A/N Caution: Fluff ahead. I wasn't planning for this chapter to turn into a fluff-a-thon, but somehow it did anyway.

A note that I meant to put in last time but forgot: I hereby give hardcore Batman fans fair warning – I am going to mess with the canon. So when something happens that's way out of line with any of the Bat's current histories, just take a deep breath, count to ten, and quash that vicious urge to hurl my broken body off a bridge. (It's not going to happen for a while, but I think you should start preparing yourselves now.)

Chapter 8

In Which Not Much Happens

Wasting your time…and ours.

- Slogan of Little Fluffy Industries

Hector, Nicolai, and Demetrios lay flat on their backs – Hector on his single bed and the younger boys on the double bed they shared. The three of them were grounded indefinitely, after Demetrios' escapade with the stranger, and after a week with nothing but school to break the monotony, they were half crazy with cabin fever.

"I told you," Nico said furiously, sitting up so that he could glare at Hector. "I told you we shouldn't have told mama. It's not like anything actually happened!"

Hector remained on his back, staring up at the ceiling. "And I told you," he began in a bored tone, "that Demetrios would have blabbed sooner or later, and then she would have killed us instead of grounding us."

"I would not blab," Demetrios said furiously, sitting up beside Nico.

"You wouldn't have meant to," Hector said kindly, "but you would have. You know you can't keep a secret."

"I can too!"

"No you can't," Nico contradicted, abruptly switching sides. "What about my present for Ari last Christmas, huh? And that time I skipped school to go to the ball game? You promised to keep those secrets, and you didn't even last twenty-four hours."

"That was different," Demetrios muttered, flopping back down. "Those weren't really important."

"It would have been important if it had been your butt Papa whipped."

"Cut it out," Hector snapped. "It's bad enough being stuck in here without you two arguing…"

Their bedroom door swung open, and Athena's ample figure filled the doorway. "Mrs. Portokalos needs help fixing some things in her apartment. I told her I had three good for nothing boys who should be put to use." She jerked her head toward the front door. "Up, up, go!"

"Me too?" Demetrios asked, slowly following his brothers. Privately, he was convinced that Mrs. Portokalos was a witch – she had a black cat and an enormous mole on her nose, and she had once put a spell on him to make his stomach hurt after he had accidentally knocked down her potted begonia with his baseball.

"Yes, you too." Athena swatted his bottom as he passed her. "Move a little faster than a turtle, why don't you?"

When they descended the one flight of steps to Mrs. Portokalos' apartment, they found the door standing open and a musty, damp smell drifting out. Hector knocked on the wood. "Mrs. Portokalos?" he called.

There was a shuffling, and a stooped woman came out of the kitchen. "Hello boys," she greeted in a quavering voice. "It's so nice of your mother to lend you to me. I hope I'm not keeping you from anything fun."

"Uh, no ma'am," Hector said politely and truthfully. "What would you like us to do first?"

She craned her neck back and cackled up at him. "You're almost as tall as your father, aren't you? Why don't you put those long arms to use and change some light bulbs? I think they're about all burned out." She pointed at a step stool and a pile of boxes. "You two come with me," she told the younger boys.

Demetrios stuck so close to Nicolai that he treaded on his heels and got himself glared at.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Portokalos handed Nico a screwdriver. "You know how to use this?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"All the cupboard doors are coming loose. I don't have much of a grip myself, anymore." She held out her crooked fingers. "Arthritis. Now you," she put her shriveled hand on Demetrios' shoulder, causing his heart to stop in his chest. "Come with me."

Was she still angry with him about the baseball? Did she have some even worse curse in store for him? He wanted to run out the door, screaming, but instead he wordlessly followed her to the back of the apartment and into the room that was his bedroom at home. There was no door in the wooden frame, and the room beyond was filled with rows and rows of shelves. Neatly lining the shelves were hundreds of glass jars, each holding a peculiar substance. He froze in the doorway, unable to take another step.

Mrs. Portokalos looked back at him curiously. "What's wrong, boy? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Are those for your spells?" Demetrios asked faintly.

