Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters associated with Batman, only Nicole.
AN: I fixed a few grammatical errors in this chapter that I missed when I initially edited it. There's no new content, so there's no need to re-read it unless you really want to.

"It's in your head, in your head

Zombie, Zombie"

Zombie – The Cranberries

Nicole yawned widely as she leaned her head against the gray headrest that adorned the seat of her cherry red Chevrolet Blazer. She hated morning commutes with a passion. Being a small town girl, she was used to just getting in her car and going wherever she needed to with minimal waiting. Even though she had been in Gotham for six months, she still wasn't used to the traffic, and was currently sitting on the Aparo Expressway with traffic at a standstill due to an early morning wreck that she still couldn't see. Sure, she probably should have taken the train, which wasn't that far of a walk from her complex near Gotham University, but she typically preferred driving as it gave her time to think.

The sun was suddenly blotted out as the sound of a jet engine roared in her ears. She smiled as she sat watching the Boeing 777 land at Gotham's Archie Goodwin International Airport. That was a place she remembered fondly from her arrival in early January. It was one of the busiest airports in the entire world, easy for a small town girl to get lost in it. She would have spent hours there if she could have. After all, it was partly the reason why she was in Gotham.

Nicole thought back to her days at home. She was from a small town in South Carolina that few people had even heard of. She had graduated from high school, with honors, and went to one of the biggest colleges in her state along with the rest of her friends. It was a fairly respectable school, all things considered, and she had arrived full of hope. Her life was going to change. Only it hadn't changed. She still had the same friends, the same enemies, and the same problems in life. She loved history, which is why she had began majoring in it, but she never felt comfortable being in the program or even at the school itself. Sure she did all of the typical things; went to parties, took road trips with her friends, joined organizations--but her friends soon started getting married and starting families—most while they were still in college. The reality that the people she had grown up with just wanted a small town life and that most had never really tried to live their lives to the fullest made her come to a realization--that wasn't what she wanted. Oh, she was for having children and a husband one day--but she wanted excitement and to see the world first. So she took the first step and did something she had always wanted to do--she joined a flying club and took lessons. A few months later, Nicole was a bonafide private pilot and she loved every single minute of it. In fact, she loved it so much that she started taking engineering courses with the hope to switch her major to aeronautical engineering. Sure it would take longer, but she would be happy. It was all part of the plan; get the degree, be able to fly for a few years, do something rewarding in the aviation industry, but there was a slight snag. No one in the Deep South even offered an aeronautical program.

She did some digging and found that Gotham University had a program, the best in the nation in fact, and she applied right away. She was accepted for the fall semester of this year. Moreover, Gotham University had various internships that counted for credit. Nicole immediate applied for one with Wayne Aerospace, to learn the safety aspect of aviation. She was excited. Only when she has arrived in Gotham she was informed that there had been a mix up. They had accepted two people for the internship, when there was only one opening available. However, considering one of the requirements of the aeronautical program including taking six hours of business courses, Gotham University and Wayne Enterprises decided to place her in a newly available internship that would give her the remaining business course credits she needed. Her title would be administrative assistant to none other than Mr. Bruce Wayne himself. It definitely wasn't her ideal job since she had never been the type that loved to be indoors all day, but it paid, and more importantly, it gave her college credit. And from what she had heard at the time, Mr. Wayne wasn't too keen on showing up for work, let alone taking it seriously.

Nicole drummed her fingers on the wheel as traffic began moving. Yes! She wasn't going to be late after all, and maybe, she might even have time to stop for coffee!

Bruce Wayne walked into the bustling lobby of Wayne Enterprises, nodding his head with a smile at the receptionist as he did so. Although there was a look of disbelief on her face because he had arrived before 8 a.m., she quickly smiled her most flirtatious smile as she took in the man in the Armani suit. It always amazed him that almost every female--married or not--within a five mile radius seemed to flirt with him, if not outright throw themselves at him. Sure, it seemed like every man's dream to have beautiful women throwing themselves at you. It wasn't.

He made his way across the lobby and into an empty elevator. One of the perks of being early on a Monday morning was solitude. And it was solitude that he needed this morning. Stifling a yawn, he exited the elevator and made his way to his office. Once inside, he placed his things on the floor near his desk and almost fell into the seat. God, he was tired. Running a hand through his dark hair, he opened his briefcase and slipped out the manila folder containing the case information that Gordon had given him early that morning. A picture of a smiling, emerald eyed Miranda Johnson stared back at him. Beneath it, there were similar pictures of five other young women--the Calendar Killer's previous victims.

