Location: Gotham City
Date: August 20

Katharine's apartment was too quiet for her liking. Ordinarily she was of the mindset that silence was golden, but not that night. No, that night she needed noise more than ever. After the Dan debacle she didn't want to think her thoughts. Luckily it was nearing eleven, which meant she would soon have another man to keep her company . . . an ever-reliable, copper-haired funnyman to be precise.

On her way to the bedroom she liberated her lithe body from the snug minidress and tossed the skimpy frock into the hamper. Her strapless bra and thong followed to be replaced imminently by her favorite white camisole and gray yoga pants. While rustling through the dresser in search of her chosen nightclothes she came upon some of the clothing she'd been provided by Bane's retinue. With a heavy sigh she pushed those pieces aside until she found the items she was looking for, dressed, and headed into kitchen for a light snack. Settling on fruit, she peeled an orange and grabbed a bottle of ice-cold, black cherry flavored water before going to the living room for a much-needed comedic escape. Hoping to lose herself in the jocular performance and forget the world for half an hour, she turned on the television and cranked up the volume.

As she shoveled the citrus treat into her eager mouth piece by juicy piece, she looked and listened with enthusiasm as the irreverent host poked fun at an exceptionally over-the-top actor who, surprisingly enough, actually had an Academy Award under his belt. Her decision to indulge in a quick channel surf during the first commercial break was met with regret when she came across a programming advertisement on one of the less reputable networks.

"As the world waits on pins and needles for news of the terrorist scourge, one question must be answered: Who . . . is . . . Bane?"

The narrator's melodramatic voice paused after each word as photographs of Bane taken during the carnage in Gotham were shown one after another in succession and accompanied by a menacing musical composition.

"Join our elite team of super sleuths as they put their investigative skills to the ultimate test and attempt to unravel the mystery of America's most infamous criminal mastermind in our exclusive exposé Behind the Mask. Friday at ten, nine Central only on TruBlu ."

She couldn't help rolling her eyes at the hokey trailer, but she did so in good spirits, for she was quite confident that their so-called team of experts would have a difficult time solving an episode of Scooby-Doo let alone figuring out the inner workings of the League of Shadows or accurately identifying its members. Of course that actuality would not stop the general public from watching the shameless spectacle of conjectural nonsense; it was customary for the masses to eat up whatever the media fed them. In fact, she would probably tune in herself if only to get a few good laughs at the expense of their idiotic postulations.

She did take umbrage at the station's accusation that Bane was the engineer of the failed destruction when she knew damn well he wasn't. Talia's treachery had been revealed to the world yet her protector was still bearing the brunt of the blame thanks to unidentified spin doctors working behind the scenes on behalf of either the siren herself or a devotee who wanted to downplay her role in the atrocity. The authorities, including the GPD and FBI, had come to the asinine conclusion that the phony philanthropist had been brainwashed by Bane due to her harrowing history with him. Their deduction didn't come as much of a shock to Katharine— it would be far easier for people to see a masked man as the face of evil rather than a beautiful woman—but it incensed her all the same.

Talia had defenders she did not deserve, and she was dead and guilty. Bane was alive and less guilty with no one to speak for him. It was so unfair. How Katharine wished she could be a voice for her love. She would shout what he had done for her from the rooftops if she had her way, but it could never be. Telling her truth would likely do more harm than good. The powers-that-be would likely disregard her claims, label her a terrorist sympathizer, and perhaps even place her under surveillance for good measure. She could deal with the first and second prospects; the third was what really dissuaded her. In the unlikely but still possible event that Bane ever did reach out to her, she could not run the risk of anyone, especially someone in law enforcement, finding out about it. Moreover, her testimony would lend credence to the theory of his already widely-assumed survival, and that was a Pandora's box she could not open.

To hell with what those assholes say. I know the real truth.

