Summary: Could a man dedicated to the night have it all?

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Rating: T

Chapter IX

Alfred was most astonished to see Bruce awake and active so early in the morning. Normally, he'd find him half dead on the bed, barely an ounce of strength left in his body left to peel off the bat suit. Leaving him with the arduous task of removing it himself which was quite a challenge. He crossed the spacious floor and set a tray baring an English muffin, fruit salad, and a pot of tea on the coffee table.

"Morning Alfred," Bruce said cordially as he came out the bathroom, fully dressed, his fingers working a silk tie.

"Master Wayne," he replied pouring the tea and handing the fine china to him.

"No thank you, I'm not really hungry."

"As you wish sir."

His focus on his reflection in a full length mirror, Bruce laced the silk tie into a loop, tugging it close to his neck. Turning his head side to side, he looked himself over, before grimacing, wrenching off the tie, and tossing it onto a pile on his bed. Muttering a curse, he stormed to the large walk-in closet, ripping the shirt off his back. Alfred stared in complete surprise, watching his master, who was apparently in another one of his genial moods.

Without a word, he started to gather all the shirts and ties together, picking up discarded hangers from off the floor, and placing each shirt on every single one. Bruce reappeared, holding to different colored shirts.

"Which one, the Versace or the Armani?"

"Is this for a particular young lady, sir?"

"No," he expressed rather hastily, slowly lowering the garments, casting one on the bed. "Just…uh, want to look my best here." He put on the shirt then plucked a garnet colored tie out of Alfred's hand.

"Ms. Harris would be most pleased by the effort. She left several messages on the answering machine, none to which I've listened fully. But I suspect she's reminding you of a lunch date of some sort."

Bruce froze, shifting, glancing at Alfred, eyes grim. "I'm not seeing Gwendolyn anymore." He saw the glint in the manservant's eye, the arch in his brow, knowing full well he'd come across their argument a few days ago. "It's over, for good this time."

"I'm sorry to hear that sir."

His smiled turned sardonic. "Really, Alfred?"

Alfred gave no response and continued to put the rest of Bruce's shirts and ties back in the closet, keeping his feelings regarding Ms. Harris to himself. He had a great dislike for the woman; resented her arrogance and conceit. She treated Bruce like a puppet on a string, and flew into outrageous tempers when she didn't get her way. He was glad to be free of her.

He came out to see his young master watching the news. "Looks like my theatrics made more than just the headlines." A scowl crept across his chiseled features at the sight of Victor Zsaz being transferred out the hospital to County, avidly proclaiming the Batman was responsible for his injuries.

"This one get a little rough sir," Alfred asked.

"They all get rough."

"Yes," he declared, collecting the tray, and moving to stand by his side. "But those others didn't have an overnight stay at the hospital like this man. This was personal. Care to tell me why?"

Bruce said nothing for a long moment, before releasing a haggard sigh. "Nicholas Pannelli sent Victor Zsaz after Karen…to kill her."

"Gracious me," Alfred cried. "Whatever for?"

"I don't know," he howled, grounding his teeth. "But I intend to find out." He turned sharply and headed out the room.

"Where are you off to sir?"

"I'm going to see how Karen's fairing."

"Might I suggest roses Master Wayne?"

Bruce tossed him a smile. "The thought did cross my mind."

"Mr. Wayne," said Karen, letting out a startled shriek as the affluent billionaire entered her hospital room, two dozen red roses laden in his arm. She sat up immediately in her bed, drawing the covers up pass her chest, combing her fingers in her messy hair. "You…you caught me by surprise."

"I'm sorry, I hope I'm not being an inconvenience of some sort," he apologized, walking the distance to her bed.

Karen shook her head, her fingers gripping the white sheets. "No, I-uh…how did you know I was here?" She hadn't been given the opportunity to telephone her secretary, Chrissie, and tell her she would not be coming into work today. Not to mention calling Rebecca and enlightening her on the details of her horrific attack, and ask if she could bring a change of clothes.

