The bag of equipment at Leila's side bounced rhythmically against her leg as she climbed the narrow, wooden stairs, following a nearly hysterical older woman. The brownstone house had a faint air of neglect but she ignored the scent of molding carpets with ease, too distracted by listening to the wife in front of her, wheezing and crying her way through an explanation.

"He was just getting out of the tub when he slipped and fell!" she cried, wringing her knobby hands as she stopped at the banister on the second level of the house and moved to the side, allowing Leila ahead of her. "Now that he's up, he's all confused and-"

Leila interrupted the woman, turning her head first left, then right, glancing either way down the evening sunlit hallway. "Ma'am, where is he?" she asked, turning back to the elderly woman, who gave a start as if suddenly remembering.

"Oh! He's in the armchair in the bedroom," she explained, pointing with a frail arm into the room directly across from where the two women stood. Without hesitation, Leila moved forward, reaching down to pull her penlight from the chest pocket of her uniform shirt. She clicked it on, moving into the bedroom the woman had indicated.

The old man in the chair lifted his head lethargically to see who had entered the room as the door widened with a creak, and immediately, Leila noticed, under the light from the sun shining in through a skylight over head that his face was oddly drooped on the left side. She felt a weight sink into her stomach; if her hunch was correct, time was of the essence. Kneeling in front of the man, she pulled the radio from its place clipped to her pocket, in preparation to call downstairs, where Matt and Jay were waiting with the stretcher, should it be needed. After glancing over the man's attire of blue striped pajamas to check for signs of external injury, she addressed him, raising her voice when she noticed a set of abandoned hearing aids on the small table next to him.

"Sir," she began, pausing to clear her throat. "Your wife told me you had an accident. Can you tell me what happened?" she asked, raising her eyebrows and reaching out to place two fingers against the pulse point along the inside of his wrist. The man nodded slowly, his eyes lowered to where she was touching him, seemingly bemused by her actions; another bad sign.

"I fell..." came the man's croaky voice. Leila took her hand away from his arm, instead moving her penlight toward his face to check his eyes.

"You fell?" she repeated his words, watching with another inkling of dread as the old man's left pupil refused to dilate. "Do you know what caused you to fall?" she asked another, more detailed question, meanwhile feeling his wife closing in on her from behind, her soft, shaky sobs filling the spaces between Leila's words. The man blinked slowly.

"I fell..."

His wife's sobs intensified but Leila forced herself to smile warmly up at the confused elderly man. "Alright, Mister Henderson, can you do me a favor?" she asked, reaching out to take his wrinkled, arthritis-ridden hands into her latex grip and smiling further when the man brought his unfocused eyes to meet hers. "Can you smile for me?"

Slowly, but surely, the man managed a weak sort of smile, in which the right half of his face managed to form the expression to match Leila's, but the left side remained sagged, stationary. Despite the disappointment she felt, she struggled not to let her own face indicate that anything serious had been revealed by that simple diagnostic test. Leila patted his hand gently, still grinning at the man as she rose to her feet.

"That's good, sweetie," she told him encouragingly. "I'll be right back." Once on her feet, she turned to the teary, trembling wife, who stood directly behind her, clutching a damp hankie to her wrinkled chin. Leila reached out a gloved hand to grip her gently beneath her skinny arm and lead her out into the hallway, where she turned to gaze down into her lined face. "I'm afraid your husband is showing symptoms of a stroke-" she explained in a very soft, quiet voice, but paused to allow Mrs. Henderson a sharp gasp, before she continued. "But I can't be certain of anything yet so I'm going to call my team up here so we can take him to the hospital, alright? We just need to be quick so I'm going to ask you to go back downstairs and just wait in your kitchen until one of us comes to get you. You can ride to the hospital with us if you'd like."

After a hurried and tearful explanation of how she would go get a small bag packed and wait in the kitchen as instructed, Leila watched the woman descend the stairs as fast as her legs would carry her, before she turned back into the bedroom, where Mr. Henderson remained seated, staring at the floor in a daze. The radio gave a momentary crackle of static before she spoke into it. "Jay, I've got a stroke up here," she said, keeping her voice somewhat low in an attempt to prevent the old man from hearing her words. "Bring up the stretcher and let's get him to GMH."

