A/N: Right, if I got the Italian wrong then sorry. Blame freetranslation . com lol. And thank you again to Thought for the beta.
Chapter Four – In No Condition
Every muscle in my body ached.
Groaning, I got out of bed and hobbled to the shower. It had really been far too long since I'd worked myself that hard, and my body seemed determined to remind me of that fact. The hot water pounding down on my muscles felt wonderful, massaging out all the kinks until I felt marginally more human. Last night I'd been exhilarated, but exhausted, and called Ben, let him know I was alright and then just fallen into bed without bothering to pull on pyjamas. Idly, I wondered what the time was. I bit my lip, thinking. Hope it isn't too late. I had a rehearsal to go to this afternoon – the new Symphony Hall was opening tomorrow evening, and of course I'd be performing, but if the time was after two then I was already late. I dressed quickly, then made my way down to the kitchen intending to grab some very late breakfast. My cell phone ringing put a stop to that – it was Tim, one of the violinists I'd become friends with since moving to Gotham.
"Hi, Ilaria, I'm running late. If Scavron asks, I'm in the bathroom, ok?"
Leonard Scavron was the conductor of the orchestra, and ran an extremely tight ship. "Tim, I'm not even out of the apartment yet. What time is it, anyway?"
"Um…one fifty seven," he answered. "How are you not out the apartment?"
"Late night," I said. "But I'm leaving now. Ish. Tell Scavron…you know what, don't tell him anything. I'll just go diva on him if he kicks up a fuss."
He laughed. "Ok, see you in a bit."
"Bye."
True to Tim's words, the clock chimed just as I put down the phone. Letting out a curse in Italian that would have had my mother washing my mouth out with soap, I gulped down a glass of orange juice and called Jasper. Within five minutes we were in the elevator and walking out onto the street. The concierge of the building was an extremely efficient man called Bill – about forty I guessed, of average height and a little overweight – and he already had a cab waiting for me. "Here you are, Miss Simmons."
I smiled. "Thank you, Bill." By the time I arrived at Symphony Hall, it was half past two. I could imagine Scavron going nuts almost as soon as I walked through the door. I almost threw money at the cabbie and bolted out of the car and up the steps, ignoring my protesting muscles. Predictably, I was yelled at as soon as my foot touched the floor of the concert hall. It didn't really bother me – at least Scavron didn't treat me as though I was too delicate to withstand a telling-off. Uttering a thousand apologies, I sat at the piano Jasper automatically led me to, patting his head in thanks, telling him to sit. With another "finally", Scavron began, and the rest of the orchestra followed suit, the sound swelling up and out to fill the hall.
It was a Rachmaninoff, piano concerto number five. Thankfully I managed not to mess up, the liquid notes of my instrument floating upward to the gods. Acoustically this was a good hall for music – not so good for me, since the echoes weren't particularly strong. After a few minutes the strings came in, then others, and before long we were all working together, our instruments different but complementary. I think I managed to convince Scavron that he shouldn't give up on me quite yet, since I surprised even myself by performing the whole piece flawlessly. Once that was done, we had the rest of the concert to go through. The concert tomorrow night wouldn't be too long, since it was a gala, so there would be a ball too, no doubt. With hopefully someone else providing the music. The concert started at seven, the ball at nine.
Still, Scavron insisted we go through the entire thing three times, so it was after six by the time we finished, and I was starving. When he said we could all go home, there was a great sigh of relief from us all. I hurried the goodbyes and rushed out again, since Charlie and I had dinner plans. I called her as I was hailing a cab, telling her to simply meet me at Luciano's, this tiny little family owned restaurant that we'd found – in the Narrows, but the lasagne was worth the risk of getting mugged.
I arrived a few minutes before she did, and went inside to get a table. Somehow deciding to come once a month had turned into eating here at least twice a week. In consequence, the owner knew me pretty well by now. She really reminded me of my grandmother – the totally clichéd image that everyone has of the typical Italian matriarch, big and warm and comforting, but with a tongue like a whip and a voice to match. Clichés have to start somewhere, right? Her name was Giovanna, and so far it seemed to be her life's mission to fatten up every customer that walked through the door. Apparently my size ten figure was anorexic. The fact that I argued back in Italian was helpful, since to Giovanna, no Italian in their right mind refused food, and I'd been officially declared 'sane'. Personally I dared anyone to refuse Giovanna's food.
She was also trying to set me up with her grandson. Unfortunately, I wasn't all that interested in dating a kid ten years younger than me. And from the way he stuttered when he spoke to me, Alonso was as embarrassed by his grandmother as I was.
"Ciao!" I smiled, going in.
