Disclaimer: I definitely don't own anything in the Batman world except my own creations and plot bunnies. If I did, I'd have my own personal Bruce Wayne.

AN: Yay for reviews/alerts/favorites! I'm glad you guys like the story, even if you aren't reviewing. Alerts are always a good sign! Thank you for taking a chance on this story and taking the time to read it!

AN2: I've re-edited the first 9 chapters for grammatical errors. There's no need to re-read the chapters unless you want to since the content hasn't changed.

"There's nothing I'd like

Better than to fall

But I fear I have nothing to give"

Fear – Sarah McLachlan

The first rays of light glinted off the glass window panes that lined the dingy street. The birds took no notice of the dereliction and dilapidation of the crumbling brownstones as they sang their morning melodies. The morning was still early enough to be devoid of human activity and cool enough to offer sweet relief to the man in the basement of one particular brownstone.

He held the drill erect, holding the trigger, as it fastened a metal screw with a shrill whine into the newly reinforced wall. He had spent the past week, reinforcing and securing the basement, before picking up a few "toys." Although the morning air was cool, the dank and still air in the basement had caused him to break a sweat. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand as he removed the next screw from his clinched teeth.

He had returned to Gotham, the place he had abandoned years prior, for one reason; to lay his grandmother to rest. His strong, sweet, grandmother; she had been everything to him after his parents were gone. She had raised him and helped him through school. When she had passed, he had returned to settle her estate, never meaning to stay long.

But he had. The old lady had seen to his return, hadn't she? In her dying days, she had revised her will and stated that he would inherit everything if he agreed to return to Gotham and seek gainful employment in the industry of his choosing for at least a year. She had always told him, that his family was from Gotham, had given their lives to serving Gotham, and the least he could do was continue on in the family tradition of living here. He was the last one that could carry on the family name and traditions. It had fallen to him to resurrect their family name from the gutter hadn't it? Sardonically, he supposed he was doing just that by rectifying eons of wrongs.

The drill gave a violent shutter in his hand before it stopped turning, indicated that the last screw was in place. He stood from his crouched position, brushing the dirt from his dark wash jeans, and staring at his accomplishment. Before him was a set of shiny steel chains that mirrored the set mounted on the opposite side of the room. He'd thought it would come in handy to have an extra set as a failsafe, though he hoped he wouldn't need it.

While going through his grandmother's papers, he had come across the deed to the ancient brownstone—the very one that had been his childhood home. He had long thought that it had been sold or demolished, but was pleasantly surprised to find that it was still standing and was now his. His family had owned and lived in this place for years and it felt had like home from the minute he stepped through the ancient door. He had been even more surprised that the place had never been broken into or vandalized considering its location near the Narrows. In fact, it turned out that his grandmother had leased the building up until a few years ago, keeping the original furniture in the place. This was his place, his home—the place where it all began decades ago; and the place he would continue his work.

She was laughing at him. Not the pseudo, forced laugh that many women in his presence used to please him, but a genuine, hearty laugh. Her dark eyes twinkled with mischief and merriment as she stared at him with her hands still playing with the tendrils of dark hair on the back of his neck. She was content to be in his arms and he, for the first time in recent years, was completely and utterly happy. People were staring at them as the two danced across the floor, and he was partly sure that not all of the onlookers were well wishers for the happy couple. The woman before him was not part of Gotham's high society, nor was she like any woman he had ever met—not even Rachel. No, this woman meant everything to him and was everything he had ever wanted. As they glided across the polished dance floor, he realized his life was perfect.

Suddenly he felt her tense in his arms. He stared with concern at the wide eyed expression she pasted on her lovely face. He wanted to ask what was wrong, but the words hitched in his throat as he caught sight of her tears. She gave a cry of horror as she tried to wrench free of his grasp. The woman turned, obviously frightened, and began to run as the crowd around them disappeared into the darkness that lay beyond. He gave chase, following her through the dark corridors, trying to save her. But what was he trying to save her from? He wasn't sure. He chased her down a long, dark hall and watched as the woman disappeared through the door way. She turned back; her face marked with tears as she grabbed the door and began to shut it.

"Nicole, wait!" he growled.

Suddenly he stopped breathing as the mirror clad door slammed close. He was no longer the Bruce Wayne that everyone fawned over. He was a monstrous version of Batman.

His sleeping form was sprawled out, face down, across the king sized bed that was adorned with satin sheets, which rested near his lower back. Unruly dark hair sprung from his head, indicating to Alfred that his master had most likely spent the early hours of the morning tossing and turning; most likely as a result from the nightmares his master seemed to suffer from. He was about to place the sparsely decorated breakfast tray on the mahogany table adjacent to the bed when he heard it.