Within mere moments, Leila heard the front door open downstairs, followed by the sound of footsteps on the narrow wooden stairs, before Jay appeared on the landing, holding the head of the stretcher with Matt at the foot, just behind him. She nodded her head to Jay, then she turned and leaned down, reaching out place her hand gently on Mr. Henderson's arm. The old man looked up, blinking slowly.

"Okay, Albert, we're going to take you to the hospital," she told him gently, but in a loud enough voice that he could hear her. "Can I help you stand up?"

The task of getting the weak man onto the stretcher was a slow affair, but once he had been strapped onto it, the pace picked right back up and Leila walked quickly down the stairs in front of Matt and Jay, while they carried the now heavily laden stretcher behind her. Upon reaching the door, she opened it for them, but immediately moved out of the way, searching quickly for the kitchen, where she found Mrs. Henderson, still clutching her handkerchief to her chest. She looked up quickly upon hearing Leila approach, her eyes wide with panic as she shuffled toward her.

"Is he alright?" she asked hurriedly, her gaze scanning Leila's face as though reading it for any sign that something had gone wrong. When she only found a calm, reassuring smile there, the taught wrinkles in her face relaxed slightly, and she sighed when the paramedic nodded.

"We've got him in the ambulance now," Leila explained, reaching out toward the small kitchen table, where Mrs. Henderson's purse lay ready, to thread the strap over her shoulder and carry it for her. "You're more than welcome to ride with us to the hospital, or if you have a car of your-"

"No," the wife interrupted, pulling a sparse set of keys from atop the kitchen counter next to her. "I'll ride with you. I can't leave him." Leila could not prevent the grin that met her face, her heart warming from Mrs. Henderson's dedication to her spouse.

With the wife's frail hand tucked into the elbow of Leila's arm, she led her through the house and out into the early evening, where the ambulance sat at the curb, the doors open, the lights flashing in preparation to leave. As they approached, Jay hopped down from the back and held out his arm, leading the woman toward the cab of the vehicle, where he helped her climb up and inside. Leila meanwhile returned to her usual place in the main cabin, pausing for a moment to close the heavy doors. Matt was speaking to Mr. Henderson, where he lay on his back, strapped to the stretcher.

"Can you tell me your name?" he asked the man, adopting that very professional but caring voice Leila knew him to use inside of work...and perhaps outside of it as well, with his multiple lady-friends. The elderly man cleared his throat, blinking slowly at the ceiling of the moving ambulance.

"Albert...Henderson," he eventually answered, moving obediently as Leila wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his upper arm, placing either side of the stethoscope into her ears and pressing the chest piece of the device to the crook of his elbow. Vaguely, through the whooshing of the cuff being pressurized, Leila could hear Matt's voice, muffled through the ear pieces.

"Good," he said, once again using encouraging tones. "Are you on any medication for high blood pressure, Albert?"

This question was never answered, as the man before them allowed his eyes to close lethargically, the left side of his face appearing more drooped than ever. Matt shook his head, glancing to his right where Leila had just replaced her stethoscope around the back of her neck.

"What is it?" he asked her, referring to the number she had just deduced from the blood pressure test.

"One-sixty-five over eighty," she replied curtly, simultaneously committing the number to memory so she could inform the receiving physician at the hospital. "It's an Ischaemic stroke, I'll bet you anything. And we have no idea how long he sat like that before we got there." she concluded quietly to Matt, turning her head to look over her shoulder and attempting to recognize the passing buildings, to judge how close to the hospital they were. He nodded, heaving a sigh as he leaned forward in the jump seat, using his own penlight to check Mr. Henderson's pupils again.

"Hopefully the damage won't be permanent," he murmured, watching for himself as the elderly man's left pupil remained fixed, unable to dilate. Passing the light over to his right eye, he addressed Leila again. "Was his left pupil unresponsive back at the house?" he asked her, but only to sigh in disappointment when she nodded. "Well, hopefully the missus will be alright with him having a crooked smile..."

At this, Leila let a tiny grin onto her face, thinking back fleetingly to the old woman's adamant words in the kitchen of the house. "I think she'll be fine with it."