"Lt. James Gordon came to Wayne Enterprises early this morning," he lied. "He told me what happened and I came as soon as I could." Handing her the flowers, he pulled a nearby chair closer to her bed and took a seat.

"They're lovely," she said beaming, lowering her nose into the petals, breathing in the rich scent. He looked at her critically; saw bruises that were well defined on her lips and skin, and struggled to curb his anger. Never in his life had he felt a desire to kill a man as he did at this moment. And in truth, he almost did last night.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, watching as she carefully rested the flowers on her lap.

Her expression dimmed. Dark eyes pooling with tears, mouth quivering, she laid a hand on her swollen lips, shaking her head. "I…," she sniffed. "I don't know…I…"

Bruce rose out of his seat and went to her. Cradling her in his arms, he rocked her gently. Karen clasped her arms about the man offering her comfort and support. Burying her face in his chest, she wept.

For a long time, Bruce held her, whispered words of encouragement, while stroking his hand down the length of her hair. He felt his heart swell with each panted breath she took. She withdrew gradually, hiccupping, wiping the salty moisture out her eyes. She caught her breath when she saw she'd made a mess of his shirt.

"I…I'm sorry," she cried, attempting to pat him dry with her sheet.

Bruce took her hands in his, holding them. "It's alright," he grinned and brushed her hair out her face, stroking her cheek, rubbing his thumb along her chin. "You don't have to apologize for anything."

He leaned and planted a kiss on her forehead. Hearing the catch of breath, he drew back slightly, staring into her eyes.

Mouth agape, Karen blinked nervously at him, dumbfounded as he moved in close once more. Her heart thumped in anticipation and uncertainty, a wealth of excitement coursed through her. Fingers clinging to the sheets, a soft moan escaped her mouth at the tender feel of his mouth capturing her lips. Mindful of the swollen flesh, he kissed her slow, but deeply.

Instinctively, her hand traveled upwards to rest on his neck, spreading on wide set shoulders. Eyes closed, she allowed wondrous sensations to flow, before common sense lectured, reminded her of the crushing heartache she'd endured.

She broke the kiss, turning aside. "Mr. Wayne, wait!" She took several deep breaths to quiet her fluttering heart. "We need to talk about the other day."

"If you're worried about Gwendolyn, you don't have to be," he smiled. "I broke it off with her."

Karen lowered her eyes, shaking her head. "No, it's not that." She looked up at him. "W-What happened…the kiss…it…it was a mistake."

Bruce drew back sharply. The look in his eyes clearly showing his shock. "A mistake? Karen…"

"Please…listen…I'm deeply flattered…really. Don't get me wrong, I'd admit I do like you, but, as a friend. I-I, uh, you're my boss, and I think it's best we keep our relationship on a professional level. I've already endured heartache. I couldn't bear to go through another."

Color drained from his face, remembering the incident near the Blue Bayou, and the explosion that claimed her ex-fiancé's life. He knew there was no way he could tell her Steven was dead without her discovering his secret. Would she understand if he did reveal he was Batman? He tightened his lip and he glanced behind as the door to her room opened.

Lt. Gordon stepped inside followed by Detective Ramirez and the new district attorney. "Ms. Miller?"

Karen propped up in the bed. "Yes?"

"I'm Lt. James Gordon of the Gotham City Police Department," he began, showing his badge. "This is Detective Anna Ramirez and I'm sure you know Harvey Dent."

"Yes, of course," she said turning her attention to the tall man standing off to the right.

"We're here to ask you a few questions about the man who attacked." By then Bruce had fallen to the sideline, and had taken refuge near the window, looking out into the city.

"I was told that his name was Victor Zsaz," she spoke in a quiet voice.

Harvey Dent tipped his head. "Who told you that?"

Bruce rotated a bit, drawing a look from Karen. "I do watch the news Mr. Dent. He's some sort of hitman as they claim."

