A Nearly Perfect Day

Remmey's was an upscale restaurant that just recently opened about a month ago. It's opening day had been a smash hit with the wealthy of Gotham. It had large front windows that lit in an obscene amount of light into the white and cream-colored room. The dining room was expensively decorated with rich curtains, silk tablecloths, gold-plated candlesticks, and just about anything else to make the city's elite feel right at home.

And it was here that Bruce held a chair out, letting Zatanna sit down in it as he pushed it in under her and up to the table. The dark-haired woman had been insistent that they have a lunch date all morning and Bruce saw no reason to say no. In fact, she had become his excuse to bail on a board meeting.

It also didn't hurt that the magician had pointed out that they really hadn't done much couple stuff since they returned to Gotham. Bruce had wracked his mind to counter her, but couldn't think of anything outside of the Rutherford Gala. Any other attempts to set something up had been rebuffed by him and if he wasn't mistaken, Zatanna had been looking more and more disheartened. It really wasn't fair to her and she deserved a better effort from him.

The look she gave him when he agreed had been worth it.

As he took his own seat, he noticed Zatanna looking at him with a warm smile, one that made him return with his own, albeit smaller. "Didn't I tell you this would be a good idea?" the magician asked rhetorically.

"I believe you did, yes," Bruce answered despite not needing to.

"And you didn't want to come. You know, there is more to life than business meetings and late-night shenanigans," Zatanna teased him, leaning forward in her chair. She had on a white blouse that was conveniently unbuttoned at the top by a couple buttons, which provided the dark-haired man a teasing view of her cleavage. Bruce wasn't one to ignore such a sight and enjoyed the display for a moment. "I mean, this is what, the second time in a week we've gone out? A girl might get the idea you're just not interested if you keep this up."

However, he did have to respond to her eventually and he made sure to sound quite distracted. "You can hardly blame me; sometimes work and play just get too...distracting…"

"To you Bruce, it's all work."

Right about then the waiter appeared at the side of their table. "Good morning and welcome to Remmey's. Is there anything I can get for you to drink?"

It was too early for Bruce to start drinking, even though he did have a reputation for doing so-or at least had one. Either way, he wasn't quite in the mood for alcohol and Zatanna seemed to be of the same mind. "Water, please," the dark-haired woman said.

"Make that two," Bruce added, holding up his hand and extending two of his fingers. "And be sure to bring a little bowl of lemons while you're at it. I do love me some lemons."

Though it was slight, the drop in the waiter's shoulders indicated he was disappointed with their drink selections. He was probably already running up a tab in his head on what sort of tip he was looking forward to and their drink selections obviously weren't working in his favor. "Can I get you anything to eat as well?"

Seeing as neither of the dark-haired couple had opened their menus, the answer to that was, "Give us a moment, will you. We just sat down after all."

"Very well. I'll be back with your drinks." The moment the waiter left, Bruce returned his eyes to Zatanna, who was picking up her menu and opening it.

"I wonder what's good here," she said more to herself as her eyes soaked in the menu options. Bruce took that as his chance to glance at his menu, but he pretty much knew what he wanted after reading two of the dishes. If you had been to one restaurant, you've been to them all, or so had been his experience. Besides, as a billionaire, if he asked for something that wasn't on the menu, the kitchen staff would be adamant on making it for him regardless.

Laying down the menu, Bruce then placed an elbow on the table and propped his head up with his raised hand. Staring at his lunch companion, he patiently waited until she noticed him watching. "Found something already?" she asked as she peeked over her menu.

"I have, though I don't think she's on the menu."

That caused Zatanna to pause before lowering the menu and looking at him strangely. "She?" she questioned.

"Mmmhmm," Bruce hummed. His eyes lit up with mirth as he saw the gears turning in the woman's head as she tried to figure out what he was getting at. "Maybe you've heard of her; I hear she's quite magical."

Recognition lit up on Zatanna's face and a coy smile appeared on her face. "Oh, I think I have, though I thought she might be for desert. You better eat all your vegetables though, or you won't be getting a piece."

"That so? Are you going to withhold my desert?"

"Oh yes. Someone has to."

"Then I guess I could settle for you then."

Zatanna's smile dropped. "Wait, what?" she practically snapped.

Bruce's grin grew wider in turn. "What, you thought I was talking about you?"

