Disclaimer: As usual, all recognisable characters are the property of DC Comics and Warner. The only ones belonging to me are Connie, her family, and some of her co-workers and friends.
Author's Note: Also as usual, apologies for the time it's taken me to update. In my defense, this chapter grew to be almost twice the length I had envisioned when I started. I hope you'll forgive me (again) and enjoy. Thanks go to Mia, my beta. And just because I'm completely hopeless when it comes to updating, doesn't mean I don't want reviews. I do. Preferably lots of them, but I'll take whatever you want to give. Please review! I can't say it enough - reviews are such an encouragement for me.
One more question for all of you reading this... I have a sort of "cast list" in my head for Smoke and Cloak, would you like to see it, or are you happy to imagine the characters for yourself?


He knew he shouldn't, but he had still followed Connie to her front door that night. Not to her knowledge, obviously, because although he worried about her he thought she deserved to be scared. Fear was the only way to combat the curiosity that led her into situations like tonight.

But her curiosity had again found a way to trigger his memory, and he couldn't help but think that once again she had been helpful, without really meaning to. The swords meant more to him than she could have imagined, and they were the link that solidified the fleeting suspicions he had sustained for some time… that the League of Shadows had returned, in some form, to Gotham.

It was close to two years since the League had last been involved in the criminal activities going on in the city, and the result had been near disastrous. You could still see the gaunt faces of some of the victims; those who had been subjected to Jonathan Crane's Scarecrow gas for just long enough for it to be irreversible. And then there were those who were now locked into one of the secure wards at Arkham, driven insane by their own worst fears and restrained twenty four hours a day because they were now considered far too dangerous to be let back into the normal world.

Then-leader of the League, Ra's al Ghul, had apparently perished the night the toxin was released. The Batman was as sure of it as he could be, having battled Ra's himself. But no body had been recovered, he reminded himself, and he had already thought Ra's to be dead once only to be proven wrong in all aspects. He could not afford to make a mistake like that again.

The new device led him to a townhouse in Old Gotham, a structure of red bricks and mortar that had, in all fairness, seen better days, but still carried some charm, as opposed to many other structures in the city.

Thin rays of light was shining through gaps in the heavy curtains, but they were drawn shut on all three floors, so nothing of what went on inside could be discerned from an outsiders point of view. But from his perch on the roof of the building across the street, the Batman heard plenty.

"Foolish girl!" A female voice spat furiously, and the voice was so present that it was as if the woman was standing right beside him.

The chilling sound of a blade being drawn could be heard, and then;

"My orders were perfectly clear…you were not to enter the city until you had orders to do so…if and when you had orders to do so."

Another female voice responded to the first. Batman recognized it from earlier that night at the warehouse, but the dangerous whisper it was then had been replaced with a trembling, almost pleading tone.

"Forgive me, mistress… I remember your orders, and would have followed them, but it appeared that you set out to rectify our greatest failure in modern time yourself…and being your ever faithful servant I could not willingly stay behind while you worked so tirelessly to restore balance to the world."

A short, mocking laugh was the reaction, but it was soon followed by a reply more poisonous than the first accusation.

"Oh Whisper…do not think that I cannot see behind your mask. You serve me only to serve your own ambition…"

There was a pause, and Batman listened as the blade was pressed harder against someone's throat for some agonizing seconds.

"But that too has its purpose I suppose… You were discreet, I hope… No one knows you are here?"

He didn't need to see to notice the uncomfortable silence that lingered between the four people being interrogated, and he had no problem envisioning the gazes filled with uncertainty that doubtlessly accompanied it.

Hesitantly, and perhaps even more worried about her future than last time, the woman from the warehouse spoke again;

"I wish it was so, Mistress. Forgive me…"

The singing sound of metal through air, before it impacted with some kind of hardwood, probably cutting whatever it was clean through, before being swung around again. He could tell from the change in her breathing that it was probably again resting close to the woman's clavicle.

"You were seen?"

The voice was nothing more than a whisper now, but it was as if it dripped of poison with every syllable uttered.

