I told you I'd get an update in by Christmas. I'm going to attempt to get another one up by Christmas, if not, then I will definitely have one up by New Year. As usual, thanks to everyone who has reviewed, favorited or alerted; it means a lot.

This chapter is what I can safely say is the proper beginning of Bruce and Rachel, although there is still probably going to be a number of chapters in which they work out everything. Now all I have to do is finish this story and not allow the numerous other stories that are in my head or I have started get in the way.

Read on!

-xXx-

Chapter Twelve: Mourning

It was safe to say that despite being allegedly one of the most prized heads amongst Gotham's underworld, Rachel Dawes's life was dull and boring. Months had passed; months filled with anxiety, fear, wonder and confusion.

The most exciting thing she was able to do was walk out onto the balcony in the evenings.

At first, she spent her time reading the newspaper, particularly the letters and opinions but she found herself reading the same thing. Harvey was great; why hasn't Batman been caught; are the police doing enough, etc. It didn't take her long to start seeing the pile of newspapers every morning and cringe.

Although, despite that, she did still read certain articles that Alfred would point out; apparently Bruce was engaged to Lydia Elsternwick, whoever that was. Rachel had been so excited for him that she cut the article out, laminated it and left it on the desk in his study.

He had told her this was how journalists who had been turned down by him reacted. He then reminded her that he'd been allegedly engaged three other times. When he had visited New York he found himself linked to Paris Hilton.

-Flashback-

"You were engaged to Paris Hilton?" Rachel asked him as they sat down to dinner.

"The reason I now make a point of not socializing when I leave Gotham." He retorted, throwing the laminated article to a side.

"Do tell." She was starved of gossip, she needed a good story.

"I had been invited by a few people to see the opening of some show on Broadway. She was also there; donated some of her stuff to the costume department. Anyway, we were introduced at the after-party; she was drunk and kept on throwing herself at me. When I got back to the hotel I had an hour long shower, scrubbing myself clean." He explained as Alfred poured some wine.

"I sent him a card offering my congratulations." Alfred said with a smile.

"Yes and I promptly threw it out." Bruce retorted.

Rachel smiled at them. "How did I miss this?" She asked, looking from Alfred to Bruce.

"If your reading material is anything to go by, I'm not surprised you missed out." Alfred teased.

Rachel squinted at him. "Just because I'm a woman of substance does not mean I don't read gossip magazines."

"Where, at the beauty parlor?" Bruce joined in the teasing between mouthfuls.

Rachel looked at him darkly. "Do not ever mock a woman's necessity to be pampered."

Bruce held up his hands in surrender, but Alfred didn't let up so easily. "Oh I wouldn't dream of it. If it weren't for the beauty parlor Bruce's mother would have had dirty blonde hair, and her nails would have always been chipped and un-painted." He smiled, winking at Rachel before leaving the room.

"Leave my mother's beauty habits out of this." Bruce scolded, calling after Alfred, although his eyes were sparkling.

"But seriously, why don't I know about this? Paris Hilton is known; who the hell is Lydia Elsternwick?" Rachel pushed.

"It was only reported in New York; I apparently insulted some personality when I told her that the brunette I was interested in was not her." He responded, looking at his food.

"Oh." Rachel responded, then felt heat race into her cheeks when she realized he was referring to her. Bruce also noticed a shift in the mood of the room, and the two continued eating in silence.

-End Flashback-

It was still something she found difficult to talk about, their feelings. For so long they had been unspoken and possibly forcibly ignored. But then she kissed him and everything changed. Those feelings that had been kept under the rug were released into the open for both to see.

That night, she'd stood in her apartment in a daze. She couldn't believe what had happened; could not believe she had been so forward as to kiss him, then tell him she couldn't be with him yet.

Alcohol did nothing to ease her spirits; a cold shower did nothing for her body. When she had finally gone to bed, the images that flew before her eyes were like those she had when she was 15. The morning after hadn't been much better.

But that day at the office had not been a day to remember. She kept on walking into things, forgot what the major cases were, and repeatedly had hands waving in front of her face.

But now, well her mind thankfully was a little more distracted. Despite seeing Bruce topless occasionally – the first time had been the worst, seeing a huge bruise on his stomach and being told that that was where Harvey's bullet had hit him – her dreams were regularly nightmares.

Shortly after his death, when Gordon came to talk to her, she had demanded he bring her photos of what Harvey had been turned into. She wanted to see the burns; she wanted to see the damage.

Gordon had told her he would bring what he could the next time he came by; Bruce had told her the sight was not something she wanted to see. It would destroy her memories of him.

But she ignored him, despite how right he was.

So now whenever her dreams featured Harvey he would first appear as the man she knew, but slowly the skin would start to peel, start to burn, start to tear and fall off whilst he would be smiling at her.

Every night he came to her, and every night she would wake up either screaming or in a cold sweat. Bruce helped as best he could. After the first night she spent in the penthouse, she had started to sleep in the guest bedroom, but whenever she woke up screaming, she found her way to him.

And then to top those nights off, as she would be snuggled against him, her mind would start blaring the ugly fact that she had chosen Harvey and that Bruce still didn't know. So then she would lie awake for hours, contemplating how the hell she was going to tell him.

It was safe to say that everything was a mess.

But now, sitting curled up on the sofa watching a movie, her mind went to Harvey again, to the Harvey she had loved. Memories of him rushed her conscious thoughts, and then she was crying. Her entire body began to shake as tears began to flood her eyes and flow down her cheeks.

She couldn't stop; she didn't want to stop. She cried and cried into the sofa for what seemed like hours. The movie ended, the credits rolled but she didn't notice. She would never see Harvey again, and the only time she ever would, he was a man being ripped to shreds.

She didn't hear the ping of the elevator; didn't hear the concerned steps approach her; didn't hear the voice call her name; she didn't hear anything until she saw Bruce's face before her; she didn't feel anything until her face was buried against him, her arms wrapped tightly around him, the tears still flowing.

Slowly, whether it was the comforting circles he was drawing on his back, the heat from his body, the hidden strength that she felt in his arms, or maybe just the fact that it was him, the tears began to dry, the sobs began to hush, and her body began to still.

"I would ask if you're okay, but I think I already know the answer." Bruce whispered to her, when the only sound she made was the soft occasional sniffle.

"I want to see his grave." She whispered in response, pulling away from him to look him in the eyes.

Bruce looked her in the eyes, one of his hands brushed hair off her face. He kissed her forehead as he stood up, holding a hand out to her. "It'll be dark soon."

Rachel smiled weakly, taking his hand, their fingers interlocking as she followed him out.

-xXx-

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