Disclaimer: Batman belongs to those people at DC Comics, and Christopher Nolan. But my characters belong to only me and no one else.


The first thought that invaded her mind when she stepped out of the elevator and onto the eighty-fifth floor of Wayne Towers was that she was betraying her dad— and by extension, her grandfather. For all that her family's company was worth, it didn't even come close to what Wayne Enterprises had. This was the nerve center of the living, thriving, ever growing organism that was the Wayne family empire and she was floored by simply being up here.

Chloe tried to get a glimpse of the man who owned the building and probably half of Gotham, feeling a beat of disappointment when she realized that he hadn't yet arrived. Now that she had seen this place for herself, she had no doubt that when he wasn't busy partying, he probably worked as hard as anyone else. Chloe suspected that he possessed a lethal combination of charm, ruthlessness, and acumen if he was to be any good at all in doing business.

She barely registered the elevator doors as it pinged open, admitting the owner of the company and the CEO. "What are you doing here at the enemy's headquarters?" Bruce asked in her ear, catching a whiff of her perfume that had a strong undertone of something earthy and dark.

"What the— " She cleared her throat, censoring herself as she whirled to face Bruce who was in a double- breasted Salvatore Ferragamo suit. It was only the presence of a dignified African- American gentleman in his sixties that stopped her from cursing. "Oh, hi Mr. Fox." Bruce didn't miss the appraising look that Fox gave the woman in her baby- pink Céline silk shirt and tapered pants.

If the man with neatly trimmed hair and mustache that were more salt than pepper was surprised at her knowing who he was, he didn't show it. Lucius Fox merely smiled and something about it that went so well with the courtly air that an old- fashioned bow tie gave him made her grin. She liked his style. "It's very nice to meet you, Ms. Greenwell." They shook hands.

Lucius excused himself afterward, leaving the two of them alone. "Enemies now, huh?" That forties style look exceedingly good on him, she mused.

"I believe your father doesn't like me that much." Her eyebrows tried its best to blend into her green hair. The more Chloe knew him, the more she was finding out that many were under vast misapprehensions when it came to Bruce Wayne. He was more perceptive and not as shallow as generally thought. The denial was at the tip of her tongue but she decided against it.

"He thinks that sooner or later your antics are going to take a toll on the company your ancestors had founded." Chloe glanced at the marble busts of company's founders, Solomon and Zebidiah Wayne in the boardroom as they passed the room on the way to Bruce's office. "And I guess he's waiting for you to burn down Wayne Towers someday, just so he could prove his point."

"But what do you think?" Belatedly, Bruce realized that it mattered to him what she thought of him.

"Me?" She looked at him, a little surprised that he wanted to know her thoughts. This certainly wasn't the careless playboy that everyone dismissed. "I think there's more to you than what you're showing the rest of the world," Chloe said, putting every ounce of sincerity into her words.

They entered Bruce's office and he invited her to sit at one end of the couch as he took up the other end. "So, what are you doing here?"

"I'm here to see Camilla," Chloe, he saw had wasted no time in making herself comfortable as she leaned back, placed her Dolce and Gabbana tote on her lap and crossed her legs.

"I hope she hasn't agreed to leaking any confidential Wayne Enterprises information," Bruce said wryly, draping his arm over the back of the couch.

"I wouldn't worry about it," Chloe assured him. "She's exceedingly loyal to you and this company."

"Oh. What makes you say that?" There was a gleefully knowing look to his expression that he didn't bother to hide.

"I'm starting to think it's a prerequisite for all your employees to have a membership in the Bruce Wayne fan club," Chloe quipped, evading his question. Turning away from the sprawling, wall- to- wall vista of midtown Gotham, she glanced around, taking in his office.

With the money he had, she would not have taken Bruce for a minimalist, or at least it was difficult to be one. His desk was a very modern piece with chrome finish while the rest of his office was made up of leather, chrome, and glass accents. The monochromatic scheme of the space only emphasized it's remarkably Spartan appearance. All he had to display was a few decorative vases, a zebra rug across the floorboards and the usual office paraphernalia. There was also a wet bar at the other end of the enormous office. That aside, the decor was just about as telling as a billionaire wearing hand- stitched Italian leather shoes.

"Did you just get your interior designer in here and let him charge you for arranging a few vases and then some?" There was a teasing lilt to her voice which also held a whisper of curiosity. "Next time give me a call if you need this sort of help."

Bruce wrinkled his nose in reply, which she found was strangely endearing and turned his face to gaze around the office as if seeing it for the first time. It wasn't the first time he had noticed that his office was conspicuously devoid of personal items. He considered and discarded several responses before settling on a truthful answer. "I like it this way."

That wasn't the answer she was looking for but she accepted it without comment. There was a knock on the door and they were accosted by a voice familiar to both. "Chloe, I know my boss can be very distracting, but can you at least pick up your phone?"

By the open door of his office, the Wayne Enterprises CFO shot Chloe an accusing look.

"Oops." Chloe had the decency to look apologetic as she rooted around her bag for her phone. "It was on silent."

Camilla closed the door behind her and sat down on a chair she pulled from the desk. "As much as you two are clearly enjoying each other's company, I have to interrupt," Camilla said and turned around to address her employer. "This will only take a while, Bruce."

"Go ahead," Bruce nodded, watching curiously as his employee withdrew a clear folder of what looked like floor plans.

"These are the living room and dining room plans," Camilla explained as Chloe took the folder. "I hope your cousin have suggestions for a redesign."