"We were extremely careful, Mistress… I don't understand how he could have found us…"

"Who?"

The voice was dangerously impatient now.

"This vigilante…the one who…foiled our last attempt at restoring balance to this city. Batman, or whatever it is they call him…"

Sudden silence, and he could hear how the air seemed to be trapped in the lungs of the servant as she awaited her mistress' reaction.

"How did he find you?"

The question was simple, yet merciless.

"I don't know, Mistress. We were careful, as we were taught…but then he appeared out of the darkness. It was almost as if…"

"Yes?"

The servant hesitated for a moment before speaking, as if what she considered was too convenient to be true.

"As if this person had trained as we have… He fought much the same as we do, always adapting, but… he was stronger and more skilled than any of us, Mistress."

There was another pause, but this was not as tense as the last.

"Is that so?"

It was not really a question to those surrounding her, but more of a spoken thought. There was silence again for a minute or so, before she spoke again.

"You may leave now. Consider yourselves fortunate that your actions might have been useful…but if you disobey my orders again you will be severely punished."

The sound of hurried footsteps filled his ears, then the sound of a door closing. A moment later he heard, to his surprise, that the woman remaining spoke to herself.

"So you discovered them… Just as well, it evens the field a bit. I daresay Mr. Lawton was getting bored… And you're still convinced that you can save this degenerate city, aren't you …Bruce? "

There was the sound of footsteps again, and the door opened and closed for a second time.

"I am." Said the Batman silently, although there was no one around to hear it.


On the way back to the cave he cursed himself and his ignorance several times over. He should have known, he should have known immediately.

Talia

The woman from the Wayne Manor party, the woman who had projected herself as his lover in front of the one woman he had actually considered that in a long time. And infinitely more concerning; the daughter of Ra's al Ghul, his nemesis from almost two years prior.

Her voice sounded so clear and distinct in his mind now that he berated himself for not realizing the connection before. He had encountered Talia once, when he had trained with the League of Shadows, and the woman had the ability to make an impression.

And now she had apparently hired Floyd Lawton in a bid to finish what her father had started. There was comfort in knowing who he was dealing with, but it was a small comfort when you knew firsthand what the League of Shadows were capable of and what kind of resources they had at their disposal.

The cave was quiet when he returned, only the distant sound of the waterfall was audible. He carefully removed his armor, checking sporadically for injuries sustained during the night in the process. There were none to speak of, only some bruising and a red streak on his neck where the sword had nicked him.

What he had discovered weighed on his mind the most. It explained so much, but somehow still managed to post even more questions. Like how on earth he was going to tackle Talia and the rest of the League…and whether or not Connie had now inadvertently managed to get herself caught up in something that could quickly prove to be even more dangerous than the Riddler. Connie herself had only one advantage; that Talia was so far unaware of who she was, and how she was connected to him. The problem was that he wasn't sure how long it would stay that way, especially with Connie being ignorant of the danger. And he wasn't sure how far he could go to protect her, without risking too much.


It wasn't often Connie exhibited a temper. She usually found it much more comfortable to try and be laidback and easy going, for her own sake as well as others. But that didn't apply when someone stole her inventions – even if that 'someone' was her boss.

This was the reason why she had walked straight into Lucius' office that afternoon, without caring much whether or not he was busy. His secretary had tried to stop her for about two seconds, until she saw the look in the other woman's eyes and wisely backed off silently.

Lucius looked up over the top of his glasses when he saw her enter. His voice carried the same pleasantness as always, and betrayed nothing of what he might or might not know in relation to her visit.

"Connie… What can I do for you today?"

"Well, you could stop stealing my inventions and giving them to a wanted criminal."

The reply was so swift, and so hard in tone compared to what he was used to hearing from Connie that Lucius immediately straightened and surveyed her more closely. In looks she was businesslike as usual, a crisp, white shirt tucked into a pair of loose-fitting, dark brown trousers made of some kind of coarse fabric, with a broad leather belt as the main accessory. Most of her hair was swept up in a casual bun, but the shorter strands framed her face, curling slightly at the ends, and her makeup was discreet.

