A/N- Each and every one of you continues to amaze me. I have the best readers ever. Thank you all so much for the support and reviews— I am so glad you're enjoying the ride! There's still much, much more to come, so let's get to it…the lyrics are from "Hymn For The Missing" by Red.

Pieces

Chapter Four

You took it with you when you left

These scars are just a trace

Now it wanders lost and wounded

This heart that I've misplaced

Where are you now?

Are you lost?

Will I find you again?

Are you alone? Are you afraid?

Are you searching for me?

-"Hymn for the Missing"

Roman lit up his third cigarette, inhaling and blowing smoke out through his nose as he stood at the railing of the balcony and watched the windows of his sister's building with growing anxiety. He couldn't just sit at the computer anymore, grasping the cell phone she'd given him with sweaty palms. They'd done this so many times, disappeared together without a trace, but today didn't feel right. Roman had never liked this particular plan. Aleksandra was way too emotionally invested in Selina Kyle. Roman had read once that you should never meet your heroes because the reality could only disappoint you. He hoped for his sister's sake that wasn't true.

He'd never really understood her almost romantic fascination with Selina Kyle. It made some kind of sense, he supposed— Roman and Aleksandra had always wanted to find a way to America, and most of all, America's greatest city, Gotham. And Gotham's greatest criminal (in Aleks' opinion) was Selina. She had a certain kind of glamour to her work that fascinated his sister. Selina robbed the men of Gotham (and their wives) like it was an art form, and Aleks had always imagined herself as something of an apprentice to The Cat. That was why the incident in Sweden had upset her so much…Selina would never have killed a man that way. Death by knife was messy. Personal. Not at all glamorous. Aleksandra had lost control, and put them on the run again, but this time with a murder charge haunting their steps.

And so now, Aleksandra had been forced to settle for screwing some disgusting asshole rapper while her little brother was in hiding in an abandoned apartment building across the street, waiting for their next big score so they could get out of here and on to something much better. Always, always, looking for something, for their next break. The break that would get them to America at last. And in under…Roman looked down at this watch…twenty-six minutes and fifty-seven seconds, they would be on their way, with or without his sister's idol in tow.

The phone in his pocket suddenly rang, and Roman fished it out, flipping the phone open. "Da?"

"Roman, it's Aleks. Listen to me very carefully." His sister responded in Russian, sounding very upset, but like she was trying to keep her voice steady.

Roman pressed the phone closer to his ear. "Are you in trouble? Do you need hel—"

"Do it." She cut him off. "Send out everything you have on them."

"What is wrong?" Roman asked, sensing his sister was in trouble, but before she could respond, he heard another female voice shouting something before the line went dead. "ALEKS?" Roman yelled into the phone. But there was no answer.

He tried to shake off his worry. She didn't sound scared—just angry. Aleks was stronger than she looked, and every bit as ruthless as Gotham's most hardened criminals when she needed to be. She could handle Selina Kyle. Now he just had to complete his leg of the plan.

Roman raced back inside the apartment, tripping slightly on the stairs in his haste to obey his sister, an obedience that came as automatically to him as breathing, before suddenly stopping dead in his tracks. There was someone else here. He could feel it. When they'd arrived in Paris, his sister had found him the perfect hideout across the street in an empty, half-finished luxury apartment building that had been in the process of renovation when the owner had run out of money. There had been no other offers, so now it was just sitting there, on one of the nicest streets in Paris, a gilded monument to the hubris of an arrogant investor, like some golden glittering skeleton. The halls were always silent, the loneliness palpable whenever Aleks left him, but today, something was off. Today he wasn't alone.

"Who's there?" Roman pulled out a switchblade from his pocket, flipping it open. "Answer me!"

Nothing. He scanned every corner of the room, squinting his eyes as if that would make the intruder materialize, but he saw nothing. Nothing even seemed out of place, until he looked over at his desktop computer. He had left it on, he was sure of it, but now the little green light on the tower was off. Not in sleep mode. Completely turned off.