"Nicole."

Alfred stiffened slightly at the name, not quite sure he had heard the younger man right. It was rare, if ever, that Bruce spoke in his sleep. In fact, Alfred could only remember him doing it as a young child, but never in recent years. The older man stood ramrod straight for a moment, pondering, briefly, if this was the same Nicole that was introduced as Mr. Wayne's assistant and what Bruce could possibly be dreaming of. Just as he moved to wake his master, Bruce Wayne's relaxed mouth gave a garbled noise, just as his sleep laden eyes violently sprang open.

"Ah, good morning Master Bruce, I was just about to wake you," Alfred greeted. Although he was intrigued as to what seemed to be distressing his charge and what Ms. Miller could possibly have to do with it, he decided to let Bruce tell him in time, as he typically did.

Bruce maneuvered himself into a sitting position with a haunted look on his face while running a hand through his unruly hair as he sharply exhaled. He finally looked at his old friend, trying to smile, although it never quite reached his eyes.

"Morning Alfred," Bruce mumbled, his voice taking on sleep induced hoarseness.

"I trust you had an uneventful night then," Alfred deduced from the lack of fresh bruises that had dotted his form as he reached for the glass of his pea green tinted shake.

"Quite the opposite actually. I found Zsasz," he paused to take a gulp of the smelly concoction and instantly made a sour face noting the unusual smell. "Did you poison this? I know you want the Lamborghini, but really, all you had to do was ask for one."

Alfred rolled his eyes at Bruce's antics. "I added tarragon to your shake. It's rich in Omega-3's or so the article said. You could do with a bit more protein. And it is supposed to have a sweet taste. It might actually make that blasted thing taste well."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. He had tried many strange things before, but this smelt of molded licorice if such a thing existed. Shrugging it off, he took a gulp of the concoction before a scowl marred his features. "This is absolutely revolting Alfred! It tastes like vomit and black licorice, neither of which taste well. You're losing your touch old man."

Alfred smirked. "In that case sir, might I suggest that you drink it quickly?"

Bruce gave his butler a dark look before chugging the rest of the contents. After giving the glass a pained look he placed the offensive glass on the breakfast tray. "Zsasz said he didn't do it."

"And do you believe this man?"

"Yeah, Alfred, I do. His logic was sound and he had no new scars. He also knows the girl who IDed the first body. She said she'd heard the killer was originally from Metropolis. Zsasz sent her away so she would be safe."

It was only momentary, but Alfred noticed the haunted look in his eyes when he mentioned the girl's safety. "And when do you plan on going to Metropolis?"

"Tonight," Bruce stated as he launched into his push-up regime.

It seemed as if the haunted look that Alfred had previously witnessed had dominated Bruce's mood. There was tenseness in the man's form that was rarely present during his training and it seemed as if he were pushing himself as hard as he possibly could, almost as if he were trying to push something out of his mind.

"Forgive me, but is something troubling you, Sir?"

Indeed, something was troubling him, Bruce was just didn't want to admit to himself what it was. His growing attraction to Nicole seemed to be an uncontrollable monster in and of itself. No matter how much he focused, it seemed she was determined to invade his thoughts. As much as he craved to know her, to be in her presence, it was her very presence that he was afraid of. The closer he grew to her, the bigger chance he had of hurting her, either through his own actions or at the hands of his enemies. If he were completely honest with himself, he was afraid she wouldn't accept the darker part of him and the need to be Batman. Even Rachel hadn't accepted his need for Batman or his brand of justice.

He rose to his feet, sweat running down his face as he stared at the older man. What was he to say—'Alfred, I had a nightmare and I'm terrified of being alone with my assistant'?

For his part, Alfred had been studying the younger man's reactions as the war within Bruce's mind raged on. Taking a rare step over the fine line between manservant and confidant that the elder man walked, Alfred decided to press his master for an answer.

"Master Wayne, would your mood have anything to do with Ms. Miller?"

Bruce looked hesitantly at his butler, unsure how the man could possibly know. "Yes."

Alfred Pennyworth was no fool. His powers of observation were keen. He had noticed his employer's unusually chipper mood last night and how freely he explained his evening with Ms. Miller. In those rare, unguarded moments when he was just Bruce without any mask, Alfred could read his master fairly easily. And last night it seemed that Bruce Wayne was quite taken with Nicole Miller. However, Alfred knew all too well the burdens that Bruce carried. He had watched him struggle after Rachel's death and throw himself into the darkness, even proclaiming once that he would never let anyone near him again. Alfred knew Bruce still blamed himself, though he couldn't be held responsible for the actions of a madman. Unfortunately, his charge was too blinded by grief to see that. The plain truth was that Bruce Wayne was utterly terrified of letting anyone in. Alfred couldn't fault him for that. At the same time, Alfred felt that his master needed a nudge in the right direction. Thomas and Martha Wayne had entrusted the happiness and care of their only child to him, and he would be damned if he would fail them now, after so many years.

