I don't own Batman Begins, The Dark Knight, The Dark Knight Rises, or any of the characters or plots found within the movies. Eleanor Black, her family and backstory, and all the plot points that are not from the movie are mine. The fic is rated for language and violence. It is a rewrite and reorganization of my two previous Nolan-verse fics "Superhero's Confidante" and "Chances Are." It will go through all three movies in the trilogy and feature time from before and after as well.

In the Shadow of the Bat
—A New Start.

"Eleanor, what are you doing?"

I swung around until I was hanging upside down from the harness, the height I was hanging from putting my eyes level with Bruce's, my ponytail hanging low beneath my head. "Alfred mentioned you wanted to make sure the cave was secure before construction on the house began." I tapped my leg against the light above me. "This light, and several of the others up here, were knocked loose from their brackets, probably by the house collapsing, so I'm putting them back into place so they don't fall down and set all your expensive toys on fire or something. Well putting them temporarily back in place anyway. I don't know much, or anything, about construction, but I figure I can at least tighten the screws."

Bruce looked up at me, his arms crossed over his chest and his mouth twisted slightly. "I would have taken care of that."

I raised my eyebrows at him. "When? You've got a company to help run now, in addition to being Batman, and you've got to keep up your awesome playboy persona," I added, heavy on the sarcasm. "Not to mention you've only got Alfred to help you will all this stuff and you have to sleep and eat at some point. You may be Batman, but even you'll start to falter if you don't take care of yourself. I don't mind helping, Bruce, and I'm a quick learner."

"I can see that," he said, eyes lingering on the harness.

I rolled my eyes. "The year after I graduated, after that trip to London, Sarah and I went rock climbing with the Colburn brothers," I explained as I pulled myself upright. I unhooked from the mooring and repelled down to the cave floor, landing with far more grace than I'd expected in front of Bruce. "I've been several times since then, and though this harness is a little more complicated than standard climbing fare, I figured it out eventually." I started unbuckling the harness, paused, and added, "Rock climbing is a good date."

That got me an uncharacteristic snort of laughter in response, a noise that split my face in a wide grin. Moments of joviality never lasted long with Bruce, and this one proved no different, especially since I had to force the conversation, the humour a little—I still wasn't sure I was processing everything that had happened, including my feelings for Bruce, in a good way. He started walking towards the cabinet holding the Batsuit, mind back on his purpose, so once I stepped out of the harness and had it returned to the place I'd found it, I followed him, realizing as I did that I'd left the tool belt hanging from one of the hooks in the wall several feet up. Oh well, I'd get it later.

"Are you planning to stay in the guest house until the manor is rebuilt?" I asked as he began to gather the supplies he'd take with him. I picked up one of the bat-shaped throwing stars he used and ran my finger carefully along the edge. It hadn't been sharpened yet, but the metal was still rough.

"It'll be too noisy and busy here. Alfred is having the penthouse in the city prepared, and it should be ready by the middle of next week."

"And the cave?"

"There is a safe room installed in the apartment, and I'll use that and the cave itself until the bunker on the shipping yard is usable, which shouldn't take very long. I can't be seen coming back here every night with the construction crews here." Bruce started stocking Batman's belt with the tools, his eyes never leaving his work. "I've already laid out plans to outfit the space once it's been drained of the water that's gathered. The space hasn't been used for years, since its original purpose proved impossible."

I wasn't interested in the bunker's original purpose, so I moved on to a topic that was more immediately relevant. "So, what do you want me doing while you're out tonight?"

He hesitated. "I don't really want you doing anything here tonight, Eleanor."

He still wasn't looking at me, and his voice was serious, almost deadly so, so I made sure all the humour was gone from mine. I leaned forward on the table, the batarang pinned beneath one hand, the shape of it pressing into the still-tender but now closed wound on my palm. "What? Why not?"

"I think you should go home."

"Why?"

"I don't think you should be involved with Batman."

"Why the hell not?" It wasn't hard to keep the humour from my voice now, as I was quite suddenly angry and hurt. All the anger I'd felt over the past little while rushed back to the surface and I could feel my face turning red.

