Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC.

Chapter 4

Part 2

What You Do

"Where did Tamara go?"

Mr. Earle looked up at Bruce, his face not revealing any emotion, but if Bruce didn't know better, he'd say that Earle was disappointed in him. Well, fuck. Isn't this exactly what Tamara had told him to do?

"She left," he finally replied.

"To go where?"

Earle shrugged. "She left with her boyfriend. Goodnight, Bruce. It was nice seeing you." Bruce might not have been an expert in reading body language, but there was no doubt in his mind that that last sentence had been a complete lie. He nodded, raising a hand in farewell and pushing his wet hair out of his face, following his two dates out of the restaurant. Their blonde hair was dripping down their backs and they were dressed in white robes that the hotel staff had found for them. Bruce was almost disappointed that he felt not one flicker of attraction towards them. He waited patiently as the valet pulled up with his Lamborghini, and he was just about to climb into it, when he heard a familiar voice from behind him.

"Bruce?"

He turned. Rachel was stood behind him. Rachel Dawes, the only woman he'd ever loved. She was dressed up for dinner, and Bruce didn't think he'd ever seen her look quite so stunning.

"Rachel?" he gasped.

"Come on, Bruce! We have some more hotels we want you to buy!" Bruce flinched as he heard the two girls calling him from his car. Rachel glanced at them quickly and then her eyes moved back to Bruce.

"I'd heard you were back," she said cautiously. "Where were you?"

"Oh," Bruce replied vaguely. "Kind of all over, you know."

Rachel tensed slightly. "No, Bruce, I don't, and neither did a lot of people. People like your sister, who thought you were probably dead."

"Tamara didn't," Bruce said. Upon seeing Rachel's confused face, he explained, "Tamara never thought I was dead. She never gave up on me. Did you?"

Rachel shook her head. "No, I guess not. Not deep down, anyway."

They stood in an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. Bruce gestured behind him, towards the Lamborghini. "Rachel, all that…that's not me. Inside I'm…different. I'm-"

"The same great little kid that you used to be? Bruce, it's not who you are underneath, but what you do that defines you."

She walked past him – left, without another word. Once again, Bruce felt his eyes burning.

One of the weirdest sensations, Tamara believed, was waking up in a bed that wasn't your own. It always took her a few minutes to piece together the details of the previous night and remember where she was and how she'd got there. Waking up at Jonathan's was no exception. She never understood how it took people minutes to realise they weren't in their own bed. Tamara could realise instantly. The smell of the pillows, the feel of the mattress, the thickness of the duvet, the amount of light that streamed through the curtains…maybe Tamara was just more intuitive. She lay in the spacious double bed for a few minutes, clutching her forehead, trying to remember everything…that's right – she was at Jonathan's. He'd given her the bed and he had fallen asleep on his sofa. She was pissed off with Bruce. She was starting work experience that day. Fuck – she was starting work experience and all she had to wear was her expensive dress from the night before and Jonathan's shirt that she'd fallen asleep in. No, wait – they'd quickly gone back to the Manor before going to Jonathan's to fetch her some clothes. God, she was slow in the mornings.

She got up, got dressed in a smart black suit (it was her first day – she wanted to make a good impression) and used Jonathan's en-suite bathroom to wash, brush her teeth, style her hair and apply a bit of make-up. It wasn't until she looked completely presentable that she felt comfortable enough to leave the room and say good morning to Jonathan, which was odd; normally Tamara felt comfortable around the guys she dated and she didn't particularly care if they saw her looking a state, but with Jonathan it was different. She only wanted him to see the best version of herself.

He was fully dressed and pouring himself a cup of coffee when Tamara walked into the living room.

"Ah, good morning," he said, looking up with a smile. "You look very smart."

"Is it too much?" Tamara asked, looking down at her chosen outfit.

Jonathan shook his head. "No. The only person whose opinion you need to worry about is myself, and I happen to think that you look exquisite." Tamara grinned. He had a way of making her legs feel weak by paying her a compliment that if it had come from the mouth of anyone else, she would have simply rolled her eyes at it. "Coffee?"

She shook her head. "I don't drink it."

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess…orange juice?"

"Yes please."

He walked over to the fridge and pulled out a carton of orange juice, pouring Tamara a large glass of it. She took it from him carefully and smiled. She could feel herself falling in love with this man, and for once in her life, she wasn't scared by that feeling.

