Disclaimer: I don't own Batman and I make absolutely no profit from this story.

Chapter Ten: Revelations

Fear is the first reaction people typically have after being bodily dragged into dark and creepy alleys in bad neighborhoods. I didn't think anyone could be blamed for this; it was a perfectly reasonable instinct if you were a fully functioning and well adjusted person. The same could be said about thrashing, biting and various other methods of struggle. These were good reactions to have, conducive to survival. It was just common sense.

I thought it said something about my common sense that my first reaction wasn't fear but annoyance.

God, this again, I thought. It seemed like I couldn't go anywhere or do anything without having some kind of calamity befall me. I was just trying to stay in my lane, mind my own business and go to work, or the grocery store, or to Arkham Asylum so I could do sneaky stuff and spy on my old boss. Was that too much to ask for?

I scowled. Sloppy. My mouth was covered but my hands were free. I could probably reach into my purse and mace this asshole in the face and make a break for it. My little practice sessions at the gym were paying off. My feet moved almost of their own accord, spreading a shoulder's length apart, grounding me firmly upright…

But something niggled at the back of my mind and slowly my mind overrode my body's automatic response. There was something strangely familiar about this position, and you'd think that a person with devious intentions would have done something, well, devious long before now. And come to think of it, I knew that voice, didn't I? I squinted my eyes in dawning suspicion. Hey… Wait a minute… Isn't that…?

Suddenly furious, I sank my nails into the gloved hand over my mouth and yanked it down. It fell away easily enough, which only confirmed my suspicions. With a little growl, I spun around and smacked the solid chest in front of my face that conveniently had a bat symbol emblazoned dead centre in the middle of it.

"Do you mind?" I snapped indignantly. "I almost had a heart attack!"

"What," his voice cracked like a whip, "are you doing here?" Ice clung to his breath as he exhaled sharply through his nose.

Too angry to meekly apologize and make excuses like I usually would have, I shot back, "What," I mocked, "do you think you're doing? Have you ever considered using actual words to get someone's attention?"

We were both clearly on a roll tonight, because without hesitating he growled back, "Have you ever stopped to consider that the life you're always gambling with is the only one you have?"

I gaped at him and huffed a fogged up, disbelieving laugh. "Oh, that's rich, Mister I Will Fight All The Criminals In Gotham With My Fists. Hang glide off of any high-rises lately?"

A muscle went off in his jaw as he exhaled slowly through his nose. Through the fog in my head, I could hear the distant sound of alarm bells going off, but I chose to ignore them.

"That's different." He replied through clenched teeth. "I have proper equipment and training. You have nothing."

I opened my mouth.

Before I could defend myself, he interrupted. "Self defence lessons and mace don't count."

I closed my mouth.

He loomed over me and I glared right back. I could hear the creaking strain of his leather gloves as he clenched his hands into fists. I scowled up at him. His features were, as always, hard to read. A combination of his mask and a focused effort on his part to be as inscrutable as possible, I supposed. But there was something in his face, this time, that there hadn't been in the past. His mouth was a dark seam, turned forebodingly down at the edges like it always had when I'd done something he hadn't approved of.

But that had always passed relatively quickly. I thought by now that it was just something that we had both gotten used to; Batman was, at times, more of a mother hen than he was a bat and I was a flighty idiot who, more often than not, threw caution to the wind.

Right now, I sensed something in him, just under the surface of his skin. It was pent up and clawed at his self restraint, but it paced with a predator's slow confidence. It was difficult to pinpoint, considering he hadn't done or said anything in particular to indicate what it was. Maybe it was the flatness in his eyes, something in them that were closed to me. Maybe it was the stiff, hard lines of of his body that hadn't yet relaxed, even though I was hardly a threat. Maybe it was the way he hadn't conceded with a sigh and an admonition for my lack of caution.

I looked at him searchingly.

"Answer the question," he said curtly. The suddenness of his demand jarred me, and for a moment I had forgotten what the question actually was.

I narrowed my eyes and debated the merits of obediently answering his questions versus sassing an angry Batman. It would probably be wiser just to answer the question honestly…

"I'm standing in an alley," I deadpanned.

… But since when had I ever been wise?

All things considered, he had more patience than I would have, had our positions been reversed. "And why are you standing in an alley," he enunciated.

"Can't a girl just stand in an alley if she wants to?" I said, just to be annoying. I shoved my freezing hands in my pockets and tried not to shiver, despite the fact that it felt like Jack Frost himself was breathing directly into my ear. "Maybe I think the view's nice."

"The view," repeated the Batman. He stood very still, like a statue. It irritated me how steadily he held himself when I was constantly pacing or fidgeting; hundreds of little tells I was inadvertently revealing to Batman while gleaning any details from him felt like trying to grapple for purchase on slick ice.

"Yes," I replied, determined not to be out-stubborned. I wiggled my toes in my shoes, inwardly dismayed at their growing numbness. Damn, but it really was cold out here.

"You mean like the nice, clear view of Arkham Asylum."

I stared at him.

He stared back expectantly.

"Oh, I-I'm sorry," I said. I was trying to go for snide, but the effect might have been a little diminished through my chattering teeth. "Was t-there a question in there s-somewhere?"

Batman opened his mouth before swiftly closing it. He stared at me silently, which would have felt intense and harrowing if I could feel my face. I patiently endured his scrutiny.

When he spoke again, his previous hesitation seemed to have disappeared. "You aren't dressed for this weather."

I heaved an irritated sigh and bobbed in place, trying to keep warm. "That's b-because I didn't anticipate having to have an hour l-long argument out in the cold," I replied, equal parts irritated and miserable.

He fell silent again, retreating inward. He seemed to be debating with himself about something. I looked up at him and, not for the first time, wondered what he was thinking. Maybe he was contemplating the forces of Good and Evil. Maybe he was wondering if he'd left his stove on at home.

I was watching him, which was how I noticed the lightning quick way his gaze had dropped to my (undoubtedly blue) lips before he seemed to resign himself to a decision with a beleaguered sigh.

"Follow me," he growled, before turning around and just walking away without checking to see if I was actually following.

People always did that stuff in movies, which I admit, made them look cool, but on the other hand, they'd look really dumb if no one was actually following behind them. For a brief moment, I debated doing the same, before I reasoned that walking might help with circulation and staying warm.

I scowled and hurried after him which took some doing. Batman moved like a swath of darkness, cut out of the fabric of the night itself, and made quite the foreboding figure with his billowing cape. He kept close to the shadows, and in the growing darkness I found that it actually took some effort on my part just to keep track of him.

He seemed to know where he was going too, moving with confidence despite the lack of anything other than ambient light guiding his path. At one point, the twisting back alley we were traversing forked and from one side, I heard the distant sound of raucous laughter and glass breaking. Without breaking his stride, Batman turned left and wove gracefully between broken crates and empty bins while avoiding the broken glass that seemed to constantly crunch beneath my feet.

I was dismayed to find that the distance between us was growing, and I lengthened my strides to try and keep up. It seemed like for every step he took I had to compensate for with three. I scowled. He hadn't looked back once, but he had to know I was still following him since he could probably hear my muffled curses when I stumbled over things. Would it have killed him to slow down a little? That earlier feeling of unease burrowed deeper in my chest. Even in the past (when he hadn't been pissed at me for some indiscernible reason) I could never accuse Batman of being gentle . That was just the wrong word for it. Batman had always been stern, but he'd also been patient, and watchful, and considerate without seeming like he was being any of those things at all.

I looked at the cold, neglected distance between us and pressed my lips together, walking faster to try and close the gap between us. But by now, the inky black sky had practically swallowed up what little light was left. Whose idea was it to turn off all the lights in the sky at 5 PM anyway? I hurried blindly forward, but before I could make it further than two steps, my shin slammed into something hard . For a moment my leg was simply numb before my mind caught up with my body all at once. There was a sudden burst of pain that jolted up and down my leg.

I stifled a high-pitched yelp, and what came out instead was a sharp little gasp that escaped through clenched teeth. I crouched on the cold hard ground and stayed there for a moment, waiting out the pain with a grimace. My hands sought out the spot that ached and I probed it carefully, deciding that I would probably live. I winced; there'd be a hell of a bruise later.