Roman crossed the room and sat down in front of the computer, trying everything to turn it on, even resorting to banging on the side of the screen. But nothing worked. He growled with frustration. His sister, the person he owed everything, had asked him to do one thing, and he couldn't even get that right? "Piece of shit." Roman mumbled under his breath in Russian.

"It usually works better with this."

Roman nearly jumped out of his skin at the low, unfamiliar voice that sounded like it was right behind him, spinning around with the switchblade held out to see a very well-dressed man in a suit and a black ski mask, holding up the hard drive to Roman's computer.

"Who the hell are you?" Roman demanded, his Russian accent thicker when surprised, trying to sound so tough, but looking like a little kid, his bright blue eyes wide and his white-blond hair grown out past his shoulders, taller than his sister, but just as rail-thin.

"You should really invest in some external storage drives." The man tucked the hard drive into his inner jacket pocket.

"Give that back!"

"Sorry, kid."

Roman looked at him through narrowed eyes, realization suddenly dawning on his face. During their family research on Gotham, one man just kept coming up, his name practically synonymous with the city itself, once upon at time, recognizable even behind the mask. "You're Bruce Wayne."

"I actually get that a lot." Bruce sighed, removing the mask with a small smile. "But Bruce Wayne is dead. Who knows, maybe it's true what they say about everyone having a double…"

"How did you find me?" Roman cut him off impatiently.

"Your sister doesn't cover her tracks as well as she thinks. You were her only known associate who just kept showing up."

"So you know how to use search engine. That does not exactly live up to your genius reputation." Roman shrugged.

Bruce continued. "She's obviously protective of you, so she wouldn't stash you across town. She'd want to keep you close. If I were her, an abandoned apartment building across the street would have been my first choice too. And once I realized she had a history of 'borrowing' from Selina's playbook to pull off her cons, I realized you two know exactly who we are. Which means you have leverage to get anything you want from us. Or, more accurately…" Bruce crossed his massive arms over his chest. "You had leverage."

Roman growled with anger, lunging towards him with the switchblade, Bruce easily disarming him and holding him in a chokehold, sighing. "Come on. I don't want to hurt you. Just tell me…why would Aleksandra risk such a complicated approach? What does your sister really want from Selina. Money? Tricks of the trade? What?"

Roman refused to answer, starting to laugh as Bruce tightened his grip. "What's funny?" Bruce demanded, his heart speeding up as the strangest feeling of dread started to creep through him. If his time with the Joker had taught him anything, it was that any time someone trapped in a chokehold wasted oxygen on laughing, something very bad was about to happen. They either had a death wish or a trump card—or both. "Talk!" Bruce shook him hard.

"She's dead already, man. Your precious criminal." Roman choked out. "I know my sister. She would only call me if Selina turned her down. And if Selina turned her down…she's dead already."

Bruce released him without a word, disappearing from the apartment before Roman could even turn around, the door to the apartment left wide open. Roman massaged his throat, coughing weakly and hoping he'd bought Aleksandra enough time.

Bruce could already hear the sirens of the police and ambulance by the time he tore down the hall of the eleventh story and into Bastien's apartment. For one panicked moment, he couldn't find her, despite the fact that the kitchen floor was slick with blood. He nearly slipped as he skidded around the kitchen island, letting out a strangled cry of anguish when he found Selina on the floor. Bruce fell to his knees beside her, stripping off his jacket to apply pressure to her wound and attempt to stop the bleeding, trying not to notice how cold and pale her skin was already, Selina completely limp when he took her into his arms.

"Selina, please, please don't do this." He pressed his fingers to her long neck, tears burning in his eyes as he located her weak, fluttering pulse. "Please don't leave me." His voice broke, Bruce cradling her against his chest. "Don't leave me."

When the paramedics arrived to the apartment, Bruce reluctantly let her go, his hands stained red, watching them load Selina onto a stretcher. The paramedics were discussing her vitals in clinical, practiced tones that gave no indication of whether or not they thought she had a prayer of surviving. But nothing they were saying sounded good. He knew enough to know that.