"Not just any hitman," Gordon stated, easing into the chair Bruce had abandoned, "but a dangerous assassin for the mob. He was formerly under the services of one Carmine Falcone, but recently hired himself out as an independent, contract killer."

With every word spoken, Karen grew more terrified, eyes widening in disbelief and horror. Gordon removed a photo from a file and held it in front of her. "Is this the man who attacked you?"

She narrowed her eyes, examining image, nodding her head. "Yes…yes…that's him. That's him!"

"Got him," Harvey murmured, a smile edging his face.

"Did Victor Zsaz say anything to you?" asked Gordon.

"He said a lot of things," Karen replied with an air of derision.

"Did he mention the name of the person who hired him: Salvatore Maroni, Gambol...the Chechen?"

"No."

"Can you think of anyone with a reason to want you dead?"

"No, no one," she cried. Her head giddy, she pressed her fingers to her temple. "I-I don't know why these men or anyone would want me dead."

"Neither would I," said Gordon, frowning.

The room was silent for a brief moment. "Wait, wait," said Karen as though she were hit by lightning. "He did mention a man by the name of Pannelli. Does that name mean anything to you?"

"The hell it does," Harvey declared excitedly, moving forward. "Nicholas Pannelli is head of the Italian family. It was rumored he was to step into Carmine Falcone's shoes after the mob boss went crazy. He's not too happy about the reigns being passed to Salvatore Maroni."

"My god, what on earth have I gotten myself into?" She whimpered, trembling.

"I want her in protective custody," Harvey spoke to Gordon then fixed his gaze on Karen. "For some reason he wants you dead, and until we find out why, I need you in a safe place. Unfortunately, I don't hold too much faith in some of the cops in this city," his vision wheeling to Ramirez in the background. "But we'll have to make do."

"If you don't mind Mr. Dent, I could take Karen into my household," Bruce offered, drawing a stunned look from Karen. "The hotel is the safest place she could be. With twenty-four hour security, cameras on each floor, and my penthouse is built like a veritable fortress despite its appearance, I believe she will be safe. I have access to a private elevator and helicopter to take her away in case of trouble."

"Sounds reasonable and off the tax payer's expense, it's done deal," said Harvey. He checked his watch. "I've gotta run and place Zsaz under heavy guard. Marconi has been known to do away with men who fail in their task."

"Whoa! Wait a minute," Karen yelled. "Don't I get a say in this?"

"Not when it comes to your life," replied the D.A.

"I-I don't really want to stay with Mr. Wayne. I think I can find someone I trust to stay within the city."

"You can't risk anyone you care about that way. Marconi will kill them to get to you."

"But why does he want me dead," she screamed, losing her patience and temper. "It doesn't make any sense. I'm nobody."

"As I said before Ms. Miller," Harvey quipped. "We'll find out in due time."

"May I at least go home to pack? Get a change of clothes."

"Not a chance," he shook his head. "Someone could be waiting for you in Zsaz's place. I'm sure Mr. Wayne can provide you with everything you need." Harvey threw a glance in Bruce's direction. "After all, he does own half the city." Bruce narrowed his eyes to the mockery coming forth from the district attorney's lips. A curt nod and he was out the door in less than a minute.

"I'll have Detective Ramirez stay behind as guard, send someone to take her place at night, just until the doctor gives you a clean bill of health," Gordon said, rising to his feet.

"I'll be outside if you need me," Ramirez said. "Just holler."

Karen nodded, forcing a smile, and was once again alone with Bruce. Her mood darkened as well as her eyes. Stiffly, she folded her arms over her chest, glaring at the man who saw fit to make her prisoner of his household.

"Happy now."

Bruce frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well," the sound coming out as grunt, her shoulders rolling forward. "I burned your ego by my rejection, you must feel you could punish with this twisted little entrapment."

He glared down at her. "Is that what you think?" he said incredulously. "This is some sort of game I'm playing."

"Is it?" She probed, a brow arching in question.

He squelched the rage and hurt churning inside him like a hurricane as her sharp barb set in like stone. The woman was impossible. "You don't seem to take gratitude in anything I've done."