He rubbed his eyes but refused to give in to his tired state. He was running out of time. The killer seemed to have a thing for major dates and his victims were always found on a holiday, with the exception of Miranda Johnson. The bodies always had a slit throat and were always posed in some public place. So far, New Years Day, Valentine's Day, St. Patrick's Day, Easter, Mother's Day, and now, it seemed as if Memorial Day had been the intended target.

Bruce Wayne thought about the six women. What did they have in common? The first victim, Bernice "Bunny" Robbins, was an eighteen year old prostitute from the Narrows. She was found with a party hat on and doused with confetti, sitting outside of Arthur Arena where a huge concert had taken place on New Year's Eve. The fair skinned and tiny dirty blonde had few bruises anywhere other than her neck. She was relatively unharmed except for the gaping wound on her neck. Even her makeup was still perfect. Going over the case file, he found nothing remarkable--she was identified by the music note tattoo on the inside of her hip and the navel ring she bore. Other than that, the girl had no family to speak of and only one friend, a fellow prostitute that called herself Katarina had been the only one to offer to identify the body— and even she hadn't stayed long enough for the police to question her. The coroner's report listed death by massive blood loss. It also noted that the Bunny had had intercourse within the previous 24 hours prior to her death. That wasn't very surprising for a prostitute, but something to note all the same.

He picked up the next picture of a blue eyed, black haired girl with a short punk hairstyle. The well endowed and very shapely Stephanie Jones smiled up at him from the desk, surrounded by friends and alcohol. The 20 year old was easily identified by the eyebrow and nose piercings she sported. She was found in near the expressway in Aparo Park, sitting in a swing, with a bouquet of dead and wilted roses in her arms--the picture of what a Valentine from the grave might look like. In addition to the bruising and the wound on her neck, she was found with burns, possibly from a cigarette. It was well known to her friends that the stripper from the Platinum Club smoked, sometimes more than just what was legal. Was it possible the killer burned her with her own cigarettes before she died? Reading the report further, it too listed that she had had sexual intercourse, though it seemed consensual as there was no forced entry noticeable. Her friends had listed her as a true wild child--into recreational drugs and random hookups among other various activities. Staring at the picture for a second longer, he placed the photo in the growing pile and picked up the next one.

23 year old Jessica York who was perhaps the Calendar Killers most eccentric victim, stared back at him straight faced. Hailing from Gotham Village, Gotham's Bohemian district, the young woman was a bartender at a downtown club--the G Spot. It was a trendy club; even he'd made an appearance there, though he couldn't recall seeing the tall, pink haired beauty. Unlike the prior victims, York was a part-time student at Gotham University where she majored in art. By all accounts she was a friendly girl who lived a relatively clean lifestyle. She drank and dabbled in pot, but so did a lot of people in this city. She had a minor arrest record, all violations for protests of some sort. By all accounts the girl was non violent. According to the coroner's report, the girl had defensive wounds with skin under her nails indicating she had tried to fight back. The DNA match had come back inconclusive of course. Her other wounds were minor compared to the throat wound, except for one. A tattoo on her shoulder had been cauterized to the point to where it was unidentifiable. Interviews with her friends told the police it was once a pair of Chinese symbols meaning peace and love. Unlike the prior victims, the report didn't indicate any sexual activity prior to death. She was found sitting on a bench outside of Killinger's Department Store, a shopping bag full of empty green boxes next to her, assumingly, in the spirit of St. Patrick's Day. No fingerprints were found.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. Violence against innocents in general angered him. Violence against innocent women angered him further. With York's death, the killer was showing an escalation. He was becoming more violent. But why would he mutilate a tattoo? That didn't make sense. Sighing, Bruce picked up the next photo, one of a half smiling Anna Cox.