I was immediately enfolded into a crushing hug. "Mia piccolo fiore!" She kissed my cheeks and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "Are you on your own?"
"No, my friend should be here soon," I replied.
Her voice peaked with interest. "Oh? A male friend?"
I grinned. "No, Giovanna, a female friend." I hadn't really been in Gotham long enough to make any male 'friends'. Besides, at the moment, it would be far too troublesome – trying to conceal the fact that most nights I'd be out in Gotham, and I really couldn't be bothered. I was still ridiculously tired, but at the same time exhilarated. Of course, Batman hadn't seemed to share my enthusiasm about my being there, but he'd come around. I hoped. Whatever his reaction, and even if it continued to be hostile, Gotham was a big city. I probably wouldn't run in to him that often, and almost certainly wouldn't tonight. Even if I wanted to.
The door to the restaurant opened again, a cold breeze coming in with it. I shivered, but smiled when I recognised Charlie's voice. "I'm sorry I'm late!" she said. "The new exhibition doesn't open for another five months, and yet Claire is still on my case about it anyway."
Claire was Charlie's version of Scavron, the owner of a gallery downtown. "How so?" I asked as we sat down.
"She wants to know why I only paint portraits, and threatened to shut the whole thing down if she didn't have any landscapes to, and I quote, 'break up the monotony'," she finished in a sour tone.
"'Break up the monotony'?" I repeated. "Who the hell does she think she is? She does realise that she kind of depends on artists like you for a living, right?"
Interrupting, Giovanna came back over. "Now, here's your usual wine," she said, "though if it was me, I'd be drinking red tonight. It'll go better with the food."
I frowned. "We haven't ordered yet."
She laughed. "No, but you're having the quotidiano speciale of course. I made it with you in mind."
I raised an eyebrow. "Oh really?"
"Really. I'm going to feed you until neither of you can move," she declared proudly.
"Lei può provare," I grinned. "And anyway, I'm not drinking tonight."
"I thought you said you'd had a hellish day," Charlie commented.
"I have, but I just don't feel like drinking," I shrugged. A total lie – I really did want a glass of wine, but if I was planning on going out again tonight then alcohol was the last thing I needed. I was already tired; any wine and I'd be in no condition to patrol.
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I was in no condition to patrol. I knew that. I was still planning on going out tonight anyway.
The elevator down from the manor stopped, and Alfred stepped out of it, carrying a silver tray. He put it down on a space by the monitor bank that he'd insisted I clear, and took the lid off. It smelled delicious, but I'd conditioned myself long ago to avoid all unnecessary temptations. "I told you so," he said by way of greeting.
"Told me what?" I asked absently, replaying for about the millionth time the thirty seconds of footage I actually had. It hadn't told me anything new since five am this morning. Now it was only frustrating, since curiosity had faded at about seven. I hadn't slept in more than thirty hours, or eaten, not feeling the compulsion to do either. This problem needed solving, and quickly.
"Told you that once the manor was rebuilt you wouldn't sleep in it."
I didn't bother with a reply, and Alfred looked up at the far-left screen, watching the clip that was on replay. "She doesn't look like the other copycats," he noted.
I frowned. No, she didn't, and that was what was bothering me so much. She hadn't acted like one either, definitely not looked at me with the kind of hero-worship that the others did. Though the hero-worship had certainly dropped off since I'd officially become a public menace. Echo had been almost…scornful. It seemed to be my week for meeting women who surprised me. "I don't think she is."
"No gun?"
"No. She had some sort of weapon, but she didn't use it. Didn't look like she needed to. She used aikido with obvious proficiency. Said her name was 'Echo'."
"Did she say what she was doing?"
"Helping," I replied.
"Just 'helping'?"
"Just helping."
"Helping you?"
"Helping Gotham. She was quite clear on that point."
"But you don't believe that," Alfred said assuredly. "Why would anyone have the same idea as you, after all?"
"You make me sound like the most hardened of cynics, Alfred."
"Oh good. Nice to know I haven't lost my touch," he grinned. Sobering, he continued. "So if she's not here to help, your next guess would be…?"
"That she's either a criminal in her own right or working for one."
"Ah. Well try not to be too late tonight. You've got the opening gala of Symphony Hall to attend tomorrow evening."
I got up and headed toward the cabinet I kept my suit in. Alfred's voice stopped me. "And you're certainly not going anywhere until you've eaten your dinner."
I raised an eyebrow. "Does that include eating all my vegetables?"
"Only if you want dessert."
I chuckled and sat back down. "Yes, sir."
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A/N: Short chapter, I know, but I have finger-ache. Next one will be longer, I promise. Review please!