Having gotten sidetracked by the preview, Katharine ended up missing the last half of Conan's monologue. With no interest in the cavalcade of celebrity guests that would follow, she flipped off the power and retreated to her lonesome boudoir. She felt the tears forming behind her eyes. It had been weeks since she had succumbed to her emotions. Half of her wanted to maintain the dry streak, the other half wanted to curl up in bed and bawl like a baby. She'd been on her own for over a month, and she still felt as hollow as the first day without him. There were times when she actually felt worse, that evening being a perfect example.

Despite the intensity of her feelings, she'd often wondered if her love for Bane had been born of a desperate need to both love and be loved similar to her previous relationships. That theory had been permanently laid to rest by her aborted dalliance. Dan Warner was an attractive, charming, and successful man whom she had been with of her own volition yet she had turned him down in the end, which confirmed that she was not a woman who would check her morals at the door and settle for any man who showed interest in her. It also proved that she hadn't fallen for her savior turned captor turned lover simply because he had been her only available option; she fell for him because of the man he was, the person he had hidden from the world but shown to her. The selfish part of her wanted to be the only one who knew the real Bane whereas the altruistic one wanted him to rescue a busload of people from a bomb or some other comparable calamity.

Now that the verdict was in, Katharine found herself at a crossroads. She could either dwell on the past—a course she had advised Bane against at the cabin—or blast full-speed ahead into the future. Choosing the latter, she bolted to the bureau and extracted her internment attire from various drawers and hauled the articles to the garbage bin in the kitchen. Once there she paused, remembering that the wardrobe she held in her arms was the only tangible evidence of her time with Bane. Well, that and a dozen books missing their pages.

The faux literature was one thing; the clothes were quite another. She had worn the minimalist garb exclusively for five months. For nearly half a year the shirts and pants had been her only possessions, and she had gone to great lengths to care for them because she did not know when or even if she would be given new ones. So ingrained in her was the need for their preservation that she had not worn any of the garments since her departure from Romania. She was still treating them as if she needed them even though she didn't. When she arrived back in the city she purchased a more balanced wardrobe. All in all she'd dropped nearly a grand in total, but thanks to Bane's generosity that wasn't even a drop in the bucket.

And there he was again. All thoughts really did seem to lead back to him sooner or later. Maybe disposing of the mementos would be the first step of putting the past behind her and getting on with her life. She hovered over the hooded trash can for about a minute until marching back to the bedroom and stuffing the needless collection back into its container. She couldn't throw the clothes away; the act would be symbolic of throwing Bane away, which was something she could not bring herself to do.

Why not? He threw you away.

Hoping the insecure voice in her head would take a hike, she dismissed its hurtful allegation.

He did not throw me away. He let me go.

But you didn't want to leave.

"He wanted me to have a better life."

And how's that working out for you?

Refusing to respond to her craziness a second time, she showered, brushed her teeth, and went to bed.


August 21

The day immediately following the implosion of his relationship, Will's mind was on his estranged girlfriend who, thanks to him, was enjoying a cushy, clothed gig a few stair flights below him at the Eighteenth Precinct of the Gotham Police Department. He couldn't help regretting the strings he had pulled to get her the job in the wake of their falling out, but he was grateful that he would not have to deal with her on a daily basis due to the stationary nature of her position.

He regretted their end, especially the way it went down, but being a man of pride as he was he was not about to play second fiddle to a friend, moreover a lying and possibly conniving one. Believing it was too soon to abandon all hope, he decided to keep his distance rather than confronting her right off the bat. He would plead his case, but he would give her time to cool off first. She'd told him she loved him mere days earlier therefore he could not believe she would be able to discard him so easily. They weren't over. She was angry, hurt maybe, but not lost. He would be able to smooth it over; all he needed was time. Meanwhile he would be free to spend his spare time conducting the investigation that had the potential to either make or break him.


At quarter to six, Katharine was desperately trying not to go postal on a particularly deserving patron.

"I specifically remember stating that I did not want lettuce on my cheeseburger! Didn't I say that, boo-boo?" the robust, artificially bronzed woman who Katharine compared unfavorably to an Oompa-Loompa asked her equally sizable, pubescent offspring.

