I do not own Batman at all. Molly is my original character, however. I make no money off this fic.
AN: Sorry it's been so long, people. I'm close to finishing this now, I think, but it may still take a little bit. Thanks for your patience and continued readership. :)
When Molly woke up again, it was late afternoon. She tried to remember what had happened earlier in the day with little success. Breakfast, Bruce, Alfred, calling her grandmother…Bruce again, reading to her. Some sort of teleconference happened. And then she'd passed out again, too exhausted to stay awake much longer. Or too drugged. One of those. Either way, the memory of Bruce being so kind, tenderly helping her in and out of bed, bringing her food and tea, the paper, her books…they were the first thing on her mind when she woke to the setting sun streaming through her window.
She was almost starting to like the penthouse apartment. She certainly didn't get sun like that in her own walk-up.
And then the haze of drugs and sleep began to clear and she could hear voices. The low murmurs reminded her violently of her kidnapping days ago and she jolted upright, only to fall back on the pillows again as a wave of dizziness swept over her. A different set of memories, of waking in a hospital bed, of hearing her student being shot to death, of being terrorized by that awful man filled her head and she squeezed her eyes shut. Bringing her hands to her face she pressed her fists against her eyes, wishing she could forget all those horrors. Why her? Why now? Just a week ago her life had been relatively normal and now…she was in protective custody; pretending to be dating a man she might actually want to date; survivor of a brutal kidnapping and attempted murder; and the only witness against a man who was single-handedly running the gangwar in Gotham's schools. Her life was never going to be the same.
Well, she'd known that already. The minute she'd seen her coworker gunned down. No, actually, the minute she'd seen Bruce Wayne at his insufferable charity ball. She'd known when he'd looked at her like she was his prey that a new age was coming.
She laughed a little hysterically and the laughter quickly turned to tears as the stress of the last several days hit her in full force. The murmur of voices from outside subsided and a second later there was a light knock on her door, then it swung open a crack.
"Molly?" Bruce asked. The minute he saw her tears, he was inside and on the bed, holding her close.
"I can't take this," she whispered against his shoulder. "Why is any of this happening?"
"Molly, we talked about this earlier-"
"I don't care," she protested weakly. "I can't take it. I can't be here. I'm putting all of you in danger, even my kids-" She choked on another sob and Bruce tenderly stroked her hair.
"No you're not. Shh. It's alright. It will be alright. I have you. Let me get you help."
She froze, then exhaled shakily. "The Batman-"
It was his turn to freeze. He pulled away and raised a brow. "Would you feel safer with him around?"
She shook her head and he sighed and gathered her to him again. "What's wrong, Molly? You were alright earlier."
"I don't know- I'm sorry," she breathed. She felt her heart slowing as he held her, his strong arms surrounding her. "I just woke up and was disoriented…and I heard you out there. It reminded me of-"
She broke off and turned her head, burying her face against his chest. He dug his fingers into her short locks gently and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I should have been here."
"No," she hiccupped. "I'm just a mess. After nearly twenty years I never expected to see him again. Ever. It's bound to mess me up a little." She gave a small, sad laugh and Bruce felt his heart contract painfully.
"We're going to get him. He won't ever see the light of day again, I swear to you."
"I know. I'd kill him myself if I had to," she responded softly and Bruce froze again. Something in him suddenly understood this woman, recognized her and marked her as his own. Because for all his high minded ideals, he knew that given the chance to murder the son of a bitch and leave him to the justice system…he would tear him to pieces first, hands down.
He thought that somehow, Rachel would probably understand.
"You have tracked her, correct?"
"Yes, Vodyanoy."
"What I mean is, you have the right apartment where she is located."
"Yes, I just said-"
The older, larger man rounded on his minion with surprising speed and before he knew it, the young man found himself two feet in the air, one giant hand around his throat, crushing his windpipe.
"I only ask twice, you moronic excuse for a mobster, because the Batman, he has not been anywhere near this penthouse. And since I think- no, I know- that the woman is of interest to him, it makes no sense that he would not be there to protect her." He finally let go of the other man, who crumpled to the floor, clutching at his throat and gasping for air. "Right now we could walk right into that building and take her, at any hour of any day and no one could stop us. The security of a man like Bruce Wayne presents no challenge to me. And yet the Batman does not come. Why?"
He whirled about and pointed a finger at the rest of the men.
"Tell me that!" he bellowed. "Why?"
"Perhaps he knows you are watching, that it is a trap," suggested one man. Vodyanoy sneered at him, but the expression faded as one of thought descended on his face.
"Perhaps…but how do we tell?"
"Go in after her."
Almost immediately a dozen voices were raised in protest. It was too soon, it was too foolish, too dangerous…Vodyanoy silenced them all with a wave of his hand.
"I do not disagree. It is too soon. We will let them sit happily, safely for another night. And when they least expect it, we will come. And though none of you have said it, I have thought it: either the Batman will arrive to save her, or he is already there."
Molly scratched at the spot on her arm again. It had been itching madly since a few hours ago. She assumed something had bitten her while she'd been crawling around in the Narrows, looking for escape. But if it was a bite, it was a strange one. There didn't seem to be a mark on her- just a small, bright red pin prick. It was very strange. She rather hoped it wasn't an early symptom of meningitis. Lord knew she'd ingested enough bacteria during her ordeal that it was possible. There was a motion out of the corner of her eye. She looked up from her own preoccupation to realize that Bruce was staring at her with a funny look on his face.
"Are you ok?" he asked quietly, leaning away from the microphone. They were in the middle of another video conference with a board member for the new foundation.
She nodded quickly, curling her hand about her arm in an effort to keep from scratching again.
