigilante said.

"You know about that, huh? For some reason I don't feel surprised." Her casual admission was soon replaced by a heated rage, one she shared as she turned her scowling face back to him. "Did you know they're worse over there? I didn't think it possible, but I was proven wrong. They kill people in broad daylight, with the police right there watching them do it, and they still walk away without being arrested. The police force is practically owned by them, bought and paid for for generations.

"So I came back. My parents weren't too happy with me then, but occasionally they tried to reach out. Forced me to attend family parties and stuff. Each time I went, I kept seeing that self-righteous arrogance and self-importance, like they were better than everyone. I was drowning in all of that day after day. It was like there was no escape from them."

And then her tone changed. "But then the last one I went to, there was this crash. The next thing I knew, there you were, sitting on the table, staring down my dad." Bertinelli sounded awed at this. "You sucked out the life in that room. I...I never seen anything like that before. Instead of all the ego and the cockiness, I saw fear. Fear." She stressed that word, as if she were trying to get it through his head just how important it was. "I saw terror in my cousins' eyes. My uncles and aunts were shaking in their seats. It was like seeing a damn miracle happening before my eyes."

Bertinelli then exploded in excitement as she dove further into her story. "And then you were flying around the room like this giant shadow, taking out the guards before they could even shoot you. Then you dragged my dad out onto the balcony and made him piss his pants. You pretty much had your back open for any of my family to attack and not a single one of them stood up. They hid under the table like scared little kids. I've never seen anything like it before or since."

Then, as if a switch was flicked, her exuberant energy drained out of her, returning the dark-haired woman to her softer, calmer self. "So you want to know why I go out and bust heads like you do? That's why. Because you're changing how these criminals feel about Gotham. How they feel like they have to watch their step because you could pop out at any moment, like at my dad's party. Like you did five minutes ago in this apartment."

Batman had to say, it was a touching story. Had he been sentimental, he would have offered her a comforting hand. But he wasn't that kind of man. This was a woman with serious anger issues and running around through the streets of Gotham was not the way for her to work through those problems. So it was without remorse that he told her, "When I said you needed to stop, I meant it. You're going down a dark road and right now is your chance to get off of it. If I have to, I will stop you."

Seeing her clench her hands into fists again, he added, "I'm leaving the choice to you. You can ignore me and leave me no choice but to bring you down. Or you can restrain your aggression and try to find a more useful outlet for it. No more blood will be spilt on these streets, by me, you, the police, or the scum that walks the streets. Those days are over."

Batman turned away from her and took a step towards her bedroom. "It's up to you whether you find yourself on the wrong side of the law."

He was at her bedroom door when he heard her say, "I'll think about it."

Stopping, the vigilante turned his head and looked at her from the side of his eye. "While you're at it, think about those students of yours. I doubt they'd be happy having their teacher thrown in jail."

He then vanished into the bedroom, the room's darkness enveloping him as he heard a sudden intake of breath from behind him. Batman was at the window sill a moment later, a foot pressing onto it as he sprung out into the cool autumn night. Firing his grapple, he swung to the building across the street, pulling himself onto its roof. He didn't bother looking back as he disappeared into the night, even when Bertinelli stuck her head out of the window, searching for him wildly, and ultimately closing the window when she failed to find him.

There was an uncomfortable feeling in the dark-clad man's gut and he couldn't shake it off. His mind was conjuring images of Victor Fries, which intensified the feeling. There was another vigilante out in the streets, claiming him as inspiration again. By all rights he should have taken her out now before she went any further with this. Yet, there was something primal in her, something familiar about the anger that was driving her. It was like the anger that had drove him into this quest of his. A mirror image of himself in his younger days.

And on a level he was loath to admit he had, it frightened him.