I do not own Batman. Sucks, don't it? I do own Eleanor Black and all the other characters and plot points that aren't part of the movie. Rated T for the same reasons the movie was rated PG-13. Enjoy.

Chances Are…
Chapter Four: A New Batsuit, eh?

I wasn't sure how long it was after Bruce returned that I woke up, but I did come out of my half-alert stupor when Bruce sat down at the main desk; as I had discovered the first time I'd sat on it, the stool had a tendency to creak whenever any amount of weight was placed on it. I sat up in the chair and pulled my leg off the armrest. He was intently stitching closed a large wound—that still looked like it might be bleeding a bit—on his left bicep and didn't seem to notice as I pulled the other stool up and sat down beside him. My back and neck were sore and the I-just-woke-up blurriness didn't seem eager to vacate my vision; I didn't really think sleeping in the chair again was a good idea. I adjusted my t-shirt and leaned on the heavy desk, looking up at Bruce from the awkward angle my line of vision had taken. He had changed out of Batman's costume and was dressed in pinstripe suit pants and a navy blue t-shirt and he looked exhausted—an expression I knew would disappear as soon as he left the bunker. I groaned as I remembered that there was another LSI Holdings meeting today and I would have to sit for God knew how long in the boring board room.

"You really should go home and get some sleep, Eleanor," Bruce said suddenly, drawing my attention away from the inevitable truth.

I made an indistinctive noise as I sat up, pulled a small batarang from the tangles of my rat-nest hair—I hadn't thought my hair strong enough to hold the metal tools—and wrested the needle from his hand. "Your stitches are crooked."

"And what do you know about stitching up someone's arm?"

I gave him the most indignant look I could muster and threw in a touch of raised eyebrow for good measure. "I'll have you know," I said as I started moving the needle up and down through his skin, "that Alfred has been sharing some of his medical knowledge with me, just in case he wasn't around when you needed the help." I peered down my nose as I stitched and tried to ignore the fact that I was in such close proximity to Bruce, the flush of heat in my cheeks and the feeling of his eyes on me. Of course, the feeling of his eyes on me could be my imagination, but I was sure if he was watching me, he was studying the motion of my hands, scrutinizing the way I was stitching his wound closed, comparing my skills to Alfred, who had taken care of him for so long. "How did this happen anyway?" I asked, keeping my eyes on Bruce's arm. "It looks like you got mauled by a bear or something. Or, at least, your arm does."

Bruce made a noise that could have been taken for laughter. "I was attacked by a dog."

"A dog?"

"The Chechen has dogs."

I paused in my stitching. "You getting attacked must have been the noise I heard." The memory of the stifled scream flashed through my head and I winced before I started moving the needle again. I still wasn't looking at him, but I didn't have to be to know what he was about to ask.

"What did you hear?"

I finished stitching the wound and sighed, picking up one of the alcohol swabs so I could wash away the blood dried onto his arm and clean the wound. When all the blood was gone, I looked up at Bruce and shrugged as casually as I could. "Well, amidst all the fighting and screeching and screaming, I heard this noise… It sounded like you were holding in a scream or something." I put a thick gauze pad over the freshly stitched laceration and taped it in place with that special medical tape stuff. When I looked up, Bruce was staring at me with a disbelieving glint to his eyes. "What?" I sat back and crossed my arms under my chest. "I'm sorry if it was weird to hear you make a noise like that, but if you got attacked by a dog…"

"Hey, it was a big dog."

I giggled a bit—and hated the noise because I sounded like some stupid love-struck teenage girl. "Oh-oh, sorry. It was a big dog," I jibed sarcastically.

