Wednesday, August 5, 2009 – 6:57am – The Ritz-Carlton Hotel; Gotham City, New Jersey

Ana stared at the plain white ceiling of the hotel room as she listened to the wind whistle past the window. Lying on her back in bed, she exhaled, running her hands over her face and up through her hair exasperatedly. This was a rare day to sleep in, and instead she tossed and turned the four hours she managed to keep her eyes shut instead. Once she couldn't take that anymore, she alternated between lying in bed at different angles and sitting in front of the window with her head pressed against the glass, looking downwards at the tiny ants of people far below.

Suddenly she darted up and dashed to her purse sitting on the table in the other room. Digging through her bag, she rediscovered the small, plain business card. As she leaned back against the desk, she examined it closely.

Dr. Leslie Thompkins. East End Free Clinic.

If her conscious was this restless, maybe volunteering would help put it at ease?

Over an hour later, and after sitting in seemingly endless rush hour traffic, the town car pulled in front of a shabby looking building with a large first aid sign hanging perpendicular to the street. The building, though shabby, looked better than some of the other buildings around it, and as she got out, she noticed that the sidewalk was littered with hooker stickers and fliers, as well as spotted with old and degrading gum stains. Parting ways with her town car, the driver was polite enough to wait until she went inside.

The inside looked like a plastic surgeon's office in Beverly Hills, minus all the ridiculous aesthetical features. The walls were freshly painted with bright, matching colors and accent walls, framed portraits hung in select areas, and fresh potted plants littered the hallway and waiting area. Only a couple of people lounged in the cushioned chairs, neither looking like they were deathly ill as one of them flipped through a magazine and the other was too intently focused on the TV in the room to notice her glance.

A stout, dark skinned woman with her short hair in tight braids rounded the corner, her eyes searching for the new visitor as if on cue. "Can I help you, hon?"

Stepping closer, Ana spoke up, "Hi, I'm looking for Dr. Thompkins?"

"Well, you've certainly come to the right place, hon. What did you need from her?"

"Oh, she just told me to stop by some time—"

"Patty, what—oh, it's you," Dr. Thompkins herself started as she, too, rounded the corner, a pair of latex gloves in hand. "Darling, what a pleasure to see you again. I knew you would come," she added with a warm smile, her blue eyes twinkling. It was such a different vibe from the other night, it threw Ana off.

"Uh…"

"Come here, let me show you around," the doctor waved, beckoning her closer.

Obediently, Ana followed, and they both disappeared around the corner and deeper into the clinic. They passed a couple of rooms full of medicine, computers and machines in addition to the restrooms before they reached the main room filled with at least fifty cots evenly spaced with sporadic curtains hanging from the ceilings around them. Less than half of them were filled, and most were still sleeping—or just lying there. With the skylight windows, the building must have been a small, old factory once upon a time.

"I started this clinic years ago with the help of Thomas Wayne. We both went to medical school together and we both agreed that Gotham needed a sanctuary like this for those who couldn't afford it. While Thomas worked to help the poor with public transportation through Wayne Enterprises in addition to his work at Gotham General, I worked here. Patty joined me a couple of years back when the work load was becoming too much for little old me."

Ana blinked as she looked around, her breath gone. Not only was this clinic in itself amazing, the fact that it had been running for years and in such pristine condition, but she personally knew the Waynes.

"Why did you want me to come here?" Ana finally selected as her first question.

"Why did you quit medicine?" the elder woman fired right back.

"Dr. Thompkins—"

"Please, darling, call me Leslie."

Ana huffed a sigh. "I quit medicine because someone once told me that I could do so many things with my life, so much more."

"More than help people?" she questioned, eyeing Ana carefully. "How much do you miss it?"

