6.

Prue dabbed generous dollops of concealer under her eyes. The maître d' had told her to "fix that shit on your face" when he saw her walk into the dining room. He didn't want her to frighten the guests away.

Haha.

Prue had already come up with several colorful invectives at his expense, all muttered under her breath when he wasn't nearby.

To be fair, the dark circles under her eyes did look like volcano craters, but was it her fault she had barely got any sleep?

The bathroom door flew open. An older woman draped in a gown that trailed like hard cement behind her marched in, holding a glitzy purse under her elbow.

"Oh. I was under the impression that staff had separate restrooms."

Prue fiddled with the hem of her dress. "Sorry, ma'am, it was an emergency."

The older woman stared at her concealer-coated fingers and her ratty makeup bag. "Clearly."

"I'll be out of your way in a minute –"

"Actually, I think you could do your business elsewhere."

Her frosty tone left room for no argument. Prue heaved a sigh and swallowed a cutting remark she could have made about the woman's Botox-injected face.

But she had to be the bigger person. That, and Barsad had told her not to draw unnecessary attention to herself. It was very galling to be kicked out of a bathroom when you hadn't even wanted this job. She certainly had never envisioned being a hostess. But there had been many things she hadn't envisioned before the Stock Exchange.

Prue sucked in her stomach once she was out in the corridor. The dress was made for someone with a perfectly flat belly, which is why taking a breath in it felt like a whole work-out. The heels were also an infuriating test of stamina, especially since she wasn't allowed to ever sit down.

No, she had to walk around the rooms with a tray of champagne and smile like a chipmunk.

On the upside, she couldn't see the guests' actual faces; everyone was wearing masks. It was the theme of the evening. The Charity Ball had been organized by a rich philanthropist, a woman called Miranda Tate. Prue couldn't tell you what the Fundraiser was for, since Barsad had been stingy with the details. It didn't seem to matter, though. Prue's job was to intercept her and collect something from her.

"It won't be hard to do that with a tray of champagne, now, will it?" Barsad had assured her with much aplomb. Prue had sat all morning going over the plan with him instead of attending the meeting she had scheduled with her advisor. She still felt a desperate gnawing in her stomach when she thought about her professor's inevitable disappointment. She had sent him an apologetic email, outlining her need for a postponement, but she was not sure that Professor Attwood could suffer any more delays. Barsad had laughed in her face. He was amused she still cared about something as frivolous as school.

Prue's attention was brought back to the task when a small commotion erupted in the main hall. She dragged herself to the servers' table and grabbed a tray, before walking out in the foyer on pinched feet.

Stomach in, chin up, she recited, plastering an absent smile on her lips. If only her seventh-grade Drama teacher could see her now.

She was a bit stumped when she saw that the photographers outside had started snapping their cameras in an almost manic fashion. She soon realized why they were getting excited. A new guest had walked through the doors.

"Oh my God, it's Bruce Wayne… Did you see him? It's definitely him," someone was saying behind her.

Other whispers and exclamations soon followed.

"I thought he was a recluse."

"I thought he was ill."

"So did I! He looks well."

"I heard he's gone off his rocker. All these playboys get a bit kooky when they hit middle age."

"He's not that old."

Prue snuck a look over her shoulder. She could see his stooped outline as he walked into the crowd. He was carrying a cane of all things.

She didn't know much about the famed millionaire or his period of isolation, but his last name was spread over several buildings in town. And she knew Bane had a vested interest in him. He had almost bankrupted Wayne Enterprises at the Stock Exchange, and then her first delivery happened to be close to Wayne Tower…all of these things added up. Either Bane had a personal vendetta against him or this was a business transaction. In both cases, she allowed herself the hope that it wouldn't lead back to her. The world of the rich had its own rules. She was only a bystander.

Am I?

The maître d' snapped his fingers in her direction. She and a few other gawking girls hurried back into the ballroom.

Prue raised a hand to her hair to tuck a stray lock in. She had pinned it up at the back of her head, but the weight of it was making her scalp hurt. Add it to the list of injustices for the evening.

She had to keep her eyes peeled for Miranda Tate. She had seen the woman from afar, but hadn't managed to get close, because she was always surrounded by a bevy of donors. She seemed very refined and delicate, all things considered. It didn't seem possible that she would have anything to do with Bane and his cohort. But perhaps the woman had no idea who she was dealing with.

Prue craned her neck over the bobbing heads and black masks.

"Champagne, please?"

She managed to hide a momentary flinch as she turned around to greet a gorgeous masked woman who was sporting a pair of black cat ears to go with her costume.

Huh.

Prue's eyes inevitably dropped to her cleavage. Maybe it was a bit perverse, but she was always drawn to breasts, like a teenage boy with an obsession. She schooled her features into a polite smile. "Of course."