Anna was a dark skinned beauty with short black hair. The 23 year old was an aspiring model and had recently moved to Gotham to make her mark on the world. Unfortunately, the young woman was brutally murdered. Anna never made it to her last photo shoot, which was unlike her. When the agency called Anna's apartment, her roommate answered and stated that Anna hadn't been there the past few days. Frantic after not being able to find her, the roommate called the police and reported her missing. Two days later, Anna was found outside of Finnigan's Pub--the unofficial police watering hole as it were--in a leaning position with an empty Absinthe bottle that was filled with mini plastic Easter eggs sitting between her legs. But it was the manner in which she was found. Anna now sported ragged oversized men's clothes smeared with grease and blood, and, oddly enough, a pair of white bunny ears. The exotic beauty had been beaten savagely in the face and sported massive bruising, indicating she had been alive long enough for her injuries to set in. This meant the killer had kept her alive for some time. A toxicology report stated that massive levels of alcohol in her blood stream as well as GHB. Bruce didn't think Anna was much into body building so he was betting that GHB had been used as a so-called date rape drug. The reports did indicate that Anna had had sexual intercourse in the 24 hours prior to death; however, the report indicated that there was no physical trauma to indicate she was forced. However, if she had been drugged, then there probably wouldn't have been anything to indicate that.

Bruce cringed inwardly. GHB could be found in the right gyms and plenty of bodybuilders still used it so it would be hard to track down a supplier--hard, but not impossible. However, the fact the killer was now using drugs indicated that he had gotten smart. He either didn't want the women fighting back like Jessica York had or he was trying a new approach to pick up his victims. It was disconcerting either way—he couldn't be at every bar in Gotham City to find this guy nor would the victim be able to get away from her attacker.

The next photo was of smiling Tiffany Anders. The platinum blonde was tanned and had a body that was toned in all the right places, which made sense; she was a cheerleader for the Gotham Knights. He remembered meeting Tiffany; after all, she was invited to many of the same social events that he was. He also remembered her attitude. She was arrogant, condescending, and a shameless flirt. He'd heard the rumors as well as everyone else—that she cheated on every man she was with, that she was neurotic, and that she was reportedly a nymphomaniac. Having met the girl personally, he had to agree that she seemed neurotic and a bit of a flirt. He couldn't vouch for the last rumor.

Tiffany was found at Amusement Mile, sitting in a Ferris wheel with a Cabbage Patch doll in a cheerleader's uniform—the killer's fucked up version of an homage to Mother's Day. Her trademark curly, blonde locks were shaved off, her wrists and ankles had rope burns, her makeup was heavy and caked on incessantly. She was found in a replica of a cheerleading uniform from Brentwood Academy--Gotham's prestigious private high school. Anders herself had been a student there having graduated in the class of 2003. The 24 year old was badly beaten. Her earrings had been brutally ripped out. At least two teeth were missing after apparently taking a blow to the mouth. Her arms sported cuts. Tiffany was the only victim thus far to not have a tattoo or any piercing out of the ordinary. The rape kit had come back positive and the toxicology confirmed the presence of GHB. Although he hadn't particularly liked Tiffany, he would never have wished this upon her.

Once again, her throat was slit, this time very deep and very brutally. It seemed the killer was angry. Could it have been personal? Had they known each other? Many people knew that Tiffany had attended Brentwood. Perhaps the killer had also attended the Academy. It was something he would have to look into.

That brought him to the latest victim, Miranda Johnson. She was found washed ashore at Gotham Rock, a popular park and beach. The Gotham University student was popular, heavily involved in her campus work, and apparently had a boyfriend—the only victim to be in a relationship. The only identifiable way that Johnson had the same killer was the slit throat. Other than that, she hadn't been found in a pose like the rest. She had gone missing after a party and it was reported a little over two weeks ago. The preliminary report stated that the body had spent about a week in the water, thus Bruce inferred that the latest victim had spent about a week in the company of her killer. He would have to wait for the reports from Gordon to learn about her other injuries and any substances that may be found. He hoped there was something, but most evidence would have been washed away by now, so the chance of anything was slim.

Bruce closed the folder after making a few notes and pulled out the next. It was the official GCPD dossier for one Victor Zsasz—so far the only suspect. Zsasz was one of the most well known serial killers in the North East. He had terrorized New York City in the beginning before moving on to Metropolis. He finally settled in Gotham and continued his work until he was caught while Bruce was on his sabbatical. When Ra's al Ghul had terrorized Gotham, Zsasz had been one of the inmates to escape Arkham Asylum. He still had eluded capture and no trace of him had been found. Zsasz's M.O. was the slit throat and the posing of his victims, like art. However, these murders seemed to be a little eccentric, even for Zsasz. Never before had he dressed his victims or sexually assaulted them. Could Zsasz be killing again? Bruce had no idea. He would just have to find him.

