Disclaimer: I only own my OC's, everything else belongs to someone else.

That long soak in the tub had been just what she needed, Anna decided an hour and a half later as she made her way down stairs. The hot water had steamed away some of the lingering aches and pains, though she had discovered that she had some pretty spectacular bruises when she looked in the mirror.

She decided to grab a snack before she went to watch the news. Entering the kitchen, she found it empty. Alfred was usually there, either cooking, or sitting at the large wooden table, doing some household paper work. A sneaky smile played over Anna's face. No Alfred meant that there was no one to stop her from getting a snack that would otherwise be off limits. She headed straight for the pantry and used her foot to pull the little step stool out from under the bottom shelf. Alfred kept the cookies, and other tempting items on the very top shelf. Usually Anna could just reach that shelf, by using the step stool and standing on her tiptoes. But after carefully climbing onto the stool, she found to her frustration that, due to her injuries, stretching up to reach the cookies on the top shelf was out of the question. Grumbling, and muttering something about people being too smart for their own good, she stepped off the stool, and put it back in its usual spot. Hearing a soft chuckle behind her, she turned as fast as she could, and found Alfred there, an amused look on his face.

Anna smiled sheepishly. "Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time," she said.

Smiling, the butler stepped up, took down the box of cookies, crossed the room and took a plate out of the cabinet. "I had to do the same thing when Master Bruce was young," he explained as he arranged a few cookies on the plate. "Of course, it never stopped him and Miss Dawes either." Moving to the refrigerator, he poured a glass of milk, and handed it to Anna, and set the plate on the counter in front of her.

"Thank you Alfred," she said happily. "I was going to see if any of the local channels are covering the hearing live. I know they can't be in the court room, but I figure they'll be there, shoving microphones into peoples faces as they come out." Anna and Bruce were both well associated with the machinations of the media. Growing up as a Wayne in Gotham was not an easy task; they were fawned over as the local version of royalty by some, and despised by others for no more reason than the size of the bank account their parents had left them. But whether the public loved you or hated you, the press was always there, watching.

Alfred nodded, and replied, "They probably will. Why don't we go watch it together?" He picked up the plate, and they headed into the family room.

Anna sat down on the overstuffed green sofa, and took a cookie off of the plate that Alfred had placed on the coffee table. Munching contentedly, she picked up the remote and turned on the television. She flipped through the local channels and discovered that only two of them were broadcasting live from outside the courthouse. There were many more cameras visible, other networks, she assumed, filming pieces to be replayed during the evening news.

"Which one do you want to watch Alfred?" Anna asked as she reached for a second cookie.

"I don't have a preference," he replied from a wing chair beside the sofa. "I expect they'll both be saying the same thing."

She settled on channel 4, and turned the volume up a little. The over-styled reporter was just wrapping up a synopsis of Dr. and Mrs. Wayne's murder. Anna was glad that they hadn't tuned in any earlier.

The reporter was mentioning something about Bruce being at the hearing, when she suddenly turned and said, "They're coming out the side."

The onscreen image shook a bit as the cameraman followed the reporter up the stairs. In the background, Anna could see the other reporters and cameras doing the same thing. The press crowded around the double doors that led to the courtroom, just as those doors came flying open, and a handful of people walked out. She could hear the reporters clamoring for a word with the attorneys, and someone else yelling, "It's Bruce Wayne!"

Anna wasn't interested in the attorneys, or even her brother at the moment. Her eyes were glued to the scrawny, homely man that the reporters were addressing as 'Mr. Chill'. This was the man that had killed her parents, had ripped her life apart at the seams before she'd barely even gotten started living it. This was the man who was truly responsible for what happened that night, whose actions had left Bruce nearly overwhelmed with guilt all of these years. All over a strand of pearls, a diamond engagement ring, and a wallet.

She was so lost in thought that she almost missed it. But her attention returned to what the reporters were saying, just as a blonde woman shoved her way through the throng of people. The woman went up to Chill and said, "Joe, hey, Joe Chill! Falcone says hi." The blonde pulled something out of her purse, and there was a loud bang. Chill slumped to the floor, and some of the cops grabbed the woman. The camera angle was bad, but even so, Anna could see the red stain spreading on Chill's white shirt. Then the live video feed was pulled, and a colorful screen showing the network's call sign appeared.

The remote slipped from Anna's fingers, and fell to the floor, somehow switching off the television in the process. Anna didn't even notice. She couldn't believe what she had just seen. That woman had shot Chill, and from looks of it, the wound would be fatal, if it hadn't killed him instantly. Anna found the thought of Chill dying a violent death, so like the one he had caused for her parents, disturbingly satisfying. She wasn't sure that she liked that feeling, wasn't sure what it said about her as a person. Should she really be pleased that Chill had been murdered?

Alfred had immediately turned his attention to Anna as the events onscreen unfolded. She looked shocked, her blue eyes gone wide in surprise. He could see her thinking, processing what she had seen, and he saw the look of satisfaction appear on her face. It was brief, gone almost as too quick to register, replaced by one of confusion mingled with shame. That was to be expected, he supposed. This man had been the bogeyman of Anna's childhood, the evil person who had robbed her of her mother and father. Now that sinister figure had been removed, and she could go on. But sitting here, staring at the blank screen, wasn't doing her any good.