An hour later, after watching Mr. Henderson and his wife being whisked away by a team of nurses, the ambulance for firehouse 14 was finally pulling back into the bay, where Leila and Matt pushed open the doors to climb out. The sun had not yet set on the day, though the bright overhead lights had already come on, shining florescent beams down on the team as they pulled out the stretcher to clean it. As Matt unraveled a length of paper towels, Jay walked up, wheeling the large gray trashcan behind him.

"So are you two still planning on going to that banquet tonight?" he asked, glancing first to Matt, who in turn looked quickly over to Leila. Sensing his gaze on the side of her face, she raised her eyebrows at him as she looked up from the foot of the stretcher. A shrug raised and lowered her shoulders a moment later.

"What?" she asked, but only to frown when Matt tossed his arms.

"Well?" he began expectantly, placing his latex gloved hands on his narrow waist. "Are we still going to the banquet?"

To this, Leila huffed irritably. "Since when did your plan to go hinge on me?" she asked, glancing over with just her eyes when she heard Jay stifle a laugh. "I said-"

"-you would go!" Matt exclaimed, cutting over her to finish her sentence, his distressed tone venturing dangerously close to whining. "I begged you to go with me and you said yes!"

"Yeah, but that was about five days ago," Leila reminded him, leaning down momentarily to wipe the legs of the stretcher and rolling her eyes when she heard Matt give a true whine from somewhere above her. "Besides, it's already six o'clock. I'd still have to go home, get a shower-"

"Okay, so we'll be fashionably late then," Matt once again interrupted, leaning over the stretcher toward her with his hands braced on the black mat. His face formed that characteristic pleading, softened look as he smiled charmingly at her. "Please go? You'll look beautiful, no matter how much time you have to get ready."

Leila's eyes rolled generously as Jay burst into a loud laugh at Matt's antics. "That sort of flattery doesn't work on me, Matt," she told him, tossing a wad of dirtied paper towels into the trashcan beside Jay. "But, if you really want me to go, then I'll just leave now so I can go get ready and you two can finish this up!" And with that, she walked away, smiling to herself at the blank, somewhat confused expression on Matt's face, just a moment before she heard Jay throw the roll of paper towels at him.

"Good one, Casanova!"

So with the guys left behind to finish cleaning the ambulance, Leila departed, wishing she had not been so hasty in agreeing to go with Matt. Her apartment was still a wreck and it was beyond probable that the memorial banquet would be rather dull, with mediocre food at best. She would be surrounded by city officials, most of whom she had never met, with only Matt at her side to help diffuse the tension, assuming of course that he was not too distracted by the women that were sure to be there. But at least, she thought, if it really turned out to be terrible, she could leave relatively early into the event and not be missed, especially if Matt's latest pursuit happened to be there in all her blonde, medical examiner glory.

Once she had reached her apartment, she wasted no time in shedding her uniform, leaving it in a crumpled pile by the door to her bathroom, before she disappeared into the shower, being infinitely careful not to get her hair wet. It was still in desperate need of a relaxer and getting worse every day; to get it wet or even slightly damp meant certain death for her desire of a sleek, straightened look for the evening. So after a quick lather and a hurried shave, she climbed out, wrapping her favorite fluffy bathrobe about herself, to stay warm while she searched for something suitable to wear.

Leila had never been one for pink and frills, had never really owned a nice dress beyond what she had worn to prom during high school, so the endeavor of finding an outfit for the banquet was a bit more extensive than one would think. She pulled out many skirts, but either deemed them too short or too tight, until, with most of her wardrobe strewn across her bed, Leila finally stumbled upon a very simple black dress that she could not remember wearing for quite a long time. It had no sleeves but was not revealing in any sense of the word, with a modest neckline and a length that fell to her knees, the material hugging her body closely. However, after putting it on and positioning herself before the tall body mirror across from the bed, she tilted her head to the side and turned sideways to the mirror, eying her curvy profile and wondering if perhaps the dress as a little too casual for the event. Turning to the sleeping gray cat on the bed, she tossed her arms somewhat dejectedly.

"What about this, Murph?" she asked, grinning when the cat simply rolled onto his back and stretched his front legs out as far as they could go, emitting a quiet meow as he did. With a groan, Leila's smile dropped quickly from view and she rolled her eyes, turning away from the bed to reenter her bathroom. "Christ, I'm becoming the 'crazy cat lady' already..."

