Tommy Elliot loved Aristotle and knew most of his work by heart. In his youth, colleagues in college would tease him saying he spoke only by quoting, never using his own words… and they weren't so far from the truth. Aristotle really was a genius, and had written about everything – or at least everything that mattered -, so why would he try to put in words something that a brighter man had already said better, thousands of years ago?

Time taught him that people didn't always appreciate the wisdom in the Greek philosopher's words, and Elliot had since tried to avoid bringing up Aristotle's valuable teachings among the ignorant mongrels that usually surrounded him. That didn't stop him from thinking about an appropriate quote for every situation, even if he didn't voice it in public. So often that happened that Tommy had formed the habit of, every night before going to bed, writing those quotes in his diary, usually followed by a brief description of what had brought the thought to mind. In the years since he had begun doing that, he had already filled several notebooks, that he kept neatly organized in an old chest in his bedroom. He was proud of his collection: one day, he believed, someone would find those notebooks, and learn a great deal with them.

Except that, in the last few months, something was not quite right.

It had started when he figured out about Bruce, and he being Batman. Ever since then, he hadn't been able to concentrate as before. Now, when he sat to write in his diary, he usually produced scattered, disconnected words, and random phrases. He draw, he draw a lot, but never something that actual made any sense: mostly human limbs and organs torn apart, bloody, sick. Pieces of flesh and expressions of terror in brutalized female faces.

The last few nights, it was even worst: he had managed to write nothing but the same thing over and over, almost two hundred pages covered by one sentence, and one sentence only:

He who has truly overcome his fears will truly be free.

"At least", he had thought, "it's a quote."

The insistent thought disturbed him for hours even after he had spend the whole night writing it down, and he decided he needed a distraction, something to amuse his diligent mind.

It was a Saturday morning, and he drove to Wayne Manor.

All the way he kept wondering, picturing how he would be welcomed, if he would even be allowed to see Bruce himself. It had been over a week since his old friend was discharged from the hospital, and Tommy had been following the newspapers with interest, trying to see a sign that Batman was already back into action. His medical knowledge would tell him that it was too soon for that, but Bruce was one crazy son of a bitch, and it would be typical of his friend to jump into his nightly adventures way sooner than expected.

He announced himself at the main gate and was given passage to park his convertible close to the main entrance. There were no other cars in sight, and he figured that popular Bruce Wayne had decided to convalescence in solitude. No surprise there. He went to the front door in calm, confident steps, hands in his pockets, a broad smile in his features. As he reached the entrance, he prepared to ring the bell, but didn't have to: the door opened to reveal an unusually unsympathetic Alfred staring at him.

"Hey, Alf!" Tommy greeted him as he always had, removing his sunglasses and patting the butler's shoulder. "Is Bruce home?"

"He is, Doctor Elliot." Alfred's tone was more enigmatic than Tommy would have wished for, but the fact that he had allowed him to enter the house was seen by Elliot as a good sign – oh, well, at least as not a horrible sign. "He's at the library."

"The library? Not reading, I hope… that would be something new."

"No, sir." The butler's voice was cold and impersonal. "He's already waiting for you."

"Okay", he answered, trying to hide his sudden discomfort. He walked to the library in a quick pace, barely aware that Alfred had stopped following him at some point, letting him enter the library alone.

Tommy remembered that room quite well, the one place he and Bruce had spend many days in their childhood. The late Thomas Wayne would give permission for the boys to play with his chess set and go through the books, built forts with the sofa's cushions, even use his stereo to listen to had heard that the whole Manor and all inside it had been destroyed in the fire, a couple years ago, but he had to do Bruce justice: he had managed to rebuild it just as it was in their childhood. Even the books looked the same.

Even the chess set.

"Tommy", he heard Bruce's voice coming from behind him. He turned to look at his old friend.

"Bruce, hello. Didn't see you there." He offered his hand for a hand shake. "How you feeling, buddy? You look much better."

Bruce kept his own arms crossed, silently standing between Tommy and the door.

"I saw you at the hospital when you were in the ICU. Did Alfred mention that? You had a spectacular recovery, I'm sure your doctors told you that… they are close friends of mine, the surgeons that operated on you, and…"

"Shut up", Bruce said, his voice a harsh, husky sound.

Tommy chuckled, pretending to be confused. "I'm… I'm sorry… what? Did I miss something…?"

