Chapter 5

Two hours had passed since Bruce had spoken with Marjane. Shortly after she had told her story, a doctor arrived—a large, bustling woman who knew exactly what to expect the moment Maya had called her. Dr. Galop was a discreet and big-hearted woman, and she loved to help the Safe Haven women. She had shooed Bruce out, and Annabeth followed soon after. "She's got it covered—she's given Marjane a sedative, and she's setting the bone now," Annabeth had told him. "Look, it's late, and I'm sure you have questions. Donna wanted me to take you out for a meal, I suppose to impress you or something, so let's go grab a bite. And then you can return to your castle and tell all the lords and ladies how you rubbed shoulders with the peasants."

The words were sharp, even cruel, but she had given him a small, genuine smile. In working together to help Marjane, she had altered her perception of Bruce. He wasn't as dumb as he seemed, nor as indifferent as she had assumed.

They had headed to the café, Annabeth's standard haunt, and sat down at one of the shabby booths. Annabeth watched Bruce closely, but he showed no signs of distaste as Sara passed him a greasy menu and gave him a big wink.

Bruce didn't even open the menu."What's going to happen to her?"

Annabeth didn't need to ask who he was talking about. "I don't know. We can't send her back to Iran, for any number of obvious reasons. And we can't send her back to that husband of hers. And we can't call in Social Services, because they'll just turn her over to Immigration, and since she was smuggled in…" Annabeth shrugged, and then ran her hands through her hair. "It's an awful situation. We'll bring in a translator tomorrow, and when Donna comes back in the morning, we'll go from there." She contemplated the menu for a moment. "I think I'm going to go for the soup and salad. What about you?"

"I don't think I can eat."

Annabeth gave him a long look. Again, the amiable expression that he had presented early in the day had given way to that strange, hardened, flinty look. His jaw was rigid, and his eyes were staring off into the distance, as though he were seeing all of the horrors of Gotham. "Look. Going on hunger strike isn't going to help those women and their kids. It's a war, and any soldier who fights has to keep up their strength."

Sara swung by their table. "What are you going to have?"

"Vegetable soup and a salad for me, Italian dressing on the side." Annabeth glanced over at Bruce, shrugged, and hazarded a guess. "And he's going to have the roast chicken special. Mashed potatoes; broccoli. A side of your wheat rolls. And how about a pot of coffee?"

"Sounds good to me. Big guy like you needs to keep his appetite." Sara gave Bruce a sparkling smile and another wink, and laughed a little as Bruce turned his attention to her and returned the smile.

Annabeth couldn't help but to chuckle a little. "Leopards don't change their spots, do they?"

"And emus don't change their feathers." Bruce leaned forward, his expression now earnest. "Isn't it usually the man's job to order?"

The look Annabeth gave him told him that that was exactly why she had ordered for him, and he knew enough to step back from that subject. "So, what are the long term plans for Safe Haven?"

"Plans?" Annabeth repeated, skepticism audible in her voice. Was he actually interested in what happened to his money? "Do you mean, shoot-for-the-stars plans, or just surviving?"

"Annabeth." Bruce said her name firmly, made sure he had her attention. "You're talking to Bruce Wayne. Surviving isn't really a word I use that much. Let's focus on the stars."

She thought for a moment. It had been a long time since anyone had asked her what she wanted; never mind the fact that this was a question about a professional issue. It was nice enough to be asked. "I think Donna wants to establish a satellite building, down in the Narrows."

Bruce decided to dumb it up a little. "The Narrows?"

"It's the worst part of the city. It's the birthplace of crime, if there is such a thing. The poverty and crime down there are astounding. And if we can get in there, really get into the community, we might change things."

"How so?" Oh, this was rich, almost entertaining. He could practically see her climbing up onto her soapbox.

"All of the crime in this city, Mr. Wayne. Where does it come from? I don't know, and I know you don't. But I know that it's not enough to fight it by cutting off the branches, taking out the gangs and the mobs, apprehending the criminals. We need to be striking at its roots, destroying the cause."

