Disclaimer: I don't own Mojo, Kim, or Helen Smith (but I may have given them last names. I can't remember. Let's assume I did not.) I also do not own Lock-up, Harlene Quinzelle, or anyone else that I've already disowned a dozen times.

Chapter Nine: "Harley's Secret"

FRIDAY OF THE FIRST WEEK

Three weeks seemed like a long time, but in one week Elizabeth had had only one session with Mr. Crane, and it hadn't really gone anywhere useful. To make matters worse, in exchange for a J. Crane's jacket to be removed, Arkham's officials were formally requesting future sessions to be kept in the surveyed offices on Arkham's grounds. It was difficult enough to get an unwilling patient to open up when the files were confidential, how was she supposed to get him to open up if he knew his conversations were being recorded? Someone in the system knew, and they didn't want to let Jonathan go. Go figure, another keenly cautious individual reluctant to have a dangerous criminal back on the streets. If she hadn't been in the position she was currently in, she would have most likely agreed. But damn if she was just going to sit by and allow them to twist the predicament to fit their own paranoid little worlds while Katie suffered.

Elizabeth was collecting files and slipping them into her shoulder pack for a session she was having with Jonathan later on in the day when a rapid tapping sounded on her office door. She stopped organizing the folders and stood up straight, smoothing the creases out of her skirt.

"Come in."

A slender young woman bounced into the office, her cheeks rosy and her face beaming with optimism. Her blond hair sprung slightly from either side of her head as her skipping lifted her pigtails up and down. Harlene Quinzelle was often sweet and chipper, but this was almost "look at the size of this rock" happiness.

"Hi!"

"Hey, Harlene. Are you going to tell me why you're so happy, or am I just not invited to the wedding?"

Harlene gripped the back of a chair, jittery with excitement. No one would ever call Harley a pessimist. "Ah met someone!"

"That's wonderful, Hal. What's he like?

"Dreamy. Oh, I've never met anyone like him. He's witty, charming, and so funny. It's like he opened mah eyes to a whole 'nother world." She fanned herself with a hand and sighed dramatically. "It's just like Aladdin and his carpet ride."

Elizabeth chuckled, "What's his name?"

"Jack Napier. And ah know yer goin' tah be totally ashamed of meh, but he's a patient of mahn."

"Oh..." Elizabeth responded, falling silent. Elizabeth always tried to keep an open mind; she couldn't judge him if she didn't know him. Besides, love had many forms, it showed up in the strangest places, but haw safe was an emotionally and/ or mentally unstable man?

"You think ahm crazy, dontcha?"

"Er... not compared to him, I'm sure."

"Oh, Liz, you jes have tah meet 'im. Ahm sure you'll like 'im if you get tah know 'im."

"Your right, Hal. I'm being unreasonably judgemental"

Her ass.

"He calls me Harley. Isn't that cute?"

"Yeah. Yeah." Elizabeth tried to sound supportive, but worry tugged at her gut, and she couldn't place it. She didn't know him, but she still didn't think it was a good idea.

"Well listen, I gotta go, I jes had tah tell ya." She waved and bounced out the door, blowing her a kiss as she closed it behind her.

So that was that. Harley was in a possibly volatile relationship, and Elizabeth couldn't move to prevent it. That would be terribly presumptuous of her; what right did she have? Still she worried about her friend. She had met plenty of patients who were good people, but even good people who could not always justify or control what they did could not nurse a fruitful relationship. A seemingly harmless illness like seeing people that the person could choose to ignore even had dangerous repercussions, and the medicine that cured them so often left them hollow and empty inside.

She was a doctor. And she had seen A Beautiful Mind.

She wouldn't say anything, but she would pray for the best.

No one would ever guess that beneath that cheerful disposition lied a dark, thrumming misconception. Harley had always tried to hide the things she questioned most behind smiles, and until recently, had been able to occupy her mind and drown out the confusing whirlpool of emotions that tried to focus her intentions. She knew the difference between right and wrong, always had, and had for many years attempted to keep her kind heart untouched from the shadows that lurked in her unconscious thoughts.