"What is this I hear about a dog Master Wayne?" Bruce and I both turned and watched Alfred walk across the bunker towards the computer terminal, a familiar silver thermos of coffee in his hands and a large smile on his face. "It'll be nice when the manor's rebuilt," he said to Bruce. "Then you can swap not sleeping in a penthouse for not sleeping in a mansion." Taking the look Bruce shot him with expert grace, Alfred set the thermos down on the desk and pulled his thin, wire-rimmed glasses out of his jacket and slipped them into place on his nose. "Excellent work, Ms. Black," he said as he observed my handy-work. "You're stitches have improved. You say this wound came from a dog, Master Bruce? It looks more like a bite from a tiger or some other exceptionally large mammal." Alfred looked at me when I giggled again and I hid my face behind a conveniently placed folder. "I see Ms. Black finds my wit amusing." He smiled at me and placed a hand on my shoulder.

"As amusing as your wit may be, the fact remains that I need a new suit."

"What? Lucius can't fix one tear?"

Bruce turned his not-so-amused glance at me. "It's not the tear, Eleanor. It's too heavy. I'm carrying too much weight. I need to be able to move faster and more easily." He ran his fingers back through his hair, contemplating his newly discovered needs.

"Well that is one thing I'm sure Mr. Fox can help you with." Alfred made a grab for the thermos and looked at me as his hand hit open air, eyebrow raised. The thermos was in my hands. "Why don't you talk to him after the meeting this morning?" he suggested once I had handed the caffeine over.

Bruce nodded and sighed, pouring himself a mug-full of the hot liquid. He drained the thermos cap and then looked at Alfred, remaining silent for a few long seconds. I had the feeling whatever he was about to say, I already knew. "There were more impostors last night," he breathed, his voice sounding incredibly forced, stressed; the impostors were taking a toll on the Batman.

Sensing the tension and sadness in his charge, Alfred moved to change the mood, to make Bruce smile. "Why don't you hire them and take the weekend off?" the elder man suggested, a wry grin twisting his mouth.

I wanted to laugh, but I kept my mouth shut.

Bruce exhaled a long and heavy breath, his shoulders and face falling. In that moment, I realized the extent of the exhaustion he was feeling, and I wanted to protest the nightly patrols, I wanted him to get more sleep, but I kept my mouth shut, and probably wisely. I wanted to stay involved with Batman, and to do that, I needed to rid my mind off all my concern for Bruce—well, I had to just not express my concern for Bruce. I watched as Bruce seemed to gather himself up, reassemble the pieces, and turn his half-amused face to his butler.

"That wasn't what I had in mind when I said I wanted to inspire good."

"You have inspired good, Bruce," I said on impulse. Damn it. I withdrew my hand from where it had subconsciously come to rest on Bruce's arm. "Look at Harvey Dent, the new district attorney."

I shied away as Bruce stared intently at me for a moment. "I am. Closely."

There were a few clicks as Bruce keyed something into the computer and several video clips appeared on the large screen. In the window on top of the others, Harvey Dent, tall and blond and quite handsome climbed out of a cab and, after extending his hand back into the darkness of the backseat, pulled Rachel Dawes into place beside him. They walked across the pavement, pushing through a crowd of people with microphones and cameras, flashes going off on every side. If there had been sound, there would have been yelling, people trying desperately to get the attention of the new district attorney and ask him questions about what he intended to do with Gotham's mob problem. Dent and his ambitions had gained him the title of Gotham's White Knight, and everyone was curious how their knight was going to save them.

My eyes, once Rachel had climbed from the back of the cab, didn't leave that window, didn't leave her face. Alfred must have noticed or just wanted to continue his attempt to lighten the mood in the Batbunker.

"Are you interested in Mr. Dent or his social circle, Master Wayne?"

Bruce started to deny that he wasn't keeping an eye on Rachel, that he wasn't following her actions—which was a blatant lie, as she was in every one of the video clips and every one of the photos—and I snorted, trying to keep my sardonic laughter contained; Bruce and I didn't need to fight about Rachel too. We had enough other things to argue about without that on the plate as well. Alfred looked at me as the noise escaped my mouth and half-smiled, an eyebrow raised.

"I think Ms. Black agrees with my assumption."

Bruce looked at me again, a strange expression on his face.