It was very sudden: in a flash Bruce had covered the ground between them, and had grabbed Tommy by his collar. Elliot even tried to offer resistance to that, but it was too late; recently operated and all, Bruce had managed to threw a man that was at least his own size and weight over the sofa that was ten feet behind them, making Tommy grunt and pant in pain when his back hit the hard floor.

"Damn it…!" He wasn't able to move for a moment, his entire body aching and his head dizzy, darkness engulfing his vision. "Holly… shit…!"

He felt hands on both his shoulders, and then he was again brutally moved, tossed from the floor to land over the coffee table. He screamed in pain once again:

"What… the… fuck! Why the… hell…?"

"Shut. Up." It was Bruce again, and again in a ruthless, hoarse voice.

Tommy complied, moaning shamelessly. Bruce's face was close to his, too close, his dark blue eyes darting in rage, his expression showing lots of fury and no mercy. Again he had the hold of Elliot's collar, grabbing his shirt in such fierceness that Tommy felt the fabric press his trachea, almost no air passing to his lungs.

"Listen to me", Bruce said in a threatening whisper. Unable to do much else, Tommy obeyed. "If you ever go near Selina Kyle again, Tommy… I swear to God… You'll regret it. I'll make you regret it… I'll make you wish you were never born…"

He slightly loosed the grip on Elliot's neck, allowing his to gasp and talk:

"Bru… Bruce…" He held both hands above his head, showing his vulnerability. "Bruce… you… you got it… all… wrong…"

"I know what you did!" He slammed Tommy's back against the table once again. "I know what you did to her, you bastard!"

To hell with it, Tommy thought. To hell. There he was, in a miserable situation – the least he could do was to try to turn it against his aggressor.

When air was violently forced out of his lungs, when his sight was again a spinning wheel of senseless images, he simply closed his eyes and took it, Bruce's rage. To his own surprise, as he was shaken and brutalize, he heard himself laugh.

And that had an effect on Bruce.

"Shut up, Tommy. Shut up, shut… up!"

He felt the heavy fist suddenly crashing on his jaw, an immediate flow of warm blood drowning his mouth. Two teeth loosen and scratching his tongue, a burning pain crossing his skull. Above him, Bruce wasn't just furious.

He was scared.

"Stop laughing", he said through clenched teeth. "Stop it!"

"You… you fucking hit me, Bruce…" He laughed and gasped, laughed and spit. "I can't believe… you fucking punched me in the face…!"

It was like he had just asked for it: another hit, now straight to his nose. It was a hollow, brief sound, the dry thud of bone against bone, and a sharp pain that went up through his nostrils all the way to his brain, followed by a red river of blood that went over his mouth and chin, ran to his neck and soaked his shirt.

"Stop laughing!" Bruce roared and grabbed him, now tossing him over the sofa like he was a ragdoll.

"Master Bruce!"

It was Alfred, standing at the entrance, a shocked expression in his features.

That affected Bruce: he had been about to punch Tommy again, a blind rage in his eyes. At Alfred's words, however, he had halted and taken a deep breath, now merely watching Thomas Elliot while recovering his breath.

"Al… Alfie…" Tommy raised a hand to his nose and groaned, then chuckling again. "Oh, Al… I… I think Bruce is… trying… to kill me."

"Please, be quiet, Dr. Elliot." The butler had now approached Bruce, who had taken a step back from him. "Sir…? I think that's enough, sir."

Tommy found a handkerchief in his pocket, and placed it directly over his nostrils. "You broke my fucking nose, Bruce…"

"That's what you deserve, coward."

"Ha. Yeah, I suppose I do. For trying to take from Selina what she was so obviously offering for so long…"

He saw how Bruce was on the verge of jumping over him again, fists clenched and raging eyes. He provoked him:

"I guess I didn't get the chance of going through it 'til the end, but I had a good sample… I swear, when I put my fingers inside her she was as wet as she could be, and I had a good feel of her tits, and her nipples were so hard that…"

Bruce advanced towards him, but Alfred placed himself between them. "Sir! Dr. Elliot wants nothing else but to see you lose your composure! Please, do not give him the pleasure."

Tommy sat on the couch, regaining his balance and spitting blood and pieces of his teeth all over the rug. "Ha… okay, Alfie, I think we can agree that… Bruce's 'composure' is far gone… ha…"

"Get out!" Bruce snarled. "Get out, Tommy, and never come back! And if you ever touch Selina, or any other woman again, I'll beat you to a pulp, hear me?"

Tommy said nothing and just smiled - a bloody, strange red smile. Nevertheless, he managed to stand, and slowly walked outside the room, not without glancing back over his shoulder and looking one last time at his now former friend.