She peered at him and then at the shelves. "Of course!" she cackled. "Dragon's blood and lizard's tails and dog's eyeballs. I can't abide dogs," she said confidentially, leaning on her cane.

"Oh," was all he could say.

She nodded her head full of wispy hair. "There's nothing like a jarful of dog's eyeballs to whip up a good curse. But don't worry, boy, I won't be cursing you today. Not unless you've been throwing balls at my windows again." She looked at him severely.

"No, ma'am!" he exclaimed. "No ma'am, no balls."

"Good." She picked up an empty ice cream bucket and handed it to him. "Bastet decided to climb my bead curtain the other day. Broke all the strands. There must be a million beads rolling around this floor." She repeated her severe look. "Mind you get them all. The last thing I need is to slip on a bead and break my hip."

"Yes, Mrs. Portokalos," he promised, fervently, and sighed in relief as she hobbled back out of the room. He dropped to his knees and began scooping up beads, convinced his life depended on it.

The bottom of his bucket was well covered when she hobbled back into the room. He scrambled back from where he had been peering at a section of jars full of yellow spheres floating in a thick syrup – he was pretty sure they were eyeballs.

"Don't you go touching those," she warned. "You don't know what nasty things might happen to you if you fool with a witch's spell supplies."

"Oh no, I wouldn't…I wouldn't!" he gasped.

"Hmmmph. Well, you'd better have a cookie. Give your eyes strength to help find those beads."

He looked nervously at the plate she held out to him. "Umm…"

She gave another of her dry little laughs. "Don't worry. Only normal ingredients in these, no magical ones."

He took the smallest cookie and, since she kept staring at him, took a small nibble off the edge. It tasted all right. Braver, he took another bite and another until it was gone. "Have the rest," Mrs. Portokalos urged, shoving the plate into his hand. She hobbled over and sank into a chair.

Demetrios sat down on the floor and ate another cookie. His crunching sounded loud in the silence, and he felt as though he ought to try and make conversation. "Have you been a witch for long?" he asked, in his best polite voice.

"Oh yes, since I was born. Every girl in my family is, you know."

Demetrios ate another cookie. "I suppose you've cast a lot of spells."

"Not as many as you might think. It doesn't do to be always interfering. That's the worst of some witches – always poking their noses into other people's business. I only do it when it's warranted."

He was wasn't sure what 'warranted' meant, but he nodded politely and bit into the last cookie. "Have you cast any spells on me?" he asked suddenly. "Besides the one after I, er…"

"After you knocked over my begonia? You figured out that was me, did you?"

He nodded fervently. "Yes, ma'am. I've never had such an awful stomachache."

"Well, I hope you learned something from it."

"I did," he assured her hastily.

"Hmmph. Seems there's hope for the younger generation yet." Moving slowly and leaning heavily on her cane, she pushed herself up from her chair. "Get back to those beads, young man. I'm going to check on your brothers."

He felt as though he had picked up thousands of beads before she hobbled in again and peered into his bucket. "That's enough," she said abruptly.

Relieved because his knees were beginning to ache, he stood up and handed her the bucket. She looked at it and sighed. "Even if I could get them restrung, I don't dare put them back up. Darn cat shreds all my curtains."

Nico's voice called, "Hey Demetrios! We're going to the store to buy some more light bulbs."

She pointed her nose with its enormous mole toward the door. "Go on, they're waiting for you."

"Thank you, Mrs. Portokalos," he said gratefully, and bolted.

In the cool interior of Sims, Hector pulled a bill out of his pocket. "Mrs. Portokalos gave us five dollars to get some ice cream or something, so you guys choose what you want." He went down the aisle to find the light bulbs, and Nico peered through the glass cover of the ice cream case.

Demetrios wandered over to the candy display and deliberated between bubble tape and pop rocks. She's really not so bad, for a witch, he mused as he noticed a dusty string of plastic packages hanging from the edge of the shelf. Make your own stained glass! Turn a boring window into a rainbow of colors! the printing on the packages proclaimed. They held plastic sun catchers in a variety of designs and little of tubs of paint. Demetrios found one with a cat and a butterfly on it and pulled it off the string.