The woman picked up the glass and leaned forward, until Prue could smell her alluring perfume.

"From one working gal to another…try to act like you know what you're doing."

Prue pulled back a little and stared the woman in the face, but her mask was giving little away.

"Ta," she murmured with a smirk and was swept away by an older man in a bowtie.

Prue looked after her for a long time. She tried to swallow down the dry taste in her mouth. The woman could have just been a random guest who'd issued her some condescending advice. But she could also be one of Bane's ghosts. That knowing little smirk… she must be one of Bane's.

How many of his people are here, she wondered, looking around the room with a fresh sense of apprehension.

Prue felt sweat pooling at the back of her dress. She sorely wanted to return to the bathroom and just stay there for the remainder of the night. But there was no guarantee some old rich biddy wouldn't kick her out again. Besides, this was no time to lose her head.

The woman with the cat ears was dancing with Bruce Wayne. Prue followed their movements from above. She was parked with her tray on the second floor. Despite her small protests, the maître d' had sent her upstairs. Prue was chagrined at the prospect, because it lowered her chances of "running" into Miranda Tate. Few guests made their haunts up there, since everyone was dancing below.

She watched Bruce Wayne whisper something into the mysterious woman's ear. It couldn't be a coincidence that she was dancing with him of all people, could it? But what was the end-goal? What was it all for? Had Bane known Wayne was going to attend?

Suddenly, there was an avalanche of roses. A stream of red petals fell from the ceiling and showered the couples who tilted their heads and ohh'd and aah'd at the display. It looked like something out of a Roman Vestalia. Prue glanced up. A few metal loops were attached to the ceiling and from it hung an elegant tarp which, when turned sideways, spilled the petals into the crowd. For a moment, she lost herself in the sight, too.

But her mind was still alert. Amidst the roses, she spotted her target. Miranda Tate was climbing the stairs on the other side of the room, and she was unattended. Prue's heart surged in her chest. Miranda was walking towards her. She tried to look busy and inconspicuous, but her eyes were glued to the beautiful woman's figure.

When they were mere feet away, Miranda removed her mask and smiled benevolently. "Ah, I'm parched."

Prue rushed over with the tray, knowing full well she wasn't putting on a very dignified display.

"Thank you, dear," Miranda murmured, slipping a thin envelope onto the tray. "Now tuck that in your dress when you can."

Prue nodded, grabbing the envelope and stashing it under the tray. The woman spoke with an accent, though Prue could hardly identify it. There was something enigmatic about her, like the roses falling from the ceiling. She had a sudden hankering to ask her where she was from, to know more about her, but that was obviously prohibited.

Miranda smiled once more and scrutinized her closely. "You have a willingness."

"Sorry, ma'am?" Prue inquired. She wondered if this was a code of some sort. Barsad hadn't told her.

"A willingness," Miranda repeated. Her faun-like eyes put her under a spell. "It's quite hard to find that quality in people nowadays…"

What do you mean?

But Ms. Tate put on her mask once more and walked past her as if nothing had happened.

Prue felt the envelope getting sticky with sweat under her palm. She stood rooted to the spot, breathing in slowly, sucking her stomach in.

Eventually, another guest wondered by and grabbed a flute. She smiled a tremulous smile.

Bruce Wayne and the woman with the cat ears had stopped dancing. In fact, neither of them was downstairs any longer. The roses were still falling.

When the coast was clear, Prue dashed into a hallway and, against her better judgment, she opened the envelope. She had missed her chance once with the cardboard box from Arkham, she wouldn't miss it again. Inside, she found several blueprints that looked taken out of some sci-fi special. She had no idea what she was staring at. It looked like the inside of a sphere with a rectangular core. The hostesses were not allowed phones during the job, but even if she had managed to take a photo, she didn't know what she could do with it. She tried to memorize as many details as possible before slipping the blueprints inside the envelope again.

Prue leaned her back against the wall as she deposited the envelope in the waistband of her stockings. She had never put anything in her stockings before. And she'd only seen people do that in spy movies. She laughed a hollow laugh. She wondered if they – more accurately, Bane – would ever allow her to leave Gotham…knowing what she knew. It was very little, but perhaps it was enough to bury her.

But she was being morbid again. There would be time enough for that later. The night was not over.

"Richard Blevin, of Blevin Incorporated. Ring any bells? No? Well, that's refreshing. Usually, everyone talks shop with me."

Prue simpered weakly. The man with a bald patch who was perorating in front of her was an important investor of some sort, but the more he talked about his business, the more she felt like taking a nap.

"I don't suppose this is your regular job, darling. You look far too bright for this sort of thing. Am I right?"

