I don't own the Batman Franchise until I've got my hands on drugs which make people susceptible to suggestion.

/-^1^-\ Same Week. Same Day. Monday. /-^1^-\

Bruce Wayne stopped at the door, cleared his throat and threw back his shoulders with confidence before knocking on the door.

"Come in," said Alison, scribbling furiously. She didn't know who to take, none of them were particularly interesting, apart from the Riddler but she didn't even know if that was a sane idea for her. She glanced up at Bruce.

"Hello, Dr. MacLeod," he said. She waved a finger to indicate he could come in further. He let the door shut behind him. "I never got your first name sorry."

"Alison."

"Alison," he smiled, "nice name. Well, I just came by to say that I'm sorry. I felt like we intruded earlier in your office."

"I just needed to be places."

"Well, I still felt a little rude but you'd gone before I realised it. Anyway, I was wondering if I could take you out for dinner as a way to say sorry?"

Holy God. Was he asking her out to dinner? Yeah, of course he was Duh, Alison. But why? And of all people, why her? This guy could buy a dinner date. Bruce read her surprise.

"You know what, I'm sorry. I guess you don't even know me."

"I'm sure dinner is a nice way to get to know someone," she smiled. She couldn't stay inside for ever being unsociable. Bruce grinned.

"Excellent. Well, I will pick you up at 8pm Saturday if that's convenient for you?"

"Oh yeah," she nodded, "I just want to know, if you don't mind, is it a date or just dinner? I'm a little iffy over dates."

"Well, why don't we decide at the end of the evening?" asked Bruce, still grinning. Alison was pleasantly surprised by this. Or was it because there was also something about Bruce Wayne that was furtively tucked away from human awareness that made her a little too curious? Maybe she'd decide at the end of the evening.

/-^l^-\ Current week. Thursday. /-^l^-\

"Hello E. Nygma... Mr. E... Riddler..." said Alison coolly.

"YOU can call me Edward," remarked the Riddler, glancing her up and down.

"I like the Riddler. I think it's a cool alter ego," she said once the guards had left.

"Really?" he purred, leaning forward.

"Why didn't write a comic book, Riddler? Or a puzzle book? I think maybe you'd only have one published because you'd want at least one person to solve it before doing another though..."

"I guess I had a lapse of judgement," he said, giddy. This was the best greeting to a consultation ever. She was so cool and laid back it was intriguing!

The Riddler emerged an hour later, chattering happily to the guards as though they were his best friends, and not putting up any sort of struggle or challenging them with a riddle. And best of all, he felt pretty damn happy. She'd talked to him about some of his sinister jokes and told him to rephrase and try and unleash his anger out in a different way. She then threw five Rubik's cubes over and asked him to solve them all. He managed it, but he felt quite relieved by doing so - somehow.

Though he wasn't thinking it now, he was just proud of himself, he wondered if it was simply that she was very persuasive that he actually took on board what she was saying. Even though today she couldn't change the manic attitude he had, she'd work on it no doubt.

"What was that all about?" asked Jonathan, stepping in. He'd started purposely invading her privacy recently. There was every reason to. Alison WAS attractive.

"I feel very violated," she said, glancing over, "this is the third day you've wandered into the room after I've done anything."

"Yeah, Alison, I'm purposely lurking outside until the right moment comes because I'm a creep."

"Mm, bite back," she said lowly. Jonathan flinched. Her tone had been something close to saucy and it was vaguely disturbing. She laughed, giving him a leering look.

"Excuse me?" he asked, trying to regain his mental stability. He recovered. "You sounded like a prostitute then."

"How do you know what prostitutes sound like?" she giggled manically. Jonathan went red.

"Not what I meant, you cow!" he sniped, "I... just...know... because they... hit on me. From time to time... All the time," he mumbled, scuffing his shoe on the floor out of nervousness.

"That's because you LOOK like easy money, Jonathan." When did we start calling each other by first names? wondered Jonathan.

"What!" he exploded.

"You look like a bit of a wet blanket," she teased, "of course, their assumption would be that you don't get laid and would like to."

"Get laid?" he whispered through gritted teeth, his eyes practically popping through his glasses, "What are you suggesting?"

"It's not what I'm suggesting, since you may well do although with that attitude I don't think anyone is diving under your boxers. If you wear any - you may still wear a onsie," she shrugged, causing Jonathan to literally choke with surprise as his retort was strangled and shoved back down his throat. He tried to speak, but just didn't know what to say. "Go on," she pushed, "bite back, just like you did before," she taunted.

"I don't need to come out with degrading remarks just to make others feel low in order to make myself feel better. You're obviously sad about life and the only way you can compensate your misery is by humiliation," he said.

"You don't need to come out with degrading remarks?" she questioned. But she was pleased with his rationality. "You suggested I am miserable. You're a psychologist, isn't that a hurtful remark - especially if I were?"

"Well are you?" he spat. Alison shrugged, a sharp raise of a brow telling him she wasn't and was just saying what she had for a reaction. "Exactly!" he spat, his hands pressed down on the table leaning over her. When did I get this close! ... Red suits her- What!

"You made my day, thank you," she said, with a sinister leer on her face. Jonathan leaned a little closer out of curiosity, gazing at her eyes, falling in to some kind of trap he felt. They were a warm brown colour. Wow...

Alison gazed with awe as he stood up and turned around, fists balled up tightly and stormed out of the office, muttering something about himself being displeased with his performance and he was utterly foolish. He. Just. Lost. Privately, she chuckled over his fury.

*Jazz hands*