The dark-haired woman's eyes narrowed before a thought struck her. "You're teasing me, aren't you?"

"Of course."

"Ha. Ha. Nice try."

"I thought so too." Bruce leaned back in his chair, letting his forearm drop to the tabletop. "I believe you also wanted to talk to me about something, which is why you dragged me here."

"You know, you could still be stuck in that meeting of yours instead of enjoying the company of a lovely woman," she shot back in irritation.

Hmm, Zana seemed particularly thin-skinned today. Seemed he wasn't going to get his fill with teasing her for now. Then again, he should have expected as much; he could even pinpoint the exact moment.

It had started with the completion of the antidote to Crane's fear toxin. While it had taken much longer than either of them thought it would, it turned out that Bruce's body had managed to effectively break down the toxin in his body and rendered it inert. As far as he was concerned, he didn't have any need to take the antidote, which was not something Zatanna approved of. Their following conversation hadn't gone too well and it had left the dark-haired woman seething. In fact, her idea for lunch had been entirely unexpected considering where they were standing.

Still, he'd take whatever olive branch she offered. "Believe me, I'd rather do anything with you than listen to a bunch of lawyers talk with each other."

"Anything? Really?" That seemed to pique the dark-haired woman's interest. "Such as?"

It was Bruce's turn to look at her annoyed. "I'm sure you can come up with plenty of things without my help."

"You would be right about that." Zatanna then leaned forward in her seat. "but you are right, there is something I want to talk to you about. Us."

The billionaire raised an eyebrow. "Us?"

"It's been over a month since you came back and that was after three years of you being...gone. We were close when we last saw each other and I…" Bruce couldn't help but notice how insecure his friend was. Apparently there were unresolved issues between them that he hadn't been aware of. "Well, I just wanted to know where we stood. You've been busy with your company and all, and I understand you have all those obligations, but I've been feeling pushed to a side."

It was true that Bruce had been focused on Gotham since his return. A lot of that had to do with the changed climate. The crime he had known had changed from the old mob families to new ones, not to mention the slow crumbling of the Jokerz, which was allowing smaller gangs to reassert themselves in the underworld. It sometimes felt as if he hadn't been able to catch his breath as he re-familiarized himself with this new Gotham. That made it incredibly possible that he was neglecting other facets of his life, this young woman in front of him being one of them.

For her, he'd be willing to make a change or two.

"I'm sorry about that," he apologized to her. "For however I'm making you feel. So where do we stand? I'd like to think we can pick up where we left off, but there are obvious obstacles. I'm willing to give it a shot if you're up for it."

"Totally," Zana immediately said before she began coughing, holding a hand in front of her mouth. When she dropped it, she continued, "I mean, I would like that."

That was nice. Yet, it seemed they weren't quite done. It didn't feel like they were done considering the ease of which they came to an agreement. "I suppose you do have some issues with how things are, otherwise you wouldn't have brought this up."

The magician slowly nodded. "Right again, Sherlock." She sighed. "I don't want to throw too much at you, but I think we need some time for just us. To do things. Being with you at night is great and all, but that has everything to do with your commitments than it does with just us. I mean, when we first met, you at least bought me ice cream sodas."

"So you want me to buy you an ice cream soda?"

"No, I'm just using that as an example." Right about then, the waiter returned with their waters, setting down the glasses in front of them followed by a small bowl of lemons. The couple paused their conversation to relay their orders and waited for the man to leave them. "As I was saying," Zatanna restarted, "I'm hoping for more couple-y things. Lunch, dinner and a movie…"

"Getting lucky?" Bruce suggested.

"Only if you've been a good boy," she retorted.

"Kinda hard to do that when that sort of thing requires you to be naughty."

Zatanna gave him a look that told him she was not amused. Extending a finger up, he made a circular motion with it to indicate the rest of the room, to tell her they had an audience. Her look didn't slacken in the least, but there was a slight, imperceivable nod of her head that told him she understood, but obviously her body language wasn't going to let that deter her in the least. So the billionaire let out a sigh before saying, "I'll do what I can, Zana. I can't promise you the moon right now, but I'll try to make a better effort."

Zatanna's shoulders dropped slightly, but it was a sign she was giving in. "That's all I can ask I suppose," she said wistfully.

Bruce took that moment and leaned forward, reaching out with his and and resting it on hers. "Look at me, Zana," he ordered, to which she complied. "You have my word on this."