He imagined that Bruce was perhaps wondering if that was the last he heard of Tommy Elliot. That wasn't the case, of course; things had just gotten interesting once again.

Privately, he thanked Bruce: who would have guessed that a good beating was all that would take to clear his mind of that obsessive phrase? Now he could think clearly again…

And had no lack of ideas to work on.

Bruce allowed his body to heavily land on the sofa, a grunt of pain escaping his lips as he finally leaned on the couch.

"Master Bruce", Alfred said, "you shouldn't have done that."

He didn't answer.

"Let me take a look at your hands."

Bruce lowered his gaze to his bloody knuckles. "It's fine, Alfred… that's not my blood."

"I'm not so sure."

He pondered that maybe Alfred was right: he had been out of action for a while, perhaps enough to soften the skin of his knuckles. He was also disgusted by the thought of his blood mixed with Tommy's, an undesired blood-pact with a person that he now deeply despised.

"Any pain in your shoulder, chest…?", Alfred asked, pointing to his most recently wound.

Yes, he felt pain. There, where he had a barely healed scar, and all over his back, and neck, and arms. It had been weeks since he had been put himself in such a physically – and emotionally – extenuating circumstance. Now, he was dealing with its consequences.

And had no regrets, by the way.

"No, I'm fine, Alfred…"

He was fine. There was pain, sure, but that was alright. The lack of pain, that was a strange feeling for him; now, to feel his body throb and ache, the rush of adrenaline, his muscles forced to their limits… that was familiar. That, he enjoyed.

"Your pulse is stable and fairly low, all things considered", the butler commented.

"Alfred… I'm not the one that got hurt."

"Yes, I'm aware of that, sir." He frowned. "And as much as I understand that Dr. Elliot probably deserved what you gave him, I dare say you crossed a line."

"What' you talking about?"

"You told me you would just talk to him, sir."

A snort of despise was Bruce's answer.

"Maybe I was a fool for believing you, Master Bruce, but I did. Don't worry; I've learned my lesson…"

"No, no, you're not…" He nodded in silent denial, then speaking in a gentler tone. "I didn't mean to lie to you, Alfred… Honestly. Things got out of control, that's all."

"Out of control?"

Bruce quietly stared at the library, furniture scattered and blood stains over the floor. "At some point, Alfred… I think that Tommy was enjoying being punched. And that, that… that's too much like…"

He halted. It was so strange; to this day, he wasn't able to say it: his name, his alias, the name of that awful, awful man.

"Like the Joker?" Alfred didn't share his restrictions.

"Yes. Like him."

"Fortunately enough, I think it's fair to say that no one is quite like the Joker, that dreadful man."

"Yes. I guess not."

Alfred looked around the room, taking a deep breath. "I suppose you didn't take into consideration the trouble that would be to clean this place up when you were finished teaching Thomas Elliot a lesson, did you?"

Bruce chuckled. "It crossed my mind, believe or not."

"I would give you a broom right now if you were in better shape. But you need to clean yourself and rest for a while – doctor's orders."

"Well, I guess I have to be a good patient and do as told."

"Yes. Besides, you'll have guests later – Miss Head called and would like to pay you a visit."

"Oh", was Bruce's only word.

"Your enthusiasm is contagious. I'm sure that Miss Head will be pleased to know how much you are looking forward to her visit."

The sarcasm in Alfred's remark was palpable, but Bruce ignored it. "Wake me up when Talia gets here", he asked while walking out of the library.

He wondered if Alfred's keen observation wasn't something for him to consider, though. Talia had been visiting him in Wayne Manor almost every day, and her interest had long surpassed the appearances of simple friendship. And even though he didn't necessarily look forward to see her every day, he certainly enjoyed her company. She was an intelligent, talkative woman, a successful business person and surprisingly modest. And the fact that she was a beautiful woman hadn't passed unnoticed to him.

If things were different, perhaps he would have welcomed her attention; right now, however, he admitted he was having difficulty to open himself to the advances of other women. Not until Selina remained, one way or the other, in his life…

Though he wouldn't be able to actually tell where they stood right now in terms of a relationship. They hadn't spoken ever since the day they had had sex, neither as Bruce and Selina nor as Batman and Catwoman. He hoped she would make contact, even if it was just to talk, but that hadn't happen… and he still feared that she was serious about going back to her old ways, back to her life as Catwoman, the thief.