"What is the cause?" Despite himself, and the Batman within him, Bruce was beginning to find this woman compelling. The way her eyes flashed with passion when she was talking…

"There's no one cause. But the poverty, the crime, the violence that these children are exposed to, usually from birth, is a major contributing factor. And it doesn't let up. The children in the Narrows are reared to expect a hand-to-mouth existence, kill-or-be-killed, and to hell with the politicians and the rich men and the cops. None of those big guys give a damn, at least in the eyes of those children. Someone has to protect them. Someone has to make sure that these kids have a chance. And the women. Someone has to help them claim their dignity, expect more to life than these horrible people that prey upon them." Annabeth paused for a moment, looking at him defiantly. "Are you going to say something about welfare being the plague of the country? That these people choose their own lives, and that this is all their own fault, and they're a drain on the taxpayers' money, and they could rise above it if they tried?"

"No. No, not at all." Bruce smiled self-deprecatingly. "I hear morons like me say that all the time, so I don't need to add to it. I don't know enough about all of this to say that. I have never, and will never experience that kind of existence and misery." Briefly Bruce wandered how many more lies and half-truths he would have to utter this night. Truth was, he usually didn't linger long enough with most people to have the chance to talk this much. He wasn't sure it was a good thing, either way.

Sara swung back by their table, leaving a pot of coffee and two cups. Immediately Bruce reached for the pot and poured a cup, passing it to Annabeth before pouring himself the second cup. Annabeth silently observed this small courtesy, and stowed it away with the other nuggets of knowledge she had gleaned.

The two of them were quiet for a few moments, sipping their coffee and ruminating over the day. When Bruce spoke again, his voice was light, bantering, like it had been that morning. "It's a long war you're fighting. Why don't you try to get the Batman to help? It might be the kind of cause that weirdo would go for."

To his surprise, Annabeth snorted and rolled her eyes. "Right. The Batman. Do you live under a rock? The Batman only cares about taking out the big baddies, the crime lords and the king pins mob bosses and the gang leaders. He's not going to bother with the petty domestic concerns of women and children who are suffering. Girls getting raped, wives being beaten, prostitutes being sold, children being molested? Please. That's beneath his notice. It's too little to bother him."

Ouch. "Why do you think that?"

Annabeth shrugged; clearly, the subject was of little interest to her. The Batman was some kooky story about some kooky guy, and it had persisted in the papers and the news, but didn't affect her war that much. "Look at what he's done," she pointed out reasonably. "It's all big stuff. That's what he's focused on. And I can't blame him—he's one man, and there's a lot of crime out there. He can't fight everything. But he and I are fighting on two completely different fronts. And I am willing to bet he hasn't got a clue about my front, where it all starts. The home front."

"Well," Bruce chuckled. "It's a pretty moot point. He's a hunted man, anyway. Persona non grata,as it were. After all that went down with that DA, Harvey Dent, no one's looking to a big bat to save the city anymore."

"Hmmph." Shaking her head, Annabeth didn't look impressed with this argument. "Dent was no friend of ours. He was in tight with a few judges that were really lenient with some of our clients' husbands and fathers. They didn't care if the wife-beaters walked. Didn't have a moment to spare for us. Anyway…I don't know what to think about all that mess that went down. Something's not right, there. We're not getting the whole story."

"What do you mean? You don't think the media tells it how it is?"

"Good evening, Mr. Wayne. Welcome to Earth; what planet are you from?" Christ, he really is a tool sometimes. "I just think that how we were told it went down was not how it happened. I'm no Batman fangirl, I think that much is obvious. But I sure as hell don't think he went around killing people, either. He's a misguided man, not a killer. Besides…there's rumors going around. Before he died, Dent made some appearances around town; the people that were still alive afterward were pretty clear: after that girlfriend of his was killed, Dent lost his marbles."

For a moment, Bruce waged an internal struggle to keep his face smooth and pleasant. Mastering the urge to howl his grief to all who could listen, he gave a lopsided grin. "You know, Dent's girlfriend used to be a really good friend of mine. Dent was over the moon about her."

She looked at him sharply, and was about to say something, when she noticed Madison Rose ambling up to them. Bruce turned and noticed her at the same time. Quietly, he took in her bedraggled appearance; the gift bows stuck on her shoes; the multiple layers of clothing.