The corners of her mouth twitched up, her eyes reflexively narrowing and widening to signal her approval. "I'll hold you to that."

Returning the gesture, the dark-haired man responded, "Speaking of holding, I need to use the little boy's room."

"TMI, Bruce. TMI"

Smirking, he then stood up, pushing his chair back as he did so and walked around the table, heading towards the restrooms. Well, the conversation ended better than where it had started, his stalling notwithstanding-the price he had to pay for keeping up appearances.

Unfortunately, he didn't make it to the restrooms. Just as he was reaching the small hallway that led to his desired destination, as well as the kitchen doors, the door to the women's restroom opened and the last person he wanted to see walked out and promptly froze in place in front of him. "Bruce!" Andrea exclaimed in surprise, her eyes wide in astonishment.

"Andrea," the dark-haired man greeted coolly.

"I...I wasn't expecting to see you here," she stammered. Apparently their last conversation was still weighing on her, which definitely explained why she was acting like a nervous schoolgirl.

"Likewise. Now if you'd excuse me-"

Before he could finish his sentence, Andrea shot a hand out and grabbed his arm, an attempt to keep him from brushing past her. Bruce was tempted to ignore her and do so anyway. "Bruce, wait, I…" she trailed off uncertainly before she paused, took in a deep breath, and then began to rephrase. "Okay, let me start over. I...I would like to apologize to you."

"Apologize," Bruce repeated skeptically.

The red-haired woman nodded her affirmation. "Yes. I know I've been rather distant to you lately and it wasn't what you deserve, especially after everything. I'm sorry about that."

"That's nice. Apology accepted."

Andrea narrowed her eyes as she looked at him hard. "I know that tone," she stated, fire appearing in her voice. "You only use that when you don't care what the other person is saying."

"Very perceptive," Bruce replied.

The woman lowered her head for a moment, her hand sliding down his forearm slightly, but not relinquishing her hold. "I deserve that, but can we get past this? Can't we be civil to each other? I don't think that's too much to ask for."

"Not that I wouldn't mind, you're the one that made it abundantly clear we couldn't," the billionaire pointed out.

"And it was wrong of me. To be honest, I didn't think you would accept me with open arms, not after what happened last time. So I thought if, I don't know, if I pretended it hadn't happened, you would've gone along with it and we'd get through this whole thing without any discourse."

"Our breakup wasn't exactly amicable. As I recall, you're the one that sent the Dear John letter and skipped town. I gotta tell ya, that wasn't exactly easy to get over."

The red-haired woman raised an eyebrow. "All of those other women you dated beg to differ."

And this unwanted conversation was taking a downward turn, though Bruce was pretty sure he was driving that train. "Make of that what you will," he said with a shrug, "but it hardly matters with the two of us. You want to be acquaintances, fine, we can do that."

The nervous schoolgirl returned as Andrea lowered her head slightly. "And if we could be friends?"

"Then I'd say you have your work cut out for you. I'll pull back my armada if you do the same. That's about all I'm willing to give you right now."

She nodded her acceptance. "Then I'll take that." A pause. "But I want you to know, despite everything, I never stopped thinking about you. I can't tell you how many times I wanted to come back and take it all back."

Despite himself, Bruce had to admit his curiosity was piqued by that admission. It had been a while since he had dwelled on the young woman, but he did allow himself to wonder what she was up to without him. "I can say that I wanted that once," he admitted.

A sad smile appeared on Andrea's face. "Then this trip would be worth it if we can at least not be mad at each other." Then, she leaned towards him, letting go of his arm and bringing both of her ups to wrap around his shoulders. Bruce hadn't been expecting the hug, but he found that he wasn't entirely against it either. A wave of nostalgia washed over him and he found he was returning the embrace a moment later.

And then, it ended as quickly as it began. "Thank you, Bruce," Andy said before she stood up on the tips of her toes and pecked his cheek with his lips, leaving a quick, chaste kiss. "I'll see you later?"

As they removed their arms, Bruce found himself answering, "You will." Andrea's smile grew wider, more happy before she turned and walked towards the exit of the restaurant.

All the while, the dark-haired man just stood here, watching her go. He didn't really feel like relieving himself anymore, yet hadn't quite worked up the motivation to start moving again. Had...had they really made some sort of amend to each other? Whatever it was, it made him feel numb.