"I'll get it to him," Chloe said, flicking through the plans before stashing it in her bag. "I've got to run. My dad made sure I'm having a busy day ahead."

"I'll walk you to the elevator," Bruce offered. On the way to the elevator, his eyes took a moment to admire her behind, moving unself- consciously under fine tailoring, that he found most appealing. The way her hips swayed with each step...

Bruce heard as Lucius came up behind him and cleared his throat meaningfully. "I thought you would like to know that Chloe Greenwell has a five percent stake in Wayne Enterprises. And she is really quite lovely."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "You're like Alfred."

"We all just want what's best for you, Bruce." It pained Fox to see such a remarkable man, who had already overcome so much tragedy, cut himself off from any hope of happiness. Bruce deserved better than the emotional purgatory to which he had condemned himself.


Her Charlotte Olympia velvet platform pumps did the job of announcing her presence before she did so vocally when she arrived at her father's office and found the door already open.

"Close the door." Her father crossed the room to his desk, pushing the day's Gotham Gazette to her. "Society column. Section B3."

By now she had a pretty good guess on what was about to unfold as she opened the day's newspaper to the page he specified. He wouldn't have needed to be any more specific than that because the news that he was particularly concerned about was obvious. Chloe took a look at the very recently- taken photograph of her in a sensually sheer John Galliano lilac halter- neck gown with Bruce and Marc at her sides and put the paper away. The photo was taken at a fundraiser where the guests carried giant canisters of water around a catwalk in gowns and tuxedos to highlight the lengths to which people in impoverished countries must go for clean water.

She didn't have to read it to know what Vicki Vale had written. Chloe allowed herself a moment to wonder what her father was more concerned of. That she was alternating between two men or the dress she wore.

"What have you got to say?" Her father, seated behind his desk was looking intently at her.

"There's nothing going on with Wayne, if that's what you want to know." Chloe was intentionally using his family name instead of the first name that she had been so used to calling him by.

"The papers over the past month have been saying otherwise." He pointed out, studying her for any indication to the contrary.

"He's a friend."

"It's always more than just friends with him."

"Not in this case." She replied coolly, not liking the direction where this conversation was heading.

"That kid knows how to charm his way around women and he'll trample over your fragile little heart when he's done with you," her father warned.

"He's going to trample over nothing," Chloe said forcefully.

"Chloe, I don't know what you see in him." I see many things in him, her mind fired back, quick to go to his defense.

"That's because you couldn't see that his company had flourished under his watch. And you think he's no more than a vapid, womanizing wastrel." She slammed her hand on his desk for emphasis, the rings she wore giving more heft to the gesture.

"Under Lucius Fox's watch." Her father corrected calmly and she could see that this was more than he would usually take from her. "Look past Wayne and at Marco whom you keep with you to parade around when you go to those events of yours."

He might not have admitted it out loud but the clear acknowledgment in his voice that he didn't want her to have anything to do with Bruce made her lose it. "Dad, know this one thing if not anything else: you don't have a damned say in who I want to get in a relationship with."

Chloe had the satisfaction of slamming the door with enough force to leave it rattling on its hinges.


It was when she had been driving down a rural lane for twenty minutes that Chloe realized she was lost. She had left the office in a fit of anger and had sped her way through the streets of Gotham aimlessly as a form of release. Chloe fired up the navigation system in her car, silently sending a word of thanks to the powers that be. This would take a while, she glanced irritably at the navigation panel, so she kept driving down the tree- lined road in search for signs that could tell her where she was at.

The Palisades. She realized as she drove past a stately Tudor house. This was the first time she ever ventured this far out from the city and fueled by a spark of curiosity for this upscale area of Gotham, she floored the accelerator which turned out to be a bad idea. Through the steering wheel, she felt a shuddering effect and the car felt slightly wobbly. She just had all the tires replaced during a routine service check not too long ago and now she was having a flat. Bloody typical.

Armed with an owner's manual, she got out to inspect the puncture. The debris embedded in the shoulder of the tire looked pretty deep. She thumbed the guide for help with the punctured tire and came to the desired page. Apparently, the tire was too damaged for the emergency repair kit and Maserati's advice was to contact the nearest Authorized Maserati Dealer. Resisting the urge to kick the tire in frustration, she got back into her car and grabbed her BlackBerry from the bottom of her bag. Only to find it dead. Damn.

For several seconds she sat there before deciding to leave her car by the side of the road, telling herself that it would still be here by the time she returned with some help. Now all she needed was a change of footwear. Swapping her heels with a pair of Converse, she took her bag, locked the car and took off walking in a random direction. The sense of being hopelessly lost intensified as she passed another enormous, sprawling estate. None of them vaguely resembled the pictures she'd seen of Wayne Manor.

This was becoming a bad idea, she realized belatedly, and made her way back to where she had left her car.

As soon as the Lamborghini left the outer city limits, Bruce shifted gears and guided the beast of a machine as it sped down the country road that led to the Palisades. Behind him, the sunset was coming on fast over the silhouette of the city in the distance. Above him, the sky was striped with bars of aluminum and rosy gold.

In the distance, Bruce barely made out the silhouette of someone in the middle of the road. With the expert ease of someone who has had his fair share of high- speed chases in the Tumbler, he brought his car to a screeching halt, stopping short of hitting Chloe Greenwell.

He rushed out of the Lamborghini, to where she stood illuminated by the headlights. Bruce gave her a look laden with worry, accessing her for any injuries and gingerly brought his hands up to cup her face. "Chloe, are you alright?" he ventured uncertainly.