"I want this," he told his brothers.

Hector took it and looked at the price. "Three dollars? That's more than your share." He handed it back.

"I know, but pleeease?"

"Why do you want that stupid thing anyway?" Nico demanded.

"For Mrs. Portokalos. She can't put curtains on her windows because the cat rips them up. And I need her to like me, so she won't curse me again." True, she had apparently forgiven him for the begonia thing, but it didn't hurt to rack up extra points with a witch.

Nico rolled his eyes. "She did not curse you."

"She did too! She told me so herself."

Nico and Hector exchanged glances, and then Hector threw his ice cream bar back in the freezer. "He can have my part of the money."

"You always baby him!"

"I am the baby," Demetrios said sweetly. "Thank you, Hector."

Nico heaved a disgusted sigh and put back his own ice cream. "You can have a dollar," he told his older brother.

"No, it's ok, I don't want anything."

"If you won't get anything, then I won't get anything."

Hector groaned. "Why do you have to make everything so difficult?"

"I'm difficult? Demetrios is difficult!"

Finally back at home, Demetrios sat down on his bedroom floor and tore open the package. The cat should be black like Bastet, he decided, and filled that part in first. Ariadne stuck her head through the door and wrinkled her nose at the acrid smell of the paint. "What are you doing?"

"Painting." Demetrios explained about the cat and the curtains.

Ariadne sat down on the floor next to him. "That's a good idea. Hey!" She perked up with excitement. "You know what you should do instead of giving it to her? You should climb down the fire escape when she's asleep and hang it on the outside of her window. Then she'll be surprised when she wakes up in the morning. She won't know who did it!"

Demetrios hesitated. The whole point was to get on Mrs. Portokalos' good side. On the other hand, she was a witch so she could probably figure it out. Besides, the element of mystery appealed to him.

"Demetrios isn't allowed on the fire escape," said Nico who had entered in time to hear Ariadne's plan. "And if he goes I'll tell Mama." Nico was still irritated over the drugstore money.

"What are you going to tell Mama?" Hector asked, coming in behind him.

Demetrios gave his biggest brother his most appealing look. "Hector, will you climb down the fire escape tonight and put this on Mrs. Portokalos' window?"

"Why, so she'll think Santa Claus left it or something?"

Ariadne giggled. "Maybe she'll think the Batman left it!"

Nico groaned. "The Batman is way too cool to go around leaving stupid pictures on people's windows."

"How do you know?" Ariadne asked haughtily. "I bet he does nice things for people all the time, and they never even guess."

"Whatever." Unable to tolerate the stupidity of his younger siblings anymore, Nico left.

"Please Hector?" Demetrios pleaded.

"All right, I'll do it. But no more favors for a week!"

Bruce settled back in his chair, never taking his eyes off Alex Peaceable. Since the Miss Tracy fiasco, he had made a point of sitting on at least one tutoring session every two weeks. Some of the tutors were extremely nervous in his presence – stumbling over their words and dropping things. Others succeeded in at least pretending to ignore him, although they gave themselves away by never looking in his direction. It was apparent that Peaceable would rather not have Bruce there, but he didn't let his employer's presence fluster him. Nor did he make much attempt to conceal the dislike that flitted across his features whenever his eyes lighted on the visitor. Bruce often wondered whether Peaceable simply thought him completely oblivious or whether he thought that as long as he stayed on Alfred's good side his job was secure.

"Did you complete the reading?" the tutor was asking now, flipping the geography textbook open to the appropriate chapter.

Dick shrugged. "Some of it."

"Complete means all. Therefore, your answer should be no."

"Ok. No."

Peaceable casually ran his finger down the page. "What's the capital of South Africa?"

"Uh…" Dick squinted up at the ceiling in thought. "South Africa City?"