The only thing that woke him from his stupor was the feeling of eyes on him, which caused his own to sharpen. Turning his head, he soon caught sight of Zatanna looking over at him from her seat, her eyes widened and her mouth open in shock.

Oh, crud.

None of that had been planned, yet Andrea found that that had turned out better than she had hoped. Who would have thought that a chance encounter, an accident even, in a restaurant that catered to the upper class would have led to such a reversal.

It seemed for the time being that if there was any real dislike or hate, Bruce was willing to put it aside. And that answer, now that brought some color back into her life.

Maybe crossing paths with Bruce once again wasn't as bad as she had dreaded. Yes, when they had first laid eyes on one another at the Rutherford Gala, that had not been the way to approach this. However, like he had said back there, she had her work cut out for her if she wanted anything more than the hand of acquaintanceship he was offering.

If the past had anything to say about it, the distant past not the recent, she would regain the trust that had been broken all those years ago.

She hadn't been lying either about thinking about him. If things had been different, if only…

No Andrea, don't go back there. For now, there was no way they were going to be that close again. If anything, from their conversation at Wayne Enterprises, that man could hold a grudge though he didn't seem like the type. Completely out of left field, that.

Nonetheless, possibilities were opening up. Maybe once her business in Gotham was concluded, she could focus on repairing the damage that she had unwillingly created. Maybe she could stay in the city, you know, as a way to make sure that the dealings with Wayne Enterprises continued to be...profitable?

That was weak. Really weak there, Andrea. Damn.

Emotions that had been buried long ago were rearing their heads, screaming that they weren't buried as deep as she had thought. This...this might be a problem, especially if it got in the way of…

No, now's not the time for that. Remember, you are Andrea Beaumont now. You are in charge of Beaumont Accounting, and you are in the middle of negotiations with one of the largest and wealthiest corporations on the planet. Business has to, needs to, come first.

Only when all is said and done can you think about other things.

And if those other things included...getting back what had been lost...

Andrea couldn't help it, even as a smile began to spread across her face. Everything was brightening up now and she was looking forward to a future, one that included Bruce Wayne.

She had to admit, she was looking forward to it.

"I'm beginning to think you're a part of my office now."

The sight of the new district attorney was becoming a common one at the station, the man's favorite haunt being his office of all places. Dent had made himself at home in a chair, legs crossed as he looked through a thick file, writing notes onto a legal pad that was balanced on a leg. Gordon awkwardly shifted his weight from one leg to another, a small stack of files tucked under an arm.

Gordon received a quick glance from the public official who then immediately returned his attention back to the file. "I was serious when I said I wanted us to be working together, Gordon," Dent replied.

"So I see. Don't you think you should be doing that," the commissioner gestured at the file and legal pad, "on a desk, preferably in an office that has your name on it."

"That's the thing about paperwork, you can take it anywhere," Dent quipped back. "You can't tell me that you do all of yours in this room. You probably have a niche somewhere; this place just happens to be mine."

"Certain people might think we're in bed together," he remarked. "Not literally, of course."

"Good. Keep them on their toes." Dent closed the file, placing it on the floor along with the legal pad. "I'm not here to make people feel comfortable; I'm here to do my job. So fill me in on what's happening. I heard there was another one."

There was no need to ask what Dent was talking about. Handing his coat up, the commissioner made his way towards his chair, moving around his desk. "Almost as bloody as the last one. The head was still attached. The victim was helpless, and according to the coroner, the killer was quick. Scary," he added as an afterthought as he took his seat, setting the small stack of files he carried on the first available space he found..

"Scary? What does that mean?"

"The victim, Bronsky, looked terrified. Didn't even look like he had time to take the fear off his face before he died," Gordon replied, not looking up at the lawyer as he picked through the files he placed on his desk on his desk.

"So our killer is scary-looking. What are the odds in this city." Gordon didn't even have to look to know that Dent was rolling his eyes. "Any ideas as to who might be responsible."

"My men do," Gordon answered.

"I'm not asking about your men's ideas, I'm asking about yours," Dent stated. Pausing for a moment, "Do you think it might be one of those Batmen?"

He clenched his teeth together tightly. Taking a moment to control his urge to snap at the other man, he replied, "A Batman, the Batman, they're all still suspects. There is no evidence that any of them aren't responsible."

