Warnings: Some allusions to adult-y things. Arthur injured–again. Angst.

A/N: We are now back to the main story/narrative with this one.

That Sunday was spent largely in bed, but it was back to the grind on Monday. The grind that turned even the most well-intentioned to dust.

Jennifer had put in for some time off. Her boss said he would "consider it." Nothing else had been brought up all day.

When she got a chance later in the day, she called Arthur. "Hey there."

"Hi there Princess," that gentle, somewhat scratchy voice spoke over the phone.

Some part of her wanted to turn her nose up at that pet name, but a bigger part of her felt her insides turn to warm honey at hearing it. She had clearly gone soft, and yet she didn't mind.

"Hi there yourself, handsome."

Arthur smiled. The Laugh wanted to come up, but he chased it away, coughed.

"Watchya doin'?"

She sighed. "Oh, the usual. I should catch the 5:42 again tonight…."

"I'll be there."

….
Arthur was true to his word.

He took her arm. They headed up the stairs to the main level, passing by other Gothamites, a few other couples.

Jennifer didn't say anything for a little while, she was just too tired.

"Have you heard anything about your mother?"

Arthur looked glum, grim, as a lit cigarette sat perched on his lip. "I called. Nothing."

She was just about to ask about his job hunt, but that topic seemed even more depressing or possibly upsetting.

"Did you feed Paulie?"

"Oh yeah."

"He really loves you, you know."

Arthur smiled. "He likes me because I feed him," he responded, still talking around his cigarette.

She went on: "You didn't feel him sleeping curled up on your chest a lot of last night? You two made quite the pair. I almost got jealous."

Arthur smirked, shook his head, as he finally withdrew the cigarette. "Don't think you have anything to worry about."

Something briefly lurched in the pit of her stomach, but she ignored it.

….
Jennifer was granted that Wednesday off, somewhat to her surprise. They each had errands that needed to be done so they did their best to combine them that morning.

Once those were out of the way, they settled in back at his apartment. It felt eerily quiet and still with Penny not there, even though she wasn't much of a presence to begin with. Arthur seemed a bit unsure when Jennifer asked if she could turn on the TV, but ultimately said okay.

There was a three foot stack of newspapers on his coffee table, and another, older one sat in his kitchen.

"Jenny, do you ever think I'll ever work again?" he asked her quietly at one point.

She felt dread quickly fill her. She didn't want to answer that. She felt she saw things realistically, usually…but she knew she erred on the side of cynical, jaded.

There were gaps in her knowledge of her boyfriend. Things that just hadn't come up. Had he even graduated from high school? Did he have any other recent skills, besides making people smile?

She said the only thing she knew to say: "I don't know."

"'I don't know'?!" Arthur scoffed.

That caught her off guard. "Well I…don't? I'm not sure what's going to happen–"

Arthur got up off his couch quickly, went over to the small table in the corner to retrieve a cigarette. He lit it, took a deep drag.

Jennifer rose from the couch. "I don't know what you want me to say," she shrugged.

Arthur shook his head, took another drag. "Something encouraging, perhaps?"

"Arthur, I'm not the cheery, always-smiling-girlfriend type and you know that."

"Yeah…." He turned around and took yet another drag as he eyed her with a hard look.

She shook her head this time. "Maybe I should go…." She started to walk toward the front door, but she stopped cold when she heard the Laugh.

She turned around to see Arthur laughing, pain twisting his face, his arms wrapped himself, trying to hold it back, control it.

Jennifer walked up to him hesitantly. Reached out a hand to touch his arm gently. Something in him jolted right before the Laugh started to subside.

He was breathing unsteadily as she took him into her arms. He hugged her back tightly.

"I'm just so tired…of trying." His voice broke. She stoked his hair, squeezed him closer. "It's okay, it's okay," she whispered over and over.

"Was late on the rent this month," Arthur admitted. "Not late, technically. Haven't paid. I'm surprised just in the time we've been here the phone hasn't gone off at least a few times. Landlord keeps calling."

She had wondered about that, but it was yet another thing she hadn't been brave enough to inquire about.