Her eyes however, warned that this was not a good time to offer flighty white lies or explanations. He would have to tread gently, but the truth would still be too much information.

"I don't understand what you're talking about, Connie…"

"Save it. You really think I'm such an airhead that I don't recognize my own inventions? You gave the Batman the prototype for that tracking device I came up with!"

"Look, Connie…"

"Don't!" She snapped back furiously.

"I'm not like that lawyer idiot; I'm not after a fatter paycheck. But I despise the fact that you'd jeopardize the reputation of this company to cater to him. Ever since I took this job we've been at the cutting edge when it comes to R&D, and I've done my bit to keep it that way. I've fought tooth and nail to get a hold of some of the people I have working for me, I've had sleepless nights worrying about industrial espionage…only to now realize that that's not what I have to worry about after all."

She finished breathlessly, her arms half outstretched in a gesture that demanded answers. The temper was still flaring in her eyes, but now there was also something challenging him to argue with her.

Lucius cocked his head to the side, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. Then he straightened and met Connie's gaze, taking a deep breath before answering her.

"Look, Connie… I'm helping this man because I'm in a position where I have to care whether he lives or dies. You've gotten close enough to him to know that he's walking a very fine line. That's why I urge you to be careful… I don't want you to get hurt doing whatever it is that you're doing now…"

"I wish you'd stop making this about me… I can take care of myself. I didn't say anything before, about a vigilante running around in the city dressed as a bat with an array of Wayne Enterprises prototypes…because all of them were yours, and as far as I'm concerned you're free to use them in whatever way you want. But this…this was mine. And you took it without my permission."

He wanted to say something else, something to turn this back on her, because the fact that she had obviously crossed paths with the Batman again worried him. But he didn't get a chance, because she had already turned around and was about to walk away.

"Connie…"

She turned at the mention of her name.

"Be careful. You don't know what you're getting yourself into."

Her answer surprised him.

"Well, then either enlighten me…or get the hell out of my way."

Lucius watched Connie's back disappear out of his office and took a deep breath. The woman was a handful. Smart, strong, independent, talented and sometimes bordering on genius…but a handful.

He pressed a button on the intercom, and a pleasant-sounding female voice said;

"Yes, Mr. Fox?"

"Jessica, could you get Bruce Wayne on the phone for me, please? As soon as possible."

"Of course."

A few minutes later the phone rang, and the voice of Bruce Wayne sounded when he picked up the receiver.

"Mr. Fox…is there a problem?"

"In a matter of speaking… It's about Connie, and I thought you'd want to know…"

There was a pause and Lucius could hear that Bruce was moving from one place to another. The buzzing of voices that had been in the background lessened, and he heard a woman's voice begging "Brucie" not to leave. A door opened and shut, and Bruce's voice came again.

"What's the matter, is she alright?"

"Oh yeah, she's fine… pretty mad, but fine. I'm not the right one to criticize your course of action, Mr. Wayne, but using a prototype of Connie's own invention right in front of her…that wasn't what you'd call clever, was it?"

Bruce uttered a curse before he could think to stop himself. Surprised he heard Lucius chuckle in the receiver.

"Is something funny, Mr. Fox?"

"No, not at all… it's just refreshing to hear that it's still possible to throw you off just a fraction…"

Lucius heard an audible sigh on the line, and thought for a moment about how to proceed.

"Had a feeling you might need to be reminded… Connie's not stupid, and with that glitch…well, I think she's on to you…and I have a feeling she's not gonna back down easy. She's not that kind of girl. And the fact that she's pissed off at me for handing out her invention isn't going to help make her any less determined…"

Bruce thought about Connie and the fiery determination she could exhibit, and smiled, although he didn't have any reason to. The smile didn't linger long however, he was soon preoccupied with the thoughts surrounding what could happen if Connie really did start digging. Most likely she'd come upon dead end after dead end and give up – it wasn't as if he hadn't thought to cover his tracks… but then, this was Connie, and she could be more stubborn and hard headed than any other woman he knew.