I burst out laughing, and didn't know why; I had expected to be angry at the reiteration of Bruce's love for Rachel, and here I was laughing for God's sake. Maybe then tension just needed to be broken and I had taken the odd look as the cue to do so. Alfred chuckled quietly beside me and Bruce even smiled a little bit. When I had calmed down, I looked at Bruce as seriously as I could manage. I was still smiling a little bit, but it was better than nothing.

"I'm going to head home so I can change and get ready for the meeting," I said, sliding off the stool and grabbing my bag, discarded at the foot of the desk.

Bruce nodded. "We'll pick you up on our way to Wayne Enterprises."

I slid my feet into my flip-flops and shouldered by bag, my eyes staying on Bruce. Against any will I had, a small smile took over my face and I felt my cheeks darken with an unwanted blush. Bruce didn't smile, just kept my eyes with his. He nodded once and I stepped away from the desk, heading to the lift; once I broke the eye contact with Bruce, I was able to keep moving. I even kept my back turned as I rose back into Gotham proper because I knew, if I looked back at the Batbunker, I would want to stay. But I worked for Lucius too, and I wanted to know what was going on, so I needed to be at this meeting. Unfortunately, we couldn't bug the offices. If we could, I would have tapped in via the headset I was becoming so fond of and stayed in Bat Central.

I drove home in a half-alert state, which probably wasn't the best idea. There was no loud barking when I walked into my apartment—Blaze was at my parent's house—so I just meandered into the bathroom, stripped down and climbed into a hot shower. The steaming water served to wake me up and then lull me farther into a walking sleep as heat was wont to do. When I climbed out, the air, cold by contrast, brought me right into full alertness; with another cup or three of coffee, I might even be able to stay awake through the meeting this time. Quickly, I pulled on a black skirt, navy blue blouse and slipped my feet into the black heels that were still extremely painful because they hadn't been sufficiently broken in yet. I brushed my hair and sprayed some stuff in it so it wouldn't turn into a puffy mass, and left it to air dry. As I started switching the contents of my bag into a purse, the buzzer sounded. Bruce and Alfred were downstairs, waiting. I hurried down to the elevator and by the time I had climbed into the backseat of the car beside Bruce, I was wishing I hadn't picked my new heels. Hindsight's twenty-twenty.

"Sore feet?" Bruce asked as he noticed the wincing.

"Shut up."

He listened and also handed me another thermos full of coffee. I sighed, relived because I forgot to make myself some of the rejuvenating liquid, and immediately filled the proffered mug.

"Are you going to talk to Lucius about the suit today?"

"After the meeting."

I nodded and took another long drink. "How long do you think it'll take to fabricate a new suit?"

"For Lucius? Not long. I've got some ideas sketched out, and he works fast. Plus, he's got five very efficient teams who work on different parts of things for Batman and they he puts them together. It'll probably only take a week."

"Yeah, of round-the-clock working." I only sounded bitter because I'd had to work for a day and a half straight once and I never planned on doing it again. Unless it was for Batman, but that didn't really feel like work, and I had a feeling it never would be work. It was something I wanted to do, and Bruce was someone I would do anything for. I knew that and he knew that. He didn't really take enough advantage of that, but that wasn't the way Bruce operated.

He nodded in agreement, but didn't say anything. He knew how many hours went into developing the tools he used. I only knew because I was often in charge of the production files and inventory and all that fun stuff. I knew how much money everything cost as well, but clearly, to Bruce Wayne money was no object.

Alfred pulled the car into Bruce's parking spot and he and I climbed out of the back seat, me groaning and my weight settled on my feet and they were pushed farther into the damned shoes. Bruce shook his head and slipped an arm around my waist, taking some of my weight. He whispered something about getting better shoes and I tried to ignore the fire in my body and the electricity and the blush rapidly over my face, ears and neck. In the elevator, I surrendered and took my shoes off and padded across the lobby to my desk and dropped my bag and shoes off and then headed into the expansive boardroom, ignoring the strange looks at my bare-footedness as I sat confidently in the chair beside Bruce. I kept a wide smile on my face and, down the table a way, Lucius smiled and shook his head at my little display, quite used to them now. And oh yes, I enjoyed that I could get away with these sorts of things sometimes, only because I was friends with the owner of the company.

