Bruce stepped into the large banquette hall of the Gotham Plaza Hotel. The room had been decked out with various banners, all dedicated to promoting the campaign of the man the event was being held for. Alfred had insisted Bruce make an appearance at this function. The idea of attending a gala to get some mayoral candidate elected had sounded beyond tedious, but Alfred had decided it was important to show the son of Thomas and Martha Wayne taking an interest in local politics, so there Bruce was.

He moved over to the bar, leaning against it as he surveyed the room. He recognised a number of people dotted around it. Harvey Dent. Thomas Elliot. Captain Gordon of the GCPD was stood talking to Commissioner Loeb. Oswald Cobblepot was sat at a table with Sal Maroni and Carmine Falcone, the three of them talking in hushed tones. Of course, Vicki Vale from the Gotham Gazette was lurking, currently trying to get a quote from Mayor Hill on his thoughts on the competition.

"Well, as I live and breath." Came a voice from just outside his peripheral vision, Bruce turning to see a bald African American man in his mid to late fifties wearing a smart business suit approaching with a smile, his right hand outstretched "Bruce Wayne out in public. Didn't think I'd see the day."

"Nice to see you, Lucius." Bruce said, shaking the man by the hand "It wasn't my idea. New chief of staff figured it would do me some good to get out."

"Well, can't say I disagree. It's like you've been living in a cave…" Lucius replied with a coy grin as the bartender approached "I'll have a Jack and Coke, and Mr Wayne will have…"

"Club soda. Thanks." Bruce finished off the sentence "Trying to keep a clear head."

"That makes one of us, Mr. Wayne." Lucius said as the bartender returned with their drinks "Thank you."

Bruce picked up the sparkling water, taking a sip as he looked back out at the room. He grimaced as he saw a man, slightly taller than him with dyed blonde hair approaching. Time to make nice. First though, he needed to know one thing.

"Whose the Calvin Klein model?" He asked Lucius discretely as the man continued to approach, a smile on his face.

"Our host." Lucius replied quietly before increasing his volume slightly as the man got within ear shot "Bruce Wayne, meet Lincoln March. Mr. March fancies himself Gotham's next mayor and Mr. Wayne-"

"Thought he'd come drink some of your booze." Bruce cut him off, sipping his drink as he put on a faux slur "The vodka's not bad. Could be a little stronger."

"I'll let the bar staff know." March replied with a smile, offering Bruce his hand "Nice to meet you, Bruce. You don't mind if I call you Bruce, do you?"

"Somehow, I doubt it'd matter if I did." Bruce replied as he shook the larger man's hand, looking up at the campaign banners "A renewed Gotham? What would that look like?"

"Like a city brought out of the darkness and into the light." March said "One where a boy doesn't have to see his parents gunned down in a mugging gone wrong."

"Someone's been reading my biography." Bruce noted "Do me a favour. Skip the chapter about Gotham University. Most of it is made up sensationalism."

"I'll bare that in mind." March said, noting "You're not the only one who lost his parents at a young age, Bruce. My parents died when I was a baby. Car accident. I was raised in the system right here in Gotham and I want to give back to her. Like I say, bring her out of the darkness and into the light."

"Some people like the darkness, Mr. March." Bruce noted "What do you propose they do?"

"They learn to deal with the pecking order." March smirked slightly "Gotham is a living organism, Bruce. It's like a bird. All it needs is to be allowed to spread it's wings and soar."

Bruce resisted the urge to roll his eyes. March seemed to enjoy his metaphors, regardless of whether they were appropriate metaphors or not. If he was honest, it was taking all the self restraint Bruce had not to punch March in the face. He hated discussion of his parents' deaths, especially with people he didn't know. Unfortunately, according to his deal with Alfred, Bruce had to keep up appearances in public. That meant not letting his temper get the better of him.

"Well, here's hoping you're right, Mr. March." Bruce said, raising his glass slightly before downing the contents "If you'll excuse me, I need to find the little billionaire's room."