He shook his head, as if that could help dispel the thoughts from his mind. He didn't have the time or the resources to worry about this now, Talia and her new, albeit temporary minion Deadshot took precedence. His primary objective had to be to find some way to get ahead, to put a stop to whatever plan Talia had up her sleeve.


That afternoon Connie Tate had a plan of her own. She had called in a favor she had standing with Scott Archer, one of the guys working building security that Connie had somehow managed to charm her first week on the job. He didn't think twice about letting her borrow a couple of security tapes, it was a common enough occurrence, especially if she was worried about some the details of an upcoming project leaking out. Scott Archer's only mistake was that he thought too highly of Connie to think that she would misuse his trust in order to get to her own, personal goals, and that he trusted her to find her way through the saved video files without actually checking that she'd selected the ones she said she was looking for.

Half an hour later Connie walked out of the offices of the security staff with three CDs containing security footage from the cameras in the front room of Lucius Fox's office. She did feel a bit guilty of taking advantage of her connections like this, but this was getting too personal to let it go. Had it been anything else, she probably would have let it slide, but she felt she had every right to be territorial about her inventions.

It wasn't so much that she thought what Lucius was doing was wrong – it was the fact that he had given away her creation without her consent that pissed her off more than anything. And then there was something he said.

"I have to care whether he lives or dies".

Lucius usually wasn't the sentimental type. Not cruel or unreasonable in any way, but not sentimental. This was probably why she found that to be an odd turn of phrase for him to use. And it begged the question; why? Why was this vigilante important to Lucius to such an extent that he'd take it upon himself to help him stay alive? And who was he?

She had a feeling that if she was going to get anywhere with her little investigation, she would have to start with the 'who'. That would undoubtedly be difficult enough, even if she had managed to narrow down the timeline to three days, from the time she had given Lucius the prototype to inspect to the night she had seen the Batman use it.

When she returned to her desk, Connie quickly put the CDs containing the security footage in her bag. This private investigation of hers would have to wait until she got home.

Later that night she settled into her office for the first time in months. It was one of the rooms in her apartment that hadn't seen a lot of use since she moved, and because of this it had now taken on the look of more of a storage room than an office.

A pity, Connie thought to herself, because she liked the space. It had been one of the deciding factors when she decided to purchase the apartment. It was a huge space for an office, but it was just as well, because it was dominated by a huge mahogany desk that looked like it could survive the Apocalypse, placed off to one side. The rest of the room looked like Indiana Jones' library with the added flavor of a high-tech computer lab. Connie had found herself forced to admit that ever since she had begun working for Wayne Enterprises, the array of gadgets that occupied her various shelves had grown completely out of proportion. But that was a worry for another day.

Right before she inserted the CD into the computer she felt a twinge of guilt. She had taken advantage of Scott's friendship, and for what? To get back at Lucius? And really, if that was the reason, how would watching security tapes help her do that?

She hesitated. She didn't have to do this, and considering she probably shouldn't, why was she still undecided? It was stupid really, she'd let her pride take over, leading her to do something that could complicate her life substantially if anyone asked questions. She should back down.

But then again, where was the fun in that? All this had an air of mystery about it, and she had to admit that her curiosity stirred.

If anyone of her friends or family had been in the vicinity they probably would have slapped her, tied her to the desk chair, crushed the CDs and taken away her computer, and Connie tried to remind herself of that, and of the frantic, desperate whispers that her mother and her brother had shared in the hospital when they thought she was asleep, but in vain. It didn't take her long to realize that she had settled this with herself the moment she decided to get a hold of the security footage. She needed to finish this…that it would probably lead her nowhere didn't matter.

Three hours worth of futile searching later, she began to regret her decision. Mostly all she saw was people walking in and out of Lucius' front room. She recognized most of them, and they all had legitimate reason to be there, no motive to ask Lucius for any kind of inventions, and probably no interest in what R&D was doing. The juiciest scene she had stumbled across was Jessica, Lucius' secretary being surprised by a man who was presumably her boyfriend, a surprised that led to passionate kissing before the two moved off-screen, probably in pursuit of even more passion.