The LSI Holdings meet proceeded much the same as the one before, expect that I managed to stay awake and Bruce was the one who fell asleep. Except, I was guessing, he wasn't really asleep but I wasn't really paying attention. After the very first LSI Holdings meeting, Bruce had done some digging into the revenue of the Chinese company and he was sure there were some mob connections or other law-breaking methods to the perfect increase every year. He wanted Lucius' opinion and I knew that Coleman Reese—who spent the meeting staring disapprovingly down the table at the sleeping Bruce and my wandering eyes—had been reviewing the numbers as well; I would probably get another speech about proper meeting behaviour. Bah.

When the meeting had finally finished three hours later, I "woke" Bruce up so he could bid farewell to his guests. I hung around the board room, ambling up and down the lengthy space with Lucius watching my movement.

"May I inquire as to the whereabouts of your shoes, Eleanor?"

I smiled at my boss. "They're at my desk. I thought it would be a good idea to wear a pair of new heels—I was wrong."

The tall African-American man retained his grin as Bruce rejoined us in the board room. I moved to join the men at the floor to ceiling window and realized how exceptionally short I felt next to them without shoes; both of them were over six feet tall and I was stuck at an average five foot eight. I sighed and leaned against the window, listening as they talked about the mechanics of the new suit.

"You want to be able to turn your head," Lucius stated.

Bruce nodded. "It'd sure make backing out the driveway easier." He looked at me as I snorted a laugh and then rolled his eyes, smiling a little, mostly to himself. "How long do you think it'll take?"

Lucius Fox stroked his chin in thought for a moment. "Well, there's a prototype armour system downstairs we can use as a starting point, so it shouldn't take that long. I'll keep you informed of our progress." He turned to look down at me, his fatherly eyes sparkling like they usually were. "And should I be keeping you informed as well, Eleanor?"

I grinned and jabbed my thumb in the general direction of Bruce. "Eh, if you tell him, I'll know. Oh, and I'll have the reports done for you tonight."

"Well, that's good, even though I was expecting them yesterday."

I blushed out of embarrassment and looked at my bare feet, toenails still painted blue from the last time I'd had the gumption to do something girly. "I apologize Mr. Fox… I was… caught up in something else."

"I understand Eleanor, but please don't let it happen again. If you can't handle both your responsibilities, maybe it's time to let one of them go." Lucius smiled when I looked up at him, and I knew he was talking about my job at Wayne Enterprises. He placed a hand on my shoulder and then turned and walked out of the boardroom, saying a goodbye to Bruce as he passed.

"He's right you know. If you can't handle both, you should just pick one."

"Shut up," I snapped, harsher then I should have. I kept myself from smiling however, and managed a glare. "I'll be fine doing both. Don't you worry about me." Following Lucius' path, I stalked back to my desk and flopped in my chair, the seat turning with my weight. It made one full rotation before Bruce stopped it. He stared down at me intently, incredibly serious and I sighed, surrendering. "Fine. I'll think about quitting my job here. But only, only if I can't handle both. And I haven't been trying to keep up both jobs that long, so you can't make a judgement yet. OK, well, you can, but you shouldn't." I pointed my index finger in his face, keeping the tip an inch from his nose. "That's not fair. Give me a chance."

"Fine. But remember," Bruce grabbed my hand and pushed it down, out of his face and pinned it to the arm of the chair. "I can still fire you from your other job."

"Fine. I'm going to stay here until later, getting some of the work I need to get finished."

Bruce let my hand go. "I'll see you later then."

"After your date?"