Bruce seemed to have expected this reaction. He put down the belt and turned to face me, his face hard and determined, but his eyes less so. "It could be dangerous for you."

"So it should be my choice, if it's my well-being you're concerned with, and if it's not actually some dislike of having someone else in your personal space," I snapped. "And I'm not going anywhere. You're doing something good here, and I want to help, I want to be involved. You said yourself you wouldn't be able to stop me if I wanted to be a part of this, and here I am saying that I want to be involved." I narrowed my eyes at him pressed my lips together to keep from yelling nasty things. A heartbeat passed, and so did the urge to scream. "So find something for me to do, Bruce," I said, voice low and perhaps a little venomous.

The minutes of silence stretched on for far too long. I crossed my arms and stared at the table, chewing on my lip while I waited for him to say something. He'd been right about one thing though: I wasn't going anywhere. I'd made up my mind when I'd found out what Bruce did with his nights, even before I'd realized how much I wanted to be around him. Part of me thought I might only be this eager to help to get me close to him, to get around Rachel, but there was a part that really wanted to help Batman, that believed in what he was doing to help Gotham. Well that was a bit of inner turmoil to deal with later. Add it to the list.

I didn't get a straight answer from Bruce. He mumbled something about talking about this later, grabbed the utility belt, and moved into the shadows to assume his nocturnal identity.

I lifted my face to the bats on the ceiling and sighed.

Later turned out to be the ass-crack of morning.

"Why do you want to stay? Why do you want to put your life in danger?"

I rotated my head, massaging the back of my neck. When I looked up, I pushed my hair back from my face, forced my eyes wide to wake myself up a little bit more. He'd been asking me a version of the same question for about fifteen minutes, since he'd returned to the cave and shed the Batman costume, and I'd tried to answer—answer without exposing my feelings because, man, that would be awkward—but he kept pushing, looking for the real reason.

Maybe I would have to tell him. Maybe I wouldn't get the luxury of waiting until the right moment, or what I thought of as the right moment, to tell Bruce.

God damn it.

"Isn't it enough that I want to help you protect Gotham the only way I can?"

He gave me this look that said he knew there was more to it, that he might even know what it was but he was just waiting for me to say it. He'd changed out of the Batsuit, but he still managed to look intimidating, standing there in a t-shirt and jeans. I drew my bottom lip between my teeth and then huffed loudly, turning my back on him and walking a few steps away. I could feel his eyes on my back; I glared at him when I turned back around. Right in that moment, I hated him a little bit.

God fucking damn it.

"Fine. Fine, you know what? There is more." I squeezed my eyes shut and tilted my head back. What can I say? I shuffle and fidget a lot when I'm uncomfortable. "Ever since you returned to Gotham—"

"Eleanor—"

I opened my eyes, glaring again. "No!" I barked, jabbing him in the chest with my fingers. I hadn't realized I'd moved so close to him. "You wanted to know why I want to help Batman so bad, and I'm telling you, so shut up and listen!" I took a deep breath, tried to calm myself down enough so I could get through what I had to say without freaking out too much. "I really do want to help you save and protect Gotham, to stop people like Ra's al Ghul and Dr. Crane from destroying my home, and I want the sense of adventure that comes with it, but since you got back… I think I've…" I could feel my flushing red and hoped the dim light of the cave would hide it, or he'd think it was from anger. "Shit, Bruce, I have feelings for you, all right?" It came out a little snappish, but I didn't care. It was out there and my face was on fire.

Bruce didn't say anything, but he didn't look away. I held his gaze, my cheeks flaring even hotter.

I was the one who looked away. I was biting my lip and I was tired and there were tears threatening to start falling down my cheeks. I thought I'd be able to handle this better, but apparently intense emotional discussions when you hadn't really slept in two days were a bad, bad idea.

"Ellie."

His voice was quiet. He wasn't questioning me anymore. A light touch on my arm brought my attention back to Bruce, though the nickname would have done it. There was a look on his face that I couldn't comprehend, but it almost made me step closer to him.