At this point I was starting to feel, for lack of a better word, over wrought. I clutched my frozen fingers over my shin and curled into myself a little, knowing that at this point there was no hope of keeping up with Batman. He was probably half way to Mexico by now, for all the good it did me. I needed a few more moments to just breathe and collect myself, and then I would get up and stumble around in the dark to try and look for him. Hopefully whatever he wanted to show me wasn't too important.

I rubbed my hands against my leg, partly to soothe the sore spot and partly to warm up my fingers. I sniffled, and reached up to wipe my nose — I wasn't crying, obviously but the weather was making my nose run. I scowled. "Stupid weather," I muttered. "Stupid legs. Stupid Batman."

Crouched on the ground and preoccupied with muttering curses as I was, I hadn't noticed Batman's silent approach until the shadows shifted and his boots stepped into view. I blinked in surprise but before I could scramble to my feet, he placed his hand on my shoulder and pressed me down. He bent at the knee and suddenly he was there, far past close enough to touch. I stared up at him. He was big; I'd always known this in an abstract sort of way but now the broadness of his form blocked out the faint light behind him and I found myself blanketed in the lee of his tall shadow.

He's so close , I thought, suddenly holding my breath. Too close. He was near enough that I could see the fan of his lashes, and make out the sharp lines of his jaw. These were features that I would later be able to remember and identify, if necessary. I frowned. Batman was more careful than this. He had to be. He could trust me, there wasn't a force in the world that could make me spill what little I knew about Batman. I knew this, but he didn't. Not for sure. The nature of what he did meant that he had to be cautious about every little detail. I understood that and I didn't blame him for it.

So the proximity disconcerted me. I stared at him, trying to understand, but he wasn't looking at me. His head was bent down and I jolted in surprise when his hands found mine and moved them gently aside.

He braced one hand on my calf and with the other, he started at my knee and ran the backs of his fingers down my leg until his fingers found the sore bump on my shin that had already started to swell. He paused, and with the pad of his thumb he probed at it gingerly until I gave a little hiss that finally made him glance up at me.

I looked at him wordlessly, and for a moment I struggled for composure, wanting to keep my face just as blank and inscrutable as his. But the pressing warmth of each finger still wrapped around my calf crept to the forefront of my mind, and suddenly I realized that the closeness of him was a show of trust, though I wasn't sure if he even realized it.

I allowed my defences to fall away and let him read me. I let him see the uncertainty, the frustration, and the hurt. I let him see all the questions that I didn't know how to ask. What's wrong? What did I do? How can I fix it? Why are you mad at me?

Whatever he saw in my face made his expression flicker and the hand around my calf tighten briefly. He swept his thumb gently over the bump on my shin and exhaled slowly with something a little like regret.

"You should put ice on this," he said, breaking the silence. His tones were carefully neutral, but his voice sounded a shade softer to me than it did at the beginning of our encounter.

Alright, so I'm clearly not the only one who deals with weird emotional issues by pretending they don't exist. Thankfully for him, I was in the same boat and was willing to play along.

"I'm already half frozen to death," I protested. "If I put ice on this, it'll finish me off," I joked.

"Just for a little while, I promise," he urged.

I sighed, a wordless comply. Well, good news was there was ice aplenty. I reached over to a pile of relatively clean looking snow and packed it flat before I looked down and realized my problem. No one in their right minds iced their bruises through their clothes, thereby soaking them, but my hands were otherwise occupied. I sighed. It seemed like I had no other options.

Before I could move, Batman's hand went to the zipper of my boot and slowly, he began to tug it down.

Suddenly, everything in my head went quiet.

Unable to speak, I just stared at him. His eyes flicked up to mine. When I didn't protest, he dragged the zipper the rest of the way down and began the roll up the hem of my pants. He was very careful about it, never letting his fingers touch my skin even though they were gloved, but every nerve beneath my skin was suddenly standing on end and I could feel every excruciating inch that marked the progress of his hands.

He stopped just above the bump on my shin. My breath caught in my throat and, despite baring my leg to the elements, I suddenly felt very warm .

He held out a hand. I stared at it dumbly for a moment before the synapses in my brain started firing again. I silently handed him the lump of snow I'd made and watched as he pressed it against my skin. I barely registered the cold. I was still reeling internally, some small part in the back of my mind screaming, Are you seeing this? Is this actually happening? How did we end up here?

But I could only stare numbly.

I tried to breathe evenly, but my breath caught and hitched. Batman didn't look at me, but he murmured, "Too cold?"

I shook my head. "No. It's okay."

We lapsed back into silence. Batman, for his part, was applying ice to my leg with the same kind of focus and intensity that he seemed to have with everything else. Me? Well, I was staring mutely at Batman like the fixated lunatic that I'd always been, only this time I was disturbed to find that my interest in him had suddenly taken on unexpected… layers , to put it delicately.

How had it escaped me that underneath the kevlar, the cape, and the cowl… was a man?

Haha, okay, absolutely not, I thought with sudden urgency and leaned over to push his hands away. "I'm okay now, I think."

He hesitated, the corners of his mouth turning down in a frown.

"Really," I insisted. "I have the hyssop—" that you gave me "— at home. I'll make a compress."

He seemed to relent, standing up and brushing his hands off. "Right away."

I rolled my eyes, finding it faintly ridiculous how a man who was stabbed and shot at on a regular basis could be so concerned about a little bump on the knee.

I hastily rolled down my jeans and zipped up my boot with much less care than Batman had taken, and stood up, looking at him expectantly. "Weren't we supposed to be going somewhere?"

He nodded once. However, unlike last time when he'd simply turned around and flounced off without a word, Batman placed a hand that hovered just above the small of my back, never quite touching, but whether it was just my overactive imagination or if it really was him, I thought I could feel the warmth of his hand all the same.

He started walking, shepherding me forward while he stuck close as a shadow at my back. He lead me carefully around shin height obstacles, which I was immensely grateful for.

Apparently we hadn't been too far off when I'd gotten myself injured. A few turns through the Narrows' winding back alleys brought us to what looked like a scrap heap. Random piles of rusted metal and old cars littered the space and I looked around in confusion. Batman pushed me towards what I assumed must be a car, though it was draped underneath a dingy looking sheet.

"Uhm," I protested weakly.

"Get in," he said, and no explanation seemed forthcoming.

"Get into what ? Also on an entirely unrelated note, do you by any chance have an emergency tetanus shot handy? Because I'm probably going to end up needing one."

He paid me no heed and lifted up a corner of the sheet. He opened the passenger door and ushered me in before I could ask him why the hell he was imprisoning me inside of a rusty old death trap.

However, when I finally looked around and took stock of my surroundings, I found myself stunned into silence for an entirely different reason.

I stared. Holy shit.

A rusty old death trap this was not.

I was in a car that looked like it was something from 2030. I was pretty sure there were more buttons and controls on the dash than there were on the International Space Station. There was a screen detailing all the conditions of the car, from the tire pressure to the current state of the car's bulletproof exterior. There were more levers and triggers on the driver's side of the car, and the steering wheel quite frankly looked intimidating.

I had my hands clapped over my mouth when Batman got into the other side. He flipped some switches that made hot air suddenly filter through the vents. I barely noticed, looking at him with barely restrained glee, though I was sure my frozen appendages were appropriately grateful.

"I can't believe you had me thinking that there was a rusty tin can underneath that sheet," I told him. "This is the coolest thing I've ever seen," I said with a dreamy sigh. I took stock of everything, carefully committing it to memory. I knew full well I might never get a second chance at this. My hands hovered over the controls, not quite touching but the temptation was eating at me.

"Just look at all this. Is that a dashboard radar? Are those the ejector seats? Don't tell me that's a nitro methane afterburner. "

"Focus," growled Batman, cutting through my glee before it could really gain traction. I pouted at him.

"Debbie Downer," I muttered under my breath.

"Sarah," he prompted. "What are you doing here."

I held my breath and looked at him.

He stared back expectantly.

I folded and twisted in my seat, leaning toward him beseechingly. "You can't be mad at me."