With the time rapidly approaching seven o'clock, Leila dumped out her rather small supply of makeup on the counter, rifling through the mess of broken eye shadows and the residual traces of powder that lingered on the plastic containers, until she found her half-used bottle of foundation. Another sigh of annoyance slipped past her lips as she turned the bottle upside down and dabbed her finger against the opening, watching and waiting until enough of the thick liquid had coated her skin. Being of mixed race made finding the right shade of facial makeup a chore, which she figured would explain why she rarely wore it. Her skin tone hovered precariously between African-American and Caucasian, either tanning dramatically during the summer months, or paling in the winter, and the abundance of freckles along her upper cheeks and nose did not exactly help either. During her childhood, her mother had told her lovingly that they were 'angel kisses' and that the small, dusted brown spots made her infinitely more special than the other kids...Leila had never really believed that but always appreciated the sentiment nonetheless.

With her freckles reasonably hidden and her dark eyelashes treated to a coating of mascara, Leila finally stepped into her one and only pair of heels, figuring that the time had come for her to rush out and meet Matt. She forewent telling Murphy goodbye on the promise that she would not allow herself to become the crazy cat lady before the age of thirty, and instead walked straight to her front door, hastily hooking her grandmother's string of pearls about her neck. It was still uncertain to her whether the dress was too casual, so she assumed adding the pearl necklace would be a nice touch, just in case.

Seeing how the sun had just set and Leila was not stupid enough to walk the streets of Gotham alone at night, she instead went for her car, hoping that a garage would be available, or at the very least, a parking space would be open near the convention center. Her heels made walking properly somewhat difficult and as a woman who rarely wore this type of shoe in the first place, she figured the smallest amount of distance between herself and a chair would be preferable. Falling on one's face in a crowded room full of city officials could potentially end up hurting more emotionally than physically, though she had to wonder if giving everyone something to laugh at would help lighten the mood.

Fortunately enough, a self-park garage just happened to sit only a block or two from the Gotham convention center, so after parking her car, Leila got out, reluctantly bringing her nearly empty, black clutch purse along with her, upon remembering that her dress did not have pockets. Her phone would absolutely have to be with her, in case the memorial turned out to be as dull as she was expecting and she needed to take a fake call.

The heels of her shoes made an oddly satisfying, rhythmic clicking against the concrete as she made her way across a side street, crossing over to the other side, where up ahead, she could see a group of people, wearing mostly black, standing outside in small groups. From her vantage point, she could make out a few of the men wearing their formal police uniforms, the gleaming name tags and ranking ornaments catching the light from the streetlamp as they shifted about uneasily. Leila exhaled slowly through her nose, allowing herself a moment to wonder how they felt. So many officers and other city personnel had lost their lives over the past month, fallen victim to the Joker's chaotic plan, leaving behind their families and friends to grieve, hating the man who had caused their pain. She could not imagine the sort of emotions they were going through, or what she could ever possibly say to the widows to express her condolences.

The closer she grew to the crowd outside the center, the clearer the faces became, until she finally recognized Matt, standing awkwardly off to the side, pretending to do something on his phone, while glancing up and down the street every few seconds. A small smile lifted the corners of her lips. Matt may have had his faults, but she really adored him when it came down to it, like the older brother she never had. Of course, way back when she was first hired, he had asked her out, but Leila had swiftly declined, and the incident was never spoken of again...Though every once in a while, Jay liked to bring it up, just to watch Matt blush and hastily mention the Cowboys game that he had not seen the night before.

Upon his second or third time looking up from his phone, Matt seemed to spot her and Leila noticed his shoulders relax as he sighed in relief. "There you are," he groaned when she walked up to him, passing behind the group of officers as they began to file into the building. "I was afraid you weren't coming," he added, stowing his phone away in the pocket of his black slacks. Leila ignored his comment, instead letting her eyes drop to the absolutely heinous green tie he was wearing. Matt took a step back when he noticed her nose start to wrinkle. "What?" he asked defensively, reaching up to smooth his hand down the middle of his chest. "Is it ugly?"

Leila nodded, glancing to either side of her as she quickly unbuttoned her clutch. "It's awful, Matt," she answered, holding out the opened purse in front of her and shifting to the side to block him from the view of the glass doors. "Take it off and put it in here, then unbutton the top button of your shirt," She glanced over her shoulder through the glass, to the inside of the building, as he quickly untied the knot and slipped it from around his neck. "I swear you're color blind."

