A/N: I'm so sorry for the wait! You may berate me in your review if you wish *hangs head*. Once again, a million thanks for my beta, Thought, for helping me out.

Enjoy!

Chapter Five – Ilaria Simmons, Meet Bruce Wayne

I didn't run into Batman that night. But then that was to be expected; in a city this big – Hell, in a city with this much crime – I'd be lucky if I met him once a month. I did, however, meet several thieves, two would-be rapists and a drug dealer. Since I hadn't been in Gotham that long, I couldn't tell yet if that was counted as a slow night or not. I was gratified that at least I didn't ache quite so much when I woke up this time, even though I hadn't been asleep that long.

The phone ringing woke me, and I picked it up groggily. "Hello?"

"You ready?"

I recognised Charlie's voice, but not her words. "Huh?"

"You're not, are you?"

"For what?"

"Shopping? For your dress? For tonight?"

"Tonight?"

"The concert, the ball! Come on, Ria!"

Awareness crept in to my sleep-addled brain. "Oh right. Ball. Shopping. Where're you?"

"I'm downstairs," she said, then sighed heavily. "You're still in bed, aren't you?"

"Maybe…"

"Ok, I'm going to Starbucks, getting coffee and then coming back. That gives you fifteen minutes to get your arse out of bed and dress. So hurry up."

"Right," I replied, rubbing my eyes. "And Charlie?"

"Yeah?"

"Make mine a double espresso."

Ten minutes later I was showered and almost dressed, pulling on a wrap-around dress. It was quicker than trying to locate where in the hell I'd put my clean laundry. Generally I didn't wear dresses, since I practically lived in my jeans, but for now a dress would have to do. The phone rang again a few seconds after I'd slid a pair of boots on.

"I'm downstairs, let me in."

I buzzed my best friend in, and then went downstairs, crossing into the kitchen to the corner cupboard. Jasper came trotting over behind me, nudging at my legs. I laughed at the tickly sensation as I pulled his food out of the cupboard. "Alright, alright. Keep your fur on."

I knelt down and located the food bowl, then poured the dry food into the metal container. "Eat." I'd barely stood up before he dived in. Smiling, I stroked his back momentarily and then moved out of the kitchen as the elevator dinged. "Oh good, you're dressed."

"You don't have to sound so shocked," I said, mock-hurt.

"Here's your coffee," she said, putting it in my hand. I immediately tore the lid off. "Careful, it's really…" I'd gulped the scalding liquid down in three swallows, "…hot," she finished finally. "So…late night?"

"Er, kinda," I confessed, gesturing vaguely toward the piano. "I lost track of time."

"Yeah, you do look tired," she agreed. "You've got bags under your eyes."

"Oh thanks," I commented.

She laughed. "I must be cruel only to be kind."

"Yeah yeah, alright. I don't suppose you brought any food with you, did you, Shakespeare?"

There was the rustling of a paper bag as she pulled something out. "As a matter of fact I did buy a muffin…"

"Oooh gimme." I snatched for it, but only managed to catch her wrist as she moved it out of my grasp.

"Which you can eat on the move," she said. "Now come on, it's ten already, and if we don't get you a dress at some point today then you'll be going to the ball naked."

"Thank you, fairy godmother."

"Which is it, am I a fairy godmother or Shakespeare?"

"Both," I said obscurely. "And anyway, I'm ready, so shall we?"

She stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. "You haven't brushed your hair today, have you? You look like you've been dragged through a hedge backward."

"I could have been going for the bed-head look."

"Were you?"

"…no."

"Well then."

It took another fifteen minutes, but finally we were out the door, me munching on the muffin that Charlie had finally relinquished. "So I was thinking we'd get a cab uptown and hit the boutiques along Maynard Avenue-"

"Maynard Avenue?" I repeated incredulously. Maynard Avenue was to Gotham what Fifth Avenue was to New York. Only slightly more expensive. "I'm spending enough money for a dress, not a small country."

"You do realise that all the women there are going to be wearing Dior and Versace and God only knows what else, don't you?" she asked.

"So what? A dress is a dress whether you spend a hundred or a thousand dollars on it."

"How much are you planning on spending?"

I shrugged. "Well no more than two hundred. Anything more would just be ridiculous."

"Right…and when the socialites start bitching about you behind your back?" she pointed out.

"C'mon, Charlie, socialites? Why the hell would the opinion of brain-dead bimbos who have never contributed to society matter to me?"

"You really are a snob sometimes aren't you?" she asked good-naturedly.

"I am not!" I protested.