It was with this resolve that Alfred decided to offer his advice and experience to the younger man, praying that for once, the stubborn man would take it. To garner his attention, Alfred did something he had only done few times before.

"Bruce."

At hearing his name, Bruce Wayne's head snapped up, partly out of shock. The only times that Alfred had ever used his given name had been when he was in extreme trouble or when the situation was extremely serious and garnered such attention. Patiently, he waited for the older man to continue.

"Your mother and father entrusted me not only with your care but your happiness," Alfred paused momentarily to gather his thoughts. "Ms. Miller seems like she could bring you happiness, if you take that chance. Only you can make that choice. No one deserves to be alone forever, even if he is dedicated to fighting the demons of the night."

Alfred sighed as he picked up the breakfast tray. "I do hope, you make the right choice." And with that, Alfred left a stunned Bruce Wayne, staring at his retreating back.

Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth. Just keep breathing and you'll be okay—feel the stress melt away. At least that's what Nicole kept telling herself. She was currently sitting in a hard, emerald green seat with the heavy black harness over her on the front row of The Beast—Amusement Mile's fastest, craziest, and most daring roller coaster; at least that's what the brochure—and Bruce Wayne himself—proclaimed. Nicole and Rebecca had somehow arrived in time for the opening ceremony that had featured Bruce Wayne as the keynote speaker. According to him, and the entire team of engineers, The Beast was not only the top roller coaster in the park, but now the country. The engineers had been asked to come up with something that pushed the boundaries in almost every way imaginable. In addition to the positive G forces that were prevalent on almost every amusement ride, this one featured negative G's—in moderation of course—top speeds of over 100mph, multiple loops, twists, inversions, hills, valleys, dark tunnels with unexpected surprises—you name it and this roller coaster had it. As Bruce described it, she felt the sudden urge to run away screaming.

So here she was, waiting on the inaugural ride of The Beast to begin, sitting on the front row, sandwiched in between her vengeance minded roommate and the debonair playboy himself. She stole a glance at Rebecca, who managed to grin back at her as if she were enjoying this way too much for her own good. Rebecca was the sole reason that the pair was here, and as she remembered, she frowned at her roommate.

Bruce Wayne had just cut the ribbon for the park and ordered his employees to have fun. He was fighting through the throng of reporters, answering questions that ranged from his choice of attire to when could they get a publicity shot. Rebecca had slyly dragged Nicole with her, proclaiming she needed to talk to her mentor, who helped design the wild ride, and who happened to be standing right next to Bruce. She remembered the scene all too well.

"Wayne, hey, Wayne!" Rebecca called, waving her hand in the air.

Bruce glanced up, trying to find the source of the voice in the crowd before him. Still standing on the wooden steps that led to the stage, he was able to see the happy, curly haired brunette in the bright yellow tube top and Daisy Duke Shorts trying valiantly to get his attention. He also was able to see the figure from last night's dreams being violently dragged behind her. The shorter, paler girl was dressed moderately in comparison in a black halter top that showed her assets nicely and a pair of olive green cotton pants. Her hair was hastily thrown up into a bun and she had a perpetually confused look that adorned her facial features.

At seeing the cheerful girl trying to fight through the reporters, he raised his hand and beckoned them forward. The reporters seemed to part in some sort of comical rendition of the parting of the Red Sea and soon the girls were able to approach the wooden railing of the stairs.

Nicole drew a breath at seeing her employer in casual wear and started to feel a heat in her cheeks as she realized she was staring at him, more specifically at his chest since it was easily defined by the tight shirt. She was suddenly glad she had a pair of black sunglasses to hide her dark eyes, although it was so bright out and her eyes were so dark he could probably see through the shading anyway. However, she soon realized that he had turned his attention to her friend and was waiting patiently for her to explain the reason why she needed his audience.

"I need your help," Rebecca said simply.

Bruce smirked. He had to admit he was amused by the elder brunette. "Oh?"

"Nicole's afraid of roller coasters, and quite simply, I'm afraid she's going to chicken out," Rebecca stated as she slyly looked at her roommate. While she was sure her friend wouldn't go back on her word to try the ride, she thought she could use this scenario to play matchmaker—not to mention, Nicole deserved payback for last night's joke.