And now, all that problem with Tommy Elliot. He had wanted to deal with his former friend and what he had done to Selina since the night he discovered it, but now he had to agree with Alfred: maybe he went too far. Maybe he had pushed Tommy over the edge, and who knew if he was the kind of man that would take out his frustration in another target?

Oh, yes, Tommy was definitely that man…

Bruce feared for Selina. He had been battling the impulse of calling her for over a week now, but he discovered that, maybe, it was a good moment to swallow his pride and actually do what he had been wanting to for days.

Selina was in her little office in her store, reading a very boring account report, when her cell phone rang. She tossed the papers away, glad to have a good excuse to do it, but her happiness was brief: she recognized the number that was flashing in the screen immediately.

Bruce.

For a moment she considered the option of not answering. That would make everything simpler. On the other hand, he wasn't someone she could so easily ignore – if the man who was Batman wanted to talk to her, he would… one way or the other.

Admittedly, she had been kind of wishing for that to happen. As adamant as she was about not getting involved with Bruce right now, about wanting to figure out her own life before considering professional or love alliances, she missed him too goddamned much. There was a part of her that would be happy to just let go and embrace it, that new life he proposed, where they could be together and forget about the world outside. But that, of course, was nothing but a silly dream, possible only for simpler people. Not for people like them, not for someone like her, that now mused about her next professional step, and that included a whole amount of acrobatic skills and law breaking, and a bunch of other things Bruce wouldn't approve…

So, yeah, maybe she would take the phone call… but she wasn't expecting anything good from that.

"Hello?"

"Selina."

His voice was a grave, hoarse sound – he was hesitant about that as much as she was, it seemed.

"Hey", she muttered, realizing that should have been almost inaudible to him.

"I'm not sure this is okay… if it's okay that I'm calling you like that."

"It's a free country", she teased. And then, in a kinder tone: "I'll consider us friends until the day you give me reason to think differently."

He said nothing for a moment, and so did she. Then, he spoke:

"Tommy came over today."

"Did he?" She had not thought about Thomas Elliot in a while, but now that she did, the cold anger and the feeling of repugnance returned at full potency. "You know, Bruce, I really don't want to talk about him. He's…"

"I know what he did, Selina."

You do? She hadn't wanted to bring up the subject the last time they met. Tommy Elliot was catalogued in her mind as an unfinished business, and she planned to take care of him as soon as she had the chance. But after all that had happened in the last few weeks, with even the police involved, she had had to keep a low profile, and the payback she had planned for Dr. Elliot would attract too much attention. For now, she just had to live with that – staring at her front door and picturing that night, imagining when she would have the chance of finally giving Dr. Elliot what he deserved for what he had done to her and, no doubt, to other women before. Until then, she would rather not think about him.

"That night… I was looking for you. I was trying to find you, because I had been at your place, and I saw… well, I figured something had happened." Bruce kept talking, and Selina was grateful for that. "And it was Tommy. I knew he had…"

"Tried to attack me. Yeah." She closed her eyes, trying as hard as she could to block the many images of that moment from flooding her mind.

"Right." She heard as he sighed heavily on the other side of the line. "I've told him to stay away from you."

"Bruce…" Damn it, Bruce! Selina could have figured he would do something like that if he knew what Elliot had done. And even though she understood it was his way of trying to help her, she couldn't ignore the anger she suddenly felt – because that was her problem to deal with, not his.

"He won't cause you trouble anymore, I promise."

"I wasn't worried before, Bruce! Oh, my God…"

Again there was silence between them, this time broken by her:

"I hate to say this, but you shouldn't have done that." She was making her best to keep her tone calm and collected.

"And why is that?"

"Because…" She thought for a second, unsure if she should proceed. Then again, maybe there weren't many ways things could get worst. "Because he knows about me, Bruce."

"What do you mean?"

"About, you know… about my night job…?"

Silence.

"Bruce?"

Silence.

"Bruce, please. Say something."

When he did, his tone was harsh.

"And how did he figure that out?"

"I don't have the slightest idea."

Once again he didn't answer her. She asked:

"Did you talk to him? Did he say something about me?"

He cleared his throat before speaking:

"Our conversation was… brief."

"You beat him, didn't you?" She bit her lower lip. "Jesus, what's the matter with you? You just can't stop, can you? Even out of your goddamned uniform you have to play the hero, don't you?"

"He attacked you, Selina! Was I supposed to just pretend nothing had happened?"

"Yes! That's what normal people do! I can stand up for myself, I don't need someone to save me!"