Then it happened. "Holy shit, Bruce!" she shrieked, looking suitably shaken by the near-collision. "That's 100 miles per hour." Chloe sucked in a fortifying breath.

It took both of them by surprise, especially so for Bruce who didn't see it coming. But neither did she and she ducked her face in embarrassment. "Oh, God. What did I do that for?"

He pulled her into his arms, and she rested her chin on his shoulder, staring past him at both their cars. "I was going at 150 miles per hour," Bruce admitted guiltily.

She nodded silently, not an answer as much as it was all she could do.

"What are you doing here?" Bruce asked, not knowing what to make of the combination of her office-appropriate attire and the whimsically-printed sneakers.

Chloe gestured to her car with a sigh. "My tire punctured. And typically my phone died," she finished lamely.

Bruce went over to the Maserati parked on the side of the road, going down on a knee as he examined the deflated rear tire. "I have a spare at the manor."

The Lamborghini's doors flew up and open, and she slid obligingly into the stitched black and white leather interior.

"Paying a social visit to one of the houses out here?" He asked curiously as he revved up the car.

"Actually, it's..." Hesitation was audible in her voice. "I and my dad had a disagreement." That was putting it mildly. "And then I lost my way."

Night had settled over their surroundings as they arrived at the circle drive of an Elizabethan-style manor. Glancing up at the marble façade of the manor house, her gaze eventually went to the rest of the building that consisted of a high central hall surrounded by four towers. It was the ideal backdrop for a picnic, tucking into egg and cress sandwiches and pork pies as one tried not to imagine themselves existing in the pages of a Jane Austen novel.

"Wait here, I'll be back." Bruce began to get out and away from the idling car. Chloe clucked her tongue in annoyance as she watched him disappear.

When Bruce reappeared with all the necessary tools, she couldn't help but see that he had the tire right. Wordlessly, he loaded the tire and all into his car. "You know, I meant to carry it all the way back to my car."

"I'm too much of a gentleman to allow that." He drove them back to where they left her car as she watched the stately trees and majestic houses swoosh past.

Bruce felt impelled to point out that she didn't have the strength needed to replace the tire as he leaned against the side of his car with his arms crossed. Given the circumstances that had brought her out here in the first place, he knew that offering to lend a hand might not be perceived as an act of kindness. All she had managed to do so far was to jack the car up to begin the process of changing the tire and then it became obvious that loosening the nuts was harder work.

One thing Chloe realized was that watching those Youtube videos on how to change a flat tire doesn't sufficiently prepare one physically for the real thing. She had been pretty confident that it would be over within a matter of minutes — at least what she was led to believe. Thick strings of hair fell into her eyes, and she tossed them back impatiently as she brought a foot down on the spider-type lug wrench, willing it to budge. Now she knew why women never attempted to replace their tires and her cousin had been right to blow her off when she told him that she didn't need help from guys to do it.

Bruce expelled a gusty sigh as he looked obliquely at her unsuccessful attempts. This was getting them nowhere. "Step aside. You need my muscle."

Chloe stepped away. "Girl can't take no for an answer until she tries her hand at it."

He took off his jacket, loosened his necktie and rolled up his sleeves as he began getting down to work. "I'll get this done in less than ten minutes."

"You don't get to show off just because you're a guy. But the clock's ticking."

True to his word, the tire was changed speedily and though it shouldn't have, it still impressed her slightly. Chloe offered him a piece of tissue to wipe the sweat that had accumulated at his brow. "Thanks, Bruce." Gratefully, she smiled.

"Anytime." He liked knowing that he was responsible for her smiles.

Alfred was there to meet them when they pulled up on the drive for the second time. As she got out from her car, Chloe glanced at their cars and something about how their cars contrasted each other sharply made her think about their relationship. She always had this feeling that, at some level, they were the right mix of differences and similarities. While the glossy white paintwork and the matte black body panels couldn't be any more distinct, there was something about the unmistakably dark and aggressive edge of Bruce's car that complemented the elegance and sportiness of hers.

It was Alfred's insistence that made her agree to spend a night here. According to the butler's reasoning, it would be very late by the time she made it to her place in the city. He had also pointed out that it was already well past dinnertime and that she was hungry. This was entirely the butler's own idea so she had been rather unsure whether to accept it or not without Bruce actually agreeing to it but Alfred had put all her worries to rest when he told her that the master of the house wouldn't mind.

Chloe had never appreciated familiarity in an unfamiliar setting more than she did now as she pawed through the contents of the Louis Vuitton travel bag she took from her car. Currently, Alfred was in the kitchen. He had excused himself earlier for he needed to prepare dinner and had invited her to join him if she so desired. Quickly, Chloe pulled on a sweater and a pair of frayed denim shorts with her hair done up in a tight bun and reappeared in there a while later. She wanted to help him as much as she can in the kitchen if only to make her stay here less burdensome on his shoulders.

Bruce was nowhere in sight. She shouldn't have expected him to be in the vicinity. Just because he didn't have a personal chef didn't mean that he would help Alfred out with the cooking. "Where's Bruce?"

"I wouldn't bother too much with his whereabouts if I were you. He'll be here when hunger calls." Alfred had promptly addressed her own hunger with an energy bar and feeling the coming of another angry growl, she took three large bites, silencing it.

She sat on a stool, finishing off the bar as she glanced around the kitchen. The modernity that the kitchen was decked out in made it easy for one to doubt that this was the same kitchen that had been around for previous generations of the Wayne family. By a long stretch of the imagination, it would have been possible to picture the kitchen in all its medieval glory and bustling with servants in their long dark cotton dresses, prim caps and white aprons.