He narrowed his eyes, and I knew why. Usually when someone said 'you can't be mad at me', chances were good that they were about to say something that was going to make the other person really mad.

But I'd already done something to piss the Batman off today, and I hadn't even known what. I also discovered that I really couldn't stand it when Batman was angry at me. I couldn't add more to his list of grievances. This was my only recourse.

"Please?" I pleaded. "You have to promise you won't be angry."

He watched me for a moment and I twisted my hands together in my lap anxiously while he made his assessment. Finally, he relented with a sigh, and a single nod of his head.

"Go on," he said.

I nodded and took a fortifying breath. "Okay. It's hard to figure out where to begin…" I trailed off and looked away, taking a moment to collect my thoughts.

"Let me start off by saying that I never had the intention to purposefully hide anything from you," I said clearly, looking at him directly now. "Strange things have happened to me and I've had some revelations, but I don't have any proof. So to anyone else, all it would look like was gut instinct and huge leaps in logic."

His expression was carefully neutral. "Why don't you start at the beginning," he suggested.

So I did.

I recapped what he already knew, that after having dinner with Crane I'd been struck by an undeniable haze that seemed to me half like hysteria and half like muscle memory. I'd been afraid of him but I hadn't known why. Then I told him about what I'd overheard Earle saying in the stairwell.

"He was talking about something called the 47B 1ME and the exact same feeling hit me, only it was worse," I said. "It was more vivid. I remembered feeling strapped down and I remembered being in a dark room. There was a light that would flash intermittently, but the memory made no sense . Imagine having an eidetic memory," I told him. "and being able to remember so many inconsequential things, but when it comes to this particular memory, I can't make heads or tails of it. I don't know when it happened, I don't know why. I don't have any context."

I shook my head. "To be honest, I didn't even know if what I was remembering was even real ." I took a deep breath. "But I knew I had to at least try to find out more."

The next part made me upset to think about, so I glossed over it rather quickly. "Earle actually offered me a job earlier that week, and I'd said no , because I think he's disgusting. But then I had to say yes because it was the quickest and easiest way I could think of. His personal assistant told me that he had the highest security clearance at Wayne Enterprises and I needed access." I pressed my lips together. "So I quit working for Br— for Wayne so I could start working for Earle."

I took a deep breath and hurried past that. "Anyway, it took me a while but I found out that the 47B 1ME is actually a microwave emitter. It vaporizes water. I still have no idea why that's relevant but all I know is that when I figured it out, I had another one of those horrible flashbacks. I saw and felt the same things as last time, only it was even stronger." I inhaled a shaky breath. "It was really scary, actually. But more importantly, at the end of it, I saw someone. A figure. I think it was Crane."

"And you know, I never like making accusations without some kind of evidence, if only because if I'm wrong I'll end up looking like an ass, so I went to Gotham's court house and looked at some of the case files and it looked like there were six other cases where Crane declared a known mob member as conveniently 'insane', along with Faden as the presiding judge."

"So… that's why I'm here. Because six times seemed like too much of a coincidence to me, so I wanted to come here and see if I could find anything interesting. And by interesting, I mean incriminating."

I finished saying my piece. The whole time I hadn't dared to look at Batman, afraid that even a frown would make me stop in my tracks and lose steam. What if he railed at me for being stupid and reckless. Or worse, what if he scoffed and told me that everything was in my head?

I peeked up at him to gauge his reaction.

He was frowning, but rather than the dark and foreboding expression that I knew, he seemed more hesitant than anything else. He stared at me blankly for a moment before he finally spoke.

"You quit working for Wayne… Because you wanted to work for Earle in order to steal information?" He said slowly.

Now it was my turn to frown. After confessing all of that, that was the one point he decided to fixate upon? And not only did it seem rather inconsequential compared to everything else, it also the one thing I really didn't want to talk about.

"Well… yeah," I admitted hesitantly.

"No other reason?"

What was with this line of questioning? Maybe he was judging me for being so duplicitous and disloyal. I quailed at the thought, but after everything I'd inadvertently hidden from Batman, I figured I owed him my honesty.

I parsed my words carefully in my head for a moment, trying to find the right way to say what I wanted, and how I wanted to say them. But after struggling in silence for a while, and opening and closing my mouth like a fish, I decided to give up. My attachment to Wayne was illogical and bizarre. I didn't think it would make a difference, no matter how delicately I phrased it.

"I hate him," I said baldly. "He's irresponsible, and unreliable and he might be a compulsive liar." I ticked off his flaws on my fingers. "Did you know that he can literally take naps anywhere, anytime? And on company hours, nonetheless," I ranted, drawing myself up with righteous indignation. "Which means he literally gets paid thousands of dollars for his precious beauty sleep. And he keeps buying me bribe coffees! Which totally sullies the taste and defeats the purpose."

"But… I also don't hate him. At all." I admitted, deflating. "He's smarter than he looks, you know. Kind of. And he pays attention, when he makes the effort. And he's really kind sometimes," I rambled, not looking at Batman. "And he understood . About you, about the horrible state that Gotham's in, about the fact that sometimes, someone just has to step up and do what has to be done."

I dropped my face into my hands, remembering that before this whole debacle, I'd been angry with him. "Or at least I thought he did. Either he says things he doesn't really mean, or he means things he doesn't really say and it feels like he expects me to be able to tell which."

"But despite all of that, I didn't want to quit. I wouldn't have quit. The look on his face when I resigned made me feel like I was the worst person alive," I trailed off and shook my head with a self deprecating little laugh. "I mean, it's weird right? Neither of us really know each other. We worked together, and we saw each other almost everyday but it's not like we were even friends."

"But for just one second, he looked so hurt and betrayed , and then suddenly, his expression closed off, and then his eyes just went dead and blank."

I finally gathered up the courage to look at Batman, who was as unreadable as ever, but there was something unnerving in the way he watched me. "It's stupid, I know," I said nervously, suddenly bashful. "I'm probably imagining things because obviously a billionaire has more to be preoccupied with than his secretary quitting, and I'm just blowing things out of proportion, but I just…"

I looked Batman straight in the eyes. "I didn't want to quit."

Batman was staring back at me, and there was something oddly intent in his gaze, something sharp and pressing that seemed to gauge and measure, feeling out the shape of me, making me feel disconcertedly like he'd just realized something that I hadn't and that my little confession had actually told him more about me than I'd intended it to. I wracked my brain and retraced everything I'd just said, trying to figure out what it was, but I couldn't understand what it was I'd said that could make him react like this.

I tried to hold his gaze but ended up edging back and curling in on myself a little, uncertain.

He snapped his gaze away, exhaling a sharp sigh as if he'd been holding his breath throughout the duration of my little soliloquy. I watched curiously as his hands flexed, and I had the bizarre thought that he might have raked them through his hair if he hadn't been wearing his cowl.

I waited, still thrown for the loop.

When he looked back at me, his eyes were unexpectedly warm.

I blinked.

"So your plan was to what, march in Arkham Asylum, barge into Crane's office and ransack his filing cabinet?" He asked.

I reeled at the sudden change in topic. Batman hadn't even commented when I'd literally just poured my heart out despite the fact that he'd been the one who was so intent on getting an answer. But I figured getting raked over the coals was still better than him further scrutinizing the confused… sentiments I had about Wayne.

To be honest I'd expected this scolding to come a lot sooner. But something had changed in his demeanour, which made me peek at him through my lashes hopefully. There had been something angry in him earlier tonight, something like jagged metal that kept him sharp and closed off. But whatever it had been had suddenly melted away, with that old softness settling in its place. To be honest, I hadn't even really noticed it until it was gone.

But now it's back, and I was too happy to look the gift horse in the mouth and question why.

I scowled at him to hide the smile that threatened to curl at my lips. "That wasn't my plan, actually," I retorted.

"Enlighten me," he drawled, sounding rather unimpressed.

"I wasn't expecting to just waltz in and find the proverbial murder weapon," I said. "Crane is too smart to leave something that incriminating just lying around. And we also don't know the depth of Crane's involvement."

"So?" he prompted.