"Miss Anna," Alfred said, quietly. He saw her jump at the sound of his voice, and it took a moment before she tore her eyes away from the television. "Why don't we turn this off and go have a nice cup of tea?"

She nodded absently, and followed Alfred into the kitchen, operating on autopilot. Her mind was still mulling over what had happened. She took a seat at the table, and watched Alfred make tea. He brought the tray over to the table, poured two cups, put two lumps of sugar in one mug and set that one in front of Anna. A strong scent of bergamot wafted up from the cup, and she inhaled deeply.

Alfred took a seat, and picked up his own cup. He didn't say anything; if Anna wanted to talk about today's events, she would start the conversation. She wasn't overly talkative, but you rarely had to coax things out of her. She would tell you how she felt if she wanted you to know.

They sat silently, sipping their tea. When her cup was empty, Anna sat it down on the table, and said, "I wonder what time Bruce will be back? Did he say?"

"He told me if he wasn't home in time for supper, not to wait for him," Alfred replied. Speaking of supper, he should probably get moving on that. Something simple and familiar was called for on a day like this. He collected the tea things, and carried them to the sink. He picked up the prescription bottle, and turned back to Anna.

"Do you want to take this now, or would you rather wait until after supper?" He inquired.

Anna made a face. Despite the discomfort, she hated taking those things. "After supper, I don't want to fall asleep in my food," she answered.

Alfred put the bottle back on the counter with a smile, and set about fixing supper. He pulled out the pots and pans he needed, then moved to the refrigerator and began taking various items from it.

Anna watched him for a few minutes, still mentally replaying Chill's demise in her mind. She still couldn't believe that after so long, it was finally over. Maybe now Bruce could move on, and quit blaming himself for the whole thing. Chill had murdered their parents, and now Chill himself had been murdered. A full circle.

Standing up, she headed back into the family room, and with a little creativity, managed to retrieve the remote with a minimum amount of pain. She turned on the TV, and started channel surfing. As she flipped past one of the local news networks, she noticed that they were showing the footage from the courthouse. She stopped to see what they had to say about it.

Unlike the footage she had watched earlier, this cameraman had turned to film Bruce when he was spotted in the crowd. Illuminated by a bright spot light from one of the cameras, Bruce had a determined look on his face. He advanced toward the camera, but his gaze was focused on something else, most likely Chill. Then came the gunshot, and the cameraman whirled around to catch the action. It was bad footage, but there was no way this station was going to be the only one without anything to show.

"We understand that Mr. Chill was pronounced dead at the scene," the reporter announced as they ended the piece.

Anna went back to channel surfing, content with the knowledge that Chill was indeed dead. She finally found something worth watching, and put the remote control down.

Half an hour later, Alfred came to let her know that supper was ready. She turned the TV off, and went down the hall to the kitchen. Something smelled really good, which was no surprise since Alfred was an excellent cook.

Entering the kitchen, she saw that he had made chicken potpie, one of her favorites. He dished up a portion of the food for her, and a plate for himself, and they sat down to eat.

"This is delicious, Alfred." Anna commented.

"Thank you Miss Anna, I thought some comfort food was in order this evening," the butler replied.

They made light conversation, out of habit more than actually having anything to say. Anna found that she was hungrier than she had thought, and polished off her helping.

When they were finished, Alfred picked up the dishes, put them in the sink, and then began putting the leftovers away.

Anna got up, went over to the sink and picked up the prescription bottle. As much as she hated these things, she had to admit that she was feeling increasingly bad as the evening progressed. She really wanted to be awake when Bruce got home, but right now she wanted to be comfortable more. Opening the bottle, she extracted a pill, and swallowed it with the last of her glass of water.

"Alfred, I'm going to watch TV in my room. I don't know if I'll be back down tonight, so goodnight," she said, quietly.

"Good-night," he returned with a smile.

At the door, she stopped. "Alfred? Is it wrong of me to feel like Chill deserved to die?"

Alfred thought for a moment before he replied. "I can't say that it's right or wrong if that's truly the way you feel. Nothing could ever excuse what that man did, but nothing can change it either, not even his death. If what you're asking is would I think badly of you for feeling that way, then the answer is no, absolutely not."

Anna considered this for a moment, and then nodded thoughtfully. Impulsively, she went to Alfred and wrapped her arms around him. "Thanks Alfred."

Alfred smiled, and returned the hug. "You're quite welcome."

She stepped back, looked up at him and asked, almost hesitantly, "When Bruce gets in, would you please tell him that I said good-night?"

"I certainly will," he answered.

To my reviewers, Nightarcher210, AnimeAmber, Knottaclue, thevigilante15, Pookie Power 2005, and pollypocket911: A thousand heartfelt thanks! I so appreciate your encouragement, and I'm glad that you have enjoyed the story so far.

Everyone, please let me know what you think of this new chapter. I'm getting to the sticky bits, where the drama really starts kicking in, so I need to know what you think. Remember, Anna has no clue what Bruce had planned, or what he's going to do, hence the title of this chapter. So while Chill's murder is thought provoking, and has an emotional impact on her, she has no idea that her world is about to collapse. At least she doesn't until I get the next chapter up.