Looking around, Ana observed the few who were visibly bandaged up, sleeping in their cots. One young woman was trying to get out of bed with the help of another patient. The cry of a newborn echoed through the tranquility of the air from behind one of the curtains. "I don't know what I miss," she explained. "I miss a lot, and I regret a lot. But I like my new life." Was she trying to convince Leslie now? Or herself? "I like the travel and the—"

"Leslie, we've got a multiple gunshot injury," Patty interrupted from the hallway as behind her hobbled two men carrying a third in between them. She led them to the nearest cot and hurried to pull the curtains around them as the attention of the entire clinic turned towards them.

Leslie made it there in a matter of strides, already helping to ease the newest patient onto the cot as he squirmed and sweated, blood oozing from his clothes. "Anastasia, can you bring that cart over here please?"

Instantly Ana became unrooted from the spot and darted towards the cart she remembered seeing when she first walked in. Wheeling it straight back, she yanked it to a sudden stop at the foot of the cot before grabbing the scissors and handing them to Leslie's outstretched hand without the spoken request. In a flash, Leslie cut the shirt off the quivering young man and pushed it off to the side as it revealed two bullet holes in the abdomen.

Ana winced, not because of how much blood there was leaking from his stomach, but because she knew his chances were less than slim.

Wednesday, August 5, 2009 – 10:04am – East End Free Clinic; Gotham City, New Jersey

"So, let me get this straight, you guys got into a fight with a dog?" Ana asked one of the three men that had come in. This one was by himself now on his own cot while she swept the area around it.

He shrugged, his dark eyes peeking out from his thick, dreaded hair, the whites of his eyes standing out against his dark skin tone.

"Where did the gun come into play?"

"Da Russians love dem dogs. Dey use dem for edryding. Da guns only come out when da dogs start losin'," he muttered, examining his freshly bandaged arm where he had been bit.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, pausing in her sweeping. "Let me check with Leslie if you still need a rabies shot, too." And she needed a dustpan.

Ana slipped through the curtain and wandered back towards were the offices were. Down the hall, she could hear Patty on the phone with the morgue.

"Dr. Thompkins," Ana said as she set aside her broom and knocked on the locked medicine room door.

Promptly, Leslie opened it and allowed for the younger woman to pass through it before shutting it again. "I presume you're looking for that rabies shot," she commented as she closed the open cabinet she must have previously been in, grabbing the vial and packaged syringe off the counter above it.

Ana smiled with a nod, "just in case you forgot."

Leslie offered a smug smirk that clearly said as if, before moving towards the door, syringe and vial in her gloved hands.

But instead of instantly following, Ana paused. "Leslie, how did you know my name?" The thought hadn't struck her until after the gunshot patient had died and her thoughts had become unfocused again. It was then that she realized, looking back on the entire scene, that Leslie had addressed her by name when she had yet to tell it to her.

The older woman smiled playfully as she held open the door for her. "I knew who you were the minute you spoke."

Confused, Ana continued, "The other night? At the Wayne Foundation event? But you said you didn't remember me?"

"Your name evaded my memory at the time, but you haven't changed much in nine years, my dear."

Her answers were just adding to Ana's confusion. "How do you know me?"

"Anastasia, Bruce Wayne has always been a very important man in my life. I have known him since the day he was born. I never forget faces, especially the face of someone who once made him so happy," she answered with a coy smile, her eyes twinkling.

"But—"

"Give that young man another chance. He is grieving right now and needs a little inspiration to keep him going. There is still a lot more to him than meets the eye," she added with a knowing look.

"What—"

"Now, no more questions. I have work to do," the doctor concluded, ushering Ana out the door.

Frustrated and annoyed, but obedient, Ana snatched up the broom and went in search of a dustpan, shuffling around like a dog put out for the night. She was desperately racking her brain for an explanation of how in the world this crazy old lady knew her. Yes, she knew Bruce, but for all of a week. And she certainly couldn't have made him that happy. He disappeared from developed civilization for seven years after spending time with her. That didn't exactly shout "happiness." And what was all that nonsense about him grieving? What did she just walk into by coming into this clinic? By coming into this city?

Now she probably wasn't going to get any sleep tonight, either.