"Done," Karen repeated, a question rising in her eyes. "What is it that you've done for me?"

His jaw throbbed. "Nothing," he said through gritted teeth and headed for the door. He paused a second, his back to her. "I'll come back when the doctor releases you. Not before then." Thrusting the door open, he stormed out.

Karen did little else but recuperate over the next few days. While she'd developed an abhorrence for hospital food, their selection of fruit was adequate. Nights, however, she was haunted by nightmares of her attack, and would awake screaming. It didn't help that it took her several minutes to remember she was in the hospital. Or to have the cop on duty charging in waving his gun around.

Tonight, she lay in the stillness, barely able to sleep, not wanting to. Curled beneath the blanket, she struggled inwardly, her mind buzzing with a thousand thoughts at once. She reflected over her situation, the danger she faced, the attempt on her life. Pondering, what ills a mob boss could have with a simple consultant.

Most vividly, she thought about Bruce, and how coldly she'd treated his act of kindness. Steven had definitely left his mark, a scar that ran so deep she doubt it would heal. But could she trust a man who seemed to be an outrageous flirt?

She shivered when she felt the rush of a cold breeze. "You're here, aren't you," she said, softly, realizing she wasn't alone in the room. Only one person would be crazy enough to climb to the sixth floor where she resided.

"Yes," Batman said in a low howl.

Karen smiled. "Hmm. This is the second time you pulled me out of a jam," she rolled onto her back to glance at the Dark Knight. "I think I have a vigilante who's also a stalker."

"I was in the neighborhood."

"Do I get to say thank you."

"No." Batman climbed onto the ledge, then cast her a look. "And you'll never have to." He disappeared.

Sadness chased over her face, a tear slipping down her cheek to be absorbed on her pillow. Her heart skipped when the nursed entered to see if she was doing well. "Why is this window open?" She spun around to look at Karen as though she were a child. "Ms. Miller, hospital policy clearly states all windows must remain closed."

"Of course," she whispered and astoundingly drifted to sleep without medical aid.

In the morning, Rebecca chewed her ears off, enraged that after several days she'd finally taken the time to let her know she was in the hospital. "What are you a magnet for scum?"

"I would laugh if this wasn't so serious," Karen remarked brushing her hair with a brush her friend had brought and a few other essentials. She went the mirror and frowned. The reflection was hideous, plain and simple. She looked like she'd been in a car wreck.

"So, you met the new D.A.?"

"Yes."

"And what's he like?"

"Pushy," her mouth twisted.

Karen took some perfume and dabbed it on her neck and wrist, grateful she would no longer smell like antiseptic. Bruce Wayne would be here in a few minutes to collect her and whisk her off to his palace, much to her disdain. She argued with Harvey when he'd returned to go over her statement for the umpteenth time, but the man wouldn't relent. Saying a man of Bruce Wayne's caliber would send even the National Guard running if he was in the slightest danger.

Mumbling, she turned to see Rebecca grinning. "What?"

"Nervous," the woman clucked.

"No," she scoffed.

"Sure."

Glaring, Karen snapped. "It's not what you think. I going into protective custody, not moving in with the man."

"Sounds like the same thing to me," Rebecca said.

"You're impossible," sighed Karen. "Look could you fetch me some water, I'm feeling kind of parched."

Rebecca hopped to her feet. "Not a problem." She left the room.

"That was fast," she chuckled to sound of the door opening.

She frowned, spying a man a least thirty years her senior standing the doorway. A handsome gent with a wealth of silver hair, he'd no doubt broken a few hearts during his day. He addressed her with enigmatic dark eyes that appeared to reach out and touch from across the room. Frowning, Karen took a step to him. "Can I help you?"

The man smiled. "Pardon me moi, mademoiselle," he said in a terrible French accent. "I must have the wrong room."

"Okay," she grinned, nodding her head, and watched him take his leave.

Love it? Hate it? Please Review.