"But none that they did either," Dent pointed out. "Come on, Gordon. I know you're better than this."

"The killer is not leaving much behind, other than the dead bodies." He was quick to speak, his anger starting to leak out a bit. "Whoever he is, he's getting better, and now we have three gangster dead. It's only a matter of time until the mob decides that it's not going to take this anymore and start fighting back."

"How about you start taking the mob families off the streets, then?"

"You should know how difficult it is to prosecute organized crime."

"I don't care. Let's start doing what you did before, cleaning up the streets and getting rid of those lawbreakers," Dent continued to argue. "You and I both know that you beat them once before. You can do it again. Isn't it time?"

"I'm beginning to think that you're operating under a misunderstanding, Dent," he retorted. "Even though we were fighting the mob and they were losing their heads, their bosses, the mob was never truly on the run. They hunkered down and hid themselves, waiting for their opportunity to come back. Falcone, Maroni, Moxon, each of them were replaceable, that's the reality we face. The middle men, the lieutenants, they were coming out unscathed. When the bosses bit the dust, they consolidated their power. When the Batman left, they returned with a vengeance. Do you really think we ran the mob out of this city? We didn't. The mob's roots run deep, and we never touched one. Best we did was prune the damn branches."

Dent was staring him down, not saying a word. Maybe he had gone a little overboard with that rant, but he couldn't allow the district attorney to be working under the wrong assumptions. Gordon had learned that the hard way, when the mob made itself known once more in a wave of crime not seen since organized crime first took over. Men like Valestra and Bertinelli, who were only blips on his radar, were rising kingpins now. Just because the boss of the family was out of the picture didn't mean the family followed him.

It was a rookie mistake, being blind to such a thing. No, he had willingly blinded himself to it, relying too much on a vigilante to do his dirty work.

"What's going on Gordon. What happened to you?" Did this man make it a hobby of his to pry into things he had no business knowing?

"This city changes you Dent. Even people like me," Gordon replied. "It gets your hopes up, then crushes them. Every time you think things will get better, they take a turn for the worst. People you thought you could depend on...show their true colors, turn their backs on you. Either you piece yourself back together or stay broken."

"I've heard that before. I don't buy it." Dent reached down to pick up his belongings off the floor. "It's easy to say that, to put the blame on something abstract like 'the city.' I want you to know that I'm not going to give into it. If there is anything you can depend on, it's that I won't turn my back on this city." Standing up, Dent gave him a once over, looking over him from head to toe. "From this moment on, Gotham is going to be a better place and I don't care what my detractors say or my enemies will throw at me, I am not going to sit back while Gotham gets taken over by thugs and clowns."

Gordon watched as the district attorney crossed the room, heading for the door. As he grasped the doorknob, he paused and looked over his shoulder.

"I hope that you'll be there to help me change this place, Gordon. I really hope you do."

Had he been the type, Strange would have whistled a tune to himself as he strolled through the hallways of the Asylum. He wasn't the type, however, but he settled for a relaxed smile instead.

It would be obvious to anyone that he was in a good mood. So far the day had been fruitful with some of his patients. Even better, he was making progress with Jonathan, ahem, Jonathan Crane that is. This was certainly Hugo Strange's day, and it could only get better for him.

There was one little piece of business he needed to take care of, though. Perhaps you could say it was the only dark cloud on this perfect day of his. Instead of overreacting, and declaring his day was ruined because of this flaw, he was going to be doing something about it instead. To correct this flaw, he was going to need the assistance of his lesser.

He was going to have to have a talk with Jeremiah Arkham so that this flaw in an otherwise perfect day was to be corrected.

Now, it wasn't like he was going to be pulling any teeth here. Far from it, if he had a problem that only the intervention of dear Jeremiah was required, then he was going to use every inch of the superior ranking man to his benefit. After all, Jeremiah for all intents and purposes was a tool. Did one begrudge using a hammer to nail? Did one refuse to use a shovel in preference of their hands? No, a tool was a tool with a purpose that it was made specifically to accomplish.

This wasn't Hugo Strange lowering himself to gain the aid of a man who was both his intellectual and substantial inferior, but him simply using a tool for its intended purpose.

Reaching Jeremiah's office, Strange gave a loud rap to the door. It was best if one was polite and displayed manners. Inferior specimens responded well to such things.

