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Four Months Later

November 2001

To Jeannie's mild embarrassment, it took her the better part of the day before she realized it was her anniversary. She and Jack had been married two years.

Funny, it didn't feel like two years. Time had moved in odd jumps, quick spurts, and slow drags. Jeannie was no longer a naïve nineteen-year-old, but a twenty-one-year-old legal adult. However, she didn't quite feel like an adult either. She still felt trapped, like a butterfly aching to spread its wings. She supposed that some things never did change.

Her relationship with Jack was back to being relatively normal…for now, at least. Neither of them had ever mentioned the incident back in July, but Jeannie kept a closer eye on him just in case. He hadn't gone out on a "job" for months but she was still apprehensive he wasn't telling her everything.

Now that she knew it was their anniversary, she wondered if she should plan anything special. What could she do? Take him out to dinner using her nonexistent spare change? Buy him a gift, using, again, money she didn't have?

But before she could think of something reasonably affordable, the front door swung open and Jack came in, grinning from ear to ear. "I got you something," he said cryptically, indicating the cardboard box he held under one arm.

Jeannie frowned suspiciously. "You got me something? Why?"

"It's our anni-ver-sary, isn't it?" He gave her a smug, see-I-remembered look and dropped the box on the floor. When Jeannie continued looking wary, he rolled his eyes and pushed her toward it. "Go on. It won't kill you."

Hesitantly, she dropped to her knees and lifted the flaps open, bracing herself for some kind of prank. But her hand only came into contact with something soft and furry. Jeannie let out a startled shriek of surprise as the thing inside it moved and she realized she was staring at a tiny, black puppy that was shivering in fear.

"A dog?" she asked incredulously. "Where did you get it?"

"Someone dumped it into the street," Jack replied without a hint of pity. "I can take it back if you don't want it—"

"No, don't!" she nearly yelled, unable to bear the thought of him dumping an innocent, helpless puppy into the middle of a busy road. Jeannie could turn a blind eye to Jack killing humans who had done awful things, but she drew the line at animals. "How are we going to afford food for it, though?"

"With money?" he asked sarcastically. "We're not dirt-poor, Jean-nie. How do you think I could afford that necklace?" He reached out and tugged her golden necklace that he'd given her as a present during their first Christmas together.

"You mean you're not poor," she corrected. "You make twice as much as me last time I checked."

"Take as much of it as you want, then," he said carelessly. "I don't need the money."

Jeannie's jaw dropped. "You're telling me this now? I thought we kept our incomes separate!"

Jack laughed at her indignant expression. "Well, now you know."

Feeling relieved, she turned back to the puppy. It whimpered at her touch and she gently lifted up the squirming body, hugging it to her chest. A pair of inquisitive brown eyes looked up at her and a tiny stub of a tail wagged faintly. Jeannie could tell by its enormous paws that this was no Chihuahua—it would grow up to be massive.

"What breed is it?" she asked.

Jack shrugged. "Rottweiler, I think."

"Aren't they supposed to be vicious?"

"Does that thing look vicious to you?" He indicated the puppy, which was currently snuggling into Jeannie's arms.

"I suppose you're right," she said. "I suppose if we can train it properly it should be fine…is it a boy or a girl?"

"Boy," Jack mumbled.

Jeannie smiled. "We can name him Roscoe!" Seeing Jack's blank look, she explained, "It was the name of a stuffed dog I had when I was little."

She couldn't believe she actually had a pet. All those years of staring in envy as her friends bought dogs and cats and even fish, while all she had were toys, were finally gone. Now, she'd gotten an animal when she least expected it.

"Thank you, Jack," she said, standing up so she could kiss him. "Happy anniversary."

"Don't get all emotional," he warned, but deepened the kiss readily enough.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Jeannie thought happily, See, we're not always fighting.

It soon became clear that keeping a dog was not as easy as it seemed. Roscoe whined, paced, begged and barked every time he was left alone. Jack refused to let him sleep in the bedroom, so Jeannie often had to calm the puppy down at night. When they were gone during the day he would chew, rip and tear everything in sight until the apartment looked like a tornado had swept through it.

One day a week after they'd gotten him, Jeannie was staring idly out the window, lost in thought, when there was a loud, impatient knock on the door.