"Becky!" The subject of the conversation said through clinched teeth while turning six shades of scarlet.

Bruce eyed her for a moment. She was clearly embarrassed of her fear, but part of him wondered if that was the only reason. He had notice the flush in her cheeks a few minutes prior just as he had noticed the stare she was giving.

"I see. The girl who pilots planes for fun is afraid of a ride on a roller coaster," he gave her an amused smile.

Nicole mumbled something inaudibly that Bruce couldn't quite catch, though he thought he heard the word bastard mixed in.

"Basically. So, Wayne, do you think you can help us out?"

And that is, quite simply, the reason she was sitting in the emerald seat now. Sighing, she tried to watch the operator for any indication of when the ride would begin while Bruce simply watched her. He could tell she was ill at ease, though he hadn't wanted to pry as to why she was afraid. He had listened to her breathing technique and found that it had achieved little to calm her. He knew her well enough to know that whatever was causing her fear had stemmed from an incident of some sort rather than an irrational fear.

"Nicole," he lowered his voice so only they could here.

Hearing her name she turned to him, her eyes dilated somewhat, indicating she was terrified. He had to admit, if he hadn't had the training that he did, he would have never have known that the younger woman was so frightened.

"This ride has been tested, as recently as an hour ago. It's safe, I promise you. And if it isn't, I give you permission to hit me," he smiled genuinely and reassuringly. "Now listen, you are safe and secure and I promise you, nothing is going to happen. If anything, you will love it. Whatever happened to you before, there's a one in a billion chance of it happening again. Think of this as one of your aerobatic lessons. Those have higher G loads, faster speeds, and more risk. This is a walk in the park for you. Besides, the only way to conquer and have control over your fear is to face it head on."

Nicole stared intensely into his eyes as his words sank in. He was sincere, that she could tell, and he was having a calming effect on her that she couldn't quite explain. Just as she was about to answer, the ride began to creep forward and she turned her attention onto the exit of the tunnel.

Bruce, for his part, knew what was about to come. Despite himself, he removed his hand from the silver handle located on the side of the harness and grabbed Nicole's from hers, tightly and reassuringly holding her hand in his. She looked at him, questioningly before he gave her a wide grin. The ride shot forward, propelling them suddenly out of the tunnel and up and over the first rise. Nicole screamed with all her might, forgetting Bruce Wayne and the fact that her hand was in his. Rebecca managed to turn her head to see her friend and her employer, smiling in joy that her efforts were not in vain.

A few minutes later, the ride pulled into the hub with Nicole's heart pounding and her stomach in her throat. Nothing had happened. Moreover it was fun. With a smile on her face and a sudden exhale, she reached to unclasp her harness when realization dawned on her. Bruce was still holding her hand.

"Um, thanks for holding my hand," she stated, not quite sure what to say.

Bruce smiled genuinely at her as he let her hand go reluctantly. "How was it?"

"Surprisingly great. Seems like I worried over nothing."

"Told you," Rebecca chimed in.

Nicole moved to stand up and found that her legs felt a little shaky. At seeing her pale face and her uneasy gait, Bruce knew that Nicole was suffering the effects from having her blood sugar suddenly drop after being so anxious.

"You know what, I could go for a snack, why don't you girls join me?" Bruce suggested, not wanting to isolate Nicole.

"That sounds like a great idea! I can always go for grubbage!" Rebecca joined in, having noticed Nicole's reaction as well.

Nicole nodded, not really caring what they did as long as she could sit down for a minute and gain control over the sudden weakness that she felt.

Upon exiting the ride, Nicole placed her sunglasses back upon her face to shield her eyes from the bright light. In the Uptown section of Gotham, a breeze wafted in from the river carrying scents of food from a nearby stand. She looked around, pleased that it was turning out to be such a great day.

"Mr. Wayne!" a young male reporter shouted. "I'm Louis Zane from the Gazette. Could I possibly get a picture of the three of you since you're leaving the inaugural ride?"

Bruce nodded and looked to his companions who acquiesced to him. Bruce positioned himself in the middle and wrapped his arms around both Rebecca and Nicole. Nicole suddenly thought about how she seemed to fit perfectly against his taller stature before she caught herself. She hated acting like a school girl with a crush. Even worse, she shouldn't even have a crush on the man. She wanted to curse Rebecca for adding life to the seed she had planted in her brain. She smiled, nonetheless, at the camera.

The trio made their way to a table near a typical carnival stand before Bruce ordered them to sit, saying that he would return with the treats and disappeared to the other side of the stand.