The last thing she ever wanted to become was a criminal, yet here she was falling for a shady character that just happened to be an ex-mob member. But having affairs, or even a relationship with him didn't mean she had to become one or that she had to break any laws as well, right? She was who she made herself, not who someone else expected her to be.

There would be that temptation, undoubtedly. The question was when the time came, could she stand for herself and do the right thing, or would what she perceived as love drown out her strongest voice of reason?

Leaning on the door to Elizabeth's office, Harlene sighed and held her head in a hand, brushing the blond strands of hair off of her forehead. She dropped her hand and leaned her head back to rest on the panel with another loud exhale. Her yellow hair fluttered back into position, dancing across her skin as they found their places. She slipped her hand into her handbag, running her fingers along the fabric she had stashed in there. Shadows fell across red spandex, and as her fingers collided with the material, two small bells attached jingled lightly in reply.

She pulled it free of her purse, stretching it out between her hands until she could see the eye holes in the red and black mask. What was this? What was this really? An escape? An alter-ego? Was it a cry for help or a cry for attention? Was she doing this for a why or a who?

She did love him. Three days and she knew already that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. This wasn't just infatuation, was it? For the first time in her life, standing with him, she no longer felt lost, she felt understood. She felt real happiness, not the lie she told herself every morning when she woke up. With him, she didn't have to lie to herself, and for her, that was love.

So many different people had so many different opinions about what love should be, when it really was only what you made it. She knew that the majority of the people she knew would argue that three days was most certainly not love, but that didn't matter. She was happy, that was what mattered. And why shouldn't it?

She shoved the mask back into her purse, still unsure of the meaning of it all, but pushing it from her mind. She pushed herself off the door, making her way down the hall, the heels off her shoes squeaking slightly on the plush carpet. Mr. J, when not in sessions with her, claimed to be extremely busy. With what, he wouldn't tell her, just that it was "a surprise." Surely he would be finished with whatever it was soon, and would have more time to spend with her. She never questioned the legality of his "projects", just as she hoped she would never have to come to question him. She hadn't had a lot of relationships in her lifetime, maybe two that had lasted only a week or two, if you could call them real relationships, and all she wanted was the ability to love him unconditionally. She really hoped hopelessness hadn't ruined her chance for love by misconstruing her ideas.

At ten on an October morning, most children's bedrooms were as empty as a summer schoolyard, but the bedroom of Kim Smith, ten year old child of single mother Helen Smith, only looked empty of life.

There was a deep impression on the side of Kim's bed, and if a passerby missed that, they certainly wouldn't miss the small doll that suddenly picked itself off the pillow and hovered in the air, the small indents of fingers in its plush sides certainly gone unnoticed next to this strange phenomenon. There were no strings connecting this doll to an unseen puppeteer, just the man and his doll, but only the doll without the sunlight to fall around his shoulders.

Mojo cradled the doll in his arms, the closest thing he could get to his precious angel, but nowhere near as close to her warmth. With the Invisibility Cloak on, he couldn't see the way the doll's hair fell across his arms, but it didn't matter. If it were the only way he could be near her then he could deal with the consequences of the way the unnatural atmosphere made him feel.

Just to be near her...

He couldn't understand Helen. Could she not understand him? It wasn't so difficult. Take whatever she would feel if deprived of Kim and multiply it by three. That was all he felt. That was all. And nothing he had ever done in his past could ever be as horrible as the pain she had inflicted on him, but she couldn't see that. Wouldn't see that. Nothing like a double standard; it seemed he had been surrounded by them his whole life, and now looking back on it, compared to what he felt now it had been nothing if not tolerable.

It seemed he had been gone from this room, from her, for a lifetime, though it had in reality been a mere two months. His pockets were filled with necklaces and jewels; he wanted to give her everything– too bad Helen would never see how good he was for her.