"Nice try. Mr. Wayne, perhaps you could enlighten your ward?" Peaceable's expression was politely inquiring, but Bruce thought he detected a gleam of malice in the educator's eyes.

He's trying to humiliate me in front of Dick. Anger momentarily clouded his judgment and he snapped, "Pretoria." Idiot, he immediately reprimanded himself. You are supposed to be modeling self control here. "The Waynes used to have diamond interests in South Africa," he added with an ingratiating smile.

"Yes, I suppose diamonds would make it worth remembering."

On the surface, it was an innocuous remark, but Bruce thought he detected a sneer behind it that said the playboy couldn't possibly remember a simple fact unless it was directly related to his precious billions. His temper got the better of him again, and he glanced at his watch, affecting concern. "Dick, we've got to go, we're going to be late for your doctor's appointment."

Dick looked over at him, surprised.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten! You were groaning about it all yesterday."

"Doctor's appointment?" Peaceable asked politely.

"Yeah, we think he's got some kind of bug. Needs a good antibiotic to clear it out. Didn't Alfred tell you?"

"No, he must have forgotten to mention it."

Bruce shrugged. "We hate to think about it, but he is getting old. Come on, kid, let's go."

Peaceable rose with them. "Why don't I wait until Dick comes back? After having missed all day yesterday, I'd hate for him to fall even farther behind."

Bruce tried not to glare. "You might have to wait awhile. You know how these doctors are."

"That's all right. I've got plenty of work to do right here."

"Suit yourself."

Dick stayed quiet until they were shut up in the study. "I don't have a doctor's appointment."

"No."

"Where are we really going?"

Bruce threw himself into one of the deep leather chairs. "I don't know."

"You made up a doctor's appointment to pull me out of lessons without a reason?"

"That sounds about right." A slow smile spread across Bruce's face. "I'm trying to be sorry."

Dick looked at him suspiciously. "Why?"

"That was a terrible thing to do – using you to get in a dig at Peaceable, disrupting your learning process for my own selfish purposes."

The boy sat down and surveyed his guardian with interest. "I don't think I've ever seen you do a terrible thing before."

"You've been sheltered," Bruce replied, only half joking. "Alfred's going to kill me."

"What do you mean Alfred? I should kill you," Dick said indignantly.

Bruce's eyebrows shot up. "Oh yeah?"

"Using me, disrupting my learning process… This could upset my academic progress for years!"

Bruce caught on. "All right, Grayson, what do you want?"

"Paintball," Dick responded promptly. "In the orchard."

"Tonight?"

"Now."

"What if Peaceable sees us?"

"The schoolroom's on the other side of the house," Dick pointed out. "And we'll stay on the far side of the orchard."

Bruce considered, then grinned. "You're going down, Grayson!"

Dick shook his head. "No way. Not this time!"

Alex marched angrily back and forth behind his desk. He wasn't stupid - he knew Dick didn't have a doctor's appointment. But without calling Wayne a liar to his face, there hadn't been anything he could do to stop them from leaving. The only real weapon in his power was to threaten resignation, but he was saving that as a last resort since Wayne might just decide to take him up on it.

It would be hours before they returned, and Wayne would no doubt have some cock and bull story about a traffic jam, or an emergency at the doctor's office, or an Alien invasion of the train system. Alex slammed his fist down on his desk, then forced himself to draw a deep breath. He needed to calm down. Losing his temper was the absolute worst way to deal with the situation. Maybe a walk would help. Grabbing his light jacket as protection against the early fall coolness, he headed outside.

He wandered the garden paths by the house for a while, and then headed deeper into the grounds. He had to admit that the estate was truly beautiful, and the bright sun and tasteful landscaping were having a soothing effect on his nerves. As he approached the orchard he heard a faint popping sound. Curious about what the gardeners might be doing, he continued forward until he stood beneath the trees. He peered around, but the dappled shade confused his eyes, and first he couldn't see anyone. He nearly jumped in shock, when he finally discovered the motionless figure ten feet away. The man had on a camouflage jacket and head gear that looked like it had come out of Star Wars. His hands cradled a piece of machinery that looked decidedly deadly, and its muzzled was pointed at Alex's heart.