"Was this how the original looked like?"

"Master Wayne had the original Manor rebuilt, brick for brick." The architects had been paid an obscene amount of money to make sure that every detail was faithful to the original but the exterior had been given a facelift for a grander look, and the Manor now occupied larger grounds than it did previously.

Obviously, Bruce had decided to honor his family's history by going for what was the tried and true method of what that had gone before. "It looked like he bought the neighbors too. Why?"

"Master Wayne thinks that with the neighbors gone, he could finally give his ancestors the peace and quiet they deserve." Alfred was a good actor, if nothing else and he delivered that lie smoothly.

The implication of his words dawned. "You mean that they're all buried nearby?" The idea didn't spook her any more than ghosts roaming the halls of Wayne Manor did.

"Indeed."

"Alfred, I was just wondering how many generations of the Wayne family had lived here? In the old Manor, I mean."

"This roof has sheltered six generations of the Wayne family." Chloe took a moment to marvel at that piece of information.

She had stubbornly refused to stick around in the kitchen and do nothing while he cooked. In the end, he gave in and tasked her with seasoning the fillet steaks. It was a very elementary task but she could understand him trying to gauge the extent of her skills in the kitchen. In regards to him stubbornly calling her 'Miss Greenwell', her insistence hadn't yielded such good results.

Alfred surveyed her handiwork and nodded approvingly. "Do you cook your own meals, Miss Greenwell? You are certainly more helpful in the kitchen than Master Wayne had ever been."

"I try making my own meals whenever I have the time."

Chloe was getting glimpses of what would be for dinner but no real idea of what Alfred had in mind other than steak. She figured she could ask him. "Alfred, what's for dinner?"

Alfred was pouring the Madeira wine over the steak. "Fillet steak in Madeira sauce with bacon mashed potato, carrots, and green beans."

She was definitely nothing like Master Wayne when it came to their attitudes toward food. Chloe had admitted to being hugely passionate about food and had more interest in the preparation of what would be Bruce's dinner than the man himself ever did. Bruce had never really cared about what Alfred made him eat and the butler suspected that the only reason his effort of readying meals had never gone to waste was because Bruce was aware of the luxury of simply never having to experience hunger.

Apparently, she had been off to a good start in proving to Alfred that she was a reliable help, and so he had her preparing the apricot crème anglaise that was for dessert. He had managed some amount of supervision as he carried on preparing the steak.

Chloe took a look inside the fridge when she placed her side of the dessert to chill for an hour. For a guy's fridge, there was a surprising amount of things with nutritional value. From the carton of organic, grass-fed milk to the bag of organic oranges, she'd bet that the vegetables and eggs were organic too. The items that the fridge was stocked with made the big chunk of imported Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese look like it was just about the most lip-smacking, followed by the unsalted raw almond butter and a tub of 0 percent fat Greek yogurt. Chancing a look in the freezer, she saw that it was packed with instant high-protein products, salmon, and meats. Where was the ice cream? And all the unhealthy stuff? Chloe wondered and feeling a stab of guilt for snooping, she hastily closed the door.

She didn't know how anyone could eat so freakishly healthy. And she didn't understand why Bruce Wayne chose to eat like that, almost wanting to ask Alfred how Bruce did it. Almost, but it didn't matter as Alfred seemed to read her mind and she realized that what she'd done hadn't gone unnoticed. "Master Wayne adheres to a strict diet."

Bruce had never appeared to be particular about food when they ate together. "What kind of diet?"

"Master Wayne follows his nutritionist's recommendation of a healthy and balanced diet." Who would have known? Chloe thought and something of her disbelief must have shown on her face when Alfred continued. "It may not seem like it to the rest of the world but Master Wayne is actually what you'll call a health freak."

That sounds like it could be him, Chloe thought, except he'd never indicated to her that refined sugar and carbs were his sworn enemy.

The only other person who had ever talked to Alfred as if they'd never run out of conversation topics was Rachel. Listening to Alfred and Chloe as they exchanged titles of the good books they'd read over dinner, it occurred to Bruce that they would both get along very well.

Her head snapped up at the sound of footsteps coming into the kitchen. Bruce entered, freshly showered. Damp hair still clung to his scalp and he wore a black shirt with a pair of gray chinos. He didn't say anything as he entered, going straight for the fridge. A little too late, she realized she was eyeing his perfectly rounded glutes and withdrew her gaze.

Bruce pulled out a container of almond milk, drinking from it. "Enjoy yourselves. I'm skipping dinner."

Was she the only one who picked up on the sulky note in his voice? Chloe glanced at the butler as he replied, obviously knowing that Bruce was sulking. "Suit yourself, Master Wayne."

"Just so you know, you're missing out on the good food." Bruce slewed his eyes over to Chloe, catching the look of crushing disappointment as it flashed across her eyes before she looked back down to her food.

Bruce was halfway to the study and planning on putting some extra time on the streets when the expression on Chloe's face weighed heavily on his mind. He supposed he could still patrol at a later hour like he usually did. As he made his way from the east wing back to the kitchen, he was transported back to the past. The laughter of children and his parents' voice surged up around him. He was eight years old again, ignorant of the cruelties of the world and afraid of bats. For a moment, he wanted to know the man he could have been and if it would have made Chloe view him any differently than she did now. Then the memories receded, and he was left again with the silence that pervaded the Manor ever since he buried his parents.