"Sure did, moo-moo," the kid agreed with a supercilious smirk on his chocolate syrup-spattered face.

"There you have it. You must be deaf or dumb. Which is it, Katharine?" she squinted in order to read her abused server's nametag.

"My apologies, ma'am. I'll fix it right away."

"Well, I hope it won't be too much of a challenge," she cracked much to her progeny's amusement. "That's a mighty fancy name for a bimbo waitress, isn't it boo-boo?"

The portly pair giggled as Katharine hurried to the kitchen. The dreadful woman and her spawn were boldfaced liars; she had not been given any special instructions until after the meal had been prepared and presented. Only then did the gargantuan remember her aversion to lettuce.

Katharine would have likened the woman to a cow, but that would have been disrespectful to the bovine species. She would have derived immense pleasure from informing the behemoth that her waistline would stand to benefit from a little more roughage and a lot less meat in her diet, but that would have cost her a job she despised. With no alternative, she counted to ten, removed the undesired topping, and took the dish capable of inducing a heart attack back to its owner.

"Sorry about that."

"I should hope so. How about another hot fudge sundae, boo-boo?"

"Only if she don't mess it up," the little brat glanced at Katharine contemptibly.

"Think you can manage it, Kathy?"

"Coming right up," she bit her tongue and envisioned dumping the dessert all over the mother in a last-ditch effort to retain her composure.

As she scooped the imp's ice cream, she was joined by Amy, much to her chagrin.

What a glorious day this is turning out to be!

"I heard that hag giving you grief," the blonde observed.

"At least I managed to make someone's day."

"You think I'm that much of a bitch?"

"I know you don't like me very much, though exactly what I did to earn your animosity is beyond me."

"I'm a bit . . . territorial. It's one of my flaws, always has been. Be that as it may, we're on the same team, and as your coworker I can't condone the shit she's pulling."

"Thanks."

"Matter of fact, I think she's about due for a little payback. It is your table though so I'll need your permission first."

"Permission for what?"

"What do you think the chances are that she'll see the error of her ways and leave you a nice tip?"

"Slim to none. Why?"

"Watch and learn."

With a devilish grin, Amy grabbed a carafe of cold water and strode out to the service area.

Katharine did as Amy suggested and viewed the scene from the circular window in the kitchen door. Pretending to slip, Amy spilled the pitcher all over the rude customer, who proceeded to flail around in a most hilarious fashion. The drenched woman demanded to speak to the manager at once only to be further flabbergasted when Amy masqueraded as the supervisor on duty and informed the woman that she would pay her bill in spite of her protests because of her deplorable treatment of the restaurant's employee. The woman continued to squawk until a fellow customer attested to her obnoxious behavior, which caused her to flee the establishment in embarrassment. When it was all over Amy returned to the kitchen in unadulterated triumph.

"Truce?" Amy extended her hand.

"You had me at same team," Katharine smiled and accepted the coed's hand for a shake, and the two women exploded in uproarious laughter.

And so it was for the second time in her life Katharine learned that sometimes people were not always what they seemed.

The next hour was devoid of conflict, and she and Amy embarked on their newfound amicable coexistence under the same roof. Shortly after seven, someone very familiar to Katharine waltzed through the double doors. Having already been spotted, she approached the selected booth.

"Jane."

"Hey, katydid. You got a minute?"

"I'm taking my first break, Amy," she informed her colleague.

"Go for it."

Katharine sat down across from her friend.

"I was going to call, but I wanted to see you in person."

"Why's that?"

"Do you really have to ask?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"The way I acted at the club last night was . . . it was wrong," Jane admitted and cleared her throat. "I had no right to get off my ass like that."

"I'm sorry my decision doesn't sit well with you."

"It's fine. None of my business."

"That's true, which is why I don't understand why you got so upset over it."

"I got upset over it because it's a chance for us to do something fun together, and you don't want to."

"I told you why."

"I know. I thought about it after I left, and I realized I wasn't fair. I'm sorry. Can you forgive me for going all super bitch on you?"

