Disclaimer: Here's where henchman #2 comes in. But ownership hasn't changed. Sigh.

Chapter Eight: "Fireworks and Firefights"

The music stopped, and he was grounded. The spinning dwindled down, and his thoughts leaked back into his mind, his senses refocusing sharply to compensate for his lack of foresight. There was a popping sound, and Bruce turned his head to watch a waiter uncork a bottle of champagne.

"Mm, you're quite a lovely dancer, Mr. Wayne." Bruce turned back to Talia, as if seeing her for the very first time. Another song had begun, but he had had enough. He turned away from her, but she caught his arm before he could walk off. "Don't leave now, this is my favorite song."

"I'm sorry, Ms. al Ghul, but I think I need a rest."

"Please, Bruce. One more dance," it was his name that caught his attention, and he turned to peer into intensely pleading eyes. He couldn't say no.

As she pulled his arms back around her slim waist, his vision shot out across the crowd and he found Alfred, waiting at the edge of the room, his eyes and ears when his hands were full. Like now…

Alfred nodded and disappeared, apparently seeing something in Bruce's eyes that he hadn't been aware of communicating. What had he seen? Fear? Talia began moving, and he turned again to focus on the steps. He expected to be swept off into never land again, but this time felt nothing. What had happened? The music and steps this time were dull and necessary, like he was committing himself to chore work, nothing like the unnerving euphoric dream he had experienced earlier.

"Have you planned something special for this evening?" He asked her, his low voice rumbling underneath the melody.

"You mean besides the fireworks?" she murmured, and then said no more. There was a thoughtful crease between her brows, and Bruce knew she was hiding something. He sighed and stopped dancing, withdrawing himself from her arms, and she let him.

"I can't stop you from hating me. But I will stop you from putting these people in danger."

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you care, what with you're night job," she ranted, her arms crossed over her chest. "But sometimes I wonder if you fight in vain within yourself more than you fight your enemies."

"How did this predicament develop in your mind?" He wondered aloud, slightly perturbed that she could read so far into him when he couldn't even figure her out.

"You act so callous to your peers sometimes," she pointed out as if it had been so obvious, "but then you turn around and become the ultimate vigilante. Do you really care, or are you just desperately searching for appreciation from a family you lost?" She stepped in close to him, her hand extending to benevolently caress his cheek. "How did I find a piece of my soul within you?"

Bruce caught her hand and gripped it tight, like her touch had burned him far more than it truly had. "You tread this path far too lightly, there are things inside you couldn't begin to imagine."

Talia took back her hand; face pained "You are not an island, though you may wish it."

Bruce turned to walk away, and this time Talia did not grab his arm. As he retreated he responded over his shoulder, "You have no idea what I wish."

Though part of me wishes you did.

Elizabeth stood up from the table she had been sitting at to confer with Bruce as he approached her. She looked worried, as if she had sensed the tension that fell from his shoulders like stardust.

But that wasn't it.

"Mr. Wayne, I may be over reacting, but I felt some tremors underneath the floorboards, and--." Bruce whirled around to search the spot he had left Talia, but the lady was gone.

"I've got to go." He disappeared into the throng, leaving Elizabeth standing alone and abashed.

Alfred pressed the compound of notes on the glossy keys of the baby grand piano that had replaced the antique they had lost in the fire. The mechanism slid the bookshelf open and he darted through before it closed behind him automatically. He found himself in a hidden compartment used for stocking various alcohols, a detour for anyone who deduced the harmonic pattern that unlocked the door. He reached into the cobwebs on the shelf to his right, wincing as the sticky strands wrapped around his fingers. He knocked over a half empty bottle that remained unlabeled and questionable looking, revealing a recess in the woodwork. Alfred applied pressure, and the shelf before him split apart, revealing a sleek silver elevator door. When they had rebuilt the mansion, they enhanced many things, and the old rickety mining shaft had been one of the first things to go. Mustn't risk that decay-ridden rope giving out and leaving its passenger to depend on the failure of gravity.

He pressed the standard issue elevator button on the side panel, and the doors opened with a pleasant ping. Once inside, he hit the bottom button. There was a secret wall on each floor that allowed the elevator to attend. Soft music began playing as it made it stomach lurching descent. That had been his idea.

The elevator came to a stop shortly, and the doors whirred open to reveal darkness and a brush of cold, damp air. His footsteps sounded crunchy and slightly wet as he explored the gloomy lair, pulling a small flashlight out of his pocket and sweeping it around probingly. There were lights strung along the ceiling of the cave, the switches lurking by the elevator and close to the waterfall, but he didn't want to make his approach too obvious just yet if there were intruders. He could hear something further into the cave, like a mechanic had decided to drop in to make sure all appliances were ship-shape, so to speak. He clicked the flashlight off and carefully made his way to the stranger's source of light that hovered like a wraith over the behemoth of the batmobile.