Jack, who was eating lunch with a fervour found only in men, sighed in exasperation and threw the door open. It revealed a hunchbacked, wrinkled old lady with blonde permed hair and a dress patterned with flowers. She carried a tabby cat in her arms. At the sight of the other animal, Roscoe began fidgeting madly and nearly had a fit. It took all of Jeannie's strength to hold him back.

"Hello, Mr. Napier," the woman said crisply. "I've had numerous complaints about that animal. Did you not know that pets are prohibited in this building?"

Jack looked like he was readying himself for a confrontation, so Jeannie quickly spoke up. "I'm sorry, ma'am," she said politely. "He got me this puppy because I've never had a pet before, so I'm just trying to figure things out…I'll train him, I promise."

At the sight of Jeannie, the lady's face softened. "I've never seen you before," she remarked. "Who are you?"

"His wife," Jeannie said. "We've been married for two years."

The lady looked even more surprised. "Really?" she asked. "I guess I should keep track of the people who live in this building…" Ignoring Jack completely, she tried to smile at Jeannie. "As long as you keep that dog quiet, I'll turn a blind eye to it. Just make sure to train it quickly."

"I promise, ma'am," Jeannie said. The old lady slowly shuffled away, muttering to herself. The second Jack slammed the door behind her, she asked, "Who was that?"

"Mrs. Burkiss," Jack muttered. "The landlady. I've only seen her once since I moved here. She's gone senile."

"She seemed nice to me," Jeannie teased.

"She feels sorry for you," said Jack. "Since you're stuck with me." He grinned.

A car zoomed by on the street outside and Roscoe let out an earth-shattering bark, wriggling out of Jeannie's arms to sprint to the window and howl.

"Should we take him for a walk?" Jeannie asked. "I have a feeling the neighbours will be running in with guns soon."

"Fine," said Jack, shoving the last of his sandwich into his mouth and tossing Jeannie her coat.

It was a cold November day, and the wind was harsh and unforgiving. Jeannie imagined it was even worse down by the water, where there were no buildings to block to the wind. She stayed close to Jack and he kept one arm protectively around her as they headed through the Narrows.

Roscoe trotted ahead of them, Jeannie holding on tightly to his leash. Emily's dog, Apollo, had died the month before and she'd given Jeannie his old leash. She had a feeling she would be getting a lot of Apollo's old things, which would luckily save them money on toys and food.

On their way past an abandoned park Jeannie spotted a harassed-looking woman with two little girls standing on a street corner. One of the girls began jumping up and down, excitedly pointing at Roscoe. The woman tried to stop her but she went tearing toward them anyway, skidding to a stop and squealing when Roscoe started barking wildly and jumping at her.

"Roscoe, stop," Jeannie said firmly, yanking him back. The girl, however, didn't seem deterred: she stuck out her hand and patted him on the head, ignoring his attempts to lick her face.

The other woman, presumably her grandmother, had reached them by now with the other girl following behind. Jeannie looked back and forth between them: the two girls were definitely identical twins. They had the same light brown hair pulled back into ponytails and their blue eyes were the same wide, round shape. Something about their faces rang a bell with Jeannie: she'd definitely never seen them before, but they looked uncomfortably familiar. Maybe she knew their relatives?

"I am so sorry," the woman apologized profusely. "She gets a little bit out of hand sometimes—Margie, don't run away like that!"

"Sorry," the girl said, though she didn't look the least bit sincere.

Her twin peered out from behind the woman's coat and asked shyly, "Can I pet him?"

"Sure," said Jeannie, and soon both girls were fussing over Roscoe.

"Would you happen to know where the funeral parlor is?" the woman asked. "I've been wandering around here for at least an hour and I'm beginning to get worried…there are so many strange people around here." She looked up at Jack and, seeing his scars, immediately looked embarrassed.

"There's one about two streets away, on Cicero," Jeannie said in an attempt to break the sudden tension. "I can show you the way, if you want."

"Yes, please," the woman said, relieved, though she glanced more than a little nervously at Jack. "I'm Mary, and this is Alice and Margaret."

Jeannie froze. "Alice and Margaret?" she choked. Suddenly, everything fell into place. "You're Mary Sharpe?"

"Yes," she said suspiciously. "Do you know me from somewhere?"

