Like so many of the cafés in Gotham City, the one two blocks from Safe Haven, Inc. was nothing special: the same bland décor, the same café fare as anywhere else, with only its cheap prices to recommend it. These cheap prices, as well as the proximity to her work, were what had sold Annabeth on it since her very first week working at Safe Haven. And it was actually a bit of a safe haven for her, too—whenever work got too overwhelming, the café always was a great escape. Between those escapes, and her frequent pre-work breakfasts there—much like the one she was having currently—she ended up spending a great deal of her off-hours there.

"They should just start automatically deducting a portion from my paycheck," Annabeth mused as she tapped a package of sugar into her coffee. "Or at least let me set up some sort of pre-paid account." She smiled grimly across the table at her best friend, Janey. "I don't like to think of how much money I invest in this dive."

"And yet you keep coming back," Janey laughed, her big brown eyes sparkling mischievously. She was dressed in scrubs, ready for another day of work in the emergency room. Even the baggy, obnoxiously-patterned scrubs couldn't detract from her prettiness; Janey had a sweet, open countenance, a ready grin, and a determinedly cheerful attitude that just compelled everyone, man and woman alike, to secretly fall in love with her, just a little. She and Annabeth had known each other for years, and Janey had no problems seeing through Annabeth's quirks and hang-ups. "Admit it, Annabeth, you love this place because other than me, these folks are your only friends."

Glancing around the café, Annabeth had to admit that Janey had a point. Madison Rose, the token crazy homeless woman that hung around their block of Madison, was hunkered down in a booth, gripping her cup of tea; she paused long enough in her conversations with her invisible companions to give Annabeth a cheerful wave. Joe, the morbidly obese but incredibly fatherly owner of the café, flashed them a grin, and quietly motioned for his daughter Sara to come around with another pot of coffee.

Janey reached over and swiped a bite from Annabeth's stack of pancakes. "You need to get out more."

"Why? So I can be suspected of selling out everyone to whichever wifebeating gangbanger is lurking on my block that day? If I get out more, all that means is more trouble."

Swallowing the bite of pancakes and chasing it down with a gulp of orange juice, Janey gave her a knowing look before speaking. "You're really pissed off about that, aren't you?"

"Hell yes I am!" Annabeth grew agitated all over again as she recalled Donna's searching looks and pointed questions the day before. "Janey, I'd die for these women. I'd die rather than see them get hurt. Someone's hurting them, and the irony is that I'm a suspect! Donna thinks I let something slip to someone by accident."

"Well, she has to cover her bases, too. But I know you, and I know you didn't let anything slip. Hell, you never even mentioned to me that you were working with those women, and I helped treat them in the emergency room. It wasn't until Gordon came around yesterday, investigating, and I took a look at their medical records, that I knew you had been involved." Janey shook her head, and glanced at her watch. "Crap, I've gotta book. I've got a split shift today, and the first one starts in half an hour. If I leave now, I'll just make it on time." She stood, digging through her voluminous pockets, and extracted a wad of singles. "You're on duty tonight, too, right?"

Annabeth nodded. "Yup. I work until one AM."

"Awesome. That's when I get off, too. I'll see you later?" Janey bent over and kissed the top of Annabeth's head, quickly, before Annabeth had a chance to shy away. "It'll be fine. Gordon will get around to questioning you—pretty soon, I bet—he'll ask a few questions, and figure out damned quick that you're not going to add up to the number he's looking for. Gordon's a smart guy. Don't worry."

Never one to waste time, Janey sailed out the door, quietly dropping a couple of dollars on Madison Rose's table as she passed by. Annabeth watched her best friend as she blended into the crowds of Gotham, wishing for a moment that she had some of Janey's good cheer and sweet personality. But no, Janey was Janey—happy and sweet, and Annabeth was Annabeth—a little cold, a little too dedicated. But her heart was in the right place. She meant well.

"Not like that's a nice thing to say at someone's funeral euology, though," Annabeth grumbled to no one in particular as she gathered up her briefcase and jacket.