"Of course I can," Katharine smiled.

"I can't tell you what a load off that is," Jane exhaled in relief. "My paranoid side was afraid you'd do another disappearing act."

"I'm not going anywhere, Jane. You don't have to worry."

"Easier said than done."

"What does that mean?"

"I regret most of what I said last night. But I think one thing does hold water."

"What?"

"I don't feel like I know you anymore."

"I think you're complicating it a bit. There's not much to me, really."

"All I know about you can be found out through a background check. I think a friendship should be based on a little more than that."

"What do you want to know?"

"Your hopes, dreams, secrets. I want to know your third-grade teacher's name, your all-time favorite song, celebrities you'd like to sleep with, foods that make you want to upchuck. I want to know it all. I want us to be the girls whose friendship makes other people green with envy."

"That was a mouthful."

"I know you have a tendency to keep people at arm's length, but I would really like it if you let me in a little."

"We met at a really . . . weird time. I think you, of all people, can understand that the trivialities you just mentioned took a backseat to more important matters back then."

"Absolutely, but it's over now, Katie. The danger has been lifted, all is well again."

You call this well.

"So what's the problem?"

"The problem is I don't know the person I call my best friend."

"Okay. My dream is to be a wildlife conservationist, third-grade teacher was Mrs. Stinson, favorite song is Just Like Heaven by The Cure, I would've given my virginity to Ralph Fiennes, and I can't stand onions or sauerkraut. How's that?"

"It's a start," Jane beamed.

"We'll get there, but not in fifteen minutes. We'll pick this up later."

"So we're good? No hard feelings?"

"Yes and no, in that order."

"All right. Well, I'm not keen on having my best friend wait on me so I'm gonna skedaddle. Call me?"

"Promise."


August 24

The first Friday after her breakup, Jane was wrapping things up in the records room. She had gone the entire week without seeing Will, a relatively impressive feat considering they worked on the same premises. Considering he had neither called nor come by her apartment, she figured she must have gotten her point across. Still, she was saddened by how things had panned out between them, hated the fact that he had chosen his obsession with Kate, or rather Bane, over her. It felt as if she had not been enough for him, and that was perhaps the hardest pill to swallow.

Will had been a major part of her life for over four months. At her lowest lows he had been there to pick her up and dust her off. He had given her the strength to keep going when she'd felt utterly hopeless.

And now he was gone.

She felt as if someone had ripped a hole in the very fabric of her being. She had her fair share of boyfriends, but she'd never felt loved by any of them. Only with Will had she sensed that depth of devotion.

Determined to shake off her despondence, she closed up shop with the hope that she would be able to find something to take her mind off him over the weekend. As she exited her nook, she was stunned to find the reason for her rue seated on a bench next to the elevator.

"Long day?" Will posed.

"Long week."

"You can say that again."

"Do you need something in there?"

"No, I just wanted to say hi to the most gorgeous records clerk who ever lived."

"That's too bad, you missed her."

"I've missed her terribly."

"Will . . ."

"What?"

"I don't think we should do this."

"What are we doing?"

"Dragging this out. I think a clean break would be best for the both of us."

"Speaking of best, this isn't the best place to talk. How about we continue this chat at my place?"

"That's not a good idea."

"Why not?"

"Because we're not a couple anymore."

"Is that really what you want, Jane?"

"No, it isn't, but you've given me no choice."

"Like I said, it's not safe to talk here. I'm gonna go home and hope I don't have to spend the whole night by myself."

"I'm not coming to your apartment, Will."

"My invitations stands."

"I wouldn't wait up if I were you," Jane said somberly and boarded the elevator alone.

By nine that evening it was painfully clear to Will that Jane was not going to show. Infuriated by her refusal to at least try to work out their differences, he sought her out at her apartment. He broke the speed limit all the way to his destination, one of the many perks of being a member of Gotham's finest.

"Who is it?" she asked from behind her door.

"Your not-so-secret admirer."

"Go home, Will."

"Not until we've talked."

