Chapter Four: Downtime

"So many died…it'd be easier to list off the names of those who survived."

Lindsey held her head in her hands. Her elbows were resting on her knees, which were pulled up to her chest as she sat huddled on her bed. Bruce and Mrs. DeFranc were talking outside her door.

"Fortunately she was right," Bruce's voice rang out, "About the party being relatively small compared to some of the kid's other blowouts."

Mrs. DeFranc added, "Of course. Nick Ramie usually has the whole football team, dance team, and more there. Only about five of the boys and four of the dancers were there. A few neighbors of Nick's…so many underclassmen, though. Those that are alive are hospitalized."

"What are their names?" Bruce asked.

"Let's see…Nick's alive, John Carey, Angela Benedetti, Dominic Randolph, that sweet girl Aubrey and her friend Ian are alive, Monica DuPriest, and of course Claire and Lindsey."

Lindsey looked up in horror. "That's all?" she whispered to herself. Mrs. DeFranc continued, "Claire's quite shaken. I doubt she'll be ready to go to school on Monday. I'm rather appalled that principal of theirs hasn't said anything."

Bruce snorted, oddly enough at the same time as Lindsey, "This is the principal that did nothing about a drug issue until one of his students' articles made the news. And the one who let security camera footage go public. Joan's never liked the man either."

"Rachel," Lindsey called out. Mrs. DeFranc poked her head in through the doorway. Bruce stared at the younger girl, making her go slightly red in the face.

"Rachel Jenson," she elaborated, "I think she was there too."

Mrs. DeFranc looked back at Bruce, who snapped out of some reverie was entranced in and pulled Lindsey's desk chair next to the bed.

"The…clown men fled after the police showed up," he began softly, "All but one. The officers on the scene managed to evacuate most of the survivors, but there was an explosion. The remaining one set the house on fire."

"So anyone who was living after the people Joyce mentioned got out…" she was unable to even finish that thought, "Oh my god! I should've been there!"

"You were there," Bruce reprimanded, "But you shouldn't have been."

"No, it's not that," she choked out, "I- the Batman. He put in one of the cars and made of the other officers drive me home before any fire started."

Bruce nodded, "Remind me to thank him."

Joyce sat on the edge of the bed, taking Lindsey's hand in hers, "Claire told me you helped save her. Thank you."

Lindsey felt a sob forming and threw her arms around the older woman's neck, "Joyce…I just can't believe it!"

Bruce stood up and briefly left the two sobbing women. When he returned, he was armed with tissue boxes for them and one for himself. He hated seeing anything female cry.

Lindsey recited her account of the Joker attack far too many times than she cared to. First, she had to explain it to Bruce, then to her mother, then to an officer she never got the name of, then to Lt. Gordon. The last one was the only one who offered any helpful feedback.

"Only two of you had any real contact with the Joker," he referred to the surviving group, "And that's yourself and Monica DuPriest."

"Does that mean something?" Lindsey asked distractedly, as if she hadn't even understood any of what Gordon was saying as words. He sighed, "Well, he's still on the loose, and he knows the two of you by face. That's all he'll need. Not to mention the fact that the two of you have been shown on the news a few times from the steroid story."

He continued after receiving a blank stare, "We've arranged to have you and your sister stay with Mr. Wayne until your parents return from England."

"Mother and Shawn, sir."

Gordon's brow quirked as he corrected himself, "Until your mother and Mr. Partridge return home. Do you understand?"

Lindsey nodded, a resentful smile forming on her face, "Sure. This works out perfect in fact. We'll be safe until we get the call from mom that Shawn managed weasel her into moving to London with him."

Gordon remained silent. Lindsey couldn't blame him. She wouldn't know what to say either.

"Can I go now?" she asked sweetly. Gordon pursed his lips and motioned for the door with a nod.

"You know I could just order the most expensive thing here and get the biggest dessert that I won't even finish."

Bruce had been waiting for Lindsey to finish up her talk with Gordon and decided to take her out for lunch. She suspected he felt bad for making her go to Gordon and re-explain the party. It put her in a terrible mood.

"You could do that," he replied with a smirk as he handed her a menu. Only then did she realize that unlike with Shawn when he took her out for their first and only "quality bonding time" money was not an issue.

"That's the thing about teenagers," he stated casually, "Your eyes are bigger than your stomachs."

Lindsey shook her head, "Not true. I would so finish the dessert."

Bruce chuckled, "Even after you inhaled the most expensive food item here?"

"Of course."

He just snorted, "Alright. We both know I could swing it."

Lindsey leaned back in her chair and smiled deviously, "Are you placing a bet?"