"That's right, dear! Start talking to them, they always listen!" Madison Rose called out encouragingly, much to the amusement of Joe, Sara, and about half a dozen regulars who would spend their meal speculating on Rose's and Annabeth's imaginary friends.

Outside, the weather was remarkably clear and pleasant for August; the previous day's storm had temporarily washed away the smog and grime that plagued Gotham City at this time of year…and most times of year, to be honest. It was a filthy, crowded city, and there really wasn't many other ways to put it. But today, the air was a little bit clearer, the sun was a little more golden, and everything felt just a little bit more fresh. Annabeth chose to see it as a good omen, and squared her shoulders resolutely as she began the two-block walk to Safe Haven. Yesterday had been a nightmare, between the news of Carrolly's death, Donna's suspicions, and the women's fears, and she had returned home that night feeling as though someone had ripped out her heart and was poking it with a stick. Today could be better. Today would be better.

But as it turned out, today was going to be much, much worse.

Half an hour—that's all Annabeth had gotten. Half an hour of peace, in which she sat at her cluttered, tiny desk and planned out her day: two hours of grant-writing in the morning; counseling appointments until one; another hour of tracking down potential donors; then spending the rest of the afternoon interviewing intern candidates. She sipped at the coffee Maya had thoughtfully brewed for her, and peacefully contemplated all the things she would get done that day…and then her phone rang.

"This is Annabeth."

"Annabeth. Have a moment to meet with me?" Donna had the courtesy to couch it as a question, but neither woman would consider the possibility of Annabeth declining. Annabeth was in fact already rising to her feet and gathering her planner. "I'll be over in a minute or two." Annabeth cast one longing look at her mug of coffee, and returned the phone to its receiver. Eight in the morning, and the boss already wanted to meet with her. Something told Annabeth that the cup of evil Mondays had begun to runneth over into other, more innocent days of the week.

Donna's office was only at the other end of the hall, and so it didn't take Annabeth long to enter Donna's office, her stomach fluttering in dread. Donna glanced up from her computer, and jerked her chin over to the only empty seat in the room. "Sit down."

Annabeth sat.

Without further preamble, Donna launched into business. "I've got some really rotten news. A bit of it, actually. And some good news. Which do you want to hear first?"

"The bad news." Annabeth's response was immediate, and corresponded with one of the fundamentals of her existence: Get the bad news over with, then seen how much good news there is, and how much it can salvage.

"Bad news item one: the state is pulling our Trauma Grant."

A guttural moan emerged from deep within Annabeth. The Trauma Grant was their single biggest source of money, and losing it would be a trauma, indeed. "Why?"

"Budget cuts are the original culprit. The state's damned near broke and looking to save money. They're saying that since we aren't primarily a trauma interception agency, only a trauma recovery agency, we don't qualify. It's a blow, alright." Donna frowned. "And now, time for the next bad news. You need to clear your schedule for a while… Commissioner Gordon and one of his detectives are going to come by today to speak with you, around nine. In fact…in less than an hour. But we knew this would happen. Just tell them the truth, and it will be fine."

Annabeth sighed. "Okay, then…what's the good news?"

"Oh yes!" Donna brightened considerably. "We've got a potential donor…a very big fish."

"A donor?" Annabeth's hopes lifted a little. "This could offset the damage from the loss of the Trauma Grant. Who is it?"

Donna was practically bursting with excitement. "Bruce Wayne."

"Bruce Wayne." Annabeth reached into her memory, sifted through vital information to get to the useless information that insisted on residing long past its use-by date. "Where do I know that name from? Wasn't that guy in the papers recently?"

"Probably."

"Oh yeah! Wasn't he that rich guy that totally messed up his car a few months back—ran his Ferrari or something into a police van?"

"That sounds like him. But I actually think it was a Lamborghini."

"And wasn't there something…something about him and a bunch of emus?"

"Bought an illegal emu farm, yes."