Not what she had expected, but definitely not what she was looking for. Connie sighed, and contemplated calling it quits for the tenth time in just as many minutes. The dead end she had expected loomed overhead, and she leant back in her chair rubbing her eyes, leaving the tape running while she did so. For a while she sat with her eyes closed, just breathing, before she persuaded herself to stay focused until the end of the tape. If it turned up nothing, she would let it go.

The front office was the same, but the person now on her screen was instantly recognizable. Bruce Wayne. Okay, Connie thought to herself. There's nothing strange about that. He was the owner of Wayne Enterprises after all. It couldn't be him… No, the thought of Bruce Wayne, Gotham's Prince, flying over rooftops playing vigilante was beyond stupid.

And yet… Lucius' words from earlier that day emerged from the back of her mind.

I'm in a position where I have to care whether he lives or dies.

When you're the C.E.O of a company, the owner of said company dying would be a bad thing.

No, she decided again… the thought was silly.

She cocked her head slightly and studied the image as Bruce disappeared off-screen in the direction of Lucius' office. She conjured up an image of the Batman to her inner eye in an effort to convince herself that the two weren't the same, but doing that only raised more questions.

Connie realized that the two had a similar build; muscular without seeming too bulky. She remembered the Batman as being taller, but then again she had only seen him at night, and he could have a frightening presence that made him seem gigantic in stature. So, in reality the two could be about the same height.

Most of her brain still thought the idea was ridiculous, but she had managed to tip the scale enough that she typed Bruce Wayne's name into a search engine. During the few milliseconds it took the website to compile a list of finds, Connie realized that she had now made even more work for herself, in a quest that looked set to lead nowhere.

But looking through the various pages containing Bruce Wayne's name turned out to be somewhat more entertaining than looking through security tapes. She found a usable bio on a web-based encyclopedia, but other than that it was mostly gossip headlines of the outrageous variety. Most of those contained women and booze, both in significant quantities, along with numerous references to the fire that destroyed the original Wayne Manor.

She read the bio first. Granted, she had thought she knew Bruce, but that was before the incident at the party. Now she wasn't sure what to think anymore. And so she read on about ambitious, kind-hearted doctor Thomas Wayne, heir to the Wayne fortune, and how he had met Martha Kane, another heiress and socialite with a bit of a Messiah complex going for her. She read about the flirtation that culminated in the most lavish wedding in recent Gotham history, and the arrival of the first-born son that cemented the image of wealth and perfection.

Connie finished reading a page and hesitated a moment before clicking her way to the next one, because she knew what was coming. The story of how Thomas and Martha Wayne were killed had circulated ever since their murders took place, and had become a part of the city's history, and no self-respecting native Gothamite was unaware of the deed or its aftereffects.

She read extracts from the obituaries and the accompanying article detailing how the eight year old Bruce Wayne had been orphaned and left in the care of the Wayne family's butler. Connie felt an inexplicable sadness as she read, because this part was the only in which she saw a clear parallel between Bruce's life and her own. Her story was not nearly as tragic, but still… Bruce had been what, eight or ten when he lost his parents? She was twelve when her father died…that was eighteen years ago now, and she still remembered it like it was yesterday. She had been standing on her toes, looking as far out of the kitchen window as she possibly could, looking to get the first glimpse of her father as he rounded the corner or his way home from work, when she heard the shots. Two in quick succession and then a third as if to make sure the job was done. And she knew, instantly…instinctively. It was as if something in the air changed, and the balance of her world shifted almost immediately. She remembered the hospital, the smell, the clock on the wall in the waiting room, the rhythm of hurried footsteps, and the doctor who came to see them, but who wouldn't speak to her mother or her brother in front of her.

The grief she had felt, and still felt, must have felt at least twice as bad for Bruce Wayne, who in a matter of minutes had been robbed of both parents. At least, Connie thought, she had had her mother left, and her mother had exhibited a strength that Connie didn't know was possible, and if it hadn't been for her Connie knew that she would never have coped as well as she had.