"Would you like anything for breakfast? I'm afraid I don't have anything too exciting. I normally just have a bowl of cereal, myself."

"No, I'm fine. I'm still pretty full from that big meal last night. I'll get something later."

His eyes looked deep into her own. They weren't covered by their glasses at that moment, and when they were like that Tamara honestly felt like he could read her every emotion.

"How are you feeling about last night?"

She laughed slightly. "Why bother asking me when you know perfectly well yourself?"

"Still upset about it, hm?"

She nodded. "I guess so. Not even upset anymore, just disappointed. I'll talk it over with him when I'm home. I'm sure he has a reasonable explanation for it."

Jonathan laid his hand over hers on the countertop. "I'm sure he does."

Tamara didn't mention it, but she was sure she heard doubt in Jonathan's voice – as though he was just agreeing with her to make her happy. She didn't see the point in questioning it though, and instead changed the topic. "So what am I going to be doing today?"

He smiled. "It's actually rather interesting for your first day. We're going to be seeing Carmine Falcone."

Rather than heading straight to Arkham, the couple instead made their way to the county jail. Tamara had never been there before, so her nerves due to coming face-to-face with the man who threatened her were doubled due to her nerves from being in such an intimidating place. Jonathan clearly knew his way around, however, and he lead Tamara down a corridor, one hand clutching his briefcase and the other on the small of her back. They were buzzed through thick steel and glass doors, where they were met by a female prison official.

"Dr Crane," she nodded. "Thanks for coming down. Why's Miss Wayne here?" she asked, gesturing at Tamara.

"Not at all," he smiled thinly. "Ah, she's shadowing me for her work experience. I do believe I made that clear when I called yesterday?"

The woman blushed. "I'm sorry Doctor, I wasn't informed of this."

He waved her apology aside. "So he cut his wrists?"

The prison official nodded gravely. "He was probably just looking for an insanity plea, but if anything happened…"

"Of course," Jonathan replied. "Better safe than sorry." Jonathan turned to Tamara. "Just try and keep quiet for today, dear. I don't need you to do anything more than observe."

Tamara was more than happy to do this. She wouldn't exactly feel comfortable talking to a man who'd threatened her life only a few nights ago. The two of them entered the room, and Tamara noticed that Falcone really didn't look much different, apart from his usual expensive suit was replaced with a prison uniform and his wrists were bandaged. Jonathan placed his briefcase down on the table and pulled out a chair for Tamara to sit down in beside him. Falcone smiled.

"Dr Crane, it's all too much, the walls are closing in, blah, blah, blah. Couple more days of this food, it'll be true," he joked. "I see you brought your girlfriend along. Was that a wise move, Doc?"

Tamara moved in her seat uncomfortably.

"Today is her first day of work experience." The two men exchanged a look, and Jonathan cleared his throat. "Tamara, I think you should perhaps wait for me outside. I shouldn't be long."

Tamara raised an eyebrow at him. "Why?"

He attempted to give her a comforting smile. "I'm just not entirely sure if your first experience of psychology should be with a man who's recently caused you a great deal of trauma."

Tamara simply stared at him for a few moments, before nodding. She saw no point in arguing with him. He was right, she did feel uncomfortable – curious, yes, but still uncomfortable. She stood up and left the room, leaving the two men in peace.

"Now what do you want?" Jonathan asked.

"We got a lot to talk about," Falcone said. "I didn't mind Miss Wayne sticking around though. Perhaps it's best if she knows what it is you're up to."

Jonathan smirked. "She'll find out, in time. Now what is it that we have to discuss?"

"Well, for a start, how you're gonna convince me to keep my mouth shut."

"About what?" he asked. "You don't know anything."

"I know you wouldn't want the cops taking a closer look at the drugs they seized."

Jonathan reacted to this, and Falcone smiled, enjoying it.

"I know about your experiments on the inmates at your nuthouse," he continued. "I don't get into business with someone without finding out their dirty secrets. Those goons you hired – I own the muscle in this town."

Falcone leaned forwards, looking Jonathan straight in the eye.

"So what have I been bringing in for you hidden in my drugs, Crane?"

"If he wanted you to know he'd have told you himself," Jonathan responded calmly.

Falcone shifted slightly in his seat. "I've been smuggling your stuff in for months," he hissed, "so whatever he's got planned, it's big – and I want in."