"I'm not trying to save you, I just… It was something I had to do." He sounded frustrated. She still didn't intend to make it easy for him:

"You had to? Oh, I see… it's some kind of revenge, then? Or your cute way of saying no one can mess with me because I'm yours?"

"Don't worry", he drily said, "I know you're not mine. I know you don't want to have anything to do with me."

She took a moment before answering to that. Then:

"No. No, I didn't mean it like that."

"I'm sorry, Selina", he apologized, even though his tone denounced how hurt he had been by her words. "I really am. But don't ever expect me to quietly watch when something like what Tommy did happens. That's not me. It will never be."

"I know", she whispered. It occurred to her that maybe she had a few things to apologize for also, but it was too late.

"Goodbye", he said, hanging up on her without waiting for any response.

Bruce had barely placed his cell phone back in his pocket when he heard her voice behind him:

"Ahm… Bruce?"

She was standing just a few feet from him, alone in the long corridor that led to the master bedroom.

"Oh, hi, Talia…" He greeted. "Were you…?"

"I'm so sorry", she quickly said, seeming deeply embarrassed. "I… I shouldn't have let myself in like this… It's just that Alfred wasn't around, and the door was unlocked, so I just…"

"It's fine", he said. "This is… well, it's no big deal. I was just talking to a friend."

"I noticed", she murmured.

He frowned. "I don't know how much you heard, but…"

"Not much. Just the 'I know you don't want to have anything to do with me' part, and something about a Tommy." She smiled faintly. "Too much, right?"

"I hope you don't mind if we don't talk about it", he asked.

"No, no… I…" She was actually flushing. "Look, why don't we change the subject?"

"That would be nice."

She looked around the room, the generous suite that had once been his parents' bedroom, now his own. "Never been here before… it's your room, right?"

He nodded. "Yes. I don't usually invite anyone here, but…"

"I guess I invited myself, so, technically, your rule still goes."

"I wouldn't say it's a rule…", he chuckled. "Do you honestly take me as the eccentric playboy the social columns make fun of?"

"I don't. Though you do have your eccentricities."

Walking around the room Talia examined pictures and objects, stopping to admire the old Indian arrow tip Bruce kept in a small glass dome.

"What's this?" She leaned forward to take a closer look at it.

"Something from my childhood", he said, unwilling to explain more. Talia briefly stared at him inquisitively, but said nothing.

Then she found his parent's picture, one taken not long before they were shot. In it, his father portrayed his characteristically gentle smile, that always reminded Bruce how he didn't inherited his father's goodness or his serenity. Next to Thomas Wayne, his wife Martha, Bruce's mother: sweet and beautiful, and that's how he would always remember her. He didn't have many pictures left of his parents, especially after the fire a couple years ago, but he was glad that he had been able to reprint that one – both his parents looked so happy and peaceful, and he was glad that he could, every now and then, get a glimpse of their smiles before finally going to bed.

"Your parents", Talia said, holding the picture in her hands.

"Yes."

"Were they really that happy?", she asked in a soft voice, eyes fixed in their cheerful features.

"Most of the time they were, I guess." He took the picture frame from her hands, briefly looking at it before placing it back where it was.

"You must miss them a lot." Now Talia stared at him in a mix of pity and curiosity.

"I got used to not having them around", he shrugged.

"No", she stubbornly insisted, "I don't think so. No one gets used to something like this."

"You would be surprised."

She placed herself in his path, reaching for his hand. Raising it to her face, she gently kissed his palm. "Not by you", she said. "I get you, Bruce… I know you…"

He pulled his hand from her grasp. "Talia… no."

She looked straight into his eyes, her face an inscrutable mask. "Ah… 'I know you don't want to have anything to do with me', right? The irony…"

He opened his mouth speak, but nothing came; in the end, he concluded, there wasn't much he could say.

"Maybe I should go", Talia said. "No need to point me the exit… I think I can find my way around."

"Talia", he called. She ignored him, though, and kept marching down the hall.

Bruce followed her, finally taking hold of her arm before she could go down the stairs. "Talia, wait."

"It's alright, Bruce", she said. Her features were surprisingly unruffled. "I can see you have something… someone else in your mind right now. And maybe that's for the best. As much as I like you, I'm not so sure we would be right for each other."

"What if I tell you", he said, "that I don't believe in such a thing as soul mates?"

"I would say you're wrong", she murmured, "because I do believe it."

Standing on the tip of her toes, she placed a light kiss over his lips. "And if you open your eyes, Bruce, you'll see that happiness is much closer to you than you can imagine."

Smiling mischievously, she left him there to watch her go.