I smirked. "You would be surprised at how far coffee, camaraderie and commiserating will get you."

The blank look on his face clearly said he didn't understand.

I winked.

"Watch and learn."

Half an hour later, I waltzed out of Arkham Asylum and ducked into the side alley where Batman had initially found (and accosted) me.

"Did you catch all that?" I asked, unhooking the little listening device from behind my ear and smacking it into his hand with a smug grin. It had taken some convincing for Batman to eventually let me step foot into Arkham Asylum and with the ear piece in, he could listen in on everything and come sweeping in to bail me out if necessary. It had been a concession on both our parts.

He closed his hand around it slowly and gave me a wary look. "How did you do that?"

We made our way back to his car, though it felt somewhat like a vast understatement calling that beast of a thing a 'car'. It felt a little like calling a dragon a lizard. I mean, technically it was true, but…

"How did I do what?" I teased, taking this rare opportunity to laud my accomplishments over his head. I felt it was fair, considering that I usually just looked like an ass in front of him.

He shot me a flat look.

"Ah," I said with mock enlightenment. "You wish for me to elaborate upon the intricacies of psychological influence and my mastery of social engineering?" I glanced up at him and laughed at the look on his face before continuing in more moderate tones. "It wasn't even that hard," I admitted.

"The important thing is not to come empty handed," I told him. "I guess if you do, it doesn't hurt your chances too much, but if you don't then you'll have paved a much smoother road ahead. Hence, the Starbucks. The fact that I remembered Karen's favourite order is just the cherry on top; it lends a personal touch," I said conspiratorially.

Once again, he held the door open for me, but this time I climbed into the car rather more willingly than I had the last time. I waited for him to get in the other side before I continued.

"Secondly, it worked because I knew her well when we worked together and because Crane's a shitty boss. Believe me, nothing brings employees together more than a tyrannical employer." I nodded with satisfaction before continuing. "After that, it was a matter of lending a sympathetic ear to all her Crane related woes while carefully fishing for information. Cast out the reel, and if nothing's biting, bring it back in and try again in a different direction."

I clapped my hands together. "And there you have it! Coffee, camaraderie and commiserating! My three ingredients for success."

"Is that what that was?" he asked with bland tones. "It sounded like gossip."

I nodded agreeably. "Well, you're not exactly wrong."

"Clever," he commended.

I glowed. "We have nothing definitive, but now we know that Crane needs his town car past his work hours on the first Thursday of every month," I told him, though he no doubt had heard through the ear piece. "Karen thought it was because he was seeing someone, but I highly doubt that so…" I raised my eyebrows at him.

"That's two days from now," Batman said.

I smiled widely. "Bingo," I replied. "This part's up to you. Just follow him after work, see where he goes, who he meets up with and we'll have a better idea of what Crane's up to." I paused. "Or… you know, whatever else it is you wanna do. You call the shots, obviously."

A wry smirk pulled at the edge of his lips. "That sounds about right."

"Excellent," I said with great satisfaction.

Then I peered at him thoughtfully. Whatever had been bothering Batman seemed now to be a nonissue. His foul mood had all but disappeared.

After carefully gauging his mood, I ventured to ask, "So…" I began, nervously twisting my fingers together. "Why were you so mad at me before?"

Batman's face swiftly emptied of expression and he looked away. He glanced out the window instead, which would have made a lot more sense if the sheet wasn't still covering the car.

"I wasn't," he brusquely denied.

I narrowed my eyes at him accusingly. "You were too! You were mad at me! And you were scary, and mean and grumpy and—"

" Grumpy ?" Asked Batman incredulously, finally turning to look at me.

"Yes, grumpy!" I confirmed. "Was it because I was trying to scope out Arkham Asylum?" I tried hesitantly.

He looked away again.

"Because I didn't tell you about the microwave emitter?"

He didn't so much as twitch and I felt my heart sink.

"… What did I do ?" I begged.

Batman sighed, and the sound of it seemed to fill up the space between us. He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, watching me watching him.

"Why is this so important to you?" He rumbled after a while.

I didn't even have to think about my answer. "So I don't do it again, obviously." I smiled at him weakly. "Do you know how harrowing it is having Batman be angry with you? You beat up criminals with your bare hands every night. That is not a club I want to join." I joked.

"Not every night," he deflected.

I frowned at him and his apparent determination to not give me a straight answer. "Well, whatever it was, I'm sorry," I said, very sincerely, despite my dark scowl. "If you'd just tell me what I did, I could avoid treading on your toes again in the future, but as it stands…"

Batman turned his head away, but I could see him watching me from the corner of his eye. "You didn't do anything. Don't be sorry."

"Really?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied.

"If you say so," I conceded dubiously. If I pissed him off in the future, he'd have no one to blame but himself.

We lapsed into comfortable silence. I sat there for a while, still revelling in the fact that we'd made progress on the whole 'Spy on Crane' front, and that whatever I did, Batman was no longer angry at me. Batman seemed just as content as me not to disturb the peace.

But after a while, I shifted in my seat and heaved a sigh. "I should probably go home," I said reluctantly. "It's dark and cold outside, and if I leave now there is a slight chance that I might not freeze and die in a ditch at the side of the road."

Batman eyed me for a long moment. His wordless reply was to reach over and turn the key in the ignition. The engine rumbled to life before easing into a silken purr.

I stared at him in bemusement before comprehension dawned, making my mouth fall open. "Wouldn't this be a little… conspicuous?" I questioned, trying to conceal my hopeful glee.

Batman's cowl hid most of his face, but he still managed to emanate an undeniable air of mild affront. "Only if anyone sees."

A face splitting grin was fighting my every attempt at maintaining composure. "I don't suppose you'd let me drive?" I asked conspiratorially, mostly joking.

Batman snorted. "Maybe next time."

I heaved an exaggerated sigh while he slid the window down and pulled off the dirty sheet concealing the car. He simply let it fall to the ground before he shifted into reverse and backed out, creeping easily through the narrow alley and out into a quiet side road.

"Damn," I muttered ruefully, knowing that I'd been pushing my luck anyway. Just being in breathing distance of this thing was already a once in a lifetime kind of opportunity.

"But," he continued meaningfully, "you can push this button." He nodded at the big red button next to the stick shift.

I looked at it, then at him and then back again. "What does it do?" I asked cautiously, but my hand was already hovering over the button. I could never resist pushing buttons, metaphorical or literal.

"Press it and find out," he said with a tiny, barely-there smirk.

I found myself grinning in response and without any hesitation, I jabbed the button and then had to restrain a yelp of surprise when the engine suddenly gave a deafening roar. With a burst of speed so fast and so sudden that it made my my stomach lurch, the car launched forward and dashed down the street in a smear of black and chrome that blurred our surroundings. All I could make out were streaks of neon lights that we passed almost too quickly for me to process.

"Holy shit ," I said as helpless, giddy laugher spilled forth without reserve. It felt like we were moving fast enough to have broken the sound barrier, and the way Batman seamlessly maneuvered around obstacles and round sharp bends made my pulse race and my palms sweaty in the best way.

I looked away from the window and grinned up at Batman, only to find him already watching me. If it'd been anyone else I would have screamed for them to please, for the love of God, keep their eyes on the road and not to kill me, but with Batman I didn't think there was any place in the world where I could have felt safer.

"Maybe a little warning next time?" I teased. I sounded a little unsteady, even to my own ears, but I smiled to show him that I wasn't afraid.

"Where's the fun in that?" He replied.

I arched a challenging brow. "Can it go any faster?" I said, egging him on.

Batman's answering smirk was the only answer I needed.

If I had taken the train back to Alan's, it probably would have taken me forty five minutes. On a fast day.

With Batman driving, it had only taken us ten.

Six in the morning came far too quickly for someone who had fallen asleep at two in the morning, which was why I was surprised to find that the usual feeling of dejection and existentialist panic didn't hit me this morning. Small blessings, I supposed, but I'd take it.

After getting ready, I shuffled into the kitchen for breakfast. Alan took one look at me and immediately asked, "Did you even sleep?"

"Yes," I replied testily. Not much but I did sleep.