"I can't believe you told him I was terrified of roller coasters! Becky, are you trying to drive me to an early grave?" Nicole stated accusingly.

"He was holding your hand."

Nicole took on the appearance of a guppy as she opened and closed her mouth, not quite sure how to retort. "You planned this?!"

Rebecca, obviously pleased with herself, smiled at her roommate. "You obviously weren't going to initiate anything. I saw an opportunity and took it. You like him; you just don't realize it yet. I know you Nikki."

Nicole's rebuttal was interrupted as a tray containing drinks, funnel cakes, and cotton candy was placed on the table. She looked questioningly at Bruce.

"I wasn't sure what you wanted so I got the basics. Eat, it should make you feel better," He said as he grabbed a bottle of water.

"How did you know?"

Instead of answering, he handed her one of the small plastic bags he had been carrying while giving the other one to Rebecca. Raising her eyebrow at the billionaire, Nicole removed the plastic framed picture and gazed at it. There, sitting on the front row of The Beast, was Nicole Miller—screaming with excitement and holding Bruce Wayne's hand as if her life depended on it.

James Gordon cradled his cup of black coffee as if he were holding on to it for dear life, though he wondered briefly if it really was coffee since it held all the properties and taste of sludge. He stood wearing a grim expression as he watched the interrogation of Victor Zsasz through the double sided mirror. Before the sun had even thought of rising for dawn, Gordon had been awakened by the shrill ringtone of his cell phone. The words were simple. "We found Zsasz."

Of course, what the responding officers had left out was that Zsasz was found in a back alley, tied up and unconscious, courtesy of the Batman. Though he was thankful that the notorious murderer was finally in custody, his hope that they had found the Calendar Killer was waning. Zsasz was adamant in declaring his innocence, which was uncharacteristic of him. In cases involving his prior victims, he not only admitted his guilt but explained his reasons. He saw himself as a savior of the oppressed. He saw himself as someone doing a kind deed by liberating a tortured soul. It was that fact, among the obvious sociopathic issues the man possessed, that had given him a one way ticket to Arkham Asylum in place of Blackgate Prison.

Even more disturbing to Gordon was the idea that if Zsasz wasn't the murderer he was looking for, then he was left not only without a suspect, but with virtually no evidence or clue as to who the menace could be. Frowning as he took the last gulp of his bitter drink, he could only hope that Batman's extensive resources could help crack the case.

He was sitting in his favorite armchair, a vintage maroon wingback chair that had obviously seen better days, eating a shiny red apple. Beside him lay a well worn leather bound edition of Dante's Inferno, in which he had been reading to pass the time. It was among his favorite works, and to be honest, one of the few books he seemed to have read multiple times over the years. This particular copy had belonged to his father.

He loved his father, despite the nasty rumors that persisted about the man. He had been a brilliant man, well-educated and well read. His father read to him nightly before bed, took him to Gotham Knight's games, all while putting himself through med school. His father had adored his mother and had doted on her constantly. But that obviously hadn't been enough for the ungrateful wretch, he thought as a scowl marred his handsome features.

Rising from the chair, he walked across the scuffed hardwood floor to the antique record player. He removed a shiny, black record from the thin paper sheath that protected it and placed it on the turntable. Slowly, sounds from the past began to waft through the room as the Andrews Sisters crooned about the Chattanooga Choo-Choo. His grandmother, God rest her soul, had been a child during the First World War and often told stories of how the family had gathered around the radio. She had been hooked on music and books from the start.

After his father had gone away, she had raised him and he had taken solace in her vast music collection. He would often imagine himself in another era, a time where people were virtuous, where honor mattered, where true love existed. A time in which this city was great. He yearned for those days.

Slowly, one person at a time, he would show them what mattered. He would teach this world to see the error of its ways.

Cassidy Jenkins stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, trying to decide which color of eye shadow would compliment her eyes and outfit the best. Her platinum blonde hair was curled, with the longest tendrils reaching just above her cosmetically enhanced buxom. They had been a present from a past lover, whom refused to leave his wife. However, that was in the past and she had gotten her amazing rack from the failed affair.

One of her friends, Josh, was leaving Monday for boot camp, and the group had made plans to go clubbing tonight. She was more than a bit melancholy over the fact, which wasn't like her at all; though that probably had more to do with the fact she liked Josh. Pushing the train of thoughts from her mind, she bent forward over the sink, mouth slightly agape as she smoothed a bit of the glittery pink powder over her eyelid. Tonight, she was going to look ravishing and she was going to tell Josh how she felt. Tonight he would be hers. Tonight would change everything.