"As I was saying, these figures look very promising," the man on screen was saying. "I- Mr. Wayne? Are you there-"
"I am. Listening to every word. Have you run this by Lucius? He should probably know. We're keeping the bank accounts and paper trails separate, true, but it's still going to have the Wayne name on it."
"Since you brought it up, Mr. Wayne, I should also point out that the Foundation already has its fingers in education. We were unsure of how to broach the subject, since you seem to have taken a rather personal side in the matter-"
At that, Molly sat up and decided she'd better say a few things.
"That may be true about the Wayne Foundation, but they're all still private. Just because tuition isn't being charged doesn't mean everyone is getting the same education. The number of children who are rejected every year is staggering. There aren't enough of those schools to swallow all the children who need a good education in this city. So where do the kids go who aren't accepted? Public. It's time the Wayne Foundation and its board woke up to the fact that for all the good they do, hundreds are still lost in the cracks every year. Cracks myself and my fellow educators are left trying to plug with an underemployed, underfinanced public education system. So, unless you plan on opening up enough free schools to negate the need for a public system, I suggest you help us out here. We're the only ones you haven't been helping, aside from the odd fundraiser or two. Wouldn't some fresh, idealistic journalist love to get her teeth into that story? The ignored public system while the children of the rich-"
"That's hardly news," the man responded, huffing some. Bruce raised a brow at him and he realized how bad that had sounded. He tried to backpedal, but Bruce waved a hand.
"Never mind. Just contact Lucius with those figures. And thank you for your time this evening."
The other man sighed and then the screen went blank. Bruce looked over at Molly, who had her arms crossed and a scowl on her face.
"Are you always like this in these situations?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
Bruce turned and put out his hands, leaning towards her. The glare on her face softened and she finally relented and placed her hands in his.
"You know what I mean. Diplomacy. Tact. Politics."
"You mean game playing and no, I don't follow the rules," she replied. "The people who follow the rules rarely get anything done, or effect real change." She put on her teacher face and straightened up a bit. "'Well-behaved women-'"
"'Rarely make history.' Yes, I know that," Bruce said. He squeezed her hands gently and smiled at her. "Speaking of rare, how do you like your steak?"
Molly laughed and pulled her hands away. "I don't, but thank you." She suddenly looked back up at him, her eyes wary. "We're just staying here for dinner again?"
Another day had passed in a partially drug-induced and sleep-ridden haze. And even though her eyes were brighter than they'd been, Bruce was still loathe to speed up her recovery any.
"Of course. You still have recovering to do. By the way, do you need something for that itch?"
"Yes- no. I have no idea. It looks like maybe something bit me. Could have been anything, in the Na-" She broke off and looked away helplessly, then shrugged. "Sure. I'll ask Alfred."
"I'll ask him," Bruce replied, raising a brow and pushing her back into her seat. "Stay put. Check your email, grade some homework. I'll be right back."
Molly watched him walk away. The expanse of his broad shoulders beneath his carefully tailored shirt was comforting…and attractive. She felt that tug in her stomach, the one that didn't have anything to do with being ill, and a funny smile crept across her face. If she wasn't careful, she was already half way to in love with him. The smile fell away and she looked back at the computer screen, then straightened herself up again as best she could, tugged the keyboard over, and began typing.
Bruce paused at the front of the hall and looked back at Molly. She was sitting in front of the monitor, her back straight and chin held high. She was still pale, though, and the loose fitting top to make room for the bandage on her side belied her projected image of good health. His jaw twitched as he watched her- call it concern, call it affection- it might even be love. But at this point he was beyond worried for her. The doctor had said she needed to just relax, rest and recover for a few days- a few weeks, more like- but he knew that wasn't going to happen. She was like him: unable to relax in the face of unresolved danger. Relaxation only made you lose your focus, which was stupid when there were still people trying to kill you.
Batman hadn't stayed alive by being stupid. He'd done it through hard work and long nights and never by avoiding the issue at hand. Which was probably partly why Bruce felt like he might jump out of his skin if he had to wait around the penthouse much longer. They'd been getting work done, certainly, and had made some excellent progress with the new foundation for Gotham's public schools…but there was something going on. Bruce could feel it- an undercurrent in the situation that wasn't hitting him right and it made him nervous. Gordon's men had the information on the Narrows, yet they hadn't made a move the whole day- not that he blamed them. The Batman was normally the one to go in and clear things out partially before sending in the squads. But Bruce was holed up at the penthouse, taking care of an invalid Molly. Not that she'd accept her status, but the truth was she was still too weak to really go anywhere. It would take at least another full day's rest before he could move her. And he did plan on moving her.
Meanwhile, he felt certain that the mob boss was making waves quietly below ground, smoking them out somehow. If only he could put his finger on it…oh, he suspected they knew exactly where Molly was and were having the penthouse watched, somehow. It was the why of it that concerned him more than anything. Were they after Molly again, or was she right and she was just a ploy to draw out Batman?
A voice at his shoulder spooked him and he glanced at Alfred, who had his brows raised.
"I haven't taken you unawares in quite sometime, Master Bruce."
"I'm off my game."
"So I noticed. While I am pleased with the interest you've taken in Miss Molly, being off your game won't help her any."
"I know that." Bruce turned and looked at his butler and oldest friend and compatriot. "What do you suggest?"
Alfred watched Molly a moment longer and then glanced at Bruce. His face was serious, the kind of serious it had been the day of his parents' funeral. The day Rachel had died.
"If I were you, Master Bruce," Alfred said softly, "I would get her out of this city as quickly as possible."
Bruce nodded and looked away, back at Molly. "That's what I intend to do." He sighed. "First thing tomorrow, then."