Alan seemed to know this without my having to say so. "You know, I read an article that says if you get less than six hours of sleep, on average, your life span is shorter?"

"Death comes for us all," I said with grim certainty. I helped myself to some cereal and began to chew woodenly on what tasted like bits of stale cardboard. "Alan," I said, scowling. "Why do you eat old people cereal?"

"You came in late last night," Alan said casually, as if I hadn't even spoken. I would have normally taken objection to that but I was still too busy trying to swallow my mouthful of wood chips.

"Didn't realize I had a curfew, Dad," I replied through stuffed cheeks.

Alan was tearing the crusts off his toast distractedly. "Were you on a date?" He asked. He was clearly aiming for casual but where he actually ended was somewhere between 'annoyingly nosy neighbour' and 'overly concerned aunt.'

I choked on my mouthful of wood chips. "What? No!" I denied vehemently. "Where did you get that idea?"

A very small, very quiet voice at the back of my mind told me that going for a drive could be a date thing, but before the idea could sprout wings and take off, I firmly squashed it beneath my heel.

Alan shot me a skeptical look. "You came in really late last night," he said with pointed disapproval.

"So?" I said indignantly. "And it wasn't that late—"

"—It was midnight —"

I searched my head for an answer. I didn't want to lie, mostly because I was a passable liar at best and Alan would probably be able to see right through me. But also because Alan's concern was a little touching, and I didn't want to repay him with blatant dishonesty.

"Okay look," I grumbled and propped my foot up on one of the empty chairs. I rolled up my pants. The bump I'd gotten last night had died down after I put some hyssop on it, but now it had turned into an ugly, big bruise. "It was dark and icy last night so I tripped and bumped my shin."

Alan was immediately sympathetic, his jaw dropping in horror and his hands immediately going to hover over my leg in an aborted motion. "Sarah, this looks really bad," he said with a frown.

"It looks worse than it feels." Well, now anyway. But no need to mention that and worry him.

"Didn't you put any of that weird stuff on it? That hyacinth, hiccup thing or whatever."

"Hyssop," I corrected. "And I did last night. I'm pretty sure it'd still be the size of an egg if I hadn't."

Alan winced and gave me a strained look. I watched while he seemed to wage some great internal battle. After a moment, he reached over and delicately patted the back of my hand. "There there," he said.

"Thanks," I said flatly. "I feel so much better."

"You know what really will make you feel better though?" He slipped his phone out of his pocket, typed some things into it before turning it around so the screen faced me. "Look at this."

I was sipping coffee and suddenly choked when I looked.

'BATMOBILE BLAZES A TRAIL THROUGH FORT CLINTON! (x)' Read a tweet by GP24. I stared at the blurry but undeniable picture of the very car I'd been sitting in just last night.

… God damn it.

Alan was apparently taking my silence as my having dissolved into speechless rapture instead of the mute horror I was actually feeling. "There are a few eyewitness accounts that the Batmobile was seen around here. Like, a block away from the apartment."

Well, he had been dropping me off. He'd taken little used in-roads and sometimes veered off the road entirely to zip through alleys just wide enough to accommodate the car, but apparently we'd still been seen. I shifted guiltily. I had warned him it'd be too conspicuous. 'Only if anyone sees', my ass,' I thought with a grimace.

"There were videos too," Alan added. "But it was dark and most videos consist of like, a blur that you see for like, half a second before it's gone."

"How do we even know it's him though?" I argued weakly. "I mean, it's just a car right? And they're calling it the Batmobile ?" I said incredulously. I knew he was just going to hate that, though I had to admit that there was something catchy about it. Not that I'd ever say it to his face.

Alan squinted at me. "Who else could it be? It had no license plates, was driving at like, three hundred miles per hour and looked like the lovechild of a ferrari and a tank."

"That could be anyone!" I blurted, mashing at my now sodden cereal with sudden gusto. "It's not like it had any obvious bat symbols. And it's not like he'd go blatantly traipsing through Gotham like that for no reason. Especially if a certain someone warned him not to," I muttered that last part beneath my breath, conveniently ignoring that my protest had been half hearted at best.

"What was that?"

"I said I really don't think it's Batman," I hedged.

Alan gave me a skeptical look. "Are you okay? I thought you'd be over the moon about this."

"What are you talking about? I'm fine," I said airily. I pushed back from the table and started shoving things at random into my purse before making for the door. "Speaking of which, I must leave now. Immediately."

Alan was staring at me like I'd just told him that I was leaving to be a sheep herder in Iceland. Which actually sounded more and more appealing by the minute. "Where are you going?"

"Work, obviously," I replied, avoiding eye contact. "You know, the place I go to on weekdays so I can afford to live?"

"Yeah, but we've still got like, another fifteen minutes…" Alan protested.

I shoved my shoes on and threw the door open. "Bye," I said bluntly.

I heard a chair scrape as Alan fumbled after me. "Hey, what the hell, can you wait?"

Another subtle and masterful evasion by Sarah Summers. Another job well done.

It was business as usual in Earle's base of operations that day, which essentially meant that it was another day of heckling and degradation. All in a day's work, I supposed. I wasn't sure if it was good or sad that I was now too used to it to let it get me down.

Though one thing was bothering me.

There was still that disturbing trend in the selling patterns of Wayne Enterprises' stock. I'd first noticed it when I was still working for Bru— Wayne , but now that I had access to different files, the pattern had only become more prominent.

Someone was sneakily buying out all of our stock.

They were being so careful about it too, with all these new up and coming companies looking to bandwagon on Wayne Enterprises' success, but that shrewd cautiousness had been what tipped me off to begin with. No same company purchased twice and the quantity was always so small and so negligible. One little rat nibbling at the big cheese.

But rats tend to breed and multiply. And one small piece could suddenly become exponentially more. Something a little like controlling interest .

I rubbed my temples with a sigh and hazarded a look at Earle's office door. I debated talking to him again and presenting my case, but the first time I tried that he'd been about as responsive as a brick wall. In fact, I'd probably have better luck with an actual brick wall. I could at least use it to slam my head against, in any case.

No, that wasn't going to work.

To be honest, there was a part of me that was tempted to just sit back and do nothing. Earle would probably become destitute in short order and what I wouldn't give for first row tickets to see that .

But.

The truth was that Wayne Enterprises wasn't just Earle's company. It had a legacy attached to it and a long history. Thomas and Martha Wayne had genuinely done good things for Gotham with it. Earle wouldn't be around forever, and one day the mantle might fall to its rightful place…

But the problem was I could only see one other person to go to about this, and I really, really didn't want to.

Don't be a coward, just do it.

Do I have to? I wheedled.

Yes you do! So go!

I huffed. Can't I just write a report and slip it under his door or something? Or use smoke signals? A messenger pigeon!

No reply.

… Hello? I wondered hesitantly.

Still nothing.

Huh. Well, that was new. Not entirely unwelcome , but definitely new.

Then I realized.

Is the voice in my actually giving me the silent treatment? I thought incredulously.

I thought I heard a pointed sniff at that and I gave an indignant little gasp.

I can't believe this, I fumed. With a thunderous scowl I snatched up the folder on my desk and made for the door. Fine then!

"Uhm, excuse me," came Cynthia's affronted voice. "But where do you think you're going?"

Right then I dissolved into sudden and loud, hacking death coughs and made aborted gestures toward the door.

Her lip curled and she made a disgusted noise, but with a flick of her fingers I was dismissed.

I kept coughing right up until the door closed behind me, and then immediately straightened and headed determinedly toward the elevators. Maybe he was in there, I thought hopefully. And why not? He and I always seemed to be meeting in elevators. And that way, I could just hand him the papers and get off at the next floor before he could stop me. Granted, I wouldn't be there to explain them to him, but he could probably manage on his own. Maybe. If all else failed, he could use a dictionary for the bigger words.

I stepped into the elevator, but by the time I made it to Applied Sciences, there had been nothing in the way of dramatic and fateful encounters. I was strangely disappointed by this, for once.

I cursed my rotten luck and got off the elevator before I paused and looked around. I had forgotten how dark and dour this place was. It had been eerily quiet down here at times; there were no people constantly milling in and out, no phones ringing off the handles demanding to meet with Earle. Most days, the only things I heard down here were the sounds of my own clicking keyboard, or our voices when Wayne and I sniped at each other from our desks.