Her thoughts focused back on the article she was reading, which went on to detail Bruce Wayne growing up to be a very rich rebel without a cause. He had enrolled at most of the universities making up the Ivy League, but hadn't graduated from any of them, and the article seemed to agree with itself that Bruce Wayne's talents didn't lie in academics. Connie found herself agreeing too, although when the two of them had been alone together they had been able to have intelligent discussions on everything from politics to technology, and she couldn't in good conscience call him stupid. But he certainly seemed so careless of everything important whenever he was quoted in the tabloids that it seemed to be bordering on stupidity. So, was it one of Bruce Wayne's idiosyncrasies, or was it a sign that he was hiding something?

She read on about Joe Chill's release from prison in exchange for testimony, his subsequent death. Then came Bruce Wayne's mysterious disappearance, and all the speculation about where he'd gone. He was thought to be seen at every jet-set hotspot around the globe, but no reports seemed to be anything other than hearsay and speculation.

Connie paused. What did all this mean? Had Bruce Wayne disappeared off the face of the planet for seven years without anyone managing to dig up or guess where he was? Knowing the ferociousness of certain Gotham medias she found that almost too good to be true. Someone had to know…something, at least, about what Bruce Wayne had been up to when he went AWOL on the Gotham society.

Then there was the reason why. Why had Bruce Wayne disappeared? And why had he come back?

Connie felt that she was growing frustrated with the increasing amount of questions that formed around the articles she had been reading. In an effort to gather her thoughts into some kind of cohesive vision she wrote the questions down on a notepad lying nearby. She then surveyed the list with the skepticism of one who was used to doing research. There was something there…she was almost sure of it. She might just be skirting on the edge of whatever it was, but something, a gut instinct, told her that she was on to something.

With a newfound determination that she really had no idea where came from, she decided to start with the most tangible of the questions on the notepad. Where had Bruce Wayne disappeared to?

She knew that getting an answer out of the Gotham press, if indeed there was one to be found, would be tricky. The mix of reality and fiction in the myth surrounding Bruce Wayne was now so thick it was almost impenetrable. Connie glanced at the clock on her computer, it was getting late. Maybe the smart thing to do would be to stop and come back some other time. But she couldn't quit just yet… One more page, she told herself. One more web page of search results and she would call it a night.

Then, when she had searched through about two thirds of the page results without finding anything new, a headline caught her eye.

Gotham playboy Bruce Wayne spotted in Bhutan

At first Connie was sure she had misread something. Bhutan…that was a tiny country in Asia, and she was fairly certain that it wasn't a hotspot among the rich and famous, which made the article all the more interesting.

It turned out not to be a newspaper article, but instead an archived entry from a gossip blog. It was accompanied by a grainy black and white photo of what looked like a police raid judging from the uniforms. In the photo a group of people were surrounded, guns pointed at them. All of the men in the photo were Asian in appearance…all except one. Towards the center of the group of surrounded men stood a young man that was at least a foot taller than most of his partners in crime. His hair was dark, long and unkempt, like he hadn't washed or combed it in weeks, and most of his jaw line was covered with a beard. He was looking away from his captors, over the gathering crowd and sideways into the camera that had taken the picture, and Connie gasped when she realized that she was looking at a photo of Bruce Wayne, ten years younger.

And yet, no. That wasn't possible. It couldn't be Bruce Wayne. Why would Bruce Wayne be in Bhutan, why would he let himself be treated like a common criminal? It didn't make sense. None of it did. But the more she looked at the picture, the more certain she became. There was something about the eyes…there was a sadness in them, similar to what she had sometimes seen in Bruce's eyes when he thought she wasn't paying attention to him. What she could make out of his facial features were similar too, the cheekbones, the nose, the lips… younger, but definitely like Bruce's.

She read the accompanying text;

One of our devoted readers Lauren, who currently works with Doctors Without Borders in India, visited Bhutan earlier this week and witnessed the local police conduct a raid on a warehouse. When we first read Lauren's email here at the Gotham Grapevine, we didn't really understand why we should print this, but the photo our good friend Lauren had the sense to snap changed things. Are we seeing things here at the Grapevine, or is that a scruffy edition of Gotham golden boy Bruce Wayne there in the center? Did he trade the upper circles of Gotham society for a life of crime on the other side of the planet? Or are we perhaps not looking at Bruce Wayne, but a long lost brother? Feel free to air your theories in the comments, we here at the Grapevine are looking forward to hearing your opinions.