Dismay was beginning to build inside Annabeth. "I remember him now…he burnt down his house a year or two back, didn't he? We're talking about that guy?"

"Allegedly burnt down his house, and yes, that is who we are talking about."

"So…" Annabeth said slowly, trying to buy some time. "You're saying that we should be soliciting donations from an over-moneyed pyromaniac billionaire who has a thing for emus and who never passed the driving test?"

"Very funny, and yes, that's exactly what I am saying." Donna leaned forward, a smile playing on her lips, her eyes alight with the possibilities. "Listen to me, Annabeth. Bruce Wayne's a loose cannon, yes. He's dumb as a brick, yes, and the newspapers love to mock him. But he's also very rich, very generous, and very bored. And his Foundation initiated contact with us, wanting to discuss donor possibilities. Now, I don't care if he's screwing those emus in the back seat of his Lamborghini, and I don't care how many houses he torches. I don't care if he gives us money by crapping it on your desk. But I want the support of the Wayne Foundation, and I want you to be the one to secure it."

"You hate me, don't you?" Annabeth said plaintively.

"On the contrary, Annabeth, I adore you. That's why I am giving you the opportunity to meet with Wayne, and to be instrumental in securing the future of Safe Haven. This is an amazing chance, for you and for us! Bruce Wayne wants to meet with us personally, and learn about Safe Haven."

"Donna. Think for a moment. Have I ever been able to play nicely with rich people?"

"All the more reason for you to start. I have total confidence in you, Annabeth. You've been here long enough, you know the organization well enough, so it's time you learn to play nicely with the rich kids. It'll be fine. Wayne will be showing up around eleven this morning…take him out to that café you love, make us seem as humble and poor as possible…which won't be hard. Bring him back here, give him the tour, introduce him to some of the clients. I've secured permission from several of the women, you can tell their stories. Make it as sad-sounding as possible. Again, not difficult."

"Why can't you do it?" Annabeth was coming dangerously close to whining, but dammit, she didn't care. This was awful.

"Let's just say that I've had to deal with my share of the rich kids, Annabeth." Donna gave her a feral smile. "They're tired of me, and my methods. Time to pass it on to a new generation."

There was a knock on Donna's door, and Maya poked her head inside. "Sorry to interrupt, but there's someone here for Annabeth. Commissioner Gordon? He says he has a meeting with Annabeth at nine, and that he's a little early. You want me to send him on in?"

"Go ahead and send him in!" Donna said cheerfully. And, glancing over at Annabeth, added "…and bring in some aspirin and water, too."

By 10:30, Annabeth was already exhausted. She glanced at her watch—an ancient Timex that she had had owned since she was fifteen, and never got around to replacing—and wondered, briefly, if Donna was doing this for her own amusement. Knowing Donna and her slightly-twisted sense of humor, she'd probably arrange for Wayne to come in, leading an emu and asking for them to give it shelter.

One bright thing: the interview with Commissioner Gordon had gone as easily as Janey had predicted. He had been annoyingly early, but at least it meant that the whole ordeal was over that much faster. The Commissioner had been respectful; if not friendly, then at least cordial. Annabeth had taken in his weathered, lined face, his kindly eyes, and felt instantly at ease. She had heard he was a good cop, honest and ethical, and he certainly came across that way. So too did Detective Montoya—she was a woman about Annabeth's age, all business and strictly professional. Annabeth related to that, and so had unexpectedly warmed to her.

Gordon had apologized right away. "I don't think you're involved. We've got to go back over all the evidence, though, and try to find out where this leak is. You don't know how sorry I am about what happened to those wome-"

"Those women were human beings, Commissioner. And I bet you didn't even know them, or know what they were like, or what they wanted. The only reason they came on your radar at all was because they were useful to you and your agenda."

He ducked his head, reluctantly acknowledging her point. "You're right."