"Stage four?" One of the paramedics muttered in French under his breath to his colleague.

"I'd think so. She seems completely nonresponsive." The other man, also speaking in French, nodded back.

Bruce, fluent in French since age four, followed behind them, straining to hear more. He felt so completely helpless that he wanted to scream. If they were right, stage four hypovolemic shock was practically a death sentence. It meant that she'd lost so much blood that her organs were no longer receiving an adequate oxygen supply, and soon, they could start shutting down one by one.

"Mr. Lamont? James Lamont?"

Bruce was so distracted that it took him a moment to respond to his cover ID. "Yes?" He cleared his throat, turning to see a female police officer walking out of the elevator she had just taken down from his and Selina's penthouse.

"No sign of the suspect. But someone does seem to have looted the penthouse—the place is turned upside down, and one side of the master closet is practically empty. We believe that Aleksandra Baranovsky may try to impersonate Samantha Reisler in order to gain access to your accounts. We've located her file with the information you provided, and it's a trick she's employed in the past."

"All right. Thank you." Bruce just nodded, his own voice sounding very far away as he followed the paramedics down to the front lobby, making a call to his bank, his hands shaking violently as he dialed the number. "Hello. This is James Lamont. If a woman claiming to be Samantha Reisler, the co-signer on all of my accounts, attempts to make any kind of withdrawal, please have your people alert the police and contact me immediately. We have reason to believe a wanted criminal who has already made an attempt on Miss Reisler's life may try to impersonate Samantha to access her accounts. Thank you."

He clicked his phone shut, walking outside and swiftly hailing a cab to follow the ambulance. Even though leaving her made his throat feel like it was closing up, he knew the paramedics had too much work to do on Selina for him to ride in the back. These could be the crucial deciding moments of whether she would live or die. He would not interfere.

Once the taxi was in motion, Bruce leaned his head back, closing his eyes for a moment to try and steady his breathing. He'd be no good to anyone if he passed out cold. Ra's al Ghul may have been a psychopath, but the meditation techniques he'd taught Bruce had been invaluable.

Selina will live. He kept repeating those three words in his head like a mantra. She was strong. Remarkably resilient. Adaptable, he remembered with a smile that made his eyes burn with tears again. Not even a year had passed since their first dance at that ridiculous masquerade ball, the first time he'd ever felt her lips against his. He'd been unusually fixated on her since the first night they met at the Manor, there was no denying that, but the night they danced had cemented his fascination. The memory of that kiss had been one of his only private, treasured comforts at the bottom of the pit, and she hadn't even meant it. Or had she? With Selina, it seemed impossible to know anything for sure. Just as he had no idea what she was going to tell him last night before they were interrupted.

Now he may never know.

Stop it, Bruce commanded himself. He couldn't even entertain the thought of losing her. Please— he opened his eyes, looking up at the night, staring at the stars barely visible above the bright city lights. He wasn't even sure if he was praying, or, if so, who or what he was praying to, but he begged all the same— take me instead. I'd go in her place, gladly. Just let her live. I could stand anything if I knew she was happy and safe.

Take me instead.

It took her a moment to find him amongst the shadows, his dark, hulking form clad in the Batsuit looking to the unpracticed eye like just another gargoyle perched atop the Gotham Opera House. But not to her.

"You'd think a billionaire could afford better seats." She walked up behind him, wearing her catsuit and mask, resting her black-gloved hand on his shoulder.

He didn't seem surprised by her presence. Quite the contrary. More like relieved. She could practically feel his body respond to her touch even through the heavy armor of his suit, her body responding in kind, like there was some kind of electric current flowing between them.

It was snowing, but she hardly felt it. He didn't even seem to notice. The nights always felt less cold when they faced them together.