By some unspoken accord, neither she nor Alfred made any move to acknowledge Bruce's reappearance. Maybe this was how Alfred dealt with a sulking Bruce when he was younger, and she agreed with Alfred's approach. She had no idea why Alfred didn't redirect his loyalty elsewhere instead of opting for a monastic lifestyle that was tied to a man who was more than capable to live on his own and maintaining Wayne Manor. But then again, he'd been of service to the Wayne family for a long time. At the very least, it was time that he made Bruce assemble his own plate of dinner.

Bruce plopped down on the stool beside her, smelling faintly of citrus soap.

"Hungry so soon, eh?" She stopped forking food into her mouth and looked up at him.

"I couldn't risk making Alfred angry with me. And even Bruce Wayne doesn't always have beautiful guests spending the night in the Manor." The reality was that the Manor rarely received any guests that either Alfred or him could care about.

"I'm sure Alfred's dying to see what would happen if he left you on your own."

"I'm considering Miss Greenwell's idea. I have to say the idea of a holiday is very tempting." Alfred cut in from the other side of the center island. Upon Bruce's return, the closest Alfred had to a holiday was when Bruce took the whole Russian ballet out on his yacht.

"Awww, c'mon, Alfred. You know I need you more than words could express." Alfred was the last thing that reminded him of the boy that he once was. With his parents and Rachel gone, the butler was the closest thing he had to a family and was becoming more of a fatherly figure to him. He had never really contemplated the prospect of losing Alfred because he couldn't imagine not having him around. And even if Bruce Wayne didn't need Alfred, he was the man that kept Batman on the streets night after night.

"I know, sir, I know." Bruce's wheedling tone belied the cold hard truth of the words. Alfred really didn't know who would set the younger man's bones, stitch his cuts, and administer antidotes to counteract deadly poisons if he wasn't there for Bruce. That reliance had Alfred worry for his master because he didn't know if Bruce would ever find someone else to care for him and allow them to if the day ever came that Alfred could no longer do so. He allowed himself to hope that the very person could be the guest they currently had and that Bruce was going to do something about it.

"You two have the best butler-master relationship in Gotham hands down," Chloe observed.

"That's because being a butler is not a popular career choice nowadays," Bruce said. "Do anyone else still have butlers around, Alfred?"

"I wouldn't presume to know if many households still have butlers in this day and age, sir." There was something in his tone that suggested more knowledge than he was letting on. Chloe tried to suppress a smirk and failed. She really was starting to like Alfred, and the fact that Alfred was taking her side was making it impossible not to.

Bruce caught her smirk. "Alfred, you've totally charmed her."

The remainder of Bruce's dinner was spent with Chloe sneaking looks at him when she thought he wasn't looking. While he pretended to not notice what she was doing, it left no doubt in his mind that she must have taken a look in the fridge and had been privy to his eating habits that he would have rather kept away from anyone. She was too smart to not find it odd that he ate the way the contents of the fridge suggested.

Alfred had probably somehow explained it without raising any suspicions but she wasn't buying it. Which left it to Bruce to ward off suspicions if he felt the need for it.

Alfred stood up, his gimpy knees emitting a crack that rang loudly in the kitchen. At that sound, Bruce and Chloe turned a concerned expression on him with the former already by his side, helping him stand.

Chloe hovered uncertainly behind Bruce. "Alfred, did you take anything for those knees? Went to any doctor yet about it?"

"I'm fitter and healthier than anyone my age, and I do intend to keep it that way." Alfred dismissed the worry in their voices.

"Alfred, I'll feel better about it if you get an orthopedic to look at it."

"I will have to take half the day off then."

Chloe didn't know what she was expecting from Bruce when Alfred made the request but he nodded. "Take the whole day off, Alfred. I'm not some baby that you need to babysit."

Alfred opted out from having dessert, leaving it up to the two of them to finish it all. Chloe observed that Bruce had respectfully kept himself from commenting that it was too sweet for his tastes, although his expression said it all.

"Do you by any chance know where the dishwasher is?" Chloe's ten bucks was of the opinion that he didn't know where it was.

Bruce didn't have to feign ignorance when it came to the kitchen. The only thing he knew was that Alfred still stored the condensed milk in the topmost shelf.

He held up his hands apologetically. "I try to keep my hands off Alfred's territory. He'd kill me if I make a mess here, so all I've ever done here is eat."

"That figures." Chloe too, found herself not liking the idea of Bruce roaming around her kitchen without her being close by.

Bruce told himself that he wouldn't have bothered to open all the cabinets in search for the dishwasher if it wasn't for Chloe— who was herself also doing the same. He had suggested that they just pile on the dirty dishes in the sink but she was adamant about cleaning up after themselves. Bruce doubted that anyone else— himself included— would care enough to help Alfred do the dishes in exchange for the meal he'd prepared. And looking back now, he'd never really showed much appreciation for Alfred's cooking.

Bruce opened a cabinet below the center island. "Found it."

While they loaded up the dishwasher together, Bruce didn't attempt to figure out the workings of the machine. He left that part to Chloe who had in almost no time at all found the hidden controls and set the machine to work.

Bruce led them to one of the parlors off the entrance hall. There, Alfred had built up a fire and turned down the lights. Immediately, Bruce made a beeline for what was likely the liquor cabinet as Chloe seated herself in a sofa that somehow managed to look like it had been nestled in by generations. Glancing around the sparely furnished room that was no doubt fashioned for entertaining, it was hard to believe the entire manor had been rebuilt. Without doubt, the late Wayne family matriarch had impeccable taste as evidenced by the high-thirties pieces and the unglazed ivory pottery vases by the 1930s florist Constance Spyry, Cocteau plates, and Venini glass.