My heart gave a pathetic twinge. I missed this place.

I stepped cautiously further in, taking stock of my surroundings. Things were mostly the same, but there were a few discrepancies. My desk was empty, not over flowing with papers like I was used to. But the main thing was that the pervasive smell of coffee was gone. I realized that I hadn't noticed it at the time, but back when I worked here Applied Sciences always smelled like coffee.

I guess we can thank the bribe coffees for that, I thought. He had dutifully brought Starbucks at fixed intervals throughout the day, almost every day. Even now, I wasn't sure if the gesture was sincere or if he was just trying to annoy me. Or maybe he was being sincere in his attempts to annoy me. He'd always looked so amused whenever he handed them over, stacking them into increasingly creative formations on my desk.

Now the space didn't smell like much of anything at all.

I tried not to let that make me sad.

I clasped the folder to my chest and tip toed toward my old desk. I craned my head toward his office but found it empty. I frowned. I guess there wasn't anything surprising about that. If I had been keeping track, his attendance record would have looked more spotty than a dalmatian. I was usually more surprised when Wayne did manage to make it to work, rather than when he didn't.

I heaved a sigh and walked with less caution towards his office, ignoring the small part of me that felt disappointed for some bizarre and unexplainable reason. I quietly let myself in and stepped towards his desk, running a hand over the surface. I held my hand up and rubbed my fingers together. They weren't dusty so I figured either Joe the Custodian was doing a bang up job or he wasn't skiving off work too badly.

I was just going to have to leave the papers on his desk for him to find, I decided. But who knew where he was now or when he'd be back? What if by the time he finally came to work, things had already progressed too far for him to intervene? I knew firsthand that the consequences of inaction could be just as bad, if not worse than a deliberate harmful action.

I bit my lip.

"Well, if it isn't Ms. Summers," came a jovial voice from behind me. "Something I can help you with?"

I spun around and gasped, a smile coming automatically to my face. "Oh, Mr. Fox!" I strode forward and shook his hand. "How are things down here? Holding down the fort?" I teased.

"Oh, you know how it is. We're scraping by," he replied.

I squinted at him. "Don't let him make you do all the work," I told him. "If you let him get away with it, he'll sleep through the whole day. Buy a few of those pomodoro timers if you have to and hide them in his office."

Fox slipped his hands into his pockets and regarded me with an amused look. "Oh, is that what brings you down here?"

I looked down and took a step back, nervously tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. "Well, uh, not exactly…"

"Feeling a little homesick?" Fox suggested lightly with a twinkle in his eyes.

I glared at him, my cheeks feeling suspiciously warm. "You know, you're a lot more of a busybody than I remember you being."

"I'm as much of a busybody as I've always been," he denied with the same mild mannered demeanour that I suspected was actually hiding something a bit more evil. "I wouldn't be surprised if your memory was slipping, after quitting and being gone for so long," he continued in pleasant tones.

I dropped my face into my hands with a groan. "Mr. Fox, you are the last person I expected to give me flack over this,"

"Oh, I doubt I'll be the last," he replied good naturedly.

Great.

"Listen," I said, heaving a sigh. "The real reason I came was because of this." I handed the folder over wordlessly, letting him draw his own conclusions. Part of me was hoping that I'd made a big deal out of nothing and that it really was all a coincidence.

I watched his face carefully as he scanned the papers. Something flickered in his eyes, too fast for me to identify. His brows arched and his mouth twitched for a moment before he turned back to me with a neutral expression.

"I can see why you'd find this troubling, Ms. Summers."

I squinted at him a little. "So it's not just me, right? You see it too? Don't these patterns indicate…"

"What appears to be a creeping takeover, yes," Mr. Fox confirmed.

I waited.

Mr. Fox looked back at me with a pleasant expression.

I felt like pulling my hair out at the roots. "Why doesn't this prospect freak you out more?" I demanded. "I tried talking to Earle about it but the man apparently refuses to take the opinion of anyone who isn't white, male and over fifty years old seriously! You're the only one I can think of who can do anything about this," I pleaded.

Fox crossed his arms. "I'm afraid that isn't true, Ms. Summers."

I frowned at Fox's uncharacteristic unhelpfulness. "Why not? You're a former board member. Even if you no longer have an official voice at the table, you could at least get some of the others to listen to you."

"Even if that were true, it isn't the case any longer." I opened my mouth to argue when Fox continued. "Mr. Earle came down the other day to let me know that my services at Wayne Enterprises were no longer needed."

I stared at him in disbelief. "He fired you?"

"That seems to be the case," he confirmed.

" Why ?" I demanded.

Fox shrugged lightly. "Officially? Asked too many of the wrong questions. Unofficially? Probably same reason he won't listen to you."

I tilted my head.

"The man finds intelligence threatening," Fox answered with a wink.

I returned his smile wanly. His good humour about the situation did him credit, but I felt tired and scared. "What do I do then? If you're gone then the situation's even worse than I thought."

"You want my advice?"

I nodded eagerly.

"I suggest you stick your original course of action."

"What does that mean?"

Fox arched a brow. "You didn't originally come here to see me ."

I flushed at that a little, but figured I didn't have much of a leg to stand on and didn't bother trying to refute that claim. "He's not here, and by the time he is, it could be too late."

Fox smiled. "If the mountain won't come to Muhammad then Muhammad must go to the mountain," he said cryptically.

"… What ?"

Fox sighed, went over to the desk and scribbled something on a scrap of paper before handing it to me.

"Here's Mr. Wayne's address. Call a cab and go tell him in person," he said, sounding more bluntly than I'd ever heard him.

I balked.

"No," I said flatly. "Impossible. No way in hell am I going to his house and there is no force on this earth that can make me!"

An hour later, my cab rolled up to a hulking mansion that stood at the very edge of the Palisades. It had taken us another fifteen minutes of driving to reach the manor itself, after we had already passed through the gates.

I looked at the front doors of Wayne Manor like they were the gates of hell. Abandon all hope ye who enter here.

"Hey lady, you getting out or what?" The cabbie complained.

I turned my head and locked eyes with him, my expression desperate and tragic.

The cabbie glanced to the side uncomfortably and then back to me. "Uh, you okay?"

"Yes," I replied automatically, breathing in.

"You sure? You don't look okay."

I sighed. "That's because I lied."

A pause. "Okay, so you staying or are we going? 'Cuz rush hour's coming up and I'm not missing that."

"Leave the meter on and wait here," I told him with a scowl before getting out and made my way up the steps, looking for all intents and purposes like a man headed for the gallows.

I swallowed and stopped before the massive doors. My heart was beating like a war drum and the pulse hammering away at my throat made it hard to swallow. This place would have been intimidating even under the very best circumstances, and these were far from the best circumstances. I hadn't called ahead. I'd never been here before. I hadn't even seen or talked to the man who lived here in weeks , and God this was going to be so weird.

I cleared my throat, gathered up my courage and rang the fancy looking doorbell. While I was waiting, my thoughts wandered in frenetic circles. I was relieved they had a doorbell, and not like, a knocker or something since I had no idea who would be able to hear me inside all of that.

I wasn't sure what I was expecting but I was wholly unprepared when the door swung open to reveal a stoic looking older man.

"Hello," I offered hesitantly, trying not to let my nervousness get the better of me. "My name is Sarah Summers. I used to work for Mr. Wayne."

I took a deep breath and straightened a little. I told myself that I had very valid, very important reasons for being here and I was only doing what had to be done. "I'm sorry for intruding," I said more confidently, "I wouldn't have come in person but I have something very important to show him."

I looked him square in the eye and we held gazes for a moment before he stepped back and gestured me in.

"Alfred Pennyworth. A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Summers. Master Wayne speaks very highly of you," he said and I blinked at his Cockney accent. So this was apparently Alfred, the butler that Wayne had mentioned before.

I was brought up short by what he'd said. I narrowed my eyes at him. "Keep in mind that I'm definitely not calling you a liar," I told him slowly. "But… Are you sure you aren't just lying? Because that doesn't sound like him at all."

