A/N: It's finally here, the last chapter of the story...or at least I think so. I swear I'm not being self-deprecating, but honestly I feel the end to this chapter is cheesier than a ten cheese enchilada. I tried about three different ways to wrap up the chapter, and I landed on this one. I might do one more chapter if enough people want it. Merry Christmas!

Some men would prefer only to part with a sock drawer when their fiancé first moves in. Bruce purchased a brand new wardrobe that's apparently made from Brazilian Rosewood and smells faintly like the paneling from Craze…faintly. It's kind of gigantic, comes with a rotating shoe rack, and I pretty much love it. The doors don't creak, which is nice on nights like this when I get home so late; something that's been happening for the past few months as Matt and I havebeen swamped with Clear had picked the name Clear for our magazine, saying it fit with our openness about Gotham and not keeping anything hidden…or at least that's what I was able to make out after my fourth cup of coffee, his tenth cigarette, and both of us trudging through a stack of forty-seven modeling portfolios. And I thought Metropolis had all the uppity cocaine-glitzy girls.

Luckily, with some of our pooled connections, we were able to collect a manageable staff and through means I'm still a little fuzzy on, finished the first issue tonight. Matt suggested we all celebrate at the new retro eighties themed bar, "Relax." I told him to say hi to Frankie for me, but I had a fiancé who I hadn't seen in weeks. Matt had chuckled, thinking I was joking, but I literally have not seen Bruce awake in ten days. He gets up at some god-awful hour in the morning, like eight, and he's already at Wayne Enterprise by the time Alfred bribes me out of bed with breakfast at ten thirty. I get to work a little before noon and don't get back until two to three hours after midnight when Bruce has probably just slid into REM cycle.

If nothing else, my former Catwoman sleuthing has come in handy for quietly changing clothes. I don't even turn a light on, which I realize might be a problem tonight. Alfred said he was doing laundry, so I'm not sure what I have to wear. I grope around one of the many compartments of my wardrobe and not wanting to wake him up, settle on what feels like a silky camisole and shorts.

I noiselessly make it to bed and pull the covers up to my shoulders. But it's still noiseless, and I know that's not right. Alfred told me Bruce had recently had some sort of nasal injury and the evidence of the damage was very obvious in his louder than usual breathing the past few nights. I don't hear him at all. So, I crawl towards his side of the bed and reach for him. But, instead of warmth, I feel something hard and flat, like stacks of some sort of material.

I switch on his antique bedside lamp and see table cloth samples spewed across the comforter. He's not even here, it's twenty after three, and he is apparently still very active in planning mode.

I wince, not from stubbing my toe on the bedroom door, but in remembering our May 17th date is two weeks away. With the insanity of Clear, my help with the arrangements have been to stand next to him for our engagement photos and to convince him to let my cat, Bruce, be the ring bearer, because I don't want to disappoint his relatives who think I'm some cat-obsessed maniac. He and Alfred have done everything else, including a surprise they have for me that's more covert that the freakin' batcave.

I'm walking in that direction when I see the door of the study is wide open, and there's a small light on. Inside, I see a lot more. On the couch is Bruce sitting upright in full Batman gear…passed out asleep. I don't even know where to begin, but I'm very confused.

Stepping towards him as stealthy as possible, I am able to get close enough to see the suit is in one piece and no area of his body is bleeding; good sign. I lean in to his face until I can feel him breathing, which I can hear is noticeably quieter; another good sign. I look into the holes of the mask, at his shut eyelids, and for a second I'm on the top of some snow covered building in a leather catsuit switching my whip around. We'd been playing cat and mouse, or cat and bat, for weeks by then and I had gotten what I thought I wanted; Batman injured and semiconscious at my feet. I had knelt down, trailing a finger down the side of his face. I realize my hand is playing along with this delusion as one of my nails skims his chin. Underneath the spiked Gotham skyscrapers I had kissed him for the first time, Batman that is, and somehow that's when I knew who he was. My lips are softly pressed against his before I know it, but I more surprised by my next physical reaction. I don't feel anything. The smothering clammy fear from my dreams is gone, as is the electric twinge in my gut. I hear someone yawn from behind me; not a good sign.

I turn around to see Dick in nothing but a long black pair of pajama pants. My brain counts the many Catwoman jokes he could use, because even I have to admit I practically walked into this one.

"He was waiting up for you," Dick whispers as he points to Bruce's still sleeping form before yawning again. "But, tonight was…intense. I told him he wouldn't be able to stay up."

There's a slight smile playing on his mouth as he crosses his arms over his chest, and I notice a large purple bruise covering his shoulder.

"I've had worse," he remarks when he sees me cringe. "A bank holdup that got a little out of hand. I'll just tell the girls it was from Rugby. By the way, how are Brandy and Sherry doing at Clear?"

"They photograph really well, and Brandy has only been late nine times," I comment a bit sarcastically, and he seems to give a knowing eye roll.

"I don't even know how many dinner reservations I've lost because of her. But, I promise she will not be late on the 17th," he assures me, and then pauses. "Is it okay if I bring Brandy and Sherry to the wedding?"

"If it's okay with them both going with you it is," I say, now used to them traveling as a threesome.

"Great," he sighs, brushing hair off his forehead. He scratches the back of his neck with his eyes down as he seems to be thinking over something. "Um, I know I'm about four months late, but I just wanted to say congratulations. And…I don't think it will be so bad having you…live here."

He starts to amble down the hall, but this is so unlike him that I can't just leave it at that and I quietly blurt, "Really?"

He looks me up and down, his Peter Pan smirk shinning brighter than Tinker Bell, and says, "as long as you wear those shorts more often."

My eyes squint in the reflex of annoyance, but before I can say anything I see a pillow fly past me and hit him right in the face.

I turn to the couch and see an unmasked Bruce dazedly gesturing for Dick to leave. When I look back to the door I see it worked; he's gone.

"When did you get back?" he asks with a scratchy overused voice.

"Around fifteen minutes ago," I reply and see him laboriously get up from the couch. "Are you okay?

"Yeah, just a little sore," he groans. "Did I hear something about Dick taking Brandy and Sherry to the wedding?"

"Yeah, I said it was fine. It is right?" I question, considering again how little I know about the specific plans.

"Uh, I'm just having a hard time keeping the guest list in order. It seems like there's always someone new to add," he explains, putting an arm around me.

"That's why we should elope," I half teasingly remind him, because I've said it over a million times. "I know you want me to wear your mother's dress, but what if I wear it and we elope and we take Alfred?"

He appears to consider this, furrowing a brow before kissing me. This time I do feel the familiar acupuncture-like prickles down my legs and I fleetingly forget what we were even talking about.

"I want this to feel real," he whispers, and I'm collected enough to know he's talking about the formal ceremony he is insistent upon; it's what his parents would have wanted. I sigh, and notice him slightly squirm. "Sorry, I forgot how hot this thing can get. I'm going to go shower."

He places his hand on my lower back as we start walking out of the room, because we both know this isn't going to be agreed on tonight.

"How about a bath?" I suggest, and he cocks his head to the side.

"Do you want me to put the mask back on?"

"Batman in the tub; I don't think so," I tell him, deadpanned.

He simply shrugs.

Here it is, please tell me what you think. Is this an okay ending? Also, I'm working on a Reign of Fire fic but I don't want to post it if no one will read it, so if you don't feel like leaving a review for this at least tell me if you are even slighlty interested in a Quinn/OC fic that I promise is not Mary Sue. Again, Merry Christmas!