I had a date that night, with the prima ballerina of the Moscow ballet, and I wasn't particularly looking forward to it. Not until we got to the restaurant—one of the over-priced, over-fancy places I'd bought as a stunt to serve only my reputation as a frivolous billionaire—and found Harvey Dent sitting with Rachel Dawes. As soon as I saw her, sitting there and laughing, I started looking forward to the evening, but it had nothing to do with my company. I watched Rachel through most of dinner; how she acted towards and with Harvey, her body language, the way she looked at him. At me. I listened to the conversation, mostly between Natasha and Harvey, but I kept my eyes on Rachel.

Until the conversation turned to Batman.

Then I listened.

Eleanor was already in the bunker when I arrived. There was a short burst of anger, but it faded quickly. She really wasn't going anywhere. I was getting used to it, but it would take time. I wasn't used to having to share my territory with anyone other than Alfred.

"How was your date?" Eleanor asked as the lift clicked into place and I started across the bunker; the heels of my dress shoes clicking loudly on the concrete.

"I'm throwing a fundraiser for Harvey Dent." There was an emphasis on the "t" that I hadn't meant to use.

Eleanor turned around on her stool and raised an eyebrow at my answer. She ran her fingers backwards through her hair—a habit I wasn't sure she knew she had—the corner of her mouth twitching with something contained. "Oh. I didn't realize your date was with Gotham's DA." She took my glare with effortless grace and flashed her smirk at me. After a minute, she surrendered. "Sorry. So how did you end up having to throw Mr. Dent one of your oh-so-glamorous parties anyway?"

I sat on the empty stool beside Eleanor. "Natasha and I ran into Harvey and Rachel at the restaurant. We put our tables together and the conversation naturally turned to Dent's plans for Gotham, and what he thought of the Batman—"

"And you were so moved by his sentiments that you just had to get him millions of dollars?"

There was something off about her attitude, but if she didn't want to talk about it, I wasn't going to pry. Eleanor wasn't the type of woman to keep things inside for very long: if it was bothering her enough, she'd let it out. Until then, if it happened, I was going to take her comments and short temperedness. I sighed. "Would you like to come with me to the fundraiser?" I asked instead of going along with her anger. It wasn't something Eleanor would normally say yes too, since she had a profound dislike for dancing and tended to get drunk at any social event, but I had a feeling she'd want to be there this time, if only to rub it in Rachel's face that she was there with me; I didn't understand the animosity between the two women, and it wasn't something I was terribly keen on getting involved in anymore than I already was.

Eleanor's eyes dropped to the ground, but I could still see the blush on her cheeks and the tops of her ears. "Sure," she finally answered quietly.

I didn't say anything else as I walked over to where the Batsuit hung.

"Will we have to make any special preparations? Move the suit or something like that?" Eleanor's voice was louder, stronger, normal. She seemed to be adjusting quickly to her role.

I shrugged out of my suit jacket and hung it on the intended hook. "Yes. We should prepare for the worst situation."

"I'll get on that."

As I changed into the suit I felt more comfortable in than anything business-related, I listened to the clicking of her fingers on one of the several keyboards. I didn't think what I'd told her earlier was true. I didn't think I could ever fire her.

Author's Note… So, I bought The Dark Knight movie guide thingy and it turns out the cast and crew called it the Batbunker too. I thought that was kind of hilarious, because I'd never seen that anywhere before I started calling it that. Great minds think alike, eh? (sticks tongue out) Bah. Eight.

Sorry it took me so long to update this fic—I hope you all still read it and enjoy it. I just really wanted to finish Reflections off so I could move on. This fic will be my main concentration now, but I will also be working on Joke's On You, So please read both and enjoy them, because I think both are going to turn out to be pretty nifty. Oh, and check out Slow Dancing in a Burning Room, which comes after this fic: Chances Are. I just didn't want to wait until I was done this one to post it because I like it so much. And now that I'm done with the shameless promoting of my stuff…

Next Chapter: Mob Banks and Escape Plans. Eleanor sinks further into her self-induced hermitage, but finally manages to win one of her fights. Lucius offers some reassuring words to said hermit and Batman is given a difficult task in a jurisdiction he never considered his before.