No, he wouldn't… Alex stumbled back from the impact, his chest stinging as orange dye soaked into his shirt front. By the time he had regained his balance, Wayne was gone. That's it. That's it! He spun on his heel and raced out of the orchard. Back in the house, he darted into the kitchen and collapsed against the counter, chest heaving.

The butler, unperturbed as always, hung up the telephone. "May I assist you in any way, sir?"

"Alfred, where's the arsenal?"

I shouldn't have done that, Bruce told himself firmly for the umpteenth time as he crouched behind a tree, trying to figure out where Dick had disappeared to. His mental scolding was making no impression on his inner glee. There he had stood, a loaded marker in hand, Peaceable facing him with his white shirt front gleaming in the sun… It had been much too much to resist.

There was a crackling from some branches off to the right, and he immediately dropped to his belly and began wiggling forward over the grass. I bet he's trying to ambush me. He never makes that much noise. Convinced that he was right, he took a roundabout route toward the noise, scanning trees and ground carefully. At last he approached the mysteriously rustling tree, trying to squint up through the thick foliage to spot his ward. Inch by inch, he worked his way toward the base of the trunk, determined to get a clear shot.

So intent was he on the rustling tree that he when his hand came down on top of somebody else's, he was momentarily inactive with surprise. He dumbfounded at Dick, who was looking back with equal surprise, but before they could do more than stare, they were pelted with a barrage of shots from above.

"Ambush!" screamed Dick, as they frantically rolled out of range behind a neighboring tree.

Bruce dropped to ground and maneuvered so that he could get a good shot at the unfriendly tree without leaving himself open. "Let's find out who decided to play. On three. One, two…" Together, they furiously pumped shots at the tree, spattering its deep green leaves with a lurid display of blue and orange. A moment later, a lithe black man bounded out of the tree and darted for better cover.

"It's Al…" Dick cut his explanation short at the same moment Bruce felt something hard dig into the small of his back.

"Gentlemen, I suggest you drop your weapons."

Bruce craned his neck around to see Alfred gripping two long-muzzled markers, also holding Dick hostage. "A double agent," Bruce said darkly, tossing his marker out in front of him. Dick did the same.

"Now, put your hands behind your heads and get up slowly."

As they obeyed, Peaceable reemerged, sauntering forward with his rifle trained on Bruce. "Well, well, it would seem that the doctor's office has moved to a very convenient location."

Bruce gave an awkward shrug, his hands still behind his head in surrender. "Our old and trusted family physician, Dr. Hooky. He makes house calls."

"How very nice for you." Peaceable raised his marker slightly.

He wouldn't… Three stinging rounds exploded against Bruce's chest. He would. The billionaire staggered and groaned, then fell to the ground in a dramatic death pose.

He heard footsteps and then felt Peaceable's toe nudging him gently. He obligingly rolled over to display his death wounds. "You know Peaceable, you would have made a good Nazi."

"I do my best," the tutor returned modestly, then turned his attention to his next victim. "Sergeant Pennyworth, I'll be taking charge of this prisoner."

"Very good, sir." Alfred stepped aside and let Peaceable take up the guard position. "All right, you," the tutor growled at his wayward pupil. "March!"

As Dick left at a rapid pace encouraged by the muzzle of Alex's marker, Bruce sat up and pulled off his head gear. "Who'd have thought prickly Peaceable had it in him?"

"I believe you underestimate him, sir."

"You mean he underestimates me."

Alfred looked down at him thoughtfully. "It really bothers you that he doesn't like you."

"Why should it?" Bruce pushed himself to his feet. "Good people usually disapprove of me. I'm used to it."

"You've been encouraging him in his opinions since the day he started working here."