That took some of the wind out of her sails, but it didn't stop her altogether. She probably wouldn't ever have the Commissioner as a captive audience again, so what the hell? "Maybe if you spent more time cutting crime off at its roots, instead of putting out all these goddamn fires, you and I would both have easier jobs."

Montoya, who was sitting beside Gordon, began to shift in her seat, clearly resenting the attack. "How about we just get on with the questions? Everyone here has a busy day today."

And so Gordon had begun, prompting her for a description of her encounters and interactions with Carrolly, Lizzie, and Jeana. "Lizzie and Jeana, I met through my work as a trauma counselor at the hospital. I encouraged them to come to Safe Haven, and then as I learned more about them, I put them in contact with you. They had no love lost for the Arrows at that point. Jeana was really upset about the miscarriage. And Lizzie…well, you figure out what happens when several men do to one woman in the course of a night."

"Anyone here at Safe Haven could have seen them, known about them. They could have talked to any of the other people here." Gordon furrowed his brow as he contemplated the possibilities.

"Yes. I'd like to think they weren't that foolish, but there's certainly that possibility. And we get plenty of people just passing through here, a few days at a time."

"After you referred them to me, did you tell anyone else about Lizzie and Jeana?"

"Except for Donna, no. But I did tell Donna; it wasn't a case of violating confidentiality. Any woman who steps through these doors, we start a file on them, regardless of whether or not they stay. I informed Donna of what had taken place with Jeana and Renee so that we could add it to their files."

"No one else? You didn't mention them to anyone?"

Annabeth began to think longingly of the aspirin that Maya had brought in. Two hadn't done the trick—maybe the whole bottle would. "No, Commissioner. While it might be a rarity in this city, I am a trained, ethical professional, and I am not about to sell out to the highest bidder. They couldn't afford me, anyway."

Montoya leaned forward. "Yeah? What are you charging?"

"The price of my conscience. No one could afford me."

"Moving along." Gordon flipped through his notes. "Carrolly Cooper. Tell me more about how you first met her?"

"She first came into the ER with several of her teeth knocked out. Someone had beaten her up really badly. One of the ER nurses suspected domestic abuse, and while I wasn't needed in my capacity of a Trauma Counselor, the nurse thought I might be able to bring her in to Safe Haven. Eventually, she told me more about her…circumstances. And I figured I should get her in touch with you."

"And did you tell anyone about Carrolly's connections with the Arrows?"

"No," Annabeth sighed. "I never forget these women and children, but I sure as hell don't go blabbing about them either."

Gordon and Montoya glanced at each other, and as of one accord, they stood up. "Thank you, Miss de Burgh," Gordon said, extending his hand. "I believe there's nothing more we can learn from you. You did all you could to help these women, and we want to continue working with you."

"That's very kind of you, Commissioner. But given the death rate of your charges, I can't say that I am keen to continue working with you." Annabeth gave him a twisted smile, almost more of a grimace. "See, unlike you, it's in our interests to keep these women alive long after the trials. I'm not sure you and I are striving towards the same end."

No, the interview certainly could have gone a lot worse. But Annabeth's patience was quickly coming to the end of her tether, and she wasn't at all confident that she would be able to charm that Wayne guy into parting with his money. At this point, she wasn't even sure she could charm herself into believing this job was worth it.

For a few moments after Gordon and Montoya left, she stood by her desk, gazing out the window at the back alley two stories below, reflecting on how it would be nice for the children to have an outdoors space where they could play. She glanced at the clock—10:40. Twenty minutes left; twenty minutes to herself. What did she have time for? A quick cup of coffee? Checking in with some of the clients? Ingest all the painkillers she could find? Commit seppuku?

Her phone rang. Wearily, Annabeth looked heavenwards—apparently she didn't have the time to die today. The phone rang again, and she snatched it. "Yes?"

"Annabeth? It's Maya. Your eleven o'clock is here."

"My eleven o'clock? It's ten-forty!" Annabeth's voice began to rise in irritation. "First Gordon, now Wayne? Jesus, Maya, he's a billionaire playboy—can't you distract him for a few minutes? You know how to flirt. And jesus! Does no one ever come on time anymore?"