Closing the folder with frustration and slipping it back into his briefcase, Bruce leaned back in his plush leather office chair. This case and the nights spent as Batman were taking its toll on him. He only meant to lay his head back and rest for a moment. Soon, Bruce Wayne was fast asleep.

Nicole Miller slammed the car door shut with her hip as she tried to balance her lunch cooler, messenger bag, and tray of coffee all in her hands. Setting the coffee on the hood of the Blazer, she slipped the bag over her head as well as the strap to the cooler, and picked the coffee back up. She descended the parking deck stairs, her wide boots clanking loudly as she did so. She managed to make it to the intersection of Finger and Broome without having to readjust her cargo by some miracle.

Seeing her struggle, a young blond haired man decided to offer his help. "Miss, do you need me to hold that for you so you can get your things together?"

Nicole looked up at the man and smiled. "Thank you so much," she said handing him the coffee. She adjusted the bags and held out her hands, waiting for the tray to be returned.

"Not a problem," he said, smiling at her. Suddenly the green lit word declaring WALK flashed and she bid him goodbye, lost once again in her thoughts. If the man said anything else, she never noticed. Nicole was already walking into the lobby.

If you would have told Nicole Miller a year ago that she would be an office assistant to the playboy Bruce Wayne, she probably would have laughed at you outright. As it were, she set her things down at the desk and collected the messages from the prior evening. Taking a swig of her vanilla latte, she looked at Mr. Wayne's agenda for the day. He had a meeting with Mr. Fox at 10 a.m. that had been bumped up till 9:30 a.m. She glanced at the extra coffee, glad that traffic had cleared, leaving her enough time to stop by the local drive-thru coffee shop. Feeling extra nice and happy with her morning jolt of caffeine, Nicole decided to check Mr. Wayne's office before calling him to make sure he knew about the meeting. Maybe he actually got in early today.

Rapping on the closed door, extra coffee in hand, Nicole waited for a response. Hearing nothing, she turned to leave when her acute hearing picked up a loud snore. Turning to face the door she stared at it, wondering if she had heard what she thought she had. Sure enough, there was another loud snore emanating from the room. With a snicker and a shake of the head, she opened the door to wake up her slumbering boss, lest he be late to his meeting.

The slumbering form of Bruce Wayne was an amusing one to see. Bruce's head lolled to one side, mouth wide open, loud snores emanating from him. His hair was out of place due to the fact his head was hanging down. The great playboy looked like, well a cute little boy. Nicole had to repress the urge to go and tousle his hair. As the snores grew louder, Nicole figured it was time to wake him. She was starting to feel a bit like an alarm clock this morning.

"Mr. Wayne," she called. It never even fazed him.

"Mr. Wayne," she tried louder. The snoring only grew louder. As she walked closer to Bruce, she contemplated the best way to wake him. She remembered an old friend telling her never to shake someone; you were more likely to get decked. Instead she sat the coffee cup down in front of him and started poking him in the shoulder.

Bruce Wayne was enjoying his blissful sleep until he felt something hitting his shoulder. He tried to swat away the offending pressure but it was only getting worse. He soon began to realize someone was calling his name. He opened his blue eyes only to see a pair of sparkling dark brown eyes gazing back at him. Those certainly weren't Alfred's eyes.

Startled, he sat up abruptly, bumping heads with the one that had done the waking.

"Ow!" Nicole shouted, holding her chin.

"Sorry," Bruce apologized and smoothed his suit out. "Miss Miller, I didn't expect you in so early," he simply stated, as if this were an everyday occurrence, taking in Nicole's appearance for the first time. Her layered brown hair fell below her shoulders onto the black cloth of her vest, probably something bought from Old Navy. She wore a simple white, striped shirt, and simple black dress pants. She had her chunky black, low heeled boots on that she always seemed to wear. Though he was at least a foot taller than the 25 year old brunette, the look she was giving him was incredulous. He found it fascinating that she never seemed to be intrigued by him. In fact, she often replied with sarcastic retorts. She was totally different than Jennifer, his last receptionist who was now on maternity leave. Even Jennifer had flirted shamelessly with him at work. But Nicole, or Nikki as her friends seemed to call her, rarely did. In fact, despite the brazen confidence of the young woman, she didn't seem interested in all at Bruce Wayne, let alone becoming a new member of his rabid fan club of female followers at Wayne Enterprises. For his part, this made her even more intriguing. It made him want to get to know her. But he couldn't, it was a luxury he couldn't afford. He knew it would only bring misery to her just as it had to Rachel.