"Are so."

"Am not."

"Are."

"Not."

We were silent for a few seconds, then both burst out giggling. "Come on," I said, finally sobering. "I have to be at Symphony Hall before the concert starts."

It didn't take us long to find a dress once we'd gone into a suitable department store. It had been no more than five minutes before Charlie gasped and rushed from my side in a whirl of air. I sighed, and Jasper led me over to where she was, cooing over whichever dress she'd just picked up.

"Perfect for you," she declared.

"Really."

"Really!" she enthused. She grabbed my arm. "Come on, you have got to try this on."

Amazingly, it fitted. Perfectly. "I think there's a quota you know," I said absently, smoothing the creases out. It felt lovely – I doubted it was actual silk, but it felt like it, the light beading on it going down the sleeves and along the hem. "The number of perfectly-fitting clothes you're allowed to find a year."

"Show me," she requested. 


I pulled back the curtain. "Voila." The fabric was almost seductive against my skin.

She gasped in an overdramatic way. "Ilaria! You look beautiful," she told me.

"Thanks. Right, I'm going to take this off and then we can get out of here." I changed quickly, and then stepped out of the cubicle. "Well that didn't take long, did it? Do you think-"

Suddenly an unfamiliar woman interrupted politely. "Excuse me, but…are you Charlotte Grant? The artist?"

"Um, yes I am," Charlie said. She sounded surprised to have been recognised – it didn't happen to her as often as it happened to me, since it was more frequent for her work to be recognised rather than herself.

The other woman laughed nervously. "You probably don't remember me; we've only met once, at your last exhibition."

"Oh yes!" Charlie said, her voice now peaking with recognition. "I remember, you bought the-"

"The Animal Soul, yes," the woman said. "It's hanging on my wall at home."

"Yes, I remember your husband wasn't all that keen," Charlie mused.

The woman laughed. "Oh well that's just Jim, always counting the pennies."

Charlie's voice turned apologetic. "I'm terribly sorry, but I'm afraid your name escapes me."

"Barbara," she said immediately. "Barbara Gordon."

That caught my attention, and I cleared my throat softly, a gentle cue that I hoped my best friend would pick up. She did. "Well it's wonderful to re-meet you, Barbara," she said. "This is Ilaria Simmons, she's an old friend of mine."

The wife of the police commissioner shook my hand; her grip was warm and firm. "Pleasure," she said.

I smiled. "Likewise."

"The pianist of the symphony orchestra I take it?" she asked.

I nodded. "Unfortunately yes."

"Jim and I actually have tickets to tonight's gala, so I expect this won't be the only time we meet today," she said.

"I look forward to it," I replied. "You'll have to let me know how many times I slip up once we get to the ball."

"I'm sure you won't," she said, "but good luck anyway."

"Thank you." I decided I liked her – she seemed to be a very warm, genuine person. It was only a first impression, of course, and perhaps not to be trusted completely, but it's not hard to differentiate between truth and lies when you focus on people's voices. The difference is subtle, but it's there. It's normally a slight tremble, and at the end of sentences their voices will go a little higher. The more practised the liar, the more difficult it is to tell. But by the same token, people who lie a lot often get overconfident, and then I could tell from the utter smoothness of their tone.

We paid for the dress and left the store, then had brunch at a small cafe not far from the department store. "Got anything else to do today?" Charlie asked me.

I shook my head. "Not particularly. Jasper needs walking don't you, boy?"

His tail thumped twice on the ground. "So park then?" my friend asked.

"Sounds good to me," I agreed, draining the last of my orange juice. "Come on, Jasper."

The weather was mild with a light drizzle - the really annoying, misty sort of vapour that isn't quite rain but still manages to get you soaked through anyway. Naturally, Charlie kept up a string of muttered complaints for the entire trip around the park. I giggled all the way.

Eventually - "Not a moment too soon," Charlie muttered - we left the park and made it back to my apartment. I crossed to the downstairs bathroom and got a couple of towels out, then tossed one of them to Charlie. "Thanks." We dried off, and I made coffee. "What time do you have to be at Symphony Hall for?" she asked.

Charlie wasn't coming to the concert tonight, since it was sold-out. "Six," I answered. "Starts at seven." Showering and getting ready would probably take me about two hours, and it was about one now.

"Want me to look after Jasper?" she asked.

I had been planning to take him with me, but when Scavron had heard this plan, he'd blown a gasket. Apparently the idea of expecting Gotham's elite to mix with a dog was ridiculous. Eventually I gave in because it was easier to, so tonight I'd be taking my cane instead.

