A/N: I'm sorry for snapping before. I was a little frustrated with the absence of reviews. Anyways, thanks for reading so far. I hope you like this chapter.

Disclaimer: Wait! Let me check… nope. Still don't own him. Maybe next week…

Chapter 3: Remember, Remember

November 5

6:00 am. Alfred rose, as he always did, with the sun. The day was promising to be bright and clear, perfectly suited for the celebrations that were going on in his homeland across the Atlantic. But Bonfire Night was the farthest thing from Alfred's mind as he ironed out the wrinkles in one of Bruce's immaculately cut suits. He laid it out along with a black silk tie, an undecorated button-down shirt, and a pair of black shoes shined so well you could see yourself in them. By the time everything was ready, it was nearing six-thirty, and Alfred set about the daunting task of waking the man to put into the clothes. He scrambled some eggs, fried a few strips of bacon, and toasted some bread. Despite Bruce's discouragement of such meals, Alfred felt that the young man needed something more substantial than the occasional bowl of rice that he'd been eating over the past few days. He topped off a glass of orange juice and set it all on a tray, fully prepared to walk up to Bruce's room, when the man himself entered.

Bruce took one look at Alfred and the tray, then turned to the fridge and, pulling out a bottle of water, said, "I'm not hungry, Alfred. And I'm not going."

"Master Bruce, I just spent the last hour preparing your clothes and breakfast. Now, and I say this with the utmost respect, if you don't do it on your own, I will force-feed you, tie you up, and stuff you in the trunk of the Rolls."

"Don't bother Alfred…" Bruce started, but the butler cut him off.

"I am perfectly willing to tranquilize you, sir, if that's what it takes to get you to pay your respects to the woman you love." Bruce felt as though he'd been slapped. He stared at the expression on Alfred's face. The man was perfectly serious as he set the tray down on the table, "Now eat."

Bruce ate.

8:43 am. Alex stood unsteadily before the bathroom mirror, inspecting his chest. Unlike most, he had learned to look past the scars. He was thinner than he'd been in a long time; a year of hospital food had not been kind to him. He could see where he had once been muscular, the result of years of eskrima- a Filipino martial art. His sister also took the classes, once she'd been old enough to join. He missed the feel of his rattan practice sticks, and wondered if he would get a chance to do it again. Of course, with time and physical therapy, he might be able to.

An impatient knock on the door jerked him from his thoughts. Stiffly, he slid the hospital gown back over his shoulders and walked past a grumbling man. His legs were still awkward when he walked, but he was getting better. He was surprised to find his sister sitting on his bed when he got back to the room.

"Why aren't you in school?" he asked. He looked at her. She was wearing a simple black dress, and she looked unhappy.

"It's Saturday, you numbskull," she smiled, but he could see it was forced.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry I haven't visited since Monday. It's been a bit of a hectic week."

He sat down next to her and put a firm hand on her arm. She met his eyes as he spoke, "Leah, quit skirting the issue. I asked you a question."

"Rachel Dawes is dead," she said flatly.

"You mean the attorney?" he was shocked. He'd never met the woman, but he heard that she was a monster in court, "How… when?"

"Halloween night. Someone's idea of a sick joke."

"So, you're…"

"Going to the funeral. Mom and Dad were invited, but they couldn't go. They're on call today," she sighed, "So I'm taking their place."

"How did they know her?"

"Dad's been a medical examiner for a few of her cases," she looked at him, "I met her once, when she came to the house for his help. She was nice enough, a little standoffish, but nice."

"It's a shame. I mean, she brought down Falcone, right?"

"Yeah," a slight smile came to her face, "With the help of the 'Bat-man.'"

"Speaking of him, has anyone heard from the caped wonder lately?"

"Nah. I figure he'd've been pretty busy since Sunday night, though," she glanced at her watch, "Hey, I've gotta head over there pretty soon. I'd better go."

"Give her my best, Leah."

"I really don't think she'd want that…"

"Shut up."

She grinned and blew him a kiss as she walked out.

12:00 noon. More than one hundred people had turned up for the funeral. People that Rachel Dawes had helped, people that had helped her, and people that just wanted to be have a connection to the late attorney. Bruce kept his head down and avoided the flashing cameras, wishing the ceremony hadn't been so public. He could see Rachel's mother sitting in the front row, her head bent and her hand held by a friend. Bruce felt his heart ache for her. She'd lost her husband many years earlier, and now her only daughter, her pride and joy, had been brutally murdered. She wasn't crying loudly, like so many of the others around, nor was she trying to gain attention.

When the ceremony ended, Alfred walked over to talk to her, and Bruce observed the exchange from a spot next to a tree. Mrs. Dawes gave the old butler a sad smile and a kiss on the cheek when se saw him, and she began speaking quietly.

"The poor woman," said a voice next to him. Bruce nearly jumped out of his skin. The girl was about half a foot shorter than him, maybe a little more, with long brown hair and rectangle-rimmed glasses. There was a small dusting of freckles on her tanned face, and she stood stiffly in her dress. She wasn't a stick, but she seemed a little too thin for her size. He couldn't quite place her age.

"How did you know her?" he asked, and was surprised to see that she nearly jumped out of her skin, too. She obviously hadn't known she was near anyone.

"I didn't, really," she admitted sheepishly, looking at him. Her eyes were at his chest level, so she tilted her head back, then slightly to the side. It was an endearing look, almost like a puppy happy to see a new friend. Her eyes were a warm brown color, and Bruce saw the recognition in them when she met his. To his relief, she didn't call attention to the fact that she was talking to the richest man in Gotham. She simply continued speaking, "My dad helped her out on a few cases," at his confused look, she added, "He's a doctor, a medical examiner. He testified a couple of times. How about you?"

Bruce swallowed slightly before he spoke, "We were old friends," he could hear a crack in his voice and silently cursed his emotions, "I… I've known her for a long time."

The girl's eyes clouded with sympathy. Bruce braced himself for the barrage of condolences that was sure to come, but once again, she surprised him. She laid a gentle hand on his arm and smiled softly, "I'm sorry. I can't imagine what it must feel like."

Bruce swallowed the lump in his throat. He didn't know what to say. The last time anyone had done something like that, he'd been eight years old and in a police station. And just like the last time, something called the comfort away. The girl noticed the photographer before he did, and stepped away behind the tree. Bruce glared at the man with such ferocity that he backed away, but when he turned around again, she was nowhere to be found. He sighed and went back to watching Alfred. Eventually, Mrs. Dawes waved good-bye to him, and he walked over to the tree.

The two men stood there silently as people began to file out of the cemetery. Finally, Mrs. Dawes passed them. She gave them a brief smile. Bruce couldn't help but think that it was the most unutterably sad thing he'd ever seen. He tried to smile in return, but it came out as more of a grimace. She lowered her head and walked away without a sound.

Long after everyone else had left, they were still standing there, by the tree. With the casket already in the grave, it would soon be filled with dirt and covered with grass. Bruce stepped forward, walking between the aisles of now-empty chairs, and pulled a rose out of his pocket. It was the deep red color that signified it was near the end of its lifetime. The lips of its petals were coal-black. Bruce dropped it into the hole, and it landed in one of the piles of dirt that had been sprinkled there by family members earlier. He watched it fall, then turned and walked back towards Alfred, who sat waiting in the car.

Ahh... so they meet! Like I said, no romance with her. How could you think that? She's still in high school! Get your mind out of the gutter and review.