Bruce uncorked a weighty Baccarat handcrafted decanter. "Time for a nightcap, I think. What would you like?"

She easily decided what she wanted. "A large Cognac, if you have it. Straight."

Chloe rested for a moment with her eyes closed, enjoying the fire, and missed the look that Bruce cast her as he began to prepare the cognac and one scotch on the rocks.

"You seemed to me like the vodka-and-tequila kind of girl," he remarked.

"Well, I might be partial when it comes to wines from the Lombardy region."

Bruce passed Chloe her drink before he cradled his own drink, his fingers slowly stroking the heavy, cut crystal. "I take it that you like sparkling wines then?"

He thought he saw a corner of her lips quirk up approvingly. "I have to say, you know your wines." Chloe seemed to debate for a moment before she spoke up again. "My mom came from a winemaking family."

Bruce had the distinct feeling that the topic of her mother wasn't something that would come up often in conversations despite her having no reserve about divulging details of herself. For that, he appreciated this tidbit of information, recognizing the same reserve in himself. Come to think of it, he never really knew much about the Greenwells. "You must have had a very interesting childhood growing up in a vineyard."

She cupped the base of the glass, warming it in her hand. "Stomping grapes can be only of so much fun before my cousin and I realized that getting our feet sticky weren't that exciting." Chloe made a face. Being an only child and without extended relations, it had never really occurred to him that, for most others, family was more than just your parents.

He picked up on the way she mentioned a past memory with her cousin. "You seem to speak of your cousin as if you don't see each other as much anymore."

"He's busy with the latest branch of his architecture firm in Shanghai." Her expression hinted at an extremely close bond with a cousin and Bruce thought, that one could be forgiven for thinking that she was talking about a boyfriend. "I'll be sure to introduce you two when he's in town. He would really be interested to know you personally."

"I wouldn't consider there to be much about me to get to know about."

"All he really wants after he gets close to you is to see your car collection. You can't blame him, though. I'm sure a lot of people wants to see your car collection."

"Is that what you're after too?" Chloe took her time in answering. Only when she finally inhaled the smells in her drink and took a tasting sip, followed by two mouthfuls of the fine brandy did she answer him.

"Do you really think that's what I want with a devilishly-handsome billionaire?" Turning sideways toward him, she leaned forward and swiftly closed the distance between them. Chloe felt his body go rigid at her approach. "Please. Give me more credit."

Bruce doubted he could have heard her if they weren't breathing in the same air. Then, Chloe seeming to realize what she had just done, took a draining sip of cognac and withdrew herself from his personal space.

Imitating her gesture, Bruce took a fortifying mouthful of his drink and found that he was drawn dangerously close to her. With Rachel, it had been more of a residual feeling of closeness with a childhood friend that had progressed into something more intense.

A voice in his head told him to blame it on biology. But not the part of him that had dedicated his life to training to be better than his biology. Not if he could do something about it.


Chloe stood in the middle of the room with her luggage in hand. She had all but spent only a night here— a very fitful one too, if she was so inclined to add— but she could already feel a heaviness in her heart as she took a moment to appreciate the effort that had clearly gone into the room. The Green Room, as she had came to call it last night, was clearly very seldom slept in. Taking a last look at the bed that stood out like a tabernacle in the center, supported on massive pillars of mahogany and hung with curtains of emerald green damask, she closed the door.

As she made her way down the staircase, Alfred who was passing by the foot of the stairs with what looked like a tray of breakfast foods, looked up as if he was expecting her. "Good morning, Miss Greenwell." Upon her reaching the foot of the stairs, Alfred took a look at her bag. "I'll insist that you stay for breakfast before you leave."

She sniffed at the air around the tray. "I'll invite myself to such good- smelling food even if you're eager to get me out of your hair."

Alfred smiled. "If only Master Wayne shares your enthusiasm for food."

She followed Alfred to the dining room and stood blinking in the sudden illumination coming through the French doors that boasted a wonderful panoramic view of the family property. The decorated ceiling had an immense chandelier which hung from the claws of a golden dragon in flight. Alfred must have noticed her staring at it, she realized, when she heard him say, "That is a Parker and Perry creation from the 19th century when the Prince of Wales embarked upon a major restoration project."

"Wow." Her cousin would know exactly what Alfred was referring to, but that didn't make the chandelier any less old.

The dining table was covered in white damask and crowned by a floral centerpiece. From the looks of it, she suspected that Alfred had woken up early to set the table for breakfast which she doubted was something he did always, considering that Bruce most likely either ate alone or with his butler. If she guessed correctly, then... "Alfred?"

She settled herself into the chair that Alfred pulled out for her. "Yes, Miss Greenwell?"

"Is breakfast always a formal affair like this?"

He poured a cup of amber-colored, steaming tea and passed it to Chloe, and only then did he tell her. "Master Wayne sees no point in using all these rooms when we're the only occupants so it all seems a waste to be not using it. Any opportunity for an audience gives me an excuse to use these rooms which had so much effort put into them. Drink your tea, dear."

Obediently, she took a sip, but then put down the cup and saucer. One look at the table told her that if anything, the elaborate table setting was an indication of what that was yet to come. If she supposed correctly, then Alfred didn't do anything by halves and would have prepared nothing short of a feast. And that was where she'd come into the picture.