"Or maybe I've given him a fabulous job with a great kid, a generous salary, and very little interference. People see what they expect to see, no matter how good they are." The billionaire shook his head dismissively and draped an arm around his butler's shoulders. "Now, about this little matter of your sedition…"

The news that LexCorp had purchased the Deep Harbor Casino hit the GCPD like a lightning bolt out of a clear blue sky.

"Why did the Globe know about this before we did?" Gordon furiously demanded, throwing down the early edition in front of O'Hara, who had been put in charge of the robbery investigation.

The portly captain looked woeful. "I don't know! We knew the owners had received several offers, but none of them was LexCorp."

"LexCorp," Gordon muttered dourly, glaring at the Globe's headline: LexCorp fishes Deep Harbor out of deep trouble. "What of kind of presence do they already have in Gotham?"

O'Hara shook his head helplessly. "Not much. I mean, they've got fingers in a lot of pies, mostly chain businesses, but they're not moguls here. Gotham is Enterprises territory."

"We may be on the verge of a territorial war," Gordon predicted darkly.

O'Hara snapped his fingers. "Hey! One thing LexCorp does outright own are the Bobo's Galleries of Fun."

"Sort of an arcade, kid-friendly restaurant, right?" Gordon asked. "Jimmy went to a birthday party in one last month."

"Yeah. A couple of years ago there was an incident – a manager took a group of kids hostage and ended up shooting himself. No one else was hurt."

Gordon frowned. "I think I remember that. Our precinct didn't handle it."

"No, it came under Precinct 5. Detective Essen was there before she transferred here."

"She in today?"

"Yeah, but she's out right now. Somebody found a body by the docks."

"Send her to me when she gets in, will you?"

Gordon retreated back into his office, his mind filled with the details of the casino case. Five minutes after he had sat down at his desk, his phone rang. It was the commissioner, demanding to know why he hadn't known that LexCorp was planning to purchase Deep Harbor. Gordon spent his day running around, conducting a series of painful interviews, smoothing ruffled feathers, and making promises. When he at last returned to his office, it was dinnertime, and he only intended to pick up a handful of files before running home – almost on time for once. He was surprised to find a faintly familiar blond woman waiting for him outside his office.

She stood up from her chair as he approached. "You wanted to see me, Chief Gordon?"

It took him a moment to figure out who she was. "Yes, Detective Essen. I hope you haven't been waiting long."

She shrugged and held up a clipboard. "I got caught up on some reports."

Gordon led the way into his office and flipped on the lights. "Captain O'Hara tells me you were working in Precinct 5 when the hostage situation at Bobo's happened."

"Yes, I worked on that case."

"Good. What did you find out about LexCorp?"

"Quite a lot, actually. I was curious, so I took advantage of the opportunity to snoop around."

"So this is going to take awhile?"

"If you want the details."

"I do." Gordon paused, thinking. "Is this sensitive stuff, or could we discuss it over dinner?"

She sounded confused. "I…ah…Dinner?"

"I'm starving, and Charlie's down the block serves a decent steak. We could kill two birds with one stone."

"Oh. Sure. I mean, the information's not sensitive," she clarified.

"Great. Just let me get my briefcase together." As they walked down the block to restaurant, Gordon pulled out his cell and hit the speed dial for home. Babs answered. "Hi, Babsie, it's me. I'm not going to make it home for dinner. I've got to meet with a detective."

"Daddy, not again!"

"I know. I'm sorry, but…"

"LexCorp, I know," Babs interrupted.

"How'd you guess that?"

He could hear the tolerance dripping from her tone as she responded, "Daddy, it was in all the papers."

"Right. I'll see you later tonight, ok?"

"Ok. I'll save you a piece of pie."

"Thanks, baby. Bye." He hung up in time to open the door the door for Detective Essen.

She seemed a little startled, but mumbled, "Thanks," as she passed.

They settled at a quiet table in the back, and after they had ordered, Essen began, "The hostages weren't held very long. In fact, I had barely arrived on the scene before it was over. But I was heavily involved in the post investigation – what there was of it."

"What do you mean by that?"