Jonathan studied him for a few seconds, considering what he'd just said, before sighing exasperatedly.

"I already know what he'll say," he murmured. "That we should kill you."

Falcone leaned forward, glaring at Jonathan with contempt.

"Even he can't touch me in here. Not in my town."

Jonathan shrugged as though he had lost interest in the conversation, instead focussing on his briefcase, which he popped the lock to. Inside there was only a type of breathing apparatus attached to a burlap sack that had been fashioned into a sort-of mask.

"Would you like to see my mask?" He held it up so that Falcone could see it. "I use it in my experiments. It's probably not very frightening to a guy like you, but those crazies…" He slipped the mask over his head. The only human features about it were the eye holes and stitching for a mouth, "they can't stand it."

"So when did the nut take over the nut house?" snapped Falcone.

Suddenly, he was blinded by a cloud of white smoke that shot out of Jonathan's briefcase. Falcone pushed his chair back in surprise, coughing and choking.

"They scream and cry," sneered Jonathan. What Falcone did not realise, was that the smoke was a fear toxin that Jonathan had created himself. In his eyes, tiny little lizard tongues were flicking out of the holes in Jonathan's mask. "Much as you're doing now," Jonathan continued. He towered over Falcone, who could see nothing but flaming eyes and a flaming mouth. He screamed.

About five minutes after Tamara had been sent out, the door to the interview room finally opened and Crane emerged carrying his briefcase. Screams were echoing from behind the door.

"Oh, he's not faking," Jonathan shook his head, seemingly shaken. "Not that one."

The prison official nodded gravely. Jonathan leant in a bit closer to speak to her in a hushed voice. "I'll talk to the Judge, see if I can get him moved to the secure wing at Arkham. I can't treat him here. Come on, Tamara."

"He didn't seem insane to me," Tamara said as they made their way to the exit of the building. Jonathan looked down at her, arching an eyebrow.

"You have a lot to learn, Tamara."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't do that, Jonathan."

"What?" he asked, shocked. They were stood in front of the building now, and the sunlight was surprisingly warm. Tamara found herself beginning to perspire under her thick black suit jacket and she shrugged it off. She couldn't pretend to ignore Jonathan hungrily taking in her toned arms and the small amount of cleavage her sleeveless shirt showed, his eyes hazed slightly with lust. She looked back to him.

"Talk to me like I'm stupid."

He groaned and pulled her into his chest. "I know you're not stupid, Tamara."

'She's suspicious, Crane. You can't lie to her forever. Christ, can't you just fuck her, kill her and be done with it? Why are you dragging this damn charade on for so long? Just distract her before she asks you more questions. Do I have to do all the thinking for you? You're supposed to be the intelligent one out of the two of us…'

As she looked up at him, mouth open to talk back, he caught her lips with his own, instantly letting his tongue dominate her own. This wasn't him kissing her, this was Scarecrow. This was far more aggressive than any other kiss they'd shared. Paranoid that she'd realise something wasn't right, Jonathan began to pull away, but to his surprise Tamara held his face between her hands, not letting him move back. He bit down hard on her bottom lip and she half gasped, half moaned.

'What do you know, Jonny? She likes it rough! This just gets better and better.'

Jonathan finally managed to pull away from her. "I'm not sure if this is the best location for a public display of affection," he murmured into her ear, his voice huskier than usual. "Shall we get you home?"

"You." Bruce looked up from the book he was reading in the library to see Tamara stood in the doorway, dressed smartly and looking angry. When she wore heels she was almost as tall as he was, and she was actually quite intimidating. "I need to talk to you," she said, pointing her finger at him.

"Listen, Tamara, about last night-" Bruce began, standing up to try and explain his actions.

"No, you fucking listen, Bruce!" she cried, sounding tearful. "What was that? Do you have any idea how much you embarrassed me? Everything you did made me so ashamed to be your sister, and normally I am so fucking proud of that, but the way you spoke to Jonathan, those whores you called your 'dates', the way you spoke about Batman, the way you flaunted our money – I have never been so embarrassed in my life, I hope you're fucking happy."

"Do you have any idea how much I embarrassed myself last night, Tamara?" Bruce replied, his own voice raised too. "That wasn't me! All I was doing was following your fucking advice!"