"Hi, Rose!" Annabeth wasn't fazed in the slightest. "This is Madison Rose, Bruce. She's a regular here."

"Hi, Rose. Do you want some coffee?" Bruce slid his cup towards her, and scooted over so that she would have a place to sit, but his expression turned to surprise as the woman began to swat at the empty air over his head.

"Batsbatsbats…" she muttered. "You got bats everywhere. Get rid of them bats. Dirty bastards, bats. Time to put the eels in my hovercraft."

And then she ambled off. With an inscrutable look on his face, Bruce turned back to Annabeth, who couldn't help having a small laugh at his expense. "Welcome to Gotham City, Bruce. How's it look from down here?"

Sara approached then, her arms laden with their dishes, and so Bruce was saved from the effort of responding. For several minutes, they concentrated on their food; Annabeth noted with amusement that Bruce's appetite had quickly returned. He ate quickly, as though he derived no pleasure in his food, and Annabeth was not even halfway through her salad when he put down his fork and started speaking again.

"How long has Safe Haven been around?"

"Eight years," Annabeth told him. " Donna established it eight years ago."

"Where'd she get the money?"

Annabeth smiled as she remembered her boss's exact words. "She says that she married well, and divorced better. Her husband was an absolute monster, but she divorced him, and the prenup held, and so she started Safe Haven. Of course, money's been tight ever since."

Bruce nodded. "Understandably. And she said something about Safe Haven losing a grant?"

"Yes, it just happened today. We've been too busy to sit down and strategize, but it could be a real problem."

"I wouldn't worry too much about that," Bruce assured her. "I think two million should be a good starting point."

She had been about to take another bite of her salad, but she froze, her hand suspended in midair. A cherry tomato fell off her fork and rolled across the table. "Excuse me?"

Almost absently, Bruce flicked the tomato across the room, and grinned as it landed close to Sara. "Two million…it would purchase and renovate a suitable building in the Narrows. And I think an endowment, some sort of trust fund, of ten million, to sustain overhead costs, salaries, benefits...but then, there's still the flagship location to consider."

Sara sidled over to them. "Need anything else?"

"How about your number?" Bruce winked at her.

Annabeth suddenly felt dizzy. "Ten million?"

"You don't think that will be enough?" Bruce frowned, considering. "No. I suppose with inflation being what it is…I'll talk it over with the accountants, see what they think. She really is a cute girl…how old is she?"

"She's legal, if that's what you're worried about. Twenty-three, I think." Annabeth shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I'm having a hard time taking all of this in."

"Why not? I'm only thirty-two, it's not that much of an age difference. I'd be interested in serving on your board of directors, though. Do they have any pie here?" Bruce sat up a little, craning his neck and searching for a dessert case. "I'd really love a slice of key lime pie."

"Board of directors?" At this point, Annabeth could only parrot him. "We don't really have one…just Donna, a psychology professor from Gotham U, and another major donor."

Bruce was busy scribbling something down on a napkin. His number, no doubt. He glanced up at Annabeth. "No board of directors? I'll talk about it with Donna." He flagged Sara back over to them. "Here's my number, beautiful. I'm free any night this week."

Sara smiled at him and accepted the napkin, but as she departed, she threw Annabeth a look and rolled her eyes. At least not everyone is suffering from oxygen deprivation, Annabeth thought, He's such an airhead, he takes up all the oxygen in the room. She pulled herself back together. Ten million dollars! Ten million dollars.

"Annabeth?" Bruce was looking at her questioningly.

"Mr. Wayne-"

"Bruce."

"Very well, Bruce. I cannot tell you how much this means to us—we were hoping for generosity. But this—this will make an incredible difference. This is the difference between surviving and thriving. I cannot even begin to think of how we can thank you for this." For once, Annabeth didn't have to make the effort to lavish effusive praise. Every word she spoke was true.

"I can think of one way you can thank me."

"What's that?" Annabeth asked, and wanted to punch herself as soon as she said it.

"You free this Saturday?"

"Let me get this straight. He asked you out on a date?"

"No, Janey. Hell, no." Annabeth shook her head at the absurdity of this notion. "He's invited me to some damned party of his. Apparently they've finished rebuilding that house he burnt down, and Wayne's holding some big gala to celebrate it. He invited me."