"See?" he asked, finally balling up the tie and stuffing it into her purse before reaching up to undo the top button on his crisp white shirt. "What would I have done if you hadn't showed up? I would've walked around in there like a chump with an ugly-ass green tie and it would have been all your fault."

Leila nodded distractedly, fastening her clutch again as Matt twisted his neck to either side, as if wearing the tie for such a short amount of time had caused him physical pain. "Yeah, all my fault..." she grumbled, but then looked over at him. "Listen, if the food sucks and we don't know anyone, can we please leave?" she asked, arching her eyebrows sharply when he glanced at the window, but only to bring his hand up and smooth a crooked piece of his purposely messy brown hair in his reflection on the glass.

"Yeah, sure," he answered, leaving Leila to roll her eyes when she recognized the distant tone his voice took on to indicate when he was no longer listening. "Let's go in, shall we?"

The inside of the convention center seemed to hum with quiet voices, the distant clanking of glasses and cheap ceramic plates reaching her ears as Leila followed Matt toward a large room on the right, only for both of them to stop in the doorway, their jaws hanging slightly slack. The room was absolutely full of people. Leila felt an almost instinctual urge to turn and leave right then, but Matt was already shifting to face her, sliding his hands awkwardly into his pockets. His mouth opened to speak, but before he could do so, his eyes slid to the right, over her shoulder, to something behind her. Leila frowned at his sudden shift in attention, and she turned to see who or what he had spotted, figuring miserably that she was about to lose his company to the fabled blonde medical examiner. Instead, her mildly annoyed expression relaxed slowly into blankness.

Across the room stood a wide stage, camouflaged and nearly covered in large arrangements of what appeared to be funeral flowers, some in the shape of a cross, others in a simple wreath, each one bearing a yellow ribbon. Over a dozen white candles had been set in front of a framed picture of the man or woman whom they memorialized, each placed on elegant podiums of different heights, scattered in the remaining space on the platform. Their flames were soft, flickering amongst the flowers, casting odd shadows on the photographed faces behind them. Leila had to admit it was a beautiful way to arrange a memorial for so many people, but she could not help but feel like the large, charming picture of the handsome and once fully in-tact Harvey Dent overshadowed the others. Matt's voice next to her pulled her attention away.

"Okay..." he muttered, glancing around somewhat shiftily. "This is...kinda weird. You wanna go?" he asked and Leila was just a split second from replying with a loud 'YES', when someone called out, "Matt!" It took a great deal of effort to keep her from letting out a loud groan right then. They both turned toward the source of the noise, only to spot a young police officer, in formal uniform, walking toward them. His handsome, angled face bore a somewhat strained smile, and his hand extended out toward Matt as he drew to within a few feet of them. Matt met his handshake midway, smiling sheepishly as though the other man had heard him planning to leave.

"Glad you could make it," the man said, smiling warmly as his eyes glanced to Matt's right, where Leila stood silent. Matt nodded, pulling a very grave look onto his face.

"I couldn't miss it, Mark," he answered, putting his medic training into action once again and allowing his voice to drip with remorse. Leila fought back the urge to turn and ask him if he still wanted to leave. "I just feel so bad for you guys on the force. You lost so many people..." The man named Mark nodded, glancing down at his highly polished, almost reflective black shoes.

"Yeah, man," he began. "We lost Barry, one of the rookies. But the two-five...they lost about five of their men, when they were transporting Dent over to central. I still can't believe it."

This was precisely why Leila had not wanted to attend. She was stuck standing there by Matt's side, listening to him give carefully worded sentiments of apology and condolences to his friends, while she struggled to maintain a very solemn expression, nodding and giving a groan where appropriate. It was not that she did not feel the deepest pity and sympathy for these men, nor was it that she just simply did not care, but rather the fact that she felt so sorely out of place. She knew none of these people, only recognizing them by face from seeing them either on the news or out on the street. But of course, Matt had insisted, claiming that he would not know anyone!