"I told him the first time that my mother was in the hospital, but he just laughed at that. 'She's not the one making the money over there.' I didn't know what to say."

Jennifer didn't know what to say, either. She just continued to hold him. She could feel his body quake, and felt tears fall into her hair.

Sometime later, they both drew back. She was about to offer some financial assistance again, but somehow she knew that wouldn't go over well. It also occurred to her that she couldn't really afford to pay the rent for two apartments. Maybe one month, but….

A simultaneously better and worse idea occurred to her. "Maybe…you could…move in with me?"

Arthur studied her face. A dry chuckle escaped from him as he shook his head.

"What?"

"You look like someone just told you that you're about to have a root canal."

Shit.

"Sorry." She shook her head, pursed her lips as she looked away. "I'm just, used to being alone and–"

Arthur held up a hand. "It's okay. I don't think it would work, once Penny comes back from the hospital. She'd have to shack up with Paulie, or she'd have to take your bed and the three of us would have to take your couch."

They both broke into smiles and some natural, comfortable laughter. It broke up and dissipated some of the tension in the air.

Arthur took a deep breath. "I'll just keep trying, I guess."

Jennifer also took a deep, steadying breath. She glanced over at the papers, rushed over to them and picked up the first one off the three foot stack. Flipping through it, something in the society pages caught her eye. "Arthur, come here."

Arthur stepped up to her. "What is it?"

"Look, it says here Thomas Wayne's going to be at this charity gala this Saturday at Wayne Hall, at this screening of Charlie Chaplin's Modern Times."

They both looked at each other and smiled.

"That might just work," Arthur admitted.

….

He met her at her train every day that week, even the later ones. They were mostly quiet on the walks home.

"How is this boyfriend of yours? Ya know, I'm starting to shop for Christmas and I wondered, ya know, if we should include him in your Christmas package we send? You fixin' to come down this year, maybe? Think you might bring him? Is he allergic to anything?…" Jennifer kind of regretted ever mentioning anything to one of the few cousins she still spoke to on any regular basis back home.

The holidays–the family ones: Thanksgiving, Christmas, and to a lesser extent New Year's–felt like a broken concept to her, particularly since Grams died. The idea of exchanging mostly meaningless gifts that would be thrown out or given away within a few weeks and eating rich food to oblivion and smiling through her family's bullshit all made her a little sick.

She had been just fine observing them on her own–just her and Paulie. She had been happy putting up some modest decorations in her Gotham apartment; cooking a small roast for her and her fur baby to enjoy; downing some hot chocolate while watching whatever old holiday movies and specials she wanted; gifting one or two small, nice things to her friends; saying hi and maybe giving her neighbors cards, but not really needing any other human interaction.

Then along came Arthur.

They hadn't discussed this topic much, but she got the impression his holidays as a child were threadbare, empty. Everyone deserved to feel the magic of the holidays at some point in their lives; Jennifer had been fortunate to know that feeling when she was younger.

She wanted to give him that magic now. She wanted to bring him in to share her traditions, however small.

Jennifer felt relatively safe at that point saying things to her cousin or thinking about holidays spent together, even though such actions in the past often seemed to have the unfortunate result of jinxing the relationship. It felt as if their relationship had reached a comfortable plateau, all things considered. They didn't talk as much; just some casual chatter, occasional stories, jokes. She let him vent when he needed to, which wasn't too often. If he needed to talk, he'd talk. She didn't push when he didn't want to. She didn't push when he'd say he needed air and would step out for a bit. She just let things…be as they were.

Some things were changing, though. He was becoming so much more attentive, trying and offering in whatever way he could to do anything that would make life easier, however small. He physically clung to her more, whenever they were together. Arms around her as she made dinner. Always hand-in-hand when walking around the city. Huddled close to her when she were sitting in bed reading or on the couch watching TV. She didn't mind these changes at all.

In the dark of the night, he sought her out more and more. Sometimes even in the bright of day. One particularly vigorous bout standing up against her poor old kitchen fridge left her pretty sore for the better part of a day. She hadn't mind these changes at all, either.

….

It was very subtle, very gradual, but he felt the difference.