Prue bit her cheek to quell her annoyance. "Actually, I'm a maid. I work at the Plaza? Changing beds and cleaning the sinks?" She made sure to end each sentence in a question, because she knew it drove people mad.

But Richard didn't seem at all fazed. His smile broadened. "Even more refreshing! To tell you the truth, I hate all of these highbrow snobs. Women in my day used to be simple and straightforward."

Prue darted her eyes around, hoping to find an exit strategy. But as the rather portly man was blocking her way towards the ballroom, she had to wait until he moved on to another hostess. She had an inkling that preying on the staff was his favorite sport. He certainly looked old enough to be part of a Days of Our Lives reunion.

"You don't say…" she trailed off, shifting her weight from one sore leg to the other.

"Oh, dear me, you poor thing, standing up all night. It must be a pain. Here, let's sit down for a while. I promise you won't get in trouble."

Prue hesitated. The occasion to rest and rub her ankles was simply too tempting to ignore.

She let him guide her to a pair of armchairs in the corner of the cigar room.

"There, that's better isn't it?"

Prue almost gave an audible moan. She had never appreciated a piece of furniture more. She could happily fall asleep in that chair, it was so comfortable.

Richard kept her awake though. He kept delighting her with tedious stories about his public housing investment in Palma de Mallorca.

"Have you ever been? No, I imagine it's a little pricey. You know, I'd be happy to take you," he blathered on with a stupid glint in his eye.

Prue decided it was probably time to leave. She had gotten her two minutes of rest and she didn't want to spend another second in his company.

"It was lovely meeting you," she muttered inconsequentially, "but I'm afraid I have to return to work now…"

"Oh no, stay awhile! The others can do fine without you. Tell me more about yourself. I'm so curious."

Prue made to get up from the chair, but Richard suddenly placed a hand on her thigh, freezing her in motion. Prue stared at his veiny knuckles.

"Really, I'm not that interesting," she muttered, trying to move out of his grasp.

"A little modesty? I like that. I'll make you a proposition, darling. I've got a car waiting downstairs. We can leave any time you like. And I guarantee you'll have the best continental breakfast this side of Gotham come morning."

He grinned at her wolfishly as his hand climbed steadily up her thigh. Prue was at first too shocked to respond. She wanted to imprint her palm on his face, but she suddenly realized his fingers were getting dangerously close to the envelope in the waistband of her stockings.

She seized his wrist in a fit of panic. "You don't want to do that."

"What, do you have a secret weapon there?" he leered.

"Yes," and she launched a clumsy fist at his jaw. It wasn't strong enough to leave a mark, but it bewildered him momentarily so that he removed his hand from her stockings. Prue practically flew out of the chair.

"I'm reporting you, you little cow!" the man yelled after her receding figure.

The car couldn't come soon enough. She almost wrenched the door open. Prue had walked two blocks out of the way like Barsad had told her, but if she had to take one more step in these shoes she'd throw a hissy fit.

Her hand flew to the dress' side-zipper and she tugged at it angrily as she clambered into the car.

"God, I can't breathe."

She landed in the backseat, one shoe already discarded. The other was left comically dangling from her foot when she saw who was sitting there already.

How did he do this? How did he become part of the shadows? How did he make his presence unnoticed? He was a giant. Giants shouldn't be this – small.

For a few moments, she tried not to breathe.

"Y-you."

"Me," he intoned with great relish. His face was half-darkness thanks to his ubiquitous mask. It struck her as cosmic irony that she had just left a masked ball.

"What are you doing here?"

She winced at her own nerve. She really had to stop running her mouth in front of him.

But Bane merely signaled for the driver to take off.

"You have a package for me."

Prue suddenly became aware of her appearance. Her dress was half unzipped and she was missing one shoe.

"Give me a minute," she blurted out, as her thick locks started falling from the pin at the top of her head. She made an effort to look for her shoe and fix up her dress, but it was evident that she was not going to do a very good job in the semi-dark, in a moving vehicle.

Bane regarded her fumbled attempts with supreme calm. His eyes never left her body. She felt incredibly exposed, and not only because of her dress.

She fished the envelope out of the waistband. "Here." It was warm, almost as warm as her skin.

Bane grabbed it from her fingers. He let it lie in his palm for a few moments, without opening it.

"What did you think of the blueprints?"

Prue blinked, drawing her legs together. "I didn't –"

"You must practice a better lie than that." His mechanic warble was oddly subdued in the quiet of the car, but she wasn't fooled by the calm before the storm.

She inhaled sharply. "All right. I looked. But I don't know what it is."

She saw a familiar tilt in his eyes. "I can believe that."

Prue bit her lip. The distance between them was negligible. He could seize her by the throat in one quick motion and she'd be done for. He had killed with bare hands.

And yet, she felt that he wouldn't hurt her, not in this car. It would be …unseemly.