So while Matt made his way around the room, shaking hands and offering his deepest sympathy, not bothering to introduce her to anyone, Leila let her eyes drift through the crowd. A blonde woman near the stage was crying steadily into a tattered napkin, stained with mascara, while the people around her placed their hands on her arms and back, sharing in her grief. Leila could only imagine this woman to be a widow, likely to one of the young police officers, whose picture was being featured alongside a candle upon the platform. This same situation was present in several other places throughout the room, each woman, some old, some young, surrounded by a gathering of comforters, and mildly, Leila had to wonder why the poor widows would even bother showing up to something like this. If it had been her husband who had been killed, were she to have one, who had been killed, the last place she would have been found was at a memorial banquet...

Just then, Leila's eyes drifted onto a half circle of older men, and she gasped when she recognized the tallest of the group, a rather heavyset black man, wearing a crisp suit and a look of perfected calmness. She turned to Matt to quickly grab his arm as he finished a conversation with another of his friends. He arched one eyebrow in confusion but Leila was already explaining.

"Come with me, I want you to meet someone!" she exclaimed, and began to lead him away from the drink table, toward the stage, in front of which stood the group of men.

It was nearly impossible for Leila to keep a smile off of her face as she approached, practically dragging Matt along behind her by the sleeve of his shirt. She could hear him asking questions but was not listening as the men finally stopped talking and turned to look as Leila appeared in their midst. The man she had recognized turned to look down, before she noticed his dark eyes light up in a surprised smile. One of his hands reached out to touch her arm.

"Leila, honey!" he exclaimed, holding out his arms as she stepped forward to hug him around his wide middle. "What are you doing here?" he asked, glancing to her left where Matt stood somewhat sheepishly behind her with his hands in his pockets. Leila stepped back from their embrace, to grin widely up at him.

"I could ask you the same thing, Dad," she replied, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. It was amazing to her how much more comfortable she felt and how quickly her attitude had changed, just by having one single person there that she knew. It didn't exactly hurt that this was her father either. Before he answered her question, he turned to the men with whom he had just been speaking, to give them a nod.

"Excuse us for a moment?" he asked them politely, his well known reputation instantly speaking for itself as the other men moved to walk away, giving the father and daughter privacy in which to converse. He then looked back down at Leila, the familiar wrinkles next to his eyes creasing in his smile.

"You remember Captain Hargassy, of station house 25?" he asked, glancing across the room and nodding his head toward an older white man, in a highly decorated formal police uniform. When Leila recognized the man's profile, she nodded and her father continued. "He invited your mother and I, but-" He paused when Leila's mouth opened quickly, to ask where her mom was, but he went on, obviously having sensed this question coming. "-she had a meeting out at P.S.17 in regards to the upcoming school year. They're drafting some new, heavier security restrictions and needed her approval as chairman of the school board." As her dad's explanation concluded, Leila nodded, but then gave a vague start when she felt Matt's shoulder brush against her own, a very subtle, tactful way of reminding her he was still there. She grinned again, holding out her hand toward him.

"Oh, Dad, this is Matt Park," she introduced him, smiling when the two men shook hands. "He works with me at the fire house."

"Ah, yes, Matt," he said warmly, though with a very characteristic, smug tone to his voice. "I've heard good things about you. Edward Hawkin, Leila's father, as I'm sure you've deduced by now." Matt, across from Edward, was nodding, grinning that certain, awkward way he did when feeling slightly intimidated; Leila could not help but find this endearing, of both Matt, and her father.

"Actually, I recognized you before I realized you were Leila's dad," Matt answered, sliding his hands boyishly into the pockets of his black slacks. "You're the head of neurology at Gotham General, right?"

"Well, what used to be Gotham General," Edward corrected him, giving a grave shake of his head. "Until they begin work on the new building, I'll be practicing alongside Dr. Tanner at Gotham Municipal. Which reminds me," Edward paused, glancing over his shoulder quickly, before down at Matt, then over to Leila. "Word has it, your team was the one responsible for giving the Joker an examination once he had been captured. Is that correct?" he asked, his dark eyes once again bouncing from Leila to Matt and back again. It was immediately obvious to her why her father had double checked that no one was standing near them; the name of the Joker was likely not welcome in this particular room. Leila stammered somewhat hesitantly while Matt nodded proudly, confirming this rumor for her father. Edward went on, this time, his eyes focused on those of his daughter. "I also heard that you were the one to actually perform the exam and that this man somehow learned your full name."

