"Thank you for meeting me here, Mr. Wayne," Jeannie said politely as Bruce slid into the booth across from her, smoothing down his jacket. He looked every bit as impeccable as the tabloids made him out to be—not a strand of hair out of place and a handsome, unlined face. He smelled of expensive cologne and musk, and she couldn't resist taking a deeper inhale as the scent wafted up her nostrils.

"The pleasure is all mine," Bruce replied, with a knowing grin. "In fact, I'd say it's quite fitting."

Jeannie laughed under her breath, glancing at the tables that surrounded them and the dark oak that paneled the walls. "It's not often that I get to eat here as a customer," she admitted as a smartly-dressed waiter came forth to take their orders.

"I'll have whatever the lady's having," Bruce told him with a careless shrug, leaning back in his chair, and after a quick glance at the menu, which had scarcely changed in the six years since Jeannie had seen it last, she ordered a glass of red wine.

It had been her idea to meet at this restaurant—this place in the center of Gotham that she had worked at as a teenager, the place where she had once encountered a young Bruce Wayne with Rachel Dawes. He had been in love with her, Jeannie knew now—and to also know that the Joker was the one responsible for her death made her feel even more undeserving of Bruce's help—of Batman's help.

She glanced behind them every minute or so, a habit picked up after months in captivity, but the restaurant was empty aside from them. The city was still regaining its footing after being held hostage by the Riddler and Scarecrow; it would likely take years before its economy was even a shadow of what it once was. Still, Jeannie was grateful for the privacy. She would have to choose her words carefully.

While they waited for their drinks to arrive, she reached over to adjust Lily's ponytail, which was falling out after her numerous attempts to perform a cartwheel on the walk over to the restaurant. Her daughter barely glanced up at Jeannie's fussing; she was completely absorbed in the coloring book that Commissioner Gordon had given her the last time they'd met. On Jeannie's other side, Jay slept soundly in his baby carrier, his face scrunched and his tiny hands curled into fists. Jeannie bent down to softly place a kiss on his forehead, and he gurgled indistinctly but stayed asleep.

"They seem pretty content," Bruce remarked when Jeannie straightened up, nodding at the two children. His lips twitched upward in a small smile at their complete lack of interest in his presence. Jeannie presumed it was a welcome change for him.

"So far," she agreed, though her gaze lingered on Lily. "Commissioner Gordon suggested I bring her to talk to a child psychologist about…everything that's happened. It might not affect her now, but when she's older…" Guilt settled heavily on Jeannie's chest again at the thought that she was responsible for everything that had happened to Lily, for her daughter's trauma. Jay was too young to be affected in any way, to have any remembrance of this, but Lily…

Bruce's demeanor turned solemn, as if he knew what she was thinking. "You're safe now, Jennifer," he said, his hazel eyes catching hers. "I promise."

She blinked and had too look away for a moment—the intensity of his gaze was too strong for her. "Why did you help me?" she whispered. "I'm his—his wife." She gave a small shudder as she said the words, the flash of a gruesome Glasgow grin painted in her mind. She doubted it would ever go away, no matter how far she ran.

"You were innocent," Bruce said after a moment, leaning back in his seat. He looked out the window at the cars flashing by, as if his mind was somewhere else entirely. "And so was your daughter. I wasn't about to let him ruin the lives of any more civilians. Not because of me, because of some point he wanted to make—some game he wanted to play." His voice turned dark at the end, some angry ghost of Batman fighting to escape. But Jeannie knew his anger was directed inward, at himself.

"I don't think he would have killed either of us," she said quietly. "That wasn't part of his plan."

"Maybe not," Bruce replied, turning back to her. Whatever part of him had been struggling to emerge appeared to have been suppressed. "But was the alternative any better?"

Jeannie opened her mouth to respond, but closed it again when she realized she had no answer. Luckily the waiter returned with their drinks before the silence stretched out for too long, and Bruce raised his glass with a self-deprecating grin. "Here's to the dinner we never got to have," he announced, and Jeannie returned the toast before raising the glass to her lips.

The wine was strong and carried just a hint of vanilla, but as Jeannie took a sip the liquid sloshed around in a way that was eerily reminiscent of blood and she quickly placed it back on the table, feeling slightly ill. She bit down hard on her tongue and forced a smile at Bruce, trying hard to keep her attention focused on him. Gordon had suggested she see a psychologist, too, but Jeannie knew that it would have to be one far away from Gotham. She wasn't about to let anyone in the city ever know that she was the Joker's wife.

"…enjoying the hotel?" Bruce was asking. Jeannie was quick to nod in a failed effort at disguising her momentary lapse in attention.

"Yes, the Ritz is wonderful," she said, too fervently. "I've stayed there twice before and never had any complaints. Lily loves the size of the suite—she can do her whole gymnastics routine in there."

Her daughter's head rose immediately at the mention of gymnastics, and she threw her crayons down and immediately asked eagerly, "Can I show him, Mommy?"

After ascertaining that the restaurant was still free of other customers, Jeannie reluctantly acquiesced, and Lily hopped down from the booth and began a series of elaborate cartwheels and somersaults that made Jeannie feel vaguely dizzy. But she tried to encourage Lily as much as possible, knowing how much she had suffered at not having space to run around and play in during the months the Joker had kept them locked in the apartment. His apartment. Jeannie's lip curled at the thought.