The front door of the house opened and closed, and a pair of muffled voices broke the brooding silence he had been sitting in. He stood up, dropping the doll and stumbling to find a hiding place before remembering he was invisible. Forces of habit so easily took over something so hard to forget. He listened as the voices came closer; Helen was telling Kim to lie down for a little while, maybe she would feel better and perhaps she would cook some soup. The door to the bedroom opened and Katie walked in, eyes watery over a small pout, her skin looking pale and dewy. Helen followed, face overcast with pity and worry. Kim climbed into her bed with a small groan, and Helen paused along the way, leaning over to pick up the doll that Mojo had discarded. He had to shift out of the way, and the fabric whispered as it brushed against itself. Helen gasped and looked up, her breath in her throat. Seeing nothing, she swallowed her heartbeat and turned back to Kim, doll in hand.

What's wrong Helen? Someone might think you had an experience with a ghost.

Once Helen was gone, Mojo sat on the bed again, looking down on the ill Kim.

"Kimmy, what's wrong?"

Kim's eyes slit open, and she smiled at the familiar voice, "Mojo? Is that you?"

"I told you I would be back. I'm sorry I was gone for so long. Are you feeling ill?"

She nodded, grimacing, "It's just a tummy ache. Probably something I ate."

"Well, I got you something that might make you feel better..." Mojo dug through his pockets, drawing out a gold heart locket with a diamond in the middle. It seemed to dangle in the air from his unseen hand, catching and reflecting the light like a gift from paradise. A heavenly object for a heavenly girl. She deserved more.

"It's beautiful." She sighed, extending her hand to touch it. He slipped the chain through her fingers, being careful not to make contact with her, though he so desperately wanted to. Sometimes it was harder to see her and not hold her than not seeing her at all. Sometimes, but that didn't mean he would trade it.

"It's yours."

"There you go again, talking about fear like it was our only emotion." Elizabeth had only just recently met Jonathan in one of the small Arkham offices that strangely resembled their cells, and already they had a subject to focus on that had already been covered. Surprise, surprise.

"I never said it was our only emotion." Jonathan argued lightly, leaning back in the uncomfortable chair and waving a hand.

"Maybe not, but you certainly emphasize it as our strongest. But no emotion is stronger than another. It would throw us into a chaotic imbalance."

"And you don't think this world is just a little chaotic?" he asked, raising an eyebrow inquisitively at her.

"Not as much as it could be, no." Elizabeth leaned forward, chin resting on clasped hands. "You know, Mr. Crane, bravery is another emotion. And I do believe it is bravery that overcomes fear."

"Just as fear could overcome bravery."

"But what if it were something that you cared for on the other side of theat fear? For some things, when threatened, fear does not even fare as an obstacle."

"You speak from personal experience?"

"Yeah, I do. I think perhaps you spent to much time studying one emotion that you failed to discover the strength of the others."

"Thank you for calling the offices of Dr. Lee, Dr. Thompson, and Dr. Quinzelle. How may I help you?"

"Um, hello, I'm calling to make an appointment with an available doctor, um, for my daughter."

"Can you tell me what the problems are?"

"Well, sometimes I hear her talking to herself. At first I thought it was just an imaginary friend, and it was normal for a child her age, but Kim has every belief that this thing is completely real. This has been going on for years."

"I thank you for calling. Can I get your name and phone number please?"

"Yes. It's Helen Smith at 290-7711."

"Thank you Ms. Smith. I'll contact you for an appointment as soon as possible."

"Thank you."

"Out of the jacket and into the ball and chain. That's what it seems like to me. What are they expecting me to say? Do they want proof that you're actually attempting to cure me?"

Elizabeth pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes as she warded off a promising headache. It wasn't just the company she kept, was it? Or maybe it was the rapidly fleeting vision of hope she desperately held to in her gut. She couldn't answer his question. She couldn't answer her own. What was she doing? "Probably. Let's appease them, shall we? Okay, I'll tell you what I see, so you tell me what you see. How about that?"