She hadn't expected for Alfred to be more receptive than he did last night when she offered to help, and he didn't. Not about to give him grounds for declining her, she carefully took the tray that Alfred had just placed a pitcher of pulpy orange juice on, adding to the several silver serving platters. Adjusting the load in her hands, she slipped out of the kitchen with a triumphant grin. A while later she returned, wearing an eager expression as she followed Alfred around the kitchen with a dogged determination to be useful.

He sighed, shaking his head in good-natured dismay, "I could get used to this if you spoil me with your assistance."

"Look at it this way — why not get all the help you can while you could?" Chloe reminded him of Bruce. He didn't doubt that her insistence was as much a sign of stubbornness. His years of watching Bruce grow up had enabled him to recognize a stubborn streak when he saw one.

Alfred went to the oven and pulled out a tray of freshly- baked muffins. Chloe, who was peering over his shoulder at the baked goods tried to make out what flavor it was. As far as the color went, it was obviously chocolate.

She hadn't grasped just how much effort Alfred had put into preparing breakfast until it was spread before her. All manner of tempting foods occupied her view, from Eggs Florentine to pancakes. A bowl of fruit oozing the sweet goodness of her favorites was also present. At first glance, there was too much food to take in but when she began spooning the delicious-smelling food onto a delicate china plate, she saw that the portions were sufficient to feed two - no more, no less. Knowing that the Wayne household wasn't into the practice of wasting food, she felt secretly grateful to Bruce whom Alfred had implied to also have a preference for meals without the formality.

Chloe saw Bruce in the gilt-framed mirror that ran the length of the room as he entered, dressed in a distressed-looking, smoked-grey Bottega Veneta suit.

The first thing that Bruce registered when he entered the dining room was her presence, followed by the conflicting delectable aromas of breakfast. For as long as he cared to remember, both were experiences that had become alien to him. Inadvertently, those thoughts lead his mind back to Rachel. Keep her away from the same fate, a voice in his head reminded him of what he had resolved to do this morning.

"I'm telling you, you've got fierce competition from the rich Chinese folks."

He glanced at Chloe, in her Matthew Williamson pearl gray pencil dress and navy Alexander McQueen heels, who had paused in the conversation she was having on speakerphone long enough to smile at him and held up her cup of tea in greeting. Taking a seat in an armed brocade chair at the head of the table, he poured a cup of tea for himself and returned the gesture.

"Have some faith. I'm sure it wouldn't even hit a million dollars." She reverted back to talking without the speakerphone, wedging her smartphone under her chin so she could continue her conversation as unobtrusively as possible.

From the snippets of conversation that Bruce was getting an earful of, he guessed that Chloe was having someone help her buy something at an auction. He'd been to a few of those himself and made a few frivolous purchases. Bruce particularly remembered shelling out seventy-five thousand dollars for a set of four Egyptian limestone canopic jars that didn't quite meet Alfred's approval, which he had on display in his study. The only reason he'd bought it was because no one was willing to spend so much on a set of fifteen-inches jars that held body parts and were busy trying to outdo each other for ownership of a 4th-century anthropomorphic sarcophagus cover. The idea of having a pair of eyes belonging to a dead man following him around in the manor creeped him out more than he'd ever admit to anyone.

Chloe took the easy way out of taking her pick of the selection of jams on the table by tasting spoonfuls of each. At that, Bruce raised his eyebrows with interest, and she lifted a shoulder in a semblance of a shrug. Having tasted the jams, she finally decided on a raspberry-chocolate-almond concoction. He, on the other hand, automatically decided on his childhood favorite; a grapefruit- rosemary jam that was Alfred's original creation.

"It's about to start." Across the line, Chloe could pick up a voice that had a mild Chinese accent speaking in the background.

"Good luck. Show them what we got. If I've got to fork out a million bucks, so be it."

Her cousin's voice came on the line again, amusement warming it. "That's what you always say. Remember the time when we each took out a hundred-and-eighty-six thousand to buy the Ferrari for your dad?"

"You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?" She asked, her voice full of irritation.

"Why, of course not." She could picture Cyril' s expression as he said it, with a hint of smugness slithering over his face. But them, being the closest of cousins, Chloe already knew what he would say next. "Yes, ma' am. I'll get the watch for you. And as usual, you owe me dinner."

"Deal."

Bruce looked at Chloe who was positioned on the other side of the table from him as he took a bite of toast. Chloe didn't seem to realize that, at least not at first, but then she looked up questioningly when she finished the dark chocolate cherry muffin, and was reaching for a second one from across the table.

"Was that your cousin with the architecture firm?" Judging by the animated way with which she talked on her phone and the obviously male voice, Bruce decided that it had to be that cousin of hers.

A slight widening of her eyes gave away her surprise at his powers of observation. It was not lost on him that when she was around, he required more conscious effort on his part to keep the public mask in place.

"Yeah, it's him. I could see you two becoming fast friends."

That's not likely to happen anytime soon, Bruce thought, although he had yet set out to do what he had promised himself. Evidently, it was easier said than done. He was spared from having to form an appropriate reply that would simultaneously be injurious to her and keep his billionaire playboy persona from being discovered as a sham when her phone rang.

Chloe answered the call without so much as giving the caller ID a second glance. "Hey, Cy, here to bring me good news?"

"It's yours. For five hundred-and-eighty thousand dollars."