"Sometimes I wish we could just stay here forever," he said quietly, speaking in the voice he reserved for the Batman out of habit. She knew who he was. They'd shown more of themselves to each other than they'd ever dared show anyone else. There was no reason for disguises between them anymore. But some habits were hard to break. "It's the only place I've ever found peace." He rose to his feet, finally turning to face her.
"Here, in the darkness, with you."

"Black is our color." Selina smiled. "And I've never been scared of the dark."

He kissed her, and she closed her eyes, letting him push her back up against the base of a statue of an angel, their embrace shrouded in shadows, both locked in a increasingly violent struggle to get closer, her chest crushed up against his breastplate as she wrapped one arm around his neck, her other hand twisting and clenching in the fabric of the cape over his shoulders, their breathing ragged when they broke apart for breath a long while later.

"Come back to me." Bruce buried his head against her shoulder, kissing her neck, his breath hot against her throat when he said it again. "Come back to me, please."

"I'm right here." She tried to assure him, but he just clung to her more tightly, Selina turning her face towards him just as Bruce looked up to her. Their mouths were open, lips barely touching for a moment, both still breathing hard. The orchestra was starting to warm up inside, and it was as though someone kept turning up the volume, until the opera house was practically vibrating from the sounds of discordant notes and random strains from the overture.

The roof started to shake beneath them as Bruce and Selina gave in to the embrace again, sinking to the ground together, Selina's back still against the base of the statue until the base suddenly cracked in half with a sound like a bone breaking. But she and Bruce barely even reacted to the growing chaos. Selina pushed him away from the statue and down onto his back before straddling him, seizing the cape to pull his face back up to hers. She kissed him with bruising force, Bruce's gloved hands clenching her shoulders, completely lost in each other even as the Opera House continued to self-destruct around them. Selina vaguely registered the sounds of the statues crumbling and falling from the roof of the building, just as she and Bruce would fall if they moved any closer to the edge…but she didn't care, she just kissed him harder as the orchestra played on, the music now so loud it had become deafening…too loud to be real…

"Look at that. Accelerated heartbeat. Rapid eye movement. She's dreaming."

"That's a good sign, isn't it?"

"Certainly a good sign." The elderly doctor continued to observe his patient as they wheeled Samantha Reisler into ICU recovery. "Will you inform Mr. Lamont that his wife came through the surgery just fine?"

"Of course, doctor." The nurse nodded emphatically. "Although I don't actually think they're married…"

The doctor sighed. "Whatever they are, I'm sure he'd want to know that she's alive."

"Yes, doctor."

"Now it will just be a matter of seeing if she wakes up once the anesthesia wears off. If not, we may be dealing with cerebral hypoxia."

"You think she could go into a coma?" The nurse's eyes widened.

"We have no way of knowing that yet. And if she does, we'll just have to keep waiting to assess the severity of the situation. The longer she stays under…"

"…the more critical the condition." The nurse finished for him.

"Yes. But please don't get into all of that with Mr. Lamont. Just tell him she's doing very well."

The nurse nodded. "Of course."

"How can I help you, ma'am?" The obscenely cheery bank teller wearing a nametag reading "Chloe" greeted her first (and very glamorous) customer.

Aleksandra managed to keep a pleasant smile on her dark red lips, speaking slowly in an attempt to maintain her American accent. "I would like to make a withdrawal. Samantha Reisler." She slid Selina Kyle's fake passport across the desk.

Aleksandra was wearing a long dark brown wig, even going so far as to wear a black Chanel dress and fancy black heels with red soles she'd taken from Selina's closet. But even with her carefully orchestrated disguise, Aleksandra knew she and Selina weren't exactly twins. Luckily this girl didn't look too bright.

Chloe typed the information from the ID into the computer. "Right away. How much would you like to take out?"

"All of it."

She expected the girl to protest or at least look surprised, but Chloe just stared at her computer screen for a moment, her smooth brow suddenly furrowed, seemingly distracted by something. "Could you give me just one moment, Miss Reisler?"