Bruce clapped enthusiastically while Lily bowed at the end of her routine, beaming from ear to ear. "You'll have to let me know when she makes it to the Olympics," he remarked as Lily continued to tumble around the floor; their waiter was watching her with a smile. It was the little things that gave people strength to carry on, Jeannie mused. Just as she would have to learn to pick herself back up again, so Gotham would learn how to rebuild itself, brick by brick.

"What did your butler say about taking care of Lily?" Jeannie asked curiously, turning back to the billionaire sitting across from her. "Mr. Pennyworth?"

"Alfred told me that she was a delight to have around the manor," Bruce added. Jeannie noticed that he hadn't touched his wine. "I think he misses looking after children." A small but visible crease appeared on his forehead. "Truth be told, I think he gets lonely there by himself."

Jeannie raised her eyebrows. "Have you considered spending more time there?" she asked, half-seriously.

Bruce gave a self-deprecating laugh and adjusted his tie. "Well, it is a lot of work running your own company," he said with a gleam in his eye.

"And how is Wayne Enterprises running these days? I assume there have been a few hiccups along the way."

Bruce was quick enough to understand that she wasn't actually talking about his business. "It's fine," he said guardedly. "We've been getting reports of a cat burglar targeting art galleries and museums while the city is on uneven ground. They seem to have very expensive taste."

Jeannie twirled her wine glass around in her fingers. "And I suppose you've been tasked to investigate?" she slyly inquired.

He smirked. "You could say that."

But there was still one topic that hadn't been broached—the most sensitive one of all. Jeannie snuck another glance at Bruce, wondering if she should just keep quiet and let the conversation dwindle until it was time to leave—but the words burst from her lips before she could control them, tumbling out in a hasty rush: "It must be easier for you now that…he…is in Blackgate." She sucked in a breath, trying to fight back the image of Arkham Asylum exploding in a ball of fire; Gordon's calm, steady voice telling her that the Joker had been moved to solitary confinement at Blackgate Prison with no chance of a trial or ever emerging into daylight again.

Bruce turned sympathetic at the look on her face, leaning towards her and saying in a low voice, "He can't escape, Jennifer. Blackgate isn't like Arkham. It's a federal prison. He won't be labeled as criminally insane there."

Jeannie didn't even realize that she was shredding her napkin with her fingers until she unclenched her fist and pieces of white tissue fluttered softly onto the table. "That's if I don't get sent there first," she muttered darkly. "I—I killed Edward Nashton."

"The Riddler," Bruce told her firmly. "He wasn't Edward Nashton anymore. Even if his body hadn't been destroyed in the fire, you acted in self-defense." He couldn't quite hide his disapproval in the words, though, which made Jeannie feel even worse. Worse because it wasn't what she should have done, but mostly because she didn't feel guilty for killing him at all. She had only been thinking of avenging her mother when she'd pulled the trigger, and realized Batman's struggle at taking the law into his own hands, the fine line between being a vigilante and a criminal. To most people, there wasn't even a difference, and the Joker knew that full well. That had been part of his plan from the start, she'd realized. He had always intended for her to kill the Riddler, and Jeannie had played right into his hands.

"The Joker can't stay locked up forever, Mr. Wayne," she murmured, meeting his hazel gaze squarely. "He'll break out somehow, no matter where he is. It might be tomorrow, it might be next year, but you can't keep him locked up. If he's there, it's because he wants to be."

A ringing silence followed her words, broken only by the sound of Jay beginning to fuss. Jeannie leaned over to unstrap him from his carrier and pulled him onto her lap. Gently bouncing him on her knee seemed to mollify him for the moment, though she could tell he would need to be fed soon. He was an easy baby, all things considered—not nearly as loud as Lily had been.

Bruce watched the two of them, mother and child, with a contemplative expression. He rubbed his jaw almost absentmindedly and Jeannie noticed a dark purple bruise under his chin. Before she could ask him about it, he crossed his arms on the table and said, "What are you planning to do?"

Jeannie was momentarily caught off-guard by his question, and took another sip of wine so she wouldn't have to respond right away. Bruce waited patiently for her answer. "I can't stay in Gotham any longer—I won't stay here any longer," she said slowly. "But I can't go back to Chicago either. I can't go back to my teaching job, even if the school would take me back." Jeannie paused, hugging Jay closer to her. Across the restaurant, Lily was attempting a handstand. "When I called my family and told them we were all right, my brother—Liam—said that we could live with them, that we would never need to worry about money again. But I can't do that. I can't put them in danger."

The Joker's final, haunting words echoed in her head: "I will always find you, tiger!" Jeannie shuddered, trying hard to pull herself back to reality.

"He doesn't care about his children," she continued shakily. "It's me that he wants. When he breaks out of Blackgate, he'll try to find me. I can't have anyone else with me when that happens." Her voice broke, and she had to look away, swallowing back tears. "I was thinking of taking them to my sister, Rebecca, and her husband. They live on the west coast, and Becky's in a wheelchair but she's always wanted children. I know they'll take Lily and Jay if I asked. They'll be safe there."

Bruce's reply was uncharacteristically soft. "And what about you?"

Jeannie sniffled and wiped her eyes with her free hand, embarrassed at breaking down in front of a stranger, no matter how trustworthy he was. "I have to run," she whispered.