She braved the next question without much concern for self-preservation. "So, what is it? What's in those blueprints?"

Bane regarded her for a moment. Then he tapped the envelope with his fingers. "This? This is a reactor."

Prue mulled over the information he'd offered. It didn't mean anything to her. "Well, that doesn't make it any clearer."

His eyes crinkled. "I expect not."

Prue suppressed a frustrated sigh. "What – what kind of a reactor is it? What does it do?"

"I give you a finger and you take the whole arm," he observed gruffly.

"I did what you told me, I played your little ruse. I spent the whole night on my feet, so I think I'm entitled to –"

"I say what you are entitled to. Do not forget," he reminded her coolly.

Her jaw clicked shut against her will. She folded her hands across her knees. She felt a chill on her skin, even though his size rendered the backseat oppressively warm.

How many more errands am I going to run for you? she wondered desperately. When will it be enough?

"How did you find Ms. Tate?" he inquired, catching her off-guard.

"She…" She had found Miranda Tate many things. Beautiful, elusive, penetrating, confusing…

"She said I have a willingness," Prue replied.

And perhaps for the first time since she had met him, Prue saw something like surprise cross his face. His eyes widened for a fraction - but only a fraction - before they returned to their dull sheen.

"What does that mean?" Prue asked, watching his face carefully. "She said not many people have it nowadays."

"Anything else?" he asked, ignoring her question.

Prue sank her nails in the softness of her palms. "Is she an associate of yours?"

"Anything else?" he asked, a dangerous strand of impatience slipping into his voice.

"I…no. Well, Bruce Wayne showed up," she added stupidly, because she did not want to lose the thread of the conversation. She was starving for information.

Bane stared at her.

"Well," she fumbled. "You can't blame me for noticing that Wayne Enterprises are important to…" you, "…the operation."

There was a moment where he might have contemplated crushing her skull, she was certain of that. But all he did was lean forward an inch. It was enough to make her stiffen.

"He is taken care of," was his even reply.

Prue wondered if by taken care of he meant the woman with the cat ears. She wasn't going to push her luck by asking, though.

"I guess there's one more thing," she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I know Barsad said not to draw attention but…well, I think this one guy might complain about me."

Bane raised an eyebrow.

Prue pulled at the hem of her dress awkwardly. "One of the donors. He got a bit handsy with me at the end. I may have hit him in the face. He didn't seem pleased."

The air between them shifted. She felt a sudden wave of anger rolling off his gigantic frame. Prue winced. "Sorry, I promise I kept a low profile otherwise. But I couldn't stand still while he -"

"Where did he touch you?" he interrupted her severely.

Prue wanted the earth to swallow her. She pointed in the general area of her thighs. "I was afraid he'd get to the envelope."

Bane only grunted in reply. She understood he was pissed off, but surely that sleaze would forget about her in the coming days? She'd only mentioned it to clear her conscience.

"Name." It didn't sound like a question.

Prue frowned. "Blevin. Richard Blevin."

"Very well."

She wanted to ask what that meant, but she had a hunch she had exhausted her avenues with him for one night. She turned her head to the tinted window, wondering what all of this would amount to in the coming weeks. She was sitting in a car with a dangerous terrorist. And she was still alive, for now. The trick was to keep going.

Two days later, she got some answers.

She had come home from university to find Barsad eating cereals – her cereals – in front of the TV without a care in the world.

"Little late for breakfast, don't you think?" she snipped moodily.

"Aren't you a ray of sunshine? Tough day at school?"

The way he lengthened each vowel made her want to hit him.

"Anyway, you should come have a look. You might enjoy this."

"I highly doubt it," she muttered, pouring herself a glass of water.

Barsad helpfully turned up the volume until she was forced to listen to the broadcast.

"…so far, we could not reach his lawyers for comments, but Mr. Blevin has denied the charges levied against him, despite the overwhelming evidence. This, of course, comes as a shocking revelation for his wife and family…"

Blevin.

Prue rushed into the living room. The newsreel on the screen showed the same sniveling man from the previous night getting into a limo, an expression of utter contempt on his face. On the left corner of the screen was a photo of a girl who looked young enough to be in high school. She was, in fact, wearing a uniform.

Barsad was grinning. "Turns out, the old coot got in bed with a sixteen year-old. They found the damning evidence…somehow."

Prue pressed a hand to her lips. She found that she was smiling, even though she really didn't want to.

"Boss takes care of his own," Barsad explained smugly.

His own. Prue, for once, was not bothered by the inclusion.

A/N: thank you for your lovely reviews once again! this chapter is a mixture of canon and AU as you could probably tell. The line Miranda said about "willingness" will be explained in later chapters, but safe to say, it means something to Bane. Anyway let me know your thoughts!