I took a step back instead, ran the fingers of one hand back through my hair. "I shouldn't have said anything."

Bruce watched as I wiped at my eyes, those tears finally starting to leak. "I don't know what to say," he admitted.

"And why should you?" I forced my mouth up into a smile, the expression marred by tears. "You've spent your whole life expecting to end up with Rachel, and let's face it, you probably will end up with her if you have any say about it, and then you'll have a bunch of kids and you'll save Gotham without Batman and you'll have the life you always wanted and—" I snapped my jaw closed, squeezed my eyes shut, and shook my head. "I'm sorry. I'm just going to go home and get some sleep and, uh, you can call me if you want me to come back, okay?"

I didn't wait to hear an agreement or rejection. I didn't wait to hear anything. I turned around and moved through the cave, remembering at the last second to grab my bag.

I didn't sleep, not a wink.

Okay, maybe I passed out at some point, sprawled on the couch, but it wasn't a restful respite, that's for damn sure.

I alternated sprawling across the couch with sitting curled up against the armrest, staring out the window with watching whatever the hell was on TV. Or staring at it, rather. I didn't take in anything, not even the news coverage of Batman's exploits in the Narrows.

Somewhere around noon, Sarah showed up. She let herself in, since I hadn't bothered to lock the door—which I later realized was stupid of me—and sat on the other end of the couch, her grey eyes wide as she studied what was obviously my very dishevelled state.

"What the hell happened to you?" she asked. "Besides the fire."

I sighed. "Can we not talk about it, please? I'm trying to sleep."

Sarah snorted. "I didn't think zombies needed to sleep."

I wanted to laugh, I really did, but I had zero energy, so I settled for falling over onto my side on the couch, my head beside Sarah's leg. She placed a hand on the side of my head and gave me a reassuring pat, smiling down at me in a way that was somehow comforting and annoying at the same time, but I was really glad she was there. Retrieving the remote from where it had landed when I'd last tossed it on the coffee table, Sarah started flicking through the channels, her hand idly stroking the hair back from face and lulling me to sleep.

When I awoke, Sarah had cooked, which meant she'd ordered food. Chinese to be exact. The containers were sitting on the coffee table, arranged on tea towels to protect the wooden surface from the heat or any leaking liquids. Sarah had her legs curled up under her and was eating those tiny spare ribs with chop sticks as she watched some romantic comedy on television. I could smell chicken and lemon sauce and it smelled good. My stomach rumbled loudly as I pulled myself off the couch, reminding me that the last thing I'd eaten had been a banana before running back to Wayne Manor, and sat in front of the table so I wouldn't drop any of the sauce on my couch as I ate.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

"No problem."

I dipped a piece of chicken into the lemon sauce and savoured the flavour as I chewed. "Thanks for coming over as well."

"Well, my 'Eleanor is having some sort of crisis' senses were tingling."

I reached behind me and slapped at her leg. "How long was I out for?"

"About nine hours," she said when she'd swallowed her mouthful of food. "I thought about waking you, but you seemed to really need it."

"No phone calls or anything?" When Sarah shook her head, I sighed and ate some more lemon chicken. "Do I look any less like a zombie?"

Sarah studied my face for a long minute. "I'd say you look about half-zombified now."

"Well at least that's an improvement."

The phone rang then and, fueled with a sudden burst of energy, I launched myself across the living room to the phone, ignoring Sarah's surprised expression. I somehow managed to not hit the table and throw food everywhere. "Hello?"

There was a beat of silence, an inhaled breath. "Hello."

I was aware of my face splitting into a grin, of Sarah staring, so I moved into my bedroom so as not to be seen or heard. It was Bruce. The thoughts that had kept me up all day came back tenfold, my insides twisting with apprehension. I wanted to ask what he had decided, but I was scared to hear the answer. So I settled for something lame instead. "So?"

"One hour." And then he hung up.

I was happy and relieved and just a little scared at what this would mean.