There were several of them, crowding around the black exterior, their hands working furiously at the contraption. Were they taking it apart? Alfred stepped closer, his attention engulfed in their actions, but his foot caught on a rough patch and he lost his balance, tearing towards the ground like Goliath. A cry of alarm and pain escaped his lungs, and the men of Shadows paused at their task and turned to look at him. The sudden lack of the clamoring of their tools left an awkward silence as they stared at each other, one party waiting for the bullets to start flying, and one party wondering who the hell was this guy?

Unfortunately for Alfred, he could have been a harmless butterfly and it still wouldn't have made a difference to the trigger-happy honcho of the pack, it only made his being human more fun. The man came forward and pulled a gun that had been hanging over his form by a strap, aiming it at Alfred. Ra's choice of weapon had been the sword, but apparently his daughter's taste ran to a different sort of threatening. Alfred jumped back onto his feet and dashed for the cover of the plentiful convenience of a rocky sanctuary as the bullets began racing towards his bearings. The bullets backfired off the pile of stone he had placed at his back, and he hovered over himself, cradling his head in between his knees, protecting his ears from the rampage with his palms. The bullets were ripping into the cave wall, and he could feel the rock shift at his back as it fractured and tumbled in on itself in a miniature landslide. As his shelter shattered, he took leave of it, sprinting across the dark cavern as the bullets rained harshly at his heels. Good thing the ratio of hitting a moving object was ten to one.

A figure emerged from the flicker of light where he had entered as the elevator dispensed a new occupant into the fray. A commanding voice rebounded off the structures, echoing into the darkest corners.

"Hold your fire!"

Talia stomped towards her comrades, her heels clacking confidently on the unreliable foundation. Her hand arced through the air and collided with the shooters face, who stumbled backwards into the outstretched hands of his buddies.

"Idiot!" She hissed, "Are you unaware that there is a room full of people above your heads?"

"No one will hear us! The rock is too thick," he argued. She hit him again, and he slumped to the ground, cradling his bruised and possibly broken face. If the cheekbone had splintered and pierced his eye, he could go blind. Arguing would never be satisfying again. Talia stepped away from the sullen figure, examining the computer systems that lay nearly completed and riddled with newly acquired holes.

"Batman's got himself quite a setup down here," she speculated, opening the slim purse that hung from her shoulder and pulling out a grenade, "All that work for nothing. But I'm sure with his money he'll have it up again in no time."

"Talia, stop!" Batman appeared from the shadows, his trademark entrance, his cape fluttering behind him as he glided towards her.

"I've got a confession to make, Bruce," she announced, her voice almost regretful, "I planned on taking your money tonight, destroying your mansion and its occupants despite my word of camaraderie."

"So I've realized."

Talia shook her head, "I don't want to do it."

"Then don't."

"It's not that easy," she laughed.

"Isn't it? Put down the grenade. Walk away. Seems pretty simple to me."

"I can't forget about what you've done, and I can't walk away without avenging my father. I wouldn't expect you to understand." Batman fumed, her last taunt hitting dangerously below the belt. His fists clenched at his sides, but Talia continued, "You and I could be something together."

"I don't think we're going in the right direction to do anything together."

Talia chuckled, low and sensual, "Oh, you're wrong about that." She looked down at the grenade, frowning, "I have to admit, I'm completely and utterly torn."

Batman closed the distance between them, his hand hovering over her hand that held the grenade. "Don't do something you'll regret."

She looked up at him, her eyes glittering with unshed tears of frustration. "Either way I'll regret it. Save me from that, caped crusader."

"I can't save everyone from everything. This is a decision you'll have to make yourself. I'll deal with whatever you choose to be right."

"Why won't you join us?" She asked in a hoarse whisper.

"My place is here." Was she faking? Maybe it was just the saint in him, but she was really convincing. Yet if she was looking for someone to melt like butter in the palm of her hand, she was going to have to find a different hero. Perhaps someone who wore bright colors and tights, if there were any.

Talia nodded her understanding, standing on tiptoe to place a soft kiss on his lips. She took his hand and turned the palm so that it faced up, and dispensed the grenade in it.

"Maybe not this time, Batman. I'll wait for a night when my resolve is not so weak." She sniffed. "Perhaps next time I won't have so much champagne."

"Apparently, you'll know where to find me."