Disbelief oozed from every word that Janey spoke. "And you said yes?"

Annabeth sighed and shook her head. She had finally returned home, at almost eleven at night, and immediately called Donna, and then Janey, to relay the day's events. An eternity had lapsed since this morning, or so it seemed, and she had yet to process all that had transpired. "Janey, of course I said yes. The man just gave us millions of dollars. Plus, he said that he wanted me to meet a lot of people at the party—some real movers and shakers. Corporate types, politicians, journalists." Even now, she could recall the wheedling tone in Bruce Wayne's voice as he convinced her to join the party. He knew how to persuade, she'd give him that.

"My goodness. You're quite the heartbreaker." Janey was clearly delighted to have such opportunities for mockery present themselves to her, with such little effort. "Maybe if you're nice to him, he'll show you his emus. The dream of any Gotham woman."

"Shut up." But Annabeth was smiling; the whole thing was really kind of absurd. "You know I'm going to stick out like a sore thumb. I'll look like the poor relation."

"Annabeth, you are the poor relation. Don't bother pretending to be anything else but." There was a pause as Janey spoke to someone on her end of the phone, presumably her live-in boyfriend. "Hey, Annabeth? Jason wants to know if you'll scrounge him up a sugar-mama while you're there."

"Sure, I'm right on that. I'll find him a sugar-mama right after I'm done seducing Bruce Wayne. Easy as…well, wait. That should be pretty easy. That fool flirts with anything that has two legs and breathes."

"Well," Janey said reasonably, "that could explain the emus."

Annabeth groaned. "I'm hanging up now."

And hang up she did, and finally, finally she was alone. She sat quietly on the half of the couch that had not yet broken, and gazed around at her small little condo. It was just big enough for her and her pets—the cocker spaniel Jed who now sat at her feet, happily drooling now that his mistress was home, and the mangy cat who now perched atop the bookcase, glaring balefully down at them. Oh, it was wonderful to be home, to be encased in silence and solitude. After the day she had had, she could happily go to sleep for a week.

After a few moments of blissful stillness, in which she simply sat, doing nothing, Annabeth sighed and reached for her laptop bag. Sleep was hours away, so she may as well get some work done.

"Let me get this straight, Master Wayne. You asked her out on a date?"

The Batman glanced over at Alfred, clearly unamused. "No. How many times do I have to make this clear? It's not a date. She's coming here in a professional capacity, to try to make some contacts."

"And presumably, so you can watch her, see what else you can find out about her."

"Actually, no. So you can watch her, Alfred, and see what else you can find out about her. She's coming to meet some of our more distinguished guests, or so she thinks."

Alfred cocked an eyebrow. "Might I say, sir, that my job description has changed dramatically in the past two years."

"And your salary has, too. Just make sure she meets the right people, and try to get a read on her."

They were in the Batcave again. As soon as Bruce had arrived home from a very long day in the city, the two of them had headed downstairs. Immediately, Alfred had noticed a change in Bruce—his persona was neither that of the vapid and foolish playboy, nor that of the relentless and fearsome dark knight. While Bruce was doing his best to hide it, he was nonetheless behaving…almost genuinely. Something had disturbed him today, something had managed to affect him to the point where he was not putting up any sort of front.

They sat at their work areas now, facing the enormous LCD monitor that now displayed the information that Alfred had unearthed on Annabeth de Burgh: A photograph of her, taken a couple of years back, was the current information on display. In the picture, she was smiling the same guarded smile that Bruce had seen earlier that day.

"Annabeth de Burgh," Alfred told him. "No middle name. She's thirty-one years old. A Gotham native. de Burgh is not her birth name; she changed it from her father's name when when she turned twenty-one. She's lived here her entire life. Graduated Gotham Heights College with a BS in Applied Psychology; an MA in Clinical Psychology, and a PhD in Counseling Psychology, with a focus in Psychology and Social Intervention. She's worked at that Safe Haven place for three years, ever since she graduated. She completed an eighteen month internship at Arkahm Asylum whilst completing her PhD."

"What about family?"

"She hasn't got any."

Batman looked over at Alfred, surprised. "I find that hard to believe."