"Apparently not."

Annabeth whirled around at the sound of an unfamiliar male voice filling her office, and saw a young man standing in the doorway. From the phone Annabeth still clutched in her hand, she could hear Maya's sheepish voice "…I told him he could go on in."

Slowly, deliberately, Annabeth replaced the receiver and walked slowly from behind her desk. In the two seconds it took for her to pick her way around the various boxes and stacks of files, Bruce watched her compose herself, transform herself from harried and frazzled social worker to unflustered professional. "Mr. Wayne…welcome to Safe Haven. Thank you for visiting us today. It's quite an honor." She looked straight into his eyes, extended her hand, and gripped his. Three firm pumps, and then she withdrew quickly, backing up a couple of feet and putting the desk as a barrier between them.

Bruce smiled; when it came to being smooth and unflustered, this woman had nothing on him. "Thank you so much for seeing me on such short notice. And call me Bruce. 'Mr. Wayne' makes me sound far too much like a boring forty-year old who discusses the stock market and partisan politics."

"Neither of which are your forté ?" Annabeth wanted to smack herself as soon as she said it, and mentally began to write her letter of resignation. Better to quit before Donna could fire her.

"Let's just say my talents lie in other areas. I'm much better at being a…how did you put it? A 'billionaire playboy'? Yes, I'm much better at that." Bruce was needling her now, trying to see if he could discomfit her. He quietly observed her as she made her way back to her desk. Relatively young—early thirties, tops. Fairly short, barely topping five feet, with well-proportioned curves. Chestnut-colored hair, very similar in color to Rachel's—ruthlessly he stamped down a surge of sadness—with brown eyes. Attractive, in a rather flavorless sort of way. Very girl-next-door.

"Have a seat, Mr. Wayne." She sat back down behind her desk and gestured to the chair opposite. "Why don't you tell me a little bit about your interest in Safe Haven?"

Oh, she's good. Bruce was grudgingly impressed—she had somehow turned the entire encounter around to make him feel as though he were the supplicant. He sat down and gave her a goofy smile. Time to ham up the dunce persona. "I have quite a bit of money, you know. And my parents always taught me I should help those less fortunate. After all, not everyone can be born a Wayne."

Oh, goddamn you, Donna. You will pay. With a supreme effort, Annabeth ignored his tactless condescension.

"And I just like to know a bit about the organizations that work in our city. Someone mentioned your organization a couple of months back—I think I was at some fundraiser dinner, can't remember what it was for. But the food was actually really good! There were these amazing tapas hors d'oeuvre thingies , just like the kind that I used to have in Andalusia…anyway, this beautiful woman…what was her name? anyway, she was raving all about you." He nodded his head eagerly. "I think it's great, what you do. And I want to help."

If nothing else, this will be a great story to tell Janey someday. "How altruistic of you, Mr. Wayne. We can always use more help. In fact, quite a lot, actually. What all do you know about us?"

"Ummm…" Bruce glanced around, ostensibly trying to catch sight of a letterhead, something to reveal the nature of the business. "You're a battered women's shelter, right?"

Annabeth smiled at him through gritted teeth. "In a sense. It's part of what we do, certainly. But it's also much, much more." She stood up again, simultaneously digging through a pile of papers. "Would you like to see?"

This time, Bruce did not have to feign his interest. He nodded eagerly.

"Good. But before I take you around, I'm going to need for you to sign some papers."

"Papers?" Bruce looked confused. "What kind of papers?"

"Legal papers. Confidentiality agreements." She held out the papers and a pen.

"What do they say?"

"Basically, that you understand that anything and everything you may learn today is confidential information, and that revealing this information to third parties can put peoples' lives and personal safety at risk. That if you do reveal any information, we will have legal recourse to sue you, and also that we can, with impunity, rip off your testicles." She paused. "And feed them to the emus."

"Where do I sign?"