At this, Matt stayed mercifully silent, but the way his eyes had widened and his head turned to stare directly at the side of her face, Leila figured he might as well have begun screaming at the top of his lungs that this was true and that it was partly his fault. Slowly, she nodded, but bit her bottom lip as she stared up at her dad. "Yeah, it was me," she answered a few moments later, but then took a half-step closer to him, resting her hand on his upper arm, her eyes wide, imploring. "Mom doesn't know, does she? She asked me about it but I don't think she knew it was our team."

When Edward shook his head, Leila sighed in relief. "No, your mother does not know, nor am I fool enough to tell her," he said in his deep, comforting baritone voice. "She'd have you moving back into the house before you could blink, or otherwise calling you every moment of every day," He paused, reaching down to take her hand and pat it between his much larger, soft ones. "I value your sanity too much for that, dear." Leila laughed, nodding her head in agreement.

"Thanks, Daddy."

For several minutes, Leila, Matt and her father stood there, chatting genially about this and that, about the upcoming gala for the hospital fundraiser, about how Bruce Wayne was one of the top V.I.P's expected to be in attendance, until a terrible, loud whine traveled through the room, from the microphone on the stage behind them. Nearly everyone in the room gave a jump at the sudden noise and turned toward the stage, where a man in a navy blue suit was staring at the black microphone confusedly, as though sorely tempted to tap it again with his finger. Instead, he looked up at the people in the room, clearing his throat as he leaned forward slightly.

"If everyone could please take their seats, we'll be starting soon," he said, his magnified voice immediately followed by a dull smattering of talk and the shuffling of shoes against old carpet. Leila turned to her dad, raising her eyebrows as he turned slightly to set his wine glass down on the table beside him. She motioned to the chair in front of her.

"Is it alright if we sit with you?" she asked. Edward shrugged his shoulders, glancing about the room, clearly searching for the group of men with whom he had been talking prior to her arrival.

"I don't see why not," he replied, pulling out a chair next to the place where his wine glass stood. As Leila sat in the chair he had just made available for her, with Matt on her other side, her father followed suit, asking, "Did you have something to eat?"

Leila glanced over her shoulder toward the back of the room, to where a long white linen draped buffet table had been set up, but she shook her head in response to the question, Matt copying her actions on her left. She could remember walking past the table earlier and struggling not to wrinkle her nose at the array of unappetizing food. She could also remember Matt's whispered invitation to join him for a greasy burger at the diner down the street once the banquet let out. Turning back to Edward, she shrugged with a smile.

"No, we weren't hungry. We ate right after our shift at six," she lied with ease, hoping and praying her empty stomach would not betray her with a loud growl once the room had quieted.

After several minutes of shuffling around, while people looked to find a seat amongst friends or family, every round table had eventually been filled, and those who had been unlucky enough to find a chair with their back to the stage had turned their seats around. The large banquet room had then quieted, a very funeral home type hush falling over the tables, until finally, a tall, dark haired man, whom Leila recognized as the mayor of Gotham City, stepped onto the platform. He cleared his throat as he pulled a small stack of index cards from the pocket of his suit coat, which he rested on the surface of the podium before him.

Leila had seen this man on TV many times over the previous weeks, urging the citizens to remain vigilant, alert to their surroundings and promising that he and his hoards of police officials were doing everything they could to find and punish the Joker. Up close, she had to admit that he did not look well, and honestly, she could not blame him. Deep, dark circles had formed under his eyes, giving him the look of a person who had aged dramatically over a very short period of time. Again, he cleared his throat, linking his fingers together on the podium before him as he began to speak.

"First and foremost, allow me to thank you for coming tonight," he started, purposely letting his eyes glance through the room, in an effort to give them the impression that he was speaking to each of them individually. "While I know the circumstances of this event are not exactly what I would call ideal, it gives me true hope for this city that our people can still come together to mourn and to celebrate the lives we've lost over the past few weeks."

Leila tuned out at this point, allowing her eyes to drift listlessly away from the mayor, and onto the same blonde woman she had noticed earlier, who was still crying steadily into her ratty napkin. Her heart simply ached for this woman, her sense of compassion causing her to wish there was something she could do for her, despite having never even met her. Leila had never dated someone she could even begin to consider 'husband material', so she could only imagine how devastating it would be to lose one's spouse. She certainly hoped the woman did not have children; that would only make matters worse.