He didn't seem to take any offence at my question and instead smiled benignly, kind and distant. "He also mentioned that you weren't afraid to speak your mind concerning matters you care about."

I wasn't sure what to make of that last part and why he thought that pertained to the subject at hand, so I glossed over it.

"Did he also happen to mention my ravishing good looks and sterling wit?" I asked sarcastically.

"I'm sure Master Wayne believed those particular attributes would speak for themselves," he replied without missing a beat.

I find myself smiling despite myself. "Mr. Pennyworth, you're an old charmer. I can see where he gets it from."

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and I really was starting to see the resemblance. "Call me Alfred, please," he demurred. "In my opinion, anyone who has worked for the man this long without attempting homicide deserves the distinction," he said blandly.

That shocked a bright laugh out of me that ended up rueful. "I don't know about that… any of it. There were some close calls involving his impending demise and my stapler," I joked.

"And… I don't work for him anymore, Alfred," I said sadly.

"And yet here you are," he said. Before I could reply, he continued with, "May I take your coat?"

I hugged it tighter around me. "I don't mean to stay. I just wanted to show him something and have a quick word," I protested.

"Nonsense," Alfred replied; his tone was mild and yet managed to brook no argument. "You're a guest. I would be remiss in my duties if I didn't offer refreshments."

"The offer itself is kind enough," I said stubbornly. Normally I would have loved a chance to sit down with Wayne's butler to try and gain insight on the habits and idiosyncrasies of one Bruce Wayne, but the situation being what it was I really didn't think it'd be appropriate to make myself comfortable in his home.

"Then I'm sure you'll reciprocate the courtesy by accepting graciously," Alfred said with a faint smile.

The family resemblance was getting clearer and clearer. Neither of them seemed to be able to take no for an answer.

I narrowed my eyes at him and took off my coat before handing it to him reluctantly. "I'm onto you," I said.

"I haven't the faintest idea what you mean," he said, walking off.

I sighed gustily and followed after him. "Oh, so I wasn't just outmaneuvered?" I said dryly.

"A true mark of wisdom is knowing how to choose your battles, Ms. Summers," Alfred called over his shoulder. His pace was surprisingly brisk for someone who looked so… old. "I don't see the shame in enjoying a spot of tea while contemplating your next move. Master Wayne was just rising before you knocked."

I glanced at my watch and rolled my eyes. "I'm guessing he had a late night," I said dryly.

"To my knowledge, Master Wayne embarked on an ill advised joyride through Gotham," Alfred replied. "He has cultivated a reputation for recklessness and poor decision making, but he's usually shows a little more prudence. I can only imagine that his motivations must have been particularly… compelling," Alfred said in dry tones, looking over his shoulder at me.

I shook my head. "I'm sorry, but all I got out of that was the 'joyride'," I said.

"I'm sure that despite all the exciting events of last night, Master Wayne would say the same."

I shook my head and gave up for the time being. I was pretty sure everything Alfred was saying was butler-speak for something else entirely, but I wasn't fluent. I only spoke secretary.

Alfred led me through the lavish halls of Wayne Manor and I had to restrain myself from gaping like a peasant. The furnishings were ornate, but tasteful. Not like Earle's office, which sought to convey an air of wealth without any of the class. Despite that, I couldn't sense any of Bruce's taste in the decor. He was someone who valued function over form, though I suspected that he also knew the importance of putting up a good front. Wayne Manor must have been decorated to Alfred's taste then.

We eventually stopped in a large sitting room. It was admittedly lovely, with high ceilings and a terrace that overlooked the grounds, but I looked around uneasily. It was an awfully big space for just one person to have to sit and wait.

Alfred took one look at me before leading me away. We took a couple more turns and I noticed that our surroundings were beginning to look less and less opulent. We eventually stopped in the kitchens. It was still pretty spacious, and there was an island counter in the middle with high chairs tucked beneath.

I looked around curiously. It was decidedly cozier than the last room had been.

"This is where Master Wayne prefers to take his meals when he isn't dining with company," Alfred told me, leaving me to my own devices as he tinkered around in the kitchen.

I looked around curiously. "This set up is a lot more simple than I was expecting."

"The dining room is a rather formal affair when one is dining alone," Alfred admitted.

"Well, at least he eats somewhere," I muttered under my breath.

It seemed, however, that Alfred had the ears of a bat. "I beg your pardon?"

I propped my chin in my hand. "You know he skips meals right?" I knew I was being a tattletale and that snitches got stitches, but I was gleaning too much satisfaction from this. "He usually doesn't eat lunch unless I remind him. The only thing is does do is sleep," I said thoughtfully. "And be annoying."

Alfred looked rather grim. "I will certainly be rectifying that situation."

Looking at his stoically determined expression, I didn't doubt that. "How?"

"Master Wayne believes that basic necessities such as eating or sleeping are to be endured, and with expediency rather than gratification," Alfred replied, opening and closing cupboards efficiently.

"Meaning?" I said slowly.

"Meaning I blend all the proteins and nutrients he needs to survive day to day," he said dryly and removed a glass of something… green from the fridge. "This, for example, is breakfast."

I looked at it dubiously. "It looks… nutritious," I said diplomatically.

"Master Wayne assures me that it's vile," Alfred said, without a hint of repentance.

I watched as the butler shuffled forwards to place the tea tray before me. I balked at the numbers of plates and spoons and struggled to recall my manners. Something about using fancy little tongs for the sugar cubes and not clicking the spoon against the cup when I stirred…?

I was far too dismayed to notice Alfred's curious look. "You seem rather interested in Master Wayne," he said.

I looked up quickly. "Isn't everybody interested in Bruce Wayne?" I returned.

"Yes," Alfred admitted. "But usually their curiosity usually runs a different course."

I cocked my head.

"'Where was Bruce Wayne during the seven years he went missing'," Alfred recites. "'Is it true he asked his parents to leave the opera house early the night they were murdered? What made him decide to come back?'"

I frowned and held up a hand, warding away the words. "That's his business," I said firmly.

"Pity that the rest of Gotham would disagree," Alfred replied.

"They can go hang," I said bluntly. "Everyone has old wounds and it's basic manners not to just bring those things up as casual topics of conversation. The only reason everyone thinks they can do it when it comes to Bruce Wayne is because it's already 'common knowledge'," I sneered. "He should get the same courtesy as everyone else. He shouldn't have to talk about it unless he wants to."

I looked up and the look in Alfred's eyes cut me off mid-tirade. Sometime between setting down the tea tray and posing his seemingly casual questions, Alfred had cast off that mild mannered butler persona. Something cool and assessing had crept into his eyes. It occurred to me, belatedly I admitted, that this must have been the man who had raised Bruce Wayne and changed his diapers, and stood steadfast by his side for all these years.

Alfred had been laying a trap.

I looked back at him unflinchingly.

The kettle suddenly started whistling, making me jump in surprise. As if a switch had been flipped, Alfred reverted back to being an ordinary butler. I released the breath I hadn't even realized I'd been holding. To be honest, I wasn't even sure I'd passed that test, though I was sure that I'd soon find out if I failed; the tea would undoubtedly be poisoned and no one would ever be able to pin it on him.

Alfred came forward to pour water from the kettle into the teapot. I waited for it to steep for a bit before pouring it into my own teacup.

I picked it up and warmed my hands around it as I considered my thoughts. "So… Do you usually give everyone the third degree or am I just special?" I asked casually.

Alfred didn't bother denying it as he left to pour the remainder of the hot water into a large metal bowl. "I've never had to," he replied. "You're the first one apart from close friends and family to sit at that table."

My brows jumped before I schooled my expression to something neutral. "I wasn't invited Alfred," I pointed out. "I practically let myself in."

"I'm sure Master Wayne will be happy to provide a consensus when he arrives," Alfred said simply.

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, when His Majesty deigns to come and—"

And suddenly the world slowed, stuttered and stilled, teetering precariously on its axis. There was a peculiar cold seeping into my body, setting my veins to ice; more than that, it was a kind of numbness, like all my senses were abandoning non-vital areas and converging onto the awareness that there was a familiar scent curling dangerously in the air.