Bruce hurried from the conversation, making a point to cut across the dance floor to head to the bathroom, allowing him to disappear into the crowd. As he reached the door to the bathroom, he looked behind him, checking March hadn't followed. He sensed the man would have happily kept the conversation going all night, and frankly, if it went on much longer, Bruce would not be held accountable for his actions.

He stepped into the bathroom, moving to one of the cubicles, knocking on the door and hesitating for a moment, before opening the door, letting out an audible sigh of relief when the stall was unoccupied. He hurriedly closed the door behind him, locking it. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and pulling up the text messaging app, finding Alfred in his contacts and beginning writing a message.

"Can I come home now? Uncomfortable is an understatement…"

There was a long pause. That would be the old blackberry Bruce knew Alfred still used. He'd offered to buy the older man a new phone when the older man had agreed to come back, but Alfred had refused, presumably out of some kind of pride. Finally, Bruce's phone vibrated.

"It's only been one hour… Come on lad, you can do better than that!"

"I don't want to though. Come on, Alfred, come pick me up."

"You can drive yourself if you're that desperate to come home."

"… I told them I was drinking vodka. No one will let me drive even if I had the car here. Please, Alfred."

There was another long pause. The near instant reply that his request for a pick up had got betrayed the fact that Alfred could text back instantly. He was just airing Bruce out between messages.

"I'll pick you up in half an hour. If they ask, you've had too much to drink."

Bruce half smiled at the message. It was nice to know the old man had his back, even if he was the one that had originally sent Bruce to the event in the first place. He moved to unlock the bathroom stall, before he heard the sound of voices outside.

"You're sure that the drop will be safe?" One man spoke with an Italian American accent "Falcone doesn't want any screw ups here."

"Relax, Sal." A British voice with a London East End accent replied "I've already greased the wheels with Flass. He'll make sure that if anyone responds to a call, it's him."

"And if his Captain decides to tag along?" The first man questioned.

"If Gordon decides to come with Flass, he'll be the victim of an unfortunate shoot out." The second man replied "Frankly, after he tried to shut the lounge down last year, nothing would make me happier."

Inside the cubicle, Bruce narrowed his eyes. They were happy to discuss the potential murder of a GCPD Captain in the bathroom at a fundraiser. He had half a mind to go out and beat the two men to a pulp, but he knew if he did, there was no way it wouldn't come back to reflect on him. He swallowed hard, as he continued to listen.

"So when and where?" The first man asked.

"The docks. 9PM. Tomorrow night." The second man replied "That enough time?"

"It'll have to be." The first noted "I'll see you back outside, Oz."

There was the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing. Bruce waited a moment before flushing the toilet in his cubicle, unlocking the door and staggering out towards the sink, wiping his mouth as if he'd just been sick. In the mirror, he could see the short, rotund figure of Oswald Cobblepot stood facing the urinal. As Cobblepot turned around, Bruce began making a show of struggling with the tap as he attempted to wash his hands.

"Rough night?" Cobblepot said with the smallest hint of a smile "The measures out there'll get you pretty quick, kid."

"Thanks for the tip." Bruce slurred as much as he could manage "Hey, don't I know you from somewhere?"

"I don't know, Bruce Wayne." Cobblepot said, catching Bruce's eye in the mirror "Do you?"

"Y… Yeah." Bruce put on a false stammer "You're that Penguin guy that runs that lounge! Oh, what's it called…"

"The Iceberg." Cobblepot said, the smile h=having disappeared entirely "And less of the Penguin if you don't mind, lad."

"Isn't that what people call you?" Bruce questioned.

"It's what the school bullies used to call me." Cobblepot corrected "Anyone who knows what's good for them doesn't call me that. Not anymore. Now, it's Oswald, Mr. Cobblepot or Oz to my friends. Have a good night, Mr. Wayne."

"You too, Mr. Cobblepot." Bruce replied, waiting for him to leave before pulling out his phone, beginning to text Alfred.

"Looks like our project will be put to the test sooner than expected."