"All I did was tell you to have a bit of fun so that people don't get suspicious! I didn't tell you to treat everyone else like shit and to buy a whole fucking hotel!"

"'Buy things that aren't for sale'! That's what you said!"

"I didn't mean it literally!"

"What do you want from me, Tamara?" he cried, his own eyes filling with tears now. Tamara tried to hold back a sob as her own tears began to spill down her cheeks. "You don't want me going out and being Batman, you don't want me to have a life – what do you fucking want?"

"I want you to be yourself! I know you're still my brother, I know you are, and I love you, but people aren't going to be pay attention to who you are underneath, they're going to pay attention to what you do!"

A tear slid down Bruce's cheek. "Rachel told me something pretty similar last night."

"You saw Rachel last night?"

Bruce nodded. "Yeah, as I was leaving the hotel. She doesn't want anything to do with me."

Tamara cleared the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him, holding him to her in a tight hug. "I'm sorry, Bruce," she sobbed into his chest. "I didn't mean that, I didn't, I'm so sorry. I love you and I'm so glad you're home and-"

"Shush," Bruce whispered, stroking her hair. He was crying himself, but his tears were somewhat more controlled than his sister's. "I love you too, Tammy. It was all an act, you understand that? I just don't care what the public think of me. I only care about what the people who matter think – you, Alfred, Rachel. You and Alfred know who I am, it's just Rachel I need to convince."

"You will convince her," Tamara sniffed, looking up at Bruce. "You're her oldest friend, she loves you, I could tell when I mentioned you to her last week. She's just scared that you're not the boy she used to know."

"But I am, aren't I, Tamara?" he asked. "I haven't changed that much, have I?"

Tamara shook her head. "No, Bruce. You haven't changed at all. Only, please, try and be nicer to Jonathan in the future?"

Bruce laughed, stepping back from Tamara slightly. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to let him know that I'm not the sort of brother he wants to get on the wrong side of. He seemed nice though."

"Do you mean it?"

"Of course I mean it. He makes you happy and that's all that matters to me."

There wasn't much that Batman had to see to that night. There were just a few people that he had to talk to. Firstly, Detective Gordon. He was easy enough. He knew where he lived, and he only had to wait for him to take the trash out, Batman himself hidden up in the shadows.

"Storm coming," he muttered, as soon as he knew that Gordon would hear him.

He jumped at the sound of the gruff voice, looking up to where he was crouched. He relaxed slightly when he saw who it was. "The scum's getting jumpy because you stood up to Falcone."

"It's a start. Your partner was at the docks with Falcone."

Gordon shrugged. "Well, he moonlights as a low-level enforcer."

"They were splitting the shipment in two," Batman explained to him. "Only half went to the dealers."

"Why?" Gordon asked, confused. "What about the other half?"

"Flass knows."

Gordon sighed. "He won't talk."

"He'll talk to me."

"Commissioner Loeb set up a massive task force to catch you," Gordon warned. "He thinks you're dangerous."

"What do you think?"

Gordon shrugged and looked down. "I think you're trying to help," he replied honestly. "But, I've been wrong before." When he looked back up, Batman was gone.

It was raining, and Flass was walking down a dark alley, stuffing his greedy face with falafel like the pig that he was. It was safe to say that he wasn't expecting to be yanked up from the pavement, pulled between buildings, up, up, up, until he was face-to-face with Batman, rain pouring off his cowl and holding Flass by the ankle. Flass screamed.

"Where were the other drugs going?" Batman roared.

"I don't know, I swear to God-" he whimpered.

"Swear to me!"

He dropped Flass down about three stories down on the wire, pulling it taut and then whipping him back up.

"I never knew," Flass said in a terrified whisper. "Sometimes shipments went to this guy before they went to the dealers-"

"Why?"

"There was something else in the drugs, something hidden-"

"What?" Batman interrogated him.

"I don't know – something!" he practically screamed in fear. "I never went to the drop-off point – it's in the Narrows. Cops can't go there except in force."

"Do I look like a cop?"

"No-"

Batman let him drop. He stopped him just before he hit the ground, and then let go of the wire. Flass slumped to a shaking heap on the wet ground, and Batman slipped away into the shadows. He had a bad feeling about this, but he decided that maybe he could wait a couple of weeks before investigating this. He wanted to spend time with Tamara and right now she was the most important thing in his life.

Author's note: I hope you're still enjoying this - it's only going to get better!