I inhaled deeply, telling myself you're wrong, you're wrong, you're wrong.

Alfred noticed my sudden change in behaviour. "Something the matter?"

I was not quite there. I looked over his shoulder, past him and through him. "Alfred," I said slowly. "What's that smell?"

It was impossible to miss now, wafting through the entire kitchen, warm and pungent.

I knew it well.

Alfred nodded. "Ah. I forget the smell can be a little unusual to those who are unfamiliar with it." Alfred glanced over his shoulder and then back to me. "It's called hyssop."

My heart skipped and there was a dreadful moment where it felt deathly still before it resumed rattling against my rib cage.

I held myself very still, afraid that if I so much as breathed the wrong way, I would shatter apart. There was some kind of high keening sound in my ears, and it rose to a crescendo at the tight knot of tension in my chest. My head was eerily quiet. The only things I knew were the sound of my frantically beating heart and the strangely sweet smell of the dried flowers that Batman had left sitting on my counter.

That Batman had left.

I kept my face blank. "Hyssop? What's that?"

"Dried herbs, mostly. It's useful when making compresses for bruises and the like."

Oh .

"Why would Bruce need a thing like that?" I asked with a serene smile.

Alfred arched a brow. "Billionaires and their thrill seeking. He's fond of his extreme sports."

Yes.

"Cave diving?" I asked sweetly.

"Just so," Alfred replied with a slow nod.

He gave me a strange look, but it felt like I was watching him move through layers and layers of static and white noise. Like when a video lagged and there was a delay between the visual and the sound, it felt like the world had tilted off its axis and was moving out of sync.

"This a new discovery?" I asked.

"Not at all," Alfred said. "It's an old Wayne family trick. We've been growing it in the greenhouses for generations."

And there it was.

It felt like watching a car crash in slow motion. It felt like being in the epicentre and watching numbly as metal clashed into metal, crushing whatever was unfortunate enough to stand in between into dust. Watching bits of shrapnel fly and glass exploding without being able to do a single thing about it.

I hadn't realized it, but my subconscious had. It was struggling against my mental confines, now, clawing free. It had been compiling the evidence, sticking photographs and newspaper clippings and maps on the wall, connecting the dots through a convoluted tangle of red string, putting together the pieces. It had only been missing one little thing.

I now held that tiny piece in my hands. My fingers ran along the edges of the shape of it, seeking out the grooves and lines of the truth. When I lifted my hands to the jigsaw puzzle, that last piece slotted neatly and perfectly into place.

And maybe, just maybe, having an eidetic memory was good for something after all, because all the signs that had gone right over my head suddenly came rushing back in a torrent that buffeted me.

The first honest conversation we'd had about Batman, and then he'd gone and ruined it at the Dorsia. I had been so angry with him for that, but now it made sense didn't it? If you were Batman, how best to divert suspicion?

Then there were other things. My suggestion to look into silica fluid armour, and a couple of weeks later, lo and behold Applied Sciences had put in an order for a couple thousand units of fluid silica. I probably would never have even discovered it if I hadn't quit to work for Earle instead.

And that night my apartment had been broken into. Batman had been injured, a stab wound to his side. Then the next day I'd jokingly elbowed Bruce in the ribs and I remembered being surprised when it actually seemed to wind him.

So many of Bruce's strange demeanour was starting to make sense. It explained the way he swung like a pendulum between somber honesty and soulless socialite. He was stuck between a lie and the truth, but this time I had been the one to mix up the two. I hadn't been able to see.

So much of Batman's inscrutable behaviour was only just now starting to make sense too. After I had dinner with Crane and I told him about my flashbacks — 'The Dorsia,' he'd said flatly , so fixated on that one inconsequential detail. But for Batman, it hadn't been inconsequential. Because Bruce had been there that night, after all.

And wasn't that why he'd been so angry at me last night? Because the last time I saw him hadn't been after I'd had dinner with Crane. It had been right after I resigned — 'You quit working for Wayne… Because you wanted to work for Earle in order to steal information?'

And not least of all, the can of hyssop sitting so innocently on my counter.

But I'd asked him about it and he'd told me he'd never even heard of it.

You haven't? I thought numbly. But how could you not? It's apparently an old family trick.

It can't be, I thought with such reflexive clarity that I knew it had to be true.

I couldn't unsee it. It was like that picture where the image was both a rabbit and a duck, but you had to be able to mentally flip it to see both. And once you could do that, there was no way to go back to seeing just the rabbit or the duck. It was both.

Batman and Bruce Wayne. Batman and Bruce Wayne. He was both. Batman was Bruce Wayne and now there was no way to separate the two. No way to remember all the things I'd said to one without realizing the things I'd inadvertently revealed to the other.

How had I missed all the signs?

I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe . I couldn't be here.

I pushed my chair back with a jarring scrape and stumbled unsteadily to my feet. "I have to go," I said numbly, not looking at Alfred, paying no attention to his expression of concern and steadily growing alarm.

"Ms. Summers?" He began.

I shook my head, holding up a faintly shaking hand. "No, I just — I don't — I have to leave." I couldn't stay here and I certainly couldn't face him, knowing what I did now. I needed time and space to recover my bearings.

I hurriedly scrabbled my belongings together, though I left the papers I'd brought on the counter. All things considered, they seemed drastically less important than I originally thought when I first came, but it was still worth mentioning.

Alfred looked on with a small frown but didn't say anything.

"Thanks for the tea," I said with a weak smile and turned towards the door.

Only to suffer a small heart attack.

Bruce was standing there, leaning against the frame. His arms were folded and his expression was blank and more unreadable than I had ever seen it.

My jaw dropped in horror, and the inside of my head suddenly exploded in a mental litany of expletives, most of which were four letters long.

It felt like there were icy fingers clamped around my heart as I stared at him. I need to leave right now. Every instinct in my body was screaming at me to flee, but the broad shape of him completely filled the doorframe and the neutral expression on his face gave me no insight as to what he might have been thinking.

Is this one of those, 'if I tell you then I'll have to kill you' things? I wondered.

My tiny rabbit heart pattered as I tried to breathe evenly. I ducked my head and walked up to him, my eyes fixed firmly on his chest.

"Excuse me," I said, my voice sounding very small.

He didn't say anything, but I saw his fingers tighten on his arm, hands going white.

I couldn't help it. It was like there was a magnet pulling my eyes up to meet his, and without thinking I glanced up.

His expression was still terrifyingly unreadable, but standing this close I could now see that there was something tight about it. Something that was not as calm as he was pretending about the way his eyes roved over my face, searching.

My eyes darted down and away. I licked my lips nervously and steeled myself. "Please."

A long, torturous moment stretched out between us until my skin felt taut with the tension. Then, slowly, he moved, shifting just enough to the side that I had room to squeeze past.

I saw my window of opportunity and took it, twisting my body so I could duck between him and the frame. I held my breath, and I tried not to, but helplessly, my body brushed against the stiff tense lines of his. Then there was heat, and skin, and the electric zing that coursed from his body to mine, making my breath hitch —

— and I promptly fled.

Author's note: This chapter was brought to you by my mental health, physical wellbeing and SOUL. You're welcome.

This is so long, kill my ass guys. I debated long and hard over whether or not I should split it in two, but there was nowhere convenient to do it. And I did promise that Sarah would find out this chapter. And I guess I'm celebrating the fact that I've made it all the way to Chapter 10! Thank you to everyone who has read, alerted, favourited and reviewed this story! Thank you guys for sticking it out this long.

Last chapter, I promised that this chapter would come 'soonish', and if you kNOW ME AT ALL, you'll know that a month and some change is 'soonish.' I'm sorry for my erratic posting schedule, but I'll try to be more reasonable about it. No promises though.

Chapters will probably be shorter from here on out, but please let me know if you like them long or if you'd prefer shorter segments. I know this was... dense, lmao. Please leave reviews in general! They never fail to make my day. There were a lot of comments along the lines of 'i hope the creep in the alleyway is bruce' and I was just like lmao, you guys know me too well.

Alright, time to die in peace.