"I'm Jeannie. Harriet Kerr's younger sister," she explained, looking over again at the twins. Now the resemblance made sense. They were a perfect mixture of both their parents.

Mrs. Sharpe's face lit up. "What a coincidence! Jeannie Kerr!" She shook her hand enthusiastically, as if they were meeting all over again.

"Jeannie Napier," Jack growled. Jeannie shot him a warning look.

"Whose funeral are you going to, if you don't mind me asking?" she inquired.

Mrs. Sharpe frowned. "You mean you haven't heard? It's terribly sad…the girls don't know about it. We decided not to tell them the truth until they were older, but I still thought they should come…he was killed three days ago, you know."

"Who?"

"Zach Collingwood."

The funeral parlor was crowded with at least a hundred people, all with miserable looks on their faces. Mrs. Sharpe made her husband, who had already arrived, stay outside with the twins and Roscoe. Jeannie wasn't sure how she should feel about the whole occasion. She had never liked Zach; but she didn't want him dead either. Everyone was whispering about how it was suspected to be a mob-related death. Jeannie instantly questioned Jack, but he insisted he had no idea about what had happened.

After several minutes of standing awkwardly in the doorway, Jeannie let go of Jack's hand and ventured to the front, where a wooden coffin lay open on display.

Zach looked arrogant even in death, his eyebrows creasing in a self-important way. He was dressed in a black suit and his arms were folded over his chest. Jeannie remembered sitting at the dinner table while he was meeting her family; how she'd been so bored that she'd begged to go for a walk. That was where she'd gotten lost in the woods and Jack had rescued her. "Jack and Jill fell down the hill," she whispered, and her lips curved in a wry smile. She imagined Jack as he'd looked that night, with the black eye and numerous scrapes. "Haven't you ever heard of that one?"

"Yes, but your joke isn't funny," she'd snapped, annoyed.

Strange, how long ago that seemed. Like it was in a different life entirely.

Someone accidentally nudged her, and she fell forward, only to steady herself on the edge of the coffin. Her hand brushed Zach's skin, which felt rubbery and was ice cold. She shuddered and wiped her hand on her coat, as if that would rub the unseen dirt away.

"Fancy seeing you here, Jeannie," a deep voice said from behind her. She turned to see a smiling Bruce Wayne, looking as if he had been there all along.

He'd definitely aged well—his face had grown even more handsome. Although he was still a young man, there were traces of surprising maturity in his eyes that she supposed had always been there. "Hello, Mr. Wayne," she stammered. "It's been nearly four years. I can't believe you still remember me."

"How could I forget the girl who I still owe a dinner date?" he teased. Then he looked around and his smile disappeared. "I shouldn't be making jokes on such a solemn occasion. Forgive me."

His sudden solemnity made Jeannie chuckle. "Were you a close friend of Zach's?"

Bruce shook his head. "I never met him in person, actually. His father worked for Wayne Enterprises a number of years ago. I wanted to come pay my respects."

"Do you know how he died?" said Jeannie. Her heart sank when Bruce shook his head.

"I heard it had something to do with the mob, though. It's beginning to get out of control here…" He drifted off thoughtfully but snapped back to attention with a start. "Have you come with anyone today?"

"My husband, Jack," she answered, nodding her head at Jack, who was standing against the opposite wall with his hood pulled up, shielding his face. "I don't believe he ever met Zach either."

"He certainly looks like a cheerful guy," Bruce joked, indicating his detached position. They both laughed, and Jeannie was about to ask him what he was doing back in Gotham when someone called his name. With a mock-irritated eyeroll and a quick wave goodbye, he melted into the crowd.

Jeannie took one more look at Zach's body before heading back to Jack. "I wonder if Harriet will be upset," she murmured.

"Probably. She loved him once, didn't she?" asked Jack, showing unusual interest in someone else.

"But she's engaged now," said Jeannie. "I don't think she's thought about Zach since the twins were born."

"That kind of thing doesn't go away, tiger," Jack replied. "Now she can never see him again even if she wants to. Death is permanent."

Jeannie was briefly surprised by his uncharacteristic insight, but soon brushed it off. Years later, when she looked back on that night, she would marvel about how eerily prophetic his comment would turn out to be.