Alfred shook his head. "Doesn't matter if you don't believe it. It's the truth. No siblings. Her mother left when Miss de Burgh was very young. Miss de Burgh's father reared her, in a manner of speaking, until she was six years old, at which time he was arrested in a drug raid. Miss de Burgh was sent to Social Services, and her father was sent to prison. He died there, about three years later. Miss de Burgh was sent to various foster homes until she turned seventeen."

"Nice work." The Batman stared harder at the photo of Annabeth. "What else?"

"There isn't much else to tell. According to what I discovered, Miss de Burgh moonlights as a trauma counselor at Gotham General two nights a week. She volunteers at the YWCA down in the Narrows one night a week, and is a Big Sister for various troubled youth. As you requested, I obtained income information, and analyzed her tax returns and her bank accounts. No unusual activities, and all of the information balances out. Her Social Services files are sealed, as are her medical records. Would you like me to hack into the hospital and county databases and access them?"

"No. That's not necessary. And it's not particularly ethical."

"Of course, Master Wayne. Because obtaining her financial information and stealing her address book are entirely above board."

That reminded the Batman. "The address book! What was in it?"

"I've made photocopies of it so we might cross-reference everything at a later date. But it appears that there is little personal information in that, either—mainly professional contacts."

The Batman frowned. "Who are you?" he asked the unresponsive picture of Annabeth. Other questions, left unasked, were jumbled in his head. Are you innocent in all of this? Are you responsible for these women's deaths? He turned back to Albert. "What do you think?"

"Having never met the lady, Master Wayne, I cannot venture to say with any certainty. But judging by this information—social worker, trauma counselor, all-around do-gooder, I would say you and she are two peas in a pod. Only she's a crusader without a cape."

"I wouldn't go that far…not yet. But Alfred…" the Batman turned to the older man, and the face that he showed was not that of the feared vigilante, or even that of Bruce the brainless billionaire; it was simply the Bruce that Alfred had always known, and was always relieved to see. Nothing, not pretty women, or fast cars, or the thrill of justice and the violence that Bruce was beginning to embrace, could hide the anguish now distorting his face, or the pain in his eyes. "Alfred, I saw horrible things today. I can't understand why people do the things they do to each other. And it's almost like these people that I met ever had a chance—they were born into these awful lives. How can anyone treat women and children like that? I'm not a husband or a father, and I probably never will be." Even as he said it, Bruce realized the truth in those words, and the knowledge left an awful, gaping loneliness inside him. "But I can't imagine doing the things that they told me about. Terrorizing children, brutalizing women, destroying their self-esteem, setting up these kids for a life of repeating the cycle. It has to be awful, to get to the point where you're willing to rely on the kindness of strangers and leave all you've ever known."

"Yes," Alfred said, and there was enormous pity in his eyes, both for the young man before him, and the people Bruce had described. "Women must be incredibly brave and strong to survive in this society, but these women that you speak of, they must have even more courage."

"And the children. Having to see all that awful cruelty." Bruce closed his eyes for a moment, pulling up distant memories of his mother and father, loving parents who doted on him and each other. Would it have been different if they were living in the Narrows, trying to make ends meet, trying to avoid the dangers that plagued those who lived in those slums? Would they have treated each other differently; would Bruce have turned out differently? Was he only a product of the wealth into which he was born? Those children…he thought of Caitlin, sweet and silent and afraid, but holding out her hands for Bruce to see. The blisters; the horrific, angry burns."Dammit, Alfred. Those people at Safe Haven, they're the lucky ones. They're the ones that managed to escape. But there's so many more…"

"Master Wayne?"

Annabeth's words were ringing through Bruce's head. "The Batman only cares about taking out the big baddies…he's not going to bother with the petty domestic concerns of women and children who are suffering." She was right, he realized. God almighty, she was right. "It was something Annabeth said…" he told Albert. "Something about the Batman-"

"You told her about Batman?"

"No, of course not. It just came up in passing. She said something about the Batman being too important to bother with the little people, only caring about the big crimes. I think she was trying to say that Batman only did the stuff that would make a big impression, and wouldn't care about the little people." A burning sensation, a hot pain, began to grow in his chest. Shame. It was shame that he was feeling. "I think she was right."