The readers of the Gotham Grapevine hadn't disappointed, the comments were many, but most seemed to discard the theory of Bruce Wayne living in anything other than luxury somewhere on the planet and instead elaborated on the 'long-lost brother' theory until it became so absurd that Connie couldn't help chuckle where she sat. She leant back in her chair, turned up the music that had been running in the background on her computer while she read, and stared for a long while at the picture, as if it would reveal the answer to one of her questions if she just kept looking at it.


The next day Connie remembered that she would soon have an opportunity to take another, closer look at Bruce Wayne. He was hosting a party at the Manor for various people who had invested a lot of money in Wayne Enterprises, and as the head of the Research and Development Department, she was expected to attend. She was fairly sure that seeing Bruce again wouldn't be a problem. They were both adults, after all…and it wasn't as if she planned to seek him out. No doubt he would have acquired at least one or two new pieces of arm candy for the occasion, and she saw no reason to disturb him in the pursuit of new conquests. No, she would focus on being nice to the investors, and try to have a good time with the people she knew.

The night of the party soon came, and Connie found herself walking into Wayne Manor feeling a lot more confident than she had the last time. It was easier now, when she could rely on herself, when she didn't have to worry about how she would look to the winner's circle of Gotham society.

She greeted Alfred kindly when he passed her, carrying a tray of drinks, and was a little surprised at just how genuinely pleased he seemed to see her. It was a welcome surprise. She had struck up a sort of friendship with him on the occasions when Bruce for some reason had kept her waiting at the penthouse, and she had soon discovered that behind the proper English exterior there was much more wit, knowledge and compassion than she could ever have guessed.

One surprise quickly followed another when the first one of the guests she bumped into turned out to be Andrea Walker, the first, and so far only, nice woman she had met among the socialites. At first Connie wasn't sure if Andrea would even remember her, but she was quickly proven wrong when the beautiful blonde let out a thrilled little scream and proceeded to pull her into a hug so fast that Connie had to take care not to spill anything of her drink.

"It's so good to see you again!" Andrea exclaimed just as she loosened her grip on Connie.

"Thanks…you too." Connie managed to reply, still a little taken aback, before she managed to shake it off and ask;

"So, what are you doing here? Are you here with Keith?"

Andrea shook her head, and hesitated a little before she answered.

"No…actually I'm here by invitation as one of the investors." She smiled carefully.

"That's great! And for two reasons, because then you're on my 'people to be nice to'-list…"

Andrea laughed happily at that, but then she turned serious again.

"Listen, Connie… I know that you don't want to talk about last time you were here, but I have to know what happened…"

Connie shrugged.

"Well, to tell you the truth your guess is as good as mine… I was talking to you, having a pretty good time, and then I turn around and I see Bruce with some other woman practically on his lap, making out…I quickly decided that I wasn't going to stand for that, so I left…"

"You should have told him off…" Andrea said, before continuing,

"But it doesn't really matter that you didn't, because I did it for you… I even made a bit of a scene telling him what an ass he was."

Now it was Connie's turn to laugh.

"Well, I'm glad he heard some sense," she continued jokingly.

After a few more minutes in the company of Andrea, Connie excused herself and continued to wander through the beautifully decorated rooms without any particular aim. There were people everywhere, and every now and then she saw someone she knew, or was introduced to someone who took an interest in her work. She enjoyed herself, although it did feel a bit strange to be walking alone through the same rooms as she had done arm-in-arm with Bruce weeks earlier.

There were different pieces of art and antiques displayed in every room, and most were exactly the kind of expensive, one-of-a-kind, but boring things you'd expect someone like Bruce Wayne to own. But then, in the corner of one of the living rooms, she saw something that appeared different. A sword rested comfortably in a display case of wood and glass. It was a simple sword, without the inlays and decorations that usually belonged to display swords. Connie thought that the design looked vaguely Asian, but she was no expert. What struck her as odd was how the sword appeared to be well used, the wrappings around the handle were frayed, the guard was chipped and marked like it had deflected several blows, and the blade, although visibly sharp, wasn't gleaming like new.