"There's nothing more to say, now please leave."

"I've got plenty to say so just open the door."

Jane did, but she kept the latch on.

"Will, I'm not going to ask you again."

"What are you gonna do, Jane? Call the police?"

"I will if I have to."

"You said you loved me. Were they just words blowing in wind? Do you take love so lightly?"

"I meant what I said, but I can't handle this anymore. I can't handle you," she attempted to reseal the door.

"What's my crime, Jane?" Will asked and prevented her from shutting him out. "Wanting the truth? You're going to punish me for that?"

"I'm not punishing you, I'm simply removing myself from a bad situation."

"Oh, I'm a bad situation now? I wasn't a bad situation when I was saving you from the loony bin or getting you a decent job," he reminded.

"You are losing yourself to this obsession. I tried to pull you back, but I failed. I can't just stand by and watch it happen."

"Please just give me ten minutes, Jane. If after that you still want me to leave, I'll go quietly, and I'll never bother you again. You have my word."

Despite her reservations, Jane let him in. What he said in regard to her was true; he had done a great deal for her, and she thought it only fair that she hear him out before cutting all ties. The conversation went in circles as it tended to do whenever the issue of Kate Lowry was in the mix, and they were getting nowhere fast. Frustrated by their lack of progress, Jane stood up and paced for several seconds before reseating herself on the sofa at an appropriate distance from him.

"Why can't you just humor me a little? If I'm wrong, no harm done. But if I'm right, if I am onto something here . . ."

"This is exactly what I'm talking about. It's like you've convinced yourself you're right because you're too afraid of being wrong."

"Then give me the chance to find out one way or another."

"You're already stalking her. What else do you have up your sleeve?"

"I need you to honor our agreement, for your sake as well as mine."

"Whatever she's hiding, it's not what you're thinking. There's got to be a logical explanation for why she lied about being in the hospital."

"So find it, and we'll put all this behind us and laugh about it over dinner someday."

"At this point I doubt you'd believe me even if I did. You have tunnel vision where she's concerned."

"I'm completely objective."

"That's a stretch."

"If you were to wear a wire, well that would put an end to any doubts on my end."

"Forget it, Will. That's not happening."

"You don't have to wear it every time you see her, just occasionally."

"Was I speaking Greek? I said no!"

"Why?!"

"You don't get it, do you? I don't want to be in the middle of this witch hunt of yours, and I'm not going to be! You want my bottom line? Here it is. I think you are unglued. You need to take a step back and really look at yourself and what you are doing."

"Listen to me, Jane . . ."

"I have listened, and you sound like a crazy person. You listen to me now. If you don't stop this insanity, I'm going straight to Ross. If it means my job so be it."

"Is that a threat?"

"No, it's a warning. Stay away from me, stay away from Katie, or I'll take this sordid story up to the tenth floor and let them sort it out."

The nerve of his now ex-girlfriend apparently knew no bounds. After everything he had done for her, she saw fit to repay his kindness with impudence and intimidation. He should have let her rot in her self-imposed prison instead of coming to her aid. So ireful was he that he would have clocked her had she been a man. He couldn't hit her, but he could put her in her place. He had to if he wanted to keep his job.

"That's awful tough talk coming from someone with a known mental history, especially my very own court-appointed ward," he said with sickening assurance as he slowly rose from the couch.

Jane's heart leapt into her throat.

"You want to play hardball, Jane? Be my guest, but I guarantee you I'm a hell of a lot better at it than some dropout stripper."

"What are you saying?"

"Since you've decided there are no depths to which you won't sink, I'll have to level the playing field. Let me spell it out for you. If you breathe a word of this to Ross or anyone else, I'll make damn sure that losing that pencil-pusher job of yours is the least of your worries. You ruin my life, I'll devote what's left of the wreckage to paying you back in spades."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" she gasped in horror. "Is this who you really are?"

"Funny thing about me; someone pushes my back against a wall, I push right back. You'd best keep that in mind before doing anything rash."