Bruce watched as what he presumed was good news from the auction began to sink in, and the ridiculous rush of joy as it suffused her expression. She broke into a very triumphant grin. "That's the first minute-repeating tourbillon for the collection. You're the best." Her latest purchase was a very rare Patek Philippe platinum minute repeating tourbillon wristwatch with a mother-of-pearl dial.

Cyril pretended to take offense at her declaration. "I had always been your best go-to guy when it comes to auctions. And I always will be."

"Just so you know, paying more than half a million isn't pocket change." She reminded him and glanced pointedly at Bruce as she delivered her next line. "That's a Wayne thing."

He brushed off her non-existent financial concerns. "Nah, you'll survive. You've got two trust funds backing you up, notwithstanding the high yearly returns that you get from your multiple investments."

"Well, good luck for your wine auction."

"You'll get a bottle of it if I get half a dozen of the Richebourg 2002 vintage," her cousin promised. "And because I'm such a nice person, you'll even have a taste of the Mouton Rothschild 1999 vintage."

Just as Chloe was about to return to finish off the remains of her breakfast, her phone rang again. Looking at the caller ID, she saw that it was from one of the orphanages that she volunteered at regularly— St. Swithin's. Immediately she picked it up.

She heard Father Reilly's voice on the other end of the line. "Chloe, is that you?"

"It's me." Chloe hoped that he wasn't calling to bring her any bad news concerning Damian.

Whatever the call was about, it became increasingly obvious to Bruce that, from the way her forehead bunched up, it couldn't be anything good. By the time, the call was done with, Bruce knew that it had something to do with the disappearance of a boy from an orphanage.

As soon as she ended the call, she began telling Bruce everything, beginning from the circumstances of her encounter with the brothers, to Damian's disappearance last night, and then it all tumbled out of her— words and memories falling over each other. Bruce kept it to himself, but the death of the elder brother disturbed him, and the Batman's mind was already working to tie it to the recent disappearances. Ever the opportunist, Bruce wasn't about to let pass the opening that she had provided him.

"I don't think you know a damned thing about losing both parents." Bruce heard the acid in his own tone, saw Chloe flinch, and was meanly, momentarily glad.

"What?" Chloe asked unnecessarily. The hostile tone of his voice indicated enough to her that this wasn't the Bruce she'd came to know. It was as if there was an unspoken accusation lying between them, and although she didn't know what he was thinking, she could sense that it was barbed and poisonous.

Her gaze became wary as she tried to make sense of where this sudden change in attitude came from.

"All this trying to do your part for society doesn't become you," Bruce said, a tinge of disgust coloring his voice.

"Oh yeah?" Chloe felt her temper igniting. "What does your munificence mean anyway? You think the millions you've given for the betterment of others mean much to those who scorn your extravagant lifestyle? Don't you just feel like the most magnanimous lord of the land when you wake up and see your latest kind deed on the front page of the Gazette?"

"So what if I feel like 'the most magnanimous lord of the land'?" He sneered, and Chloe's hand itched to hit him. "At least I know what pain is like, I know what loss is like, and I know what it's like to lose everything that matters, everything you care about." His next words were deliberate and cruel and fell like the executioner's axe. "But you don't, do you? The only thing you do know is to live off your father's money."

He saw pure fury burn in those green orbs before she cracked a slap across his cheek, the back of the multiple rings she wore leaving an additional metallic sting on his face.

"You don't get to fucking judge me just because you were born in Wayne Manor. So your parents died and that's unlucky but at least you were with your parents then. But not me." She held his gaze even as her eyes filmed over as though tears might follow.

Chloe was almost out of the front door when Alfred materialized from nowhere. If he had heard of what that had transpired back there, he was being discreet about it. "Leaving now, Miss Greenwell?"

"Yeah. By the way, Alfred, thank you for the breakfast. And for having me here for the night. I especially liked the room you've put me in."

"You're welcome, Miss Greenwell. If you're ever in need of a place to stay, for any reasons you may have, just know that you're always welcomed here."

"Thanks, but I think I've just worn out his welcome."

"I'll be sure to bring that matter up with him. And you, my dear, don't take his words to heart. He had always been rather careless with his words."

Something about the abrupt change in Bruce's behavior niggled at the back of her mind and this was the time to seek some answers. "Can I ask you a question, Alfred?"

"I'll try my best to answer it."

Alfred watched the varying emotions flicker over her face as she searched for the right words. "I've always thought that Bruce was different, but is he really?"

"Master Wayne finds it serves his interests best to allow people to see what they think he is, and not what he truly is."

"Then, Alfred, what is he, truly?"

The smile that Alfred gave her was equally sad and enigmatic. "That, my dear, I am not even sure Master Wayne could say."

Alfred stood at the door, watching as she started the car and waved at him before she took off. It was only when her car disappeared from view that Alfred allowed the worry to surface and if it wasn't already too late for Bruce to regain his senses and do the right thing by the both of them.

Chloe floored the accelerator, dangerously edging the redline on her tachometer. It wasn't fair to take it out on her car, but at the moment she really didn't care. As she sailed past a traffic light that had turned green at a junction, Chloe barely had time to register a silver Mazda as it came at her from the left. She felt the stinging pain of impact, and it wasn't before long that her vision gave in to the darkness.


A/N: I'm sorry guys for taking that long to get a chapter up. BUT THIS IS IT. If I manage to squirrel away enough time to write again, the next one should be up on Christmas.

I've kind of been waiting to write this part for far too long now, and I'm looking forward to seeing where it will take the rest of the story! So, if you could be so kind as to tell me your thoughts, please do so. Your reviews would reassure me that you're still out there reading =D