He was off most of his meds now. Just scraps left to rattle here and there in their orange bottles, like depressing maracas. Eventually he'd forgotten to take even the remnants, though.

It was freeing in a way, not having to live by the arms of a clock. Not just in terms of unemployment, but also those damn pills. A carefully laid out schedule for swallowing each one, now gone.

Mentally, it was more of a toss up. To an extent it felt as if this gauze that had been wrapped tightly around him had been peeled away. He was freer, more able to move around. He could see clearer now. But it exposed raw wounds to the harsh air, his eyes to blinding light. It wasn't as comforting as having the bandages wrapped around and around, held tight, secure. It was so much freer, but so much more uncertain, terrifying.

He wasn't entirely sure he hated it.

He didn't tell her. He didn't want her to worry. Jennifer had so much stress from work and taking care of him…. His dumping all this on her would just make himself even more of a burden. She deserved all the happiness and love in the world. He didn't want to impose himself on her at all.

….

Arthur dressed in the only good clothes he had–which were basically the newest of his regular clothes–that Saturday evening as he prepared to head to Wayne Hall.

"Do you know how you're going to get in?"

Arthur shrugged. "Wing it, I guess. Figure out some way in."

She looked at him, brushed some hair from his face. "Good luck."

He kissed the corner of her mouth. "Thanks." She could tell he was nervous. She wished she could have gone with him, but he said he wanted, needed, to do this on his own.

"I'll be here, waiting."

Jennifer spent the rest of the evening waiting anxiously at home. Hoping and praying that the night went well for Arthur. She switched to a local channel who covered a protest happening outside the Wayne Hall charity benefit, which only added to her worry.

She had fallen asleep at one point on the couch. A slow, steady pounding woke her from her sleep. "What the…." Groggily, she rose from her couch and approached her door.

She opened the door to see Arthur there, facing away from her.

"Arthur….?"

He turned and she gasped at seeing his nose bloodied, maybe broken.

She pulled him in quickly. Made him sit down at her dining table before going to retrieve an ice pack and a damp wash cloth.

Jennifer inspected the damage visually. "How did this happen?"

He didn't answer right away, which was fine. She gave him time, air. As she cleaned away the blood with the washcloth dampened with warm water, she could see he was holding back tears, sobs really.

When his face was clean, she picked up the ice pack and applied it carefully to his battered nose. He hissed but didn't try to remove it or swat her away.

She shook her head. "You get hurt more often than my punk friends who deliberately try to injure themselves."

A single, dry laugh. Jennifer braced herself–why did I have to say anything? she thought, cursing herself–but nothing else came.

She took one of Arthur's hands and led it to this his face. "Hold on to this." Arthur did as instructed for a few minutes, but eventually he took off the ice pack, dropped it onto the table.

"He told me I was adopted."

Jennifer was confused, not expecting to hear that. "What?"

Arthur leaned forward, resting his elbows onto his knees. "I found him in the restroom. He said, "'I'm not your dad, and you're adopted.' I just wanted a hug, to be acknowledged. Just…." Arthur ran his hand over his face.

Adopted? She weighed that possibility. Had Penny been married once? Jennifer always had the impression she never had been. And it would have been impossible for a single woman, of little means and questionable stability, to have adopted a child back in the early 1950s.

She looked at Arthur. He shared some traits with Penny, arguably, but there wasn't an overwhelming resemblance. Then again, did he really look like Thomas Wayne, either?

Jennifer's head was swimming. She rose from her seat quickly. Paced the room a bit. She didn't entirely have all her reasons lined neatly up, but she was pretty sure: "That's bullshit, Arthur."

Arthur didn't say anything. Just glared down at the ground.

Then it hit her like a ton of bricks. She stopped pacing and turned around. "Arthur, who hit you?"

When she first saw him, it struck her that the damage was probably caused by a body guard, or maybe Arthur got into a tussle with one or more of the protesters outside the event.

The Laughed edged its way toward the surface. "Who do you think–ha, HA–" It burst forth with full force. She felt sick to her stomach, as anger and horror bubbled up in her.

She held out a hand to him. "Arthur…."

He rose quickly. Without saying anything, he rushed to her door, flung it open, and left.