Movement on the stage caught Leila's attention, bringing her eyes back to the podium, where the police commissioner, Jim Gordon, whom she had also seen on the television many times lately, had taken the place of the mayor. He too bore the look of great exhaustion and grief as he began to list names from a slip of paper on the podium's surface.

"James Tattering, patrol officer of unit twenty-three," he read, before glancing to his right where two uniformed officers descended the short steps from the stage, bearing something in their hands as they approached another young woman. An elderly couple sat on either side of her, the older woman and who Leila assumed was her daughter-in-law both crying quietly. As the officers reached the table, the young widow reached out, taking the items from the men as they offered them to her. Leila's heart sank, warm tears beginning to sting her eyes as the light from overhead caught the gleam of the object; the patrol officer's silver police badge, and a medal. The young woman positively dissolved into tears and as Leila watched, she had to wonder if perhaps it would have been easier and less horrifyingly sad to simply deliver these artifacts in private.

This flow of events continued through all eighteen names, either the parents, friends, wives or husbands of the deceased being awarded a medal of sacrifice and the badge of their loved ones. The whole time, the room remained completely silent, until the last name had been read and at once, every person in the room, the some odd one hundred people there, simultaneously rose to their feet and began to applaud. Not for those grieving nor for Jim Gordon's heartfelt speech, but for those who had died, as though giving them one last communal round of thanks for their service and sacrifice to the city.

As the noise died down and everyone returned to their seats, Commissioner Gordon stepped back toward the podium, anxiously smoothing his tie along the front of his chest, glancing down at his notes before he continued.

"Lastly, of Harvey Dent," he began, glancing out at his audience. "As Gotham's District Attorney, I must admit, Harvey and I did not exactly see eye to eye at first. Though as time went on, the more closely we worked together, the more I came to see, the more we all came to see how passionate and dedicated this man was to justice, and yet fairness-"

At that moment, Leila's eyes shifted to the right of the stage, where an older man had just come trotting up, his face a twisted mess of anxiety as he approached the commissioner's left side. The last of Jim's interrupted word echoed slightly in the large room as he took a step away from the podium and microphone, leaning in so the man could whisper urgently in his ear. Leila could see the people sitting around her turning their heads to glance at one another, eyebrows arched in confusion at the sudden interruption, while the dull rumble of low voices broke out once again, filling the silence. However just as Leila moved to copy the other people and turn to frown at her father, to ask what he thought was going on, the man on stage trotted back toward the short set of steps, leaving a very pale, wide-eyed Jim Gordon behind. He gave a short clearing of his throat as he returned to the podium, and even from where she was sitting, Leila could see a very noticeable mix of expressions in his gray eyes; anger, dread, confusion, and unmistakable fear. Leila felt her empty stomach twist into an instinctual ball of anxiety.

"I'm...I'm so sorry-" Gordon began, his eyes bouncing through the room as though he was unsure where to look. "-but we need to evacuate this room, as quickly as possible," he continued, and in the blink of an eye, the brave, curt police commissioner had returned. Stepping away from the podium, he raised his voice to speak over the now slightly panicked voices filling the room. "If the back row of tables could please stand and make their way toward the exit, the officers will show you-"

"Jim, what is going on?" demanded a voice from down near the stage, while the farthest row of tables remained quite stationary. Leila sat up straight to see who had just spoken and felt Matt's hand reach out to grip the back of her chair. Jim Gordon took a deep breath, his hand still outstretched, from where he had just pointed to the people at the back of the room. Another voice broke out from somewhere behind Leila, and every head turned to look.

"We're not going anywhere until you tell us what's happening!" the male voice nearly shouted. Leila looked back to see that a young man had risen from his chair and was now glaring angrily at the commissioner. "What did Jansen tell you?!"

As this question rang through the room, every head once again swiveled toward the stage, where Gordon was now looking as though he were ready to faint. Though when he spoke, his voice was eerily yet decisively calm.

"I was just informed that-" he paused, taking another deep breath. "- The Joker has escaped custody."

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A/N: FINALLY! We can get to the GOOD stuff! Again, thanks so much for all the follows and reviews, it really helps me write and stay inspired! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and you're just as excited for the next one as I am... ; ] -QoM