"I could just lie."

"You could."

"And you're just fine with that?"

Elizabeth sighed, "Don't ask stupid questions, Crane. I know you're capable of more intelligent speech." She held up a card with an inkblot sprawled across it and looked down at it. "I see a butterfly." She looked up, and Jonathan simply stared at her. "No laughter? I didn't hurt your feelings just then, did I?"

"Why should I be laughing? A butterfly symbolizes rebirth. Truthfully, I had been half expecting it."

Elizabeth smiled, "I have to apologize. Sometimes I forget you were a psychiatrist."

"Don't blame yourself. I was far too busy weaponizing chemicals to be a real doctor. I haven't done something like this with a patient in years." This little game was almost refreshing, and slightly nostalgic. Being in such familiar settings, he almost missed the way things were, however short they had lasted before fame burned away into infamy.

"Your turn." She said, flipping the card around.

"Where you see rebirth in that picture, I only see death." He said, face impassive, as if he didn't care one way or the other. "I see a bat."

"Very interesting. And this one?"

"I'd like your opinion first." Jonathan said with a coy smile. He hadn't been lying about what he had seen in the cards; though the thought had crossed his mind, his curiousness was overbearing.

"Fine, but if you contradict me again, I'm switching the order."

"Yes doctor."

"I see... a child." Elizabeth murmured, biting her lip thoughtfully.

"A child without a mother could possibly mean you want to be a mother, or you already are, and you worry about the well-being of them."

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just analyze me." She glared at him, but he just laughed.

"Oh come on, Dr. Lee. Humor me with a little game of quid pro quo. It will be nearly painless, I promise."

Elizabeth shook her head, smiling softly. "Do it silently in your mind. I don't want to hear it."

"You might learn something useful."

"Oh, right, like anything I'm telling you is news."

"So which is it?" he asked, ignoring her, "Want a child, or have one already?"

"That's not something you really need to know."

"You don't seem like the type of person to favor tawdry romance, yet I see no ring on your left finger," he continued, once again ignoring her as if she were a mute. "Perhaps as a psychiatrist in a hectically lunatic city you don't have time for a child, though that doesn't mean you can't want one."

"That's enough."

"But I think the most probable reason is you just haven't found the right person to share a family with, female or otherwise."

"Mr. Crane..." Elizabeth's voice dropped an octave with anger.

"I really think you should let that picky little ice cube in your chest melt a little, doctor. After all, beggars can't be choosers, and one week in college doesn't count as a love life–."

Elizabeth slammed her fist on the table in anger and exasperation, sending the ink splattered cards flying in every direction. Jonathan had jumped slightly in surprise, but now he regained his composure, a coy smile creeping across his face like the ink on the cards.

"Careful doctor, you don't want the security guards to think your violent towards your patients. We both know how that pans out. Maybe we can play a round of bad cop and robber somewhere else some other time. This isn't the place, don't you think?"

"You're despicable."

"You're predictable."

"And you're not? We all know what to expect from you. Can't you prove them wrong just this once? I know you don't want to stay in here."

"Though maybe I should; then I wouldn't be so predictable."

"You're in–." Elizabeth stopped, letting her words trail off into the air; unspoken, but not unknown.

Jonathan laughed. "Oh, just say it! I'm insane! So fucking, predictably insane!"

"Shut up."

"Afraid of the truth? Is that why you don't want to hear it? Is that why you don't like hearing me talk?"

"I never said I didn't like hearing you talk. It's just that your bullshit is giving me a headache."

"Yeah. That must be it," he hissed sarcastically.