I smiled into my coffee. "He'll be fine here, you know."


"I know, but I'll be lonely otherwise," she replied.

"Oh my God you need a date. Seriously, a Friday night and dog-sitting is your best option?"

She was rolling her eyes; I heard it in her voice. "Yes, I am well aware of the fact that I've not gotten laid in months."

I laughed, and drained the last of my coffee. We spent a good portion of the afternoon washing Jasper - not fun for any of us, since my dog had always seemed to have an aversion to soap. Eventually, though, he was clean. As we got him out of the bathtub, Charlie suddenly burst into laughter.

"We just washed your dog in Bruce Wayne's tub!"

---

She stuck around to help me get ready, doing my hair, for which I was grateful. Six pm rolled around faster than I thought it would, and now fully-dressed in my finery, I went downstairs and hailed a cab.

"Symphony Hall please."

Once I'd arrived, I gave up trying to deny the fact I was nervous. It was ridiculous - I could beat criminals to a bloody pulp on a nightly basis, but I got butterflies when faced with playing to the rich and famous.

"Grow up, Ilaria," I muttered under my breath, climbing the steps into the hall.

Time seemed to move far too rapidly after that; one second I was saying hello to Tim, the next the chattering audience had filed in, then the orchestra was going on stage.

It was a heady mix of terror and total excitement that filled my stomach, waiting just off-stage. It always happened in a new place - by tomorrow it would be alright, and I'd be able to perform without a problem. But for tonight, 'apprehensive' didn't even begin to cover how I was feeling.

I heard Scavron announce me, and took a deep breath, then walked out on stage, heading toward the piano. I sat down carefully, then took another deep breath, put my fingers on the keys, and began.

---

It wasn't often I found myself mesmerised.

But it had happened. Classical music concerts, in the past, had been fairly enjoyable, but not anything terribly remarkable. Since the advent of Batman they were more often than not a place I could put my head back and get some sleep while looking as though I was simply enjoying the music. I didn't see any reason why this one wouldn't follow the same pattern. At least, I didn't until she started playing.

I couldn't close my eyes – I'd never seen anyone enjoy what they did so much; there was a slight smile on her face which grew as the music went on. It's true that a smile makes people more attractive; she'd gone from the pretty woman Batman had rescued to a beautiful one within the space of a few minutes.

Though I'd intended to find out who she was before now, the meeting with Echo had driven her out of my head. But sitting there I remembered why I'd wanted to – there was something about her that I couldn't pin down, and that didn't happen to me very often. It wasn't a feeling I was comfortable, either. Since Rachel's death, Batman had pretty much taken over my days and nights. It was easier that way: everything was logical and cold and I could deal with it. Anything illogical I pushed away from me as quickly as possible. I didn't want to dwell on what it was about this woman that fascinated me.

The concert lasted for another two hours, and I don't think I looked at my date once. There were other pieces of course, some in which she didn't even play, but even then I kept staring at her. When it finished, everyone gave a standing ovation, and my date turned to me. I blinked, wondering why I'd not noticed how disturbingly orange she was.

"Can we go dancing now, Brucie?"

I gritted my teeth. Anything, just stop calling me Brucie! Forcing a grin, I took her arm. "Sure, Shelly. Let's go dancing."

Attached to the hall itself, there was the ballroom, but most importantly, there was a bar. Maybe she'd be slightly less irritating once drunk. Maybe.

It turned out she wasn't less irritating with three and a half strawberry daiquiris in her, she was more. Very high-pitched, and giggly, and gropey, which was the worst of all of them. On the plus side, it was easier to direct her attentions toward someone else once she was that drunk. When everyone migrated to the ballroom, I left Shelly with her fourth cocktail, propping up the bar, trying not to feel guilty. Anyway, I'd raise more eyebrows if I left with the same girl I arrived with, so it gave me the chance to mingle and see if I could get a chance to talk to the pianist.

It wasn't long before I spotted her talking with Barbara Gordon, laughing at something she'd said, with a glass of champagne in one hand and her cane in the other. Knowing that I should be walking in the opposite direction, and this was probably the worst idea I'd had in a long time, I made my way over.

---

Suddenly a rich, alluring scent reached my nose. It was familiar to me, but for a moment I couldn't place it- Then I got it. A cab in the rain. At my side, I felt Barbara's arm brush my sleeve as she stiffened slightly.

Though this time, he did, at least, speak. And he had a nice voice. Deep, smooth, confident. More than a touch arrogant. The voice of a rich man. Not at all unpleasant though. "I don't think I've had the pleasure."