"Get out," she whispered with clenched fists as tears fell from her eyes.

"You started this, Jane. Remember that. I never wanted . . ."

"Get out!" she screamed.

Once he was gone Jane hurried to the door, locked it, and sank to the floor in despair.


August 25

Will's first stop the night after his showdown with Jane was Max's graffiti-laden fortress in the Narrows to pick up the recording equipment he'd requested from the boy wonder earlier in the week. When that chore was done he would stop by The Throwback to make sure Kate was working before heading over to her residence and inconspicuously planting the tiny devices in every room under cover of darkness.

"I don't see why you're pestering me with this anyway," the hacker grumbled. "Can't you get this kind of stuff from the department?"

"If you must know, my purpose isn't professional."

"So who're you stalking?" Max asked as he dug out the requisitioned gadgets from one of the many cardboard boxes in his basement.

"I'm simply conducting a covert investigation based on circumstantial evidence."

"Allow me to rephrase then. Who are you investigating?" he asked and made quotation marks with his hands.

He had to give Max something, for he knew the geek wouldn't quit until he got a viable explanation.

"I think my girlfriend might be cheating on me, and I want to find out one way or the other. Satisfied?"

"And here I thought it was going to be interesting. You're pathetic," Max opined.

"Yeah well, the feeling's mutual."

"When can I expect to have my merchandise back?"

"When I'm done with it."

"When might that be?"

"Never knew you were such a ball buster, Miles."

"Never knew you were such a voyeur, William."

"A few weeks tops."

"You break, you buy."

"You'll get everything back in tip-top shape, don't worry."

"Hope you find what you're looking for. Or not."

"Much appreciated, Max," Will stressed the young man's preferred name and made his second stop of the day.

He was pleased to find the subject in question toiling the night away at the kitschy diner. He suspected she would be there until at least ten, which would leave him ample time to breach her humble abode, install the bugs, and get home to catch the Gazelles game. Just because he had time didn't mean he wanted to waste any so to that end he hustled over to her apartment and easily gained entry by using his driver's license to jimmy the unreliable deadbolt, a rudimentary but trusty trick of the criminal trade.

Working quickly, he hid the minuscule microphones in places no one would ever look—under a cabinet in the kitchen, behind the television stand in the living room, under the nightstand in the bedroom, behind the commode in the bathroom, and atop a door frame in the sole hallway. Besides, he was not expecting to need them for very long. She was guilty of something, and he knew all too well that guilty people were surprisingly lousy at keeping their secrets even if their very lives depended on it. She would talk to someone eventually, and home sweet home was the most likely place for that to happen because she would feel safer there than anywhere else. All he had to do was listen and wait.

Never one to squander an opportunity, Will poked around once he finished setting up his surveillance. After tackling what was out in the open he went into bloodhound mode and checked for possible hiding spots not obvious to the naked eye. He came up empty there as well. There was no evidence of illegality in her home, nothing that established a connection to Bane. However, the same could not yet be said for her safe deposit box.

Whatever the vault contained was the key to the mystery, he was certain of it. His badge allowed him to do many things civilians could not, but it was not enough to permit him access to her bank holdings. That would require a warrant, and a warrant was beyond his scope of achievement. If only he'd known a judge who would sign an order and look the other way. If he did find something concrete, how he had obtained it would not matter; he would enjoy impunity courtesy of the all-powerful FBI if his findings led to the arrest of their most wanted fugitive. He might even make sergeant when all the smoke cleared. Or maybe the Feds would want to recruit him into the big leagues. Although he was no fan of the Bureau, he would jump at the higher salary and superior benefits a governmental position would offer. And last but not least, Jane would come crawling back on her hands and knees. Though the notion delighted him, he doubted he would want anything to do with the meddlesome minx after the hell she'd put him through.


Author's Note: If I do say so myself, shit is hitting the proverbial fan. I'm still ironing out some kinks in the final chapters, but we are getting there. Big bear hugs to all the story's supporters as always. Reviews are love. It sure would be nice to crack 500 by the end :)