For a moment when she stood there, she let her mind wander, thinking about Bruce and the apparent inconsistencies between the man the public saw and the man she thought she had seen in glimpses. And it seemed an echo of her thoughts when she heard the familiar voice from behind her, saying her name.

He had noticed her when she first entered. Frankly he found it hard not to, there was something about her that seem to draw him in, and when he saw her on occasions like tonight, when she had dressed up to look her best, he had cause to stare.

He threw a backwards glance in the direction of his date for the evening, Tiffany something or other… Unlike Connie, she didn't seem to mind being a fish out of water, but that was more to do with the fact that she was ignorant of the unwritten codes of the social circles she had now walked into. She was trying to advance her career by using him, just as much as he was using her, but still. He was beginning to grow tired of having to put on a masquerade, and when his eyes now travelled from Tiffany and back to Connie the question "What was I thinking?" floated through his mind. Connie might not come from money or be accustomed to moving in his circles, but she had class, and that of a kind you couldn't buy. In visually comparing her with Tiffany he saw it clear as day. Tiffany wore some slinky little sequin number that was really too short for anything but a semi-darkened night club, while Connie…Connie wore a floor-length, sea-green dress with some kind of black see-through overlay embroidered with green glass pearls. Her jewelry was simple, silver and tones of green and blue, the same with her make-up, and the comb that appeared to hold her hair in place.

She turned to face him at the mention of her name, offered him a small smile and greeted him with the same sweet, yet sad voice that she had when they met in the hallways of Wayne Enterprises.

After the greeting there was an uncomfortable silence. It seemed neither of them was quite sure what to say to the other. Finally, Connie said;

"I was admiring part of your collection," gesturing towards the display case behind her.

"I hadn't figured you for a sword collector." She finished.

She sounded friendly, and he took that as an invitation to move closer.

"I'm not, but it was a gift…from an old friend."

"It looks well-used," she remarked, somewhat suspiciously.

"That probably has more to do with it surviving a fire than anything else. It's a relic from the old Wayne Manor…" He smiled what he hoped was a suitably disarming smile, to disguise this modified truth. The sword was one of the things salvaged from the ruins of the manor, but it addition Connie had been entirely correct in her assumption that it had seen a lot of use. He just couldn't tell her that.

Their bodies were only inches from each other, and he inhaled the scent of her hair and the faint trace of her perfume. In a moment of forgetfulness he placed his hands gently on her bare shoulders, wanting to kiss her neck, but the moment they touched her shoulders went rigid, and her sharp intake of breath instantly told him that he had now overstepped a line that wasn't there before.

A high-pitched giggle from behind told him that Tiffany had gotten bored of flirting with random men and had decided to search him out again. Connie used the interruption as the perfect moment to excuse herself, and he had to wait for hours before he had the chance to catch up to her again.

The party was over and he managed to block her way just as she was leaving, finally having worked up the courage to utter the two words he had tried to convince himself were unnecessary.

"I'm sorry."

She looked at him, confused at first, frozen in her steps, but then something seemed to dawn on her, and her eyes softened into that same sadness he had seen before.

"It's a little late for that, don't you think Bruce?"

He fell silent, suddenly embarrassed and not knowing quite how to respond. She studied his face for a moment, looking at the reaction she had caused, and smiled.

"It's okay, Bruce. You don't have to make excuses… I should have realized from the beginning that when you're Gotham's most sought after billionaire playboy, ordinary women…are diversions. The fault is mine…I should have guarded my feelings better…because I fell hard for you, and now I have to figure out a way to get back on my feet."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she held up a hand to stop him.

"But for what it's worth," she continued.

"I really did think you were a different…a better man."

She lowered her head, and was out of his reach before he could bring himself to put a hand out to stop her. He stood watching her back as she disappeared through the door and out into the darkness outside.

So did I, Connie. So did I.