One of the cards had flown into Jonathan's lap when they scattered around both of them after Elizabeth's assault on the table. He left it where it lay, moving neither to steady its unstable position, or to knock it off his knee, thus helping its descent to the floor. On the other side of the table, Elizabeth sighed and collected the white and black parchments, stacking them into a pile on the table, and then bending over in her chair to collect the one's off the floor around her. While her head was down, he leaned over and snatched her pen that she had hooked to a purple spiral notebook. He retracted his hand as her head came back up, but she didn't notice his movement, as her hair had fallen into her eyes. She shook her head so they cleared a way for her vision, and added the cards she had recently collected to the original stack. There were still a few around Jonathan's feet, but she wasn't bothering. They weren't that important.

She looked over at him, but he merely blinked at her. "Where were we?" she asked.

"Somewhere pointless, I'm sure."

Elizabeth smiled, "What do you think will get you out of here the fastest?"

"Oh, now you ask me my opinion?"

"Well, do you have one?" she asked, raising one eyebrow in question.

Jonathan closed his hand around the card and pen and rolled his shoulders, cocking his head to one side and staring at the ceiling in thought. His shoulders were still sore. Underneath the table, his fingers closed around the pen, and while he stared at the ceiling, he began writing on the white side of the card.

When Jonathan didn't answer her, Elizabeth sighed and looked to the far wall, although there was really nothing to look at there. What to do? What to do? "Hmm..."

Jonathan had finished writing, and he folded up the card and balled it into his fist. Elizabeth slid her notebook closer to herself, and the metal spirals on its side scraped against the surface of the table. She opened it up and moved to grab her pen, only to find nothing there but copper circlets. Her brow furrowed with perplexity, and Jonathan had to fight not to chuckle, and give himself away. Elizabeth rubbed her forehead, and then leaned over once more to pull another pen out of her shoulder bag. Jonathan decided against slipping the pen back into its place while she had her head turned. That would be childish. Funny as hell to see the expression on her face, but childish. Suddenly he was so easily amused. Had he sunk so low?

Elizabeth began doing some writing of her own, and Jonathan leaned forward to watch.

"What are you writing?"

"The outcome of our session."

"Unfruitful."

"Mostly," she agreed.

"How much time do we have left?"

Elizabeth stopped writing to check her watch. "About five minutes."

"When is our next session?"

"Monday. Same time." She began writing again.

Jonathan leaned back again, crossing his leg so that his ankle fell on his knee. "Are we going to be doing this every weekday? You must have a lot of time on your hands."

"Something like that."

She's not going to give anything away; he noted, not here, at any rate.

Elizabeth finished writing and flipped the notebook closed, hooking her spare pen into the spiral like her old one had been stashed. She took a rubber band from around her wrist and picked up her accumulation of cards, stretching the band around the thick mass. Silently, Jonathan bent and retrieved the cards she had missed, or rather, hadn't bothered with. He aligned them neatly and hand them to her, who thanked him quietly and slipped them into place. She then stored the compilation in her bag; it was nearly time to go.

And he would miss her. It surprised him, but she was incredibly intriguing to him. If it had not been for the given circumstances, they might have been friends. He enjoyed their conversations, however argumentative some might be. The way their ideals clashed was thought provoking, like he was in debate club all over again. He wondered if she felt the same way, but it was probably too much to ask; he had witnessed her earlier reaction. Of course, he might have gotten carried away with his irritating antagonism.

Jonathan stood as she collected her things, making his way around the table to intercept her. He grasped her shoulder bag before she could reach down for it, and she looked up at him in alarm.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Can't a boy carry a girl's books?"

Elizabeth stared at him. Well, wasn't that cute? Not. Was he actually referring her to a naive little schoolgirl starstruck before her very first crush? "Not when the boy is conniving and manipulative."

"That's not very nice, Dr. Lee. I don't plan on dumping everything into the hallway, if that's what you're expecting."

"I don't really know what to expect from you," she answered. "Besides, I don't think we have the same destination."

"Then I'll carry it as far as I can."

Elizabeth shrugged, surrendering. Why not? "Suit yourself."

