WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence, and mild sexual content.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.
Agent Thomas, Agent Hicks, James Ewing, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.
TIMELINE: After NML and before Bruce Wayne Murder?
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, I'm finally here in Los Angeles going to film school at Loyola Marymount University. I've been here in California for six weeks, in school for five and I'm loving every minute of it! It's a lot different living away from my family and in a house full of girls (seeing as how I've grown up with boys my entire life), and I have given new meaning to "poor college student."
So anyway, the whole reason for telling y'all that, is to kinda explain why I've been on a hiatus from writing. None of my stories have been getting any attention. So now that things have kinda calmed down and become fairly regular I can get on writing again. So look for updates on this and my other stories!
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!
XXXXXXXXXX
The last time Renee Montoya had a full breakfast she was still living at home. It was her brother's thirteenth birthday, if she remembered correctly. Her mother had made pancakes, bacon, eggs, toast, and hot cocoa, per her brother's request.
But that had been almost a lifetime ago.
Rolling over, Renee pulled the covers off of her head. She took a deep breath through her nose, and she swore she could almost smell the memory of that breakfast.
Then she heard the muffled hiss of eggs hitting a hot frying pan.
She shot up in bed. That wasn't a dream, nor a memory. Someone was making breakfast. And her stomach was telling her, none to subtly, that she was hungry. She stumbled out of her bedroom and froze, staring blurry eyed into her kitchen.
Harvey Dent was standing there wearing sweats and a white tee shirt, wearing neither shoes or socks, cooking, of all things. And for some odd reason, she had the feeling of belonging. This man belonged here.
"Good morning," he greeted flatly.
"Good morning," she sounded more wary than she wanted too. He chose to ignore it. "Did ... did you sleep well?" she asked, the odd nature of this conversation unnerving her.
He nodded.
Quickly running out of things to say, she gave up, and took a seat at her dinning room table. Crossing her legs on the chair, she poured herself a glass of orange juice, which was neatly sitting in the middle of the table. Within seconds, Harvey emerged from the kitchen with two plates full of food.
"Where did you—?" but she stopped, not really wanting to know where he had acquired the food. "Thank you," she decided to say instead.
He disappeared back into the kitchen, only to reemerge holding two smaller plates with cinnamon rolls on them.
"You aren't planning on killing me later, are you?"
He actually smiled. "Not today," he said sitting across the table from her.
They ate in silence, except for a quick comment on the quality of food from Renee, both not really knowing how to start a conversation, or how to continue it once it had begun.
The sound of a heavy knock at her door startled her, making her fork clank noisily onto the plate. A wave of panic crossed Renee's face, as they both stared speechless at one another. Finally she stood and crossed to the door.
Peering through the peephole her heart skipped a beat. It was Detective Bullock. Without even thinking, she just opened the door.
By the time she realized what she had just done, it was too late. Frantically, she scanned her apartment, but Harvey was nowhere in sight.
"Mmmm, smells good," Bullock was already pushing past her toward the dinning room. "So," he started, already dishing up a plate full of food. "The commish re-assigned us."
"We have to have a case to be re-assigned," Montoya diverted as she removed the extra plate, attempting not to draw any attention to it.
"Good point." He snatched a piece of bacon and shoved it in his oversized mouth.
"So ... what is it?" Luckily for her, Bullock had all of his attention on the glass of orange juice he was pouring, which allowed her to quickly scan the room for any other clues of the other occupant of the apartment.
"James Ewing, the slimy little bastard. Everyone knows what he's up to, but no one can prove it. And the DA is receiving a hefty donation from Mr. Ewing to continue with his "Clean the Streets" program. So he's no help."
"And we're supposed to ...?"
"Find probable cause and acquire an arrest warrant."
He made his way toward the tv; both food and orange juice in one hand, but stopped abruptly. There was a blanket and a pillow on the couch where Harvey had slept the night before.
Shit, she swore in her head. She hadn't caught that.
Bullock picked up the corner of the blanket on the couch. It had been obviously occupied the night before.
Montoya's jaw dropped, willing something to come out, but she couldn't think of anything that would explain why someone was sleeping on her couch without more questions.
"You really need a life," Bullock said to her surprise. "I mean, falling asleep on the couch in front of the tv is my turf. You're supposed to be the classy one, remember." He threw the blanket over the back of the couch and plopped down, dropping toast crumbs over the side of his plate.
Montoya let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
"Well, you'd better get moving. I wanna get outta here as soon as possible."
She nodded wordlessly, and couldn't get into her bedroom fast enough. She quickly searched her room, but she still didn't find Harvey. He wasn't under the bed, in the closet or out on the balcony.
"Hey Montoya!" Bullock yelled from the living room. "What's wrong with you this morning? I should be hearing the shower running!"
Finally giving up on finding her stowaway, she made her way into the bathroom.
She almost screamed, covering her own mouth just in time. Harvey was standing at his full height just inside the bathroom. He closed the door for her.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know he was coming over," she whispered, her hand over her racing heart. "You just stay in here, and after we leave you can come out."
He nodded his agreement.
Bullock pounded on the bathroom door. "Let's move it already! We've got a long day ahead of us!"
Montoya really had no desire to shower with Harvey Dent sitting in her bathroom, but she really couldn't chance him getting caught trying to leave. So she climbed behind the shower curtain and removed her clothing there.
It was the most uncomfortable shower she had ever taken. She had never felt so naked, despite the fact that she was wearing no clothing. The shower curtain, which she now realized was far too transparent, was the only thing between her and Two-Face. She tried desperately to keep her back to where she knew he was sitting, feeling the need to cover herself if she ever had to turn, even three quarters of the way around.
Finally she had gotten all of the conditioner out of her hair, and she shut off the water. She was fully aware of the deep sigh that emanated just beyond her thin curtain. She chose not to analyze it, but it didn't stop her wet skin from breaking out with goose bumps.
She reached out and grabbed her towel, grateful her mother had insisted on buying her the big fluffy ones for her apartment, and quickly wrapped it around her body, not worrying about drying herself off properly first.
Stepping out of the shower, she purposely avoided Harvey's stare. She knew he was looking at her, she could feel it. She grabbed her clothes and disappeared behind the shower curtain again. She put her clothes on as quickly as possible and finally decided she was decent enough to face the man in her bathroom.
Without saying a word, she dried her hair, and attempted to put it up in a ponytail. Her hands were shaking, why she really didn't want to answer. But she was having troubles getting the bumps out of her hair.
"Here," his soft voice was right behind her. His fingers covered hers, and she released the hairbrush. She closed her eyes and couldn't help leaning slightly back into his body. When her mother used to brush her hair it was wonderful, but it had nothing compared to this. It was sensual and relaxing at the same time.
Much too soon, he finished, and tied her hair back with an elastic. "There."
"Who are you?" she asked, staring his reflection down in the mirror.
But there was no way to answer that, so he didn't. He simply ran his hand down her neck and across her shoulder.
She shivered, and then turned to face him. "Will you be here when I get back tonight?"
"I'll try. But no guarantees."
There were a million things she should have told him, asked him, and threatened him with, but not one was coming to mind. So she just nodded her head and turned to the bathroom door.
His hand on her shoulder stopped her. "Be careful."
She covered his hand with her own, a gesture that meant more to him than it did to her. "You too." And with no more than that, she escaped the bathroom with her partner none-the-wiser.