"Ilaria, this is-"

"Bruce Wayne," I interrupted, stretching my hand out.

He took it and rather than shaking it, kissed the back of my hand. His fingers weren't what I was expecting. In my experience, the hands of rich men were the same as politicians; soft. Almost too soft; manicured nails and moisturised skin. His hands weren't like that, they were dry, with a callous at the base of his index finger and another on the ball of his thumb. This was a man who used his hands. I wondered what he used them for.

"Have we met?" he asked lightly.

"Almost," I said, gently pulling my hand back. "You hailed a cab for me and a friend a couple of weeks ago. You have to picture me with a dog."

"Oh yes, I think I remember. Though how-" He hit the normal social impasse, and stopped.

I smiled. "I recognised your cologne. It's quite distinctive."

"I hope that's not a polite way of saying I stink," he joked.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Well, I had been warned he flirted with every woman in a fifty-metre radius. "Not at all."

"Well it's nice to meet you properly, Miss…"

"Simmons. Ilaria Simmons."

"You play beautifully," he complimented. "I particularly enjoyed the Beethoven piece."

"Thank you."

"And how are you, Mrs Gordon?" he asked.

"Well, thank you, Mr Wayne."

He turned his attention back to me. "So, Miss Simmons, would you like to dance?"

I half-shrugged inelegantly. "Why not?"

He took my hand again, and led me onto the dancefloor, putting one hand on my waist and drawing me a little closer to him. We began turning gently in a simple waltz to the music, and I became aware of how muscular he was; the shoulder underneath my hand was hard. I suppose it's not all that surprising, I thought. People with as much money as Bruce Wayne had probably nothing better to do than pump iron. Besides, a flabby playboy was hardly a good image to present to the media.

"So how long have you been in Gotham?" he asked after a moment.

"Not all that long, a little less than two months," I replied.

"And living in my old penthouse," he commented, his tone light with amusement.

I raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "You really shouldn't ask questions to which you already know the answers, Mr Wayne."

"No, I suppose I shouldn't," he agreed, sounding very unconcerned.

I was rapidly coming to not like Bruce Wayne. Frowning, I said nothing, hoping to discourage further conversation. Apparently he was not a man easily dissuaded. "How are you finding living in America?"

"Actually living anywhere is a little strange for me," I said honestly. "I've been on tour with the London Symphony Orchestra for so long that being settled is a novel experience."

"A good or bad one?"

"Good. I like America, and I'm beginning to like Gotham."

"Only beginning to? Did you not at first?" he asked. It sounded like the first question he'd asked that he was genuinely interested in the answer.

"Well, I'm sure a Gotham citizen in your position can't be ignorant of this city's reputation," I replied.

"You mean the crime rate or having a murderer roaming the streets in a bat costume?"

There was an odd tone to his voice - if I had to guess, then he was making a joke, but there was something a little...odd about his words. And I was slightly irritated. Batman might have been a murderer, but personally I didn't buy it. If he was, then why would he have helped me out the other night? Whoever he was, he was out risking his life every night, while people like Bruce Wayne sat on their absurdly rich arses. "The crime rate," I answered. "Batman doesn't bother me."

That surprised him. "Really? It bothers most people."

"Actually he saved my life the other night," I said coldly. "So that makes him a good man in my book."

"Jim Gordon would probably disagree with you. One good deed doesn't redeem him of everything he's done."

"He saved my life," I repeated simply. "He can't be all bad, whatever he may or may not have done." He was silent for a while then, and I stifled a smile. "Have I shocked you, Mr Wayne?"

"Not shocked, no. Intrigued, maybe. Most people in Gotham are afraid of the possibility that they could run into Batman."

"Does that include you?"

He laughed, but stopped as the music came to an end. I made to move away, but though he lowered the arm around my waist, he didn't let go of my hand. "Miss Simmons, would you like to have dinner with me later in the week?"

My eyebrow shot up in surprise, but I did think about it. Charlie would kill me if I turned down dinner with Bruce Wayne, but truthfully I had no desire to be another of his conquests. Though I didn't think he'd tried, I had no doubts that once he turned on the charm he'd be very hard to resist. Best not to risk it.

"No, thank you." I took my hand away from his. "I enjoyed the dance, but I don't think dinner would be a good idea. Goodnight, Mr Wayne."

I got the impression I'd surprised him again. "Goodnight."

I turned away and left the dancefloor, heading back to where I could hear Barbara Gordon chatting to her husband.

---

A/N: What did you think? Review please!