Jonathan fell into step behind Elizabeth on their way to the door, only a few steps from the table, but that was all the time he needed. He dispensed the crumpled mess of paper he had been hoarding in his hand into the front pocket casually, as Elizabeth opened the door. Two security guards stood on the other side, Mr. Morgan, the veteran security guard, and Lock-up, which was the nickname the new security guard had quickly gained. He hadn't been there long enough for Jonathan to find out why it was his nickname, which was fine with him; he wasn't too sure he wanted to know.

Once outside the door, Lock-up grabbed Jonathan shoulders roughly, yanking him away from Elizabeth's side. He slipped the shoulder bag off of Jonathan's shoulder and returned it to Elizabeth.

"Time to go back to your little room of hell, Crane." he growled, squeezing his shoulder so hard that it became painful.

Jonathan grimaced, "It's only hell if you're bunking with me."

"What was that?" Lock-up demanded, clutching a handful of a frothy mass of black curls and yanking his head back so he could see his face. Despite Jonathan's lanky form, Lock-up was still a head taller. Jonathan yelled in pain.

"What are you doing?" Elizabeth protested, "This treatment is completely uncalled for!"

"What are you going to do?" he growled, "Stick up for this loser? Report me to the authorities?"

"I might!" Lock-up glared at her, but released Jonathan, who stumbled away from him. He and his big mouth. He looked at Elizabeth, who was staring at him with concern. He sneered and looked away. He didn't want her to think he actually needed her pity, because unless her pity was actually giving Lock-up brain tumors, or maybe an ulcer, it wasn't doing him much good. He didn't welcome the feeling in her eyes that seemed to lead to the fact that he was being demoralized in front of her... or anybody...

"I don't understand how you could protect the monsters." Lock-up spat.

Elizabeth turned back to him, "You don't see me protecting you." Quickly, Mr. Morgan stepped between them, taking Jonathan by an elbow.

"Thank you for stopping by, Dr. Lee." He guided Jonathan down the hall, and Lock-up followed, throwing Elizabeth one last dirty look. Elizabeth didn't want to leave Jonathan alone with the towering brute, but there was nothing she could do. Complaining was pointless, she assumed. Sure, they might take her word, but they would probably want to see some bruises before action was taken. Innocent until proven guilty; Elizabeth didn't want it to come to that.

Bruce was brooding again, Alfred observed, removing the untouched tray that had, balancing on top of it, a bowl of onion soup that had long since gone cold. Granted, hardly anything stayed warm for long in the chilly depths of the bat cave, but the billionaire hadn't even so much as glanced at the food when Alfred had first set it down. In fact, it almost seemed as if Bruce were avoiding him altogether. Had he done something to insult him? Alfred didn't understand it. Playboys. Deep down Alfred had always been afraid that his upbringing of Bruce would have no affect on the deeply engraved spoiled nature. He was no match for rich relatives.

Alfred was on his way back to the elevator when he decided he couldn't stand anymore of Bruce's moodiness. He bent over and set the tray on the ground none too lightly and turned to look at Bruce, who still had the back of his chair turned to face Alfred, his elbow propped on the desk carved out of the rock, his chin resting in his palm as if he hadn't heard anything at all. A single screen was lit among the crowd of monitors, but still wasn't working properly.

"Master Bruce, if I may inquire–." He noticed Bruce's shoulders tense as Alfred began talking, and that made him angry. "Bruce, are you ill?" he asked stiffly, no trace of concern in his voice. Bruce mumbled something into his hand, and Alfred came closer to hear it.

"What was that?"

Bruce simply shook his head; Alfred crossed his arms.

"I will not be ignored."

"I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted. Now, mind telling me why you were skulking?"

"No," Bruce turned to Alfred, the chair he was sitting in swiveling around to accommodate his view, "I mean, I'm really sorry. About all of this." He swept his hand as if taking a panoramic picture of the cave. Alfred looked around. There were still bullet holes in the rock walls, but everything else had been cleaned up.

"I'm not sure I follow."

"I had no right sending you down here to substitute myself."