"Mr. Wayne? Did you even hear a word of what I just said?" Nicole asked a little irritably.

"Er-Sorry I wasn't fully awake. What did you say?" he replied, giving her one of his most sincere smiles.

Nicole narrowed her eyes for a moment at her boss before deciding to let it go. Bruce inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't want to have to explain to his assistant that he was admiring her—even if he was supposed to be an infamous playboy.

"I said I'm not early, it's after 9:00. By the way, your meeting with Mr. Fox is, in oh, 15 minutes. He bumped it up to 9:30." She replied.

Bruce nodded when he caught the whiff of something positively delicious. Looking down, he saw the burnt orange cup with black lid that proclaimed it was from Java City.

"What's this?" he asked.

Nicole smiled sweetly and replied, "Well, Mr. Wayne. That's what we common folk call a cup."

Bruce stared at her for a moment before continuing. "No, I meant, what is in the cup?"

"Why, that would be coffee, seeing as how it is a coffee cup Mr. Wayne." She offered, not missing a beat.

Realizing he wasn't going to win this argument, Bruce let a smile slip out. "I know that, but why is it here?" Quickly thinking better her held out his hands and shook his head. "No, don't answer that. Tell me this. Why did you bring me a cup of coffee?"

Nicole smiled and simply stated "I thought you might need it since it was early. I know I did. Don't forget your meeting at 9:30 Mr. Wayne." And with that, she turned and walked out the door.

Bruce just smiled after her, smelling her sweet and airy perfume. Nicole Miller was something interesting indeed. Someone he wanted to find out more about. Shaking the thought from his head, he gulped down the coffee and walked out the door to Lucius Fox's office.

Nicole was already entering data on her computer when her boss left his office. She watched him for a moment too long as he continued down the hallway toward Fox's office. That was one man she couldn't figure out.

She had read the tabloids, typically in the grocery store checkout line. She had heard the rumors about his swanky parties and fundraisers. She even watched with amusement as his legion of admirers swooned after him and gossiped in the break room—many of them had told her how envious of her they were. She couldn't understand why. He was a man, as simple as that; albeit, he was a very sexy and suave man. But ultimately she knew a billionaire playboy probably wouldn't be particularly interested in her. So she was herself when he was around. No sense in trying to get prettied up or act flirtatiously for a lost cause right?

But what bothered her more than anything weren't the rumors or the fan club—it was the man himself. He had to be fairly intelligent to head a corporation as large as Wayne Enterprises. She had heard the story of how he bought all the shares when the company went public. She had heard how Wayne Enterprises was profiting more now than they had the past fifteen years. And she didn't think it was all because of Lucius Fox, as great as the man was. No, something told her that Bruce Wayne was something of an enigma—even if he did act like a total prat sometimes.

Lucius Fox was a highly intelligent man of few words. It was true that he was very successful at running Wayne Enterprises. However, there were some days that he would rather be back in Applied Science rather than in meetings all day. But today he would get a reprieve. Today, Bruce Wayne was meeting with him about his "extracurricular" activities.

"Why, hello Mr. Wayne, you made it right on time, I'm impressed. What is it that you need today?" the older man smiled a toothy, knowing grin.

"Hunting accessories," the younger man evenly replied as they stepped into the elevator to applied sciences. "Specifically, night hunting."

"And what kind of accessories would those be Mr. Wayne?" Lucius replied.

"I need better night vision. What I have isn't quite cutting it, not to mention it's a bit bulky. I also need something for the utility belt. Something to keep prying hands away if you get my meaning." Bruce said.

Fox nodded. "There's a more condensed version of the goggles you carry now. I think it would be possible to wire something into the cowl like the sonar was."

Bruce wondered to himself why he hadn't thought of that sooner. "Right, it sounds great."

Fox continued. "As for the utility belt, we can set it up so that a current runs through it. Much like what's already in place with your suit."

Bruce smiled. "Sounds great. Lucius, what do you know about GHB?"

Lucius gave him a wary look. "Having trouble with the ladies, Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce let out a chuckle. "Not exactly. The past few victims of the calendar murders had GHB in their system. I understand it's a date rape drug and used by some body builders. If I wanted to get it, where would I go."

Lucius thought for a minute. "I'll check into it Mr. Wayne."

Bruce nodded. "As always, thank you Mr. Fox."

"My pleasure Mr. Wayne."