"You're a meat eater now, right?" he asked, knowing Joan rarely ever ate meat with the exception of the occasional chicken and that Lindsey had her brief vegan kick at age fourteen. Lindsey just nodded. Bruce laid his menu in front of her and pointed to one of the items.

"That's just teriyaki chicken and it's not even the most expensive," she told him after reading his selection.

"Remember last time I took you, Abby, and your mother here and you went on a tirade about how you hated 'goop?' This is the biggest without goop."

Lindsey laughed. Everyone who knew her knew how much she hated any sort of sauce, be it catsup, mustard, ranch, mayo, or any other kind of dressing or special restaurant sauce.

"Ok," she agreed, "There's my lunch. Dessert?"

"I don't want you to get sick or rot your teeth-"

Lindsey scoffed, "I'm seventeen!"

"You can still get cavities. So let's see," he scanned the dessert menu for a moment before announcing his choice, "The warm apple crisp."

"And ironically enough it probably has the most sugar of them all."

Bruce shrugged, "It's got apples."

"Oh whatever. What about the tiramisu?" she offered. Bruce laughed, "You think you can handle it?"

"It's got strawberries," she chided. He rolled his eyes, "Only if you order the goblet of strawberries to go with it."

Lindsey glared at him, "Well you're the one paying so let's go for it."

As luck would have it, she was indeed stuffed after finishing her very large plate of teriyaki chicken and steamed rice along with four French fries Bruce tossed on her plate.

"Ugh," she groaned, slouching in her chair and patting her stomach, "Gotta push thing in before someone thinks I'm pregnant."

Bruce sat across the table smirking at her. She sighed dramatically and told him, "Fine. You were right."

He reached in his jacket pocket for his wallet and pulled out two twenty-dollar bills. He held them up for her to see, "Yours if you finish the tiramisu and strawberries."

Lindsey cringed and said in a forced tone, "Half of the tiramisu and all of the strawberries? You don't want me to get sick or get cavities, remember?"

"Seemed like you got over it, but deal."

Bruce ordered the strawberries and tiramisu for the both of them. Lindsey finished the fruit first then started working on the real dessert.

"Stay on your side," she snapped as Bruce's spoon went over the dividing line she made with the ground chocolate.

"You're eating too slow. All the good stuff's on your side."

"Deal with it!"

Both to spite him and to give her already overstuffed stomach time to digest and prepare, she started taking slower and slower bites and gradually took more time between each taste. Finally, just the sight of the tiramisu made her feel ill.

"I'm done," she announced, tossing her spoon in the rest of the dessert, which was plentiful on her half of the platter. At Bruce's smirk, she defended, "Come on! I finished the strawberries and I'll bet a hell a lot more than you thought I would!"

He chuckled and slid the money across the table, "Alright."

Lindsey stashed her reward and propped her elbows on the table, "It's your turn next time, you know."

"In all seriousness, you're kind of grounded," Bruce said as he helped Lindsey and Abby unpack at his 'mammoth' penthouse.

Abby pointed at her sister, "Ha, ha!"

"Shh," Lindsey glared and the younger girl, "And get your shoes off my bed!"

"You're not mom!" Abby protested, kicking her feet on the comforter. Lindsey grabbed a shoe off Abby's foot and tossed it across the room. Abby sat up and pouted, "Hey!"

"Well, get off!"

"Girls," Bruce attempted to defuse the argument, but was unfortunately not quite experienced enough.

"Abby, just go unpack in your room," Lindsey ordered, repeating her previous action with the other shoe.

"I can't do it by myself!"

"Someone will help you."

"But Bruce is helping you!"

"Just go!"

"No!

"Girls!" Bruce shouted, startling the sisters, "Abby, you're already unpacked. And Lindsey…your phone's ringing."

"Oh, shit," Lindsey cursed, irritated that she never seemed to be the one to hear her phone go off. Abby gasped, "You owe Mom a dollar."

"Mom's in London. I don't owe her anything. Hello?"

"You owe her a dollar when she gets back."

"Abby!" Lindsey snapped again before saying into her cell, "Hi…Angela?"

"I'm gonna go call her now!" Abby announced, hopping off the bed and running for the cordless phone on Lindsey's desk. Lindsey held out a restraining arm and pushed the smaller girl back on the bed.

Bruce had the decency to leave the girls, sensing an issue only they could sort out.

Lindsey clamped a hand over Abby's mouth so she could hear what Angela was trying to say.

"…bitch…After everything that's happened you think it's ok to stuff your face with Bruce Wayne just so you can get a-"

Lindsey snapped her phone shut before she could hear the rest. She knew the just of it.

Abby seemed to notice Lindsey's dramatic change in her mood for she stopped screaming and acting obnoxious. Lindsey groaned loudly and flopped on her bed, the guilt of leaving the party when she should've been helping people growing heavier each second.