"As I recall, I went of my own volition. And neither you nor I knew for sure that there would be anyone down here."

"But I had a feeling." Bruce growled.

"What's done is done." Alfred replied, waving his hand as if he could wipe the past clean. "If you're so worried about it, why don't you get a sidekick?"

"You know I work alone."

"Yes, yes. Of course." Alfred agreed unconvincingly as he returned to his ascent up to the manor. He knew Bruce would continue to pout over the whole affair, but at least now he knew why he was feeling so upset, though it was impractical to worry about the past. Sure Alfred might be old, but he wasn't completely incapable. But he had certainly been taken off guard. Since that night, Bruce planned on having Lucius Fox over nearly every day to improve the defense systems on and around the manor. Alfred just hoped it didn't take too terribly long to complete, or else someone might notice his absence at Wayne Corp., and it wasn't hard to notice the absence of someone like Bruce Wayne.

Bruce had left the dark confines of the bat cave in favor of the Gotham streets, shoulders hunched slightly in thought, his forehead creasing into the sunglasses on his face. Well, what was done was done, and he could only improve the future, and he did plan on taking his precautions to new levels. Just let it go, Bruce. Live and learn, he coaxed himself.

His stroll was abruptly cut short by a line of yellow tape stretching across the sidewalk, making three sides of a barrier. The fourth side was the broken window of a harassed looking jewelry shop. Beyond the curious onlookers that were straying as close to the scene as they could get, Bruce could see Gordon and Bullock discussing something as other detectives stepped over the glass as they traveled back and forth to pick up finger prints and other clues. One detective was talking to a scared clerk and a confused manager, who was waving a tape around in his hand as he talked.

Bruce took interest, but moved on. He was only the night shift, and it was merely twelve o' clock in the afternoon. However, a robbery would probably be cleared up before then. He just wished he had been there to prevent it.

Despite the fact that there was plenty in his life to distress about, his thoughts kept returning to a rather unwanted subject. Talia remained a rather unfathomable enigma. Mostly, before, he couldn't seem to figure out why he had fallen for her at all. But now it bothered him that he had felt so strongly for her when he barely knew her. And how did he feel now? He'd rather not think about it, but apparently that wasn't his decision to make. It was paramount that he keep her only on the back of his mind. Wherever she was now, whatever she was doing, he could deal with those queries, because he didn't want her to carry out the same plans as her father. But how he felt about her? She would ruin him.

He turned the corner and Arkham came into view, looming like it wished it were the dark mascot of Gotham. Though he was still quite a distance away, he could make out a rather familiar blond female making her way down the steps from the entrance into the parking lot. Before he thought about what he was doing, his pace had quickened, and he was jumping in between the crowds to catch up to her before she reached her car.

She was making her way to her car rather quickly, and Bruce had to break into a jog to intercept her. Too bad he didn't know what he was doing there. She looked up at him as he approached her, and smiled politely, keys dangling from a hand.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Wayne," she greeted, "Business at Arkham, or are you here visiting?"

"Neither." Elizabeth looked up at him quizzically, and Bruce elaborated. "I, uh, was just taking a walk, and I saw you. Just thought I'd say hi."

Furtively, Elizabeth's eyes scanned her surroundings. Did Mr. Wayne always take his mid-noon walks around such a shady community? She shrugged mentally; maybe he thought he was untouchable.

"So, anyways," Bruce continued, "I was just about to stop for a bite to eat. Care to join me?"

Elizabeth had to pause for a moment, she was so taken aback. She heard whispers in the office all the time, crooning about Mr. Wayne and how they hoped to be on the most eligable bachelor's arm next. Though Elizabeth had been attracted to him, (who hadn't, she asked herself) finding herself the flavor of the week was not high on her to do list. Leave it for someone who was just bursting for their fifteen minutes in the spotlight.

But it was just lunch. And she was really, really hungry.

She nodded and smiled, "Sure, I'd love to."