"Is there a problem?" Aleksandra raised her eyebrows.

"No, not at all." Chloe laughed, the sound a little too high pitched to be genuine. "Just…any withdrawal over a certain amount, I have to authorize through my manager. You'll be asked for fingerprints and a signature. Let me just go find my manager and the proper forms."

"Please hurry. I'm in a bit of a rush." Aleksandra pressed her lips together. "After all, it is my money."

"Of course, ma'am." Chloe kept the frozen smile on her face until she turned away, making eye contact with her manager and jerking her head towards the break room.

"What's wrong?" He asked as soon as they were alone in the room together.

"That woman—she's claiming to be Samantha Reisler, but I know Samantha, and that's not her. She was asking to make a huge withdrawal, and when I pulled up the account, there was an emergency hold placed by the primary, James Lamont, saying the ID is stolen and whoever's trying to make the withdrawal is wanted for the attempted murder of the real Samantha Reisler. I hit the silent alarm, but I need your help keeping her busy until the police arrive." Chloe swallowed hard, looking terrified. "Did I do the right thing? Do you think…do you think she'll try to hurt us?"

"You did exactly the right thing." The manager took a deep breath, patting his young new teller's shoulder. "Everything will be fine. You just stay calm, and I'll do all the talking."

"Okay." Chloe nodded, hearing police sirens already. Her boss was right. Everything would be fine.

She followed him back out to the main floor, and they both stopped with surprise. The woman was gone. The lobby empty. As if she'd never been there at all.

"Mr. Lamont?"

Bruce woke up with a start from where he'd fallen asleep in the hospital waiting room. His entire left arm was asleep, his back so stiff and sore he could barely get to his feet without wincing. But at the sight of the doctor, he was wide awake, adrenaline burning away the drugged sensation of such a deep sleep. "Yes? Is she all right?"

"Samantha did very well in surgery."

Bruce sensed the doctor's hesitation in telling him more. "But…"

"Will you have a seat with me, Mr. Lamont?" The doctor indicated the couch where Bruce had been sleeping. They sat down together, and the doctor went on. "The anesthesia used during her surgery should have worn off by now, but Samantha hasn't regained consciousness. She's had a massive blood transfusion to replenish the lack of oxygen to her organs from the trauma, and her vitals are remarkably good for someone who's been through such an ordeal…but we're still concerned with her remaining unresponsive. Basically, the longer it takes for her to wake up on her own, the lower her chances of emerging from the comatose state become."

Bruce leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. "So what are our options?"

"For now, we wait." The doctor shrugged sadly. "If you're a religious man, I suggest you pray. And…while it's no guarantee, there is some evidence to suggest that the voice of a loved one can help to regenerate the brain's neural networks."

Bruce nodded. "When can I see her?"

"Now, if you'd like."

"Thank you. For everything." Bruce shook the man's hand before getting to his feet and making his way to Selina's room. She was hooked up to so many machines, tubes in her mouth and nose, an IV in her arm, her already pale skin still chalk white. Bruce wanted to go to her, to help her somehow. But he could do nothing but sit and wait. The only thing he could do to help her was…talk.

Bruce sat down at her bedside, unsure whether he was allowed to touch her or not. He wanted to touch her, so badly his chest constricted with a physical ache.

No. Talk to her. That's the only way you can help her now.

He cleared his throat. Nothing to lose, everything to gain. Some choices were simple.

"Selina, you have to fight. I know you can. We're fighters, both of us." Bruce swallowed hard. "You said once that we're fundamental opposites, but I don't think so. I think so much of us is the same. Sometimes I feel like I've been fighting my whole life. And I always knew what I was fighting against. But I…I never knew what I was fighting for until you."

He didn't know if he was only imagining it, but the steady pace of her heart monitor beeping seemed to quicken. She could hear him, somehow. So he went on.

A/N- More to come soon! I'm a teacher, and my first week of school has been INSANE, but writing this has been an awesome escape— you guys are the best. Reviews=love.