She smiled forlornly. "It wasn't really that difficult. If only killing you were the same." She turned and walked to the waterfall, her men falling in step behind her. Before she disappeared behind the cataract, she turned back for a final farewell. "If you ever change your mind…"

"Same to you."

She smiled and shook her head, departing. Alfred stood from the safety of the rubble, dusting off his soiled jacket. "What just happened, Master Bruce?"

"Hell if I know," Batman shrugged. He crouched down near the batmobile, inspecting the damage. Alfred paused behind him, surveying over his shoulder.

"What were they doing?"

"Stealing parts, it looks like. Shame to put such a nice thing to waste if they had decided to blow up the place, I guess."

"You will be able to fix it, I presume."

"Fix it, replace it, whatever." There was a distant whizzing sound, which separated into popping and crackling. The fireworks had started.

Alfred stared up at the ceiling of the cave, as if he could see through the many layers of rock. "Sounds like the fun has begun. Will you be joining them?"

Bruce sighed, removing the cowl and running his fingers through his black hair, "I don't know, Alfred. Suddenly I'm not in a celebrating mood."

"Who was that lady?"

Bruce continued to crouch down, trifling with a forgotten tool, silent for a few moments as he realized, truly, he didn't really know. How long had he known her but for one day that, somehow, felt like an eternity? "I don't know. I really don't know."

"How odd, you two looked like you were close."

He hit his palm with the tool thoughtfully, "Yeah, I think we were."

"Hmm." Alfred crouched down next to Bruce, rubbing his shoulder with a hand, "Losing a friend is always hard, or in this case, an almost friend that you almost lost but they weren't really a friend because they were an enemy…"

"You stopped making sense after… well, actually, I don't think you started that sentence making sense."

"It's been an odd day for all of us," Alfred chuckled, pushing off his knees into a standing position. "I think the best thing you could do to end it would be to go up there and see off your guests as Bruce Wayne."

"Yeah, maybe you're right," Bruce agreed, standing as well. "I'll just, uh… get changed."

Elizabeth joined the other guests as they ventured outside, watching as the colorful sparks lit up the night sky. The guests oohed and awed as one after another display streaked into the air like a fiery comet, exploding far above their heads to shower down in a myriad of color. The fireworks were beautiful, but they weren't amazing. Despite the wonder that seemed to arise in everyone else standing witness, Elizabeth felt nothing. They were just lights. Was it okay that she felt empty as she looked on? Shouldn't she know?

Bruce came up behind her, his hands in his pockets, looking up at the light show with the same empty expression. She looked up at him, and then back at the works. "What happened to your lady friend?"

"She had to leave early to attend to another matter."

Elizabeth nodded, and they stood for several minutes in silence, before Bruce finally broke it. "I heard you had taken in Jonathan Crane as your patient. I was wondering; how is that going?"

"Um…" Elizabeth bit her lip, looking for adequate dialog to portray her progress. It wasn't a subject she enjoyed conversing about. "Well, slowly. But these things take time."

"What made you decide to take him as a patient?"

"Many reasons."

"Any personal?"

"Of course not," Elizabeth shook her head a little too rapidly, Bruce noticed. "I just wanted to help."

"I want you to take care, he's a dangerous man. The main reason most people stay away from him is the fact that he's capable of drastic persuasion."

"I'm aware of that," she countered. "You know an awful lot about him for a billionaire industrialist."

"Hey, I read the Gotham Times."

"Right. But the fact that he used to be a psychiatrist himself makes it harder than anything else."

"I hope you succeed in your endeavors. Saving a soul may not be as reputable as saving lives, but it achieves so much more."

"Thank you." It was a little odd; gossip had given Bruce an image nearly the opposite of profound, yet here he was, spouting rather deep advice. Perhaps jealousy reared immoral traits in the opponent. How many people actually tried to get to know Bruce Wayne? How many people actually cared that the head of Wayne Industries was an actual person? People were often too caught up in their own worries and vanity to care about looking slightly humane, or even, gasp, humble. Selfishness was a trait that she often found herself too busy to try to cure, but one does what one can. "Tonight was pleasant."

"I'm only sorry I didn't know you sooner."

"I'm still a little unsure how you did know me. Was it because a certain new patient of mine threw me into infamy?"

"Well, I have to be honest. Yes."

Elizabeth smiled, "Goodnight Mr. Wayne."

"Goodnight Dr. Lee."

Bruce watched as Elizabeth took her leave, winding her way through strands of guests who were making their way to him to give him their thanks and goodbyes. Well, here we go, he thought to himself with a practiced smile.