"The guy was dead. His motive seemed clear – he had been caught juggling the books and was about to be fired and prosecuted. While he was holding the kids, he said things about wanting to ruin his superior's life the same way his own had been ruined."

"Any accomplices?"

"Not that we could ever discover. The senior manager was very cooperative, let us have access to employees, the doctored books – everything without a fuss. It seemed like an open and shut deal." Essen paused as the waitress set their plates in front of them.

Gordon cut into his steak and asked, "But you said you got curious. Why?"

"It was something the senior manager said. The perpetrator, his name was Carrisford, had seemed to think that what he did was going to hurt this guy. So I said something about, I hope this doesn't cause trouble for your business. An event like that can really hurt a place, especially if its somewhere that caters to kids."

"Yeah, I can see why."

"But the senior manager wasn't worried. He gave me this funny look – as if I had amused him – and then he said, 'Nothing keeps a LexCorp company down.' And that was when I got curious. I started poking around, trying to find out what I could about LexCorp. The first thing I discovered was that just because you don't hear the name much in Gotham, doesn't mean they're not here."

"O'Hara said something about a lot of fingers in pies."

"That's a good description. They're not whole pies – just pieces, but there's a lot of pieces."

"Like what?"

"The new housing in the Narrows for one. Cisco Banks, Husman's Hardware stores, Gladelands."

"Gladelands?"

"They bought in after Andrew Williams' death."

"Huh." They ate in silence for a while, Gordon pondering the new information. What Essen had related sounded like a creeping invasion – an invasion that had suddenly decided to go public. He swallowed the last bite of his steak and asked, "Was the manager right?"

She frowned. "About what?"

"Do LexCorp companies go down?"

"No," she responded. "They don't. All of the Bobo's, including that one, are up and running. For a year after the incident, it didn't get much business, but you'd never have known it from the way they kept it up. Open all the usual hours, didn't let any employees go…" She shook her head. "They were getting money from somewhere, and it wasn't from customers."

"Do you think they run some kind of side business?"

She shook her head slowly. "Maybe, but…I don't think so. I think some other part of LexCorp funded them until they got back on their feet. But it's not just them. All the businesses LexCorp's got interests in here are growing. They keep opening new branches and none of the old ones shut down. Ever. Even when it seems in their best interest."

"Is it like this everywhere, or just Gotham?"

"I don't know, I…"

His phone rang, and he pulled it out to check the number. The call was from home, and he shot Essen an apologetic smile. "Excuse me." He flipped it open and pushed 'talk.' "Hello?"

"Daddy?" came a voice almost obliterated by static.

He got up from the table and moved over to a window, hoping for a stronger signal. "Babs?"

"Daddy, you need to come home."

She sounded upset, as though she were on the verge of tears. "Babs, what's wrong?"

"It's just…you just need to come home, right now."

Gordon was seriously alarmed. His daughter didn't upset easily, and if she was pleading for his presence then something was very wrong. "All right, sweetheart, I'm on my way. Is anybody hurt?"

"No. Just hurry, ok?" She hung up.

He shoved the phone back in his pocket and grabbed his coat off the back of his chair. "I've got to go."

"Is something wrong?"

"I'm not sure." He fumbled for his wallet. "Do you see our waitress?"

"I'll get the tab," she offered.

"Oh, no, I couldn't let you…"

"Hey, it's not exactly the Ritz. I can handle it. You just go."

He gave in. "Thanks. Turn in the receipt as a business expense. I'll see you tomorrow." Shoving his arms into his coat as he went, he strode quickly to the exit, unaware of the way her gaze followed him out the door.

To Be Continued

A/N Ooh, a cliffhanger! I don't do this very often, so I expect stiff upper lips! Also, I'm not certain how frequently I'll be able to update in the future. There are two reasons for this. One is that the chapters for this story are insisting on becoming very long – about double the length of what used to be usual. The other is that the heavy duty part of the semester is coming up fast. I'll do my best not to make it too long between updates, but I just can't commit to a steady schedule right now. Remember that lots of thoughtful reviews keep me optimistic and in the mood to write!