His patience was tried when he didn't get an immediate response, but once he did, Strange allowed himself in, coming to a stop in front of the desk where his human-shaped tool resided.

Nearly dwarfed by the large chair in which he sat, Jeremiah was a mouse of a man if Strange didn't say so himself. Reedy and slim, Jeremiah peeked up at him from behind a pair of spectacles that only served to make him appear more more childish than esteemed. Yes, the sight only served to engrave further into Strange mind that he was dealing not with an adult but a child.

Sure there were the signs of age and stress scaring the other man's face, but Strange was never one to let wrinkles and bags deceive him. Now that he thought of it, Jeremiah was like a child, one trying to play doctor, what with that white coat of his that he had no reason wearing. A dress shirt and tie were the only other garments that were visible thanks to the desk blocking the sight of Jeremiah's lower half, only more attempts to seem more authoritative that Strange only deemed to be a fool's quest.

Jeremiah was not a man who commanded any respect, not even from his own patients.

"What is it, Professor Strange?" Jeremiah asked him, his voice reminding him of a wisp for some reason. Yes, a wisp, so soft and quiet.

"There is a matter of importance that I need to speak with you about," Strange answered him in his louder, booming voice.

A crease in the brow, Jeremiah was worried. Good. "What is it?"

"I have made a few orders for materials, some of which are important for my work," Strange explained. "There have been...problems with delivery, I fear. These materials are necessary to further my research, Jeremiah, and without them I will be impeded. Any progress I can make will be delayed. My patients are not the kind who need their progress delayed because of irregular shipping schedules. It could be said that any delays would be detrimental."

"Why is it you are coming to me, Professor?" Jeremiah asked. "Shouldn't you be taking this up with the suppliers?"

"I would, but my time is extremely sensitive. My patients are too important to be rescheduled for something as trivial as this." Strange felt like he was explaining to a real child, as he perceived Jeremiah to be. "Besides, I am merely a doctor in this facility. You are the face, the man in charge. They will listen to you better than they would a man of my stature."

"You have a lot of confidence in me," Jeremiah remarked.

"Unlike some cretins out there, I do have full confidence in you. You are the type of man who can do much when you put your mind to it." It didn't matter if you were a learned man, blue-collar, or a psychopath, compliments were one of many keys to gaining a person's trust. Flattery was another way, even if it wasn't true. "Now, these materials are very sensitive. I will need the utmost care taken upon their delivery. I cannot stress how important they are for my work."

"If you don't mind my asking, what exactly are these materials?" Jeremiah asked.

Hmmph, inserting himself were he didn't need to be. Strange felt irked by this but he needed to push it back. He needed Jeremiah to be where he wanted him, no since doing anything to upset that.

"They are nothing that would get you into any trouble, Doctor. They are merely serums that are needed to improve a formula that a colleague and I are working on. Between you and me, we are on to something. Something that will forever change the field of psychiatry as it were."

"Why are you informing me about this now?" There was some suspiciousness there. Must tread carefully.

"Because I do not promise what I cannot deliver. If this goes nowhere, I wouldn't want to raise your hopes up. However, that is not the case. We are on the verge of a breakthrough, that I do promise. Thus, I do promise you when I have succeeded, you will be the first to know about it."

Jeremiah was biting his lip, a good sign in Hugo Strange's book. He was torn, wanting to know more but at the same time about to cave in. He was walking a tightrope, just about to plunge into the abyss below. Only a little more pushing was required.

"Change is in the air, Jeremiah. For the time being, all I ask is for your ignorance until the time when I can bring you enlightenment. We are so close. The sooner we can finish, the sooner your curiosity can be sated." Come, Jeremiah, take his bait and hook yourself. It was easier than resistance. Don't make this harder for yourself and more importantly Hugo Strange.

"Alright," Jeremiah finally caved in. "Keep me in the loop, Professor. When you've finished what you're working on, I want to...know all about it." There, that was hesitation he heard in his voice.

"Of course," Strange assured him. "When we are ready, you'll know everything you'll want to know. I will take my leave now and I will look forward to those materials arriving soon."

He did not wait for Jeremiah's reply because it did not matter. He had what he wanted. His progress would no longer be impeded. In the meantime he would carry on with his regular duties, meeting and tending to his patients, the mind-numbing progress reports, and assessments.

This was most definitely turning out to be a perfect day for Hugo Strange.