Alfred studied him for a long moment. "Maybe, Master Bruce. But you're only one man."

"I need to do more than just one man." Bruce's expression began to change, and before Alfred's eyes, he saw the Batman, the feral hunter, return. "I think she was right, Alfred. I think she was onto something." He paused. "But that all changes, tonight."

2 AM rolled around, and Annabeth was finally tired enough to turn in for a few hours of sleep. She had spent a good amount of time tapping away at her laptop, writing an editorial and also working on some research she had been conducting. It was the most relaxed she had been all day—once she was in her home, her own little safe haven, life became significantly less overwhelming. Beside her on the couch, her animals were curled up, sleeping; outside, a gentle rain was falling; all around her, there was peace and quiet. She had changed into her shabbiest pair of yoga pants and a tank top; she had skinned her long hair back into a messy ponytail. She was as far removed from her daytime professional appearance as possible, and it was blissful.

But now, time for sleep, even if it was in the world's most godawfully ancient, hard bed—on a social worker's salary, she couldn't exactly afford a pillowtop mattress. And come to think of it, she was willing to bet a posh mattress like that wouldn't fit in her bedroom anyway. Wearily, she rose from the couch and began to brew a pot of chamomile tea, and debated whether or not she wanted to take a sleeping aid. She got so little sleep as it was; even on the nights when she turned in early, she tossed and turned with the torments of her nightmares. This time, she opted to go the natural route.

Ten minutes later, she was carrying a steaming mug and meandering into her bedroom. She flicked on the lights, and –

The cup of tea fell from her nerveless hands and shattered on the floor as she took in the hulking black figure who seemed to fill half the room. "What the hell?" she barked. "Christ's balls, who the hell are you?"

"You know who I am."

As soon as the man in black began to talk, his voice painfully rasping, Annabeth knew who she was dealing with. The Batman. Really? He actually existed? Her heart racing, she began to silently assess her room—what could serve as a weapon? Her baseball bat, a lightweight metal affair, would do the trick; she used to have a wooden one, delightfully heavy, but those would splinter and crack if you hit hard enough. And god knew, she hit hard.

The baseball bat, however, was across the room—right by where the Batman was standing, near her window. He saw her eyes darting around the room, and correctly anticipated her plans. "Don't move. Don't scream. I'm not here to hurt you. But I want some answers."

She crossed her arms and glared. "Get in line."

"You worked with Carrolly Cooper, Lizzie Salvadore, and Jeana Wilson, didn't you?"

"Oh god. This is Groundhog's Day, isn't it?" All of a sudden, Annabeth's exhaustion caught up with her. "Yes, yes, yes, I worked with all three of them. How many more times am I going to have to say this? Would you prefer me to give you this in iambic pentameter? A haiku?"

"Who did you tell about them?"

"Commissioner Gordon. For the big stuff like this—that is, the people who rat on the mob—he likes to be involved. He's our go-to guy."

"Anyone else?"

"No. But in the case of Jeana and Lizzie, several people potentially knew about them, because they came to Safe Haven first." A volcano of anger began to build in Annabeth. "And I wish to hell we hadn't sent them on. You guys screwed the pooch on that one, you know? You didn't give a damn for those women. You wouldn't have known they existed if they weren't willing to give evidence, and I bet you wouldn't care what happened to them afterwards."

Although it was hard to tell with that weird mask and cowl he wore, Annabeth was pretty sure his face remained impassive. He ignored her commentary, and pressed on. "So you're saying that others could have known about them going to the police?"

"Yes. And let's not forget, the police may have been the ones to sell them out. This is getting really old. These are the same questions Gordon asked me earlier."

"I'll ask one question that I am pretty sure Gordon was too nice to say. Did you reveal those women's hiding places?"

"You dolt, I didn't even know where their hideouts were! After I referred them to Gordon, I wasn't a player any more. They went into hiding, and I never heard anything else from or about them."

The Batman frowned; something had occurred to him. "What happens when they go into hiding?"

Annabeth was beginning to realize that this could go on for a while. "I don't know many of the details. They get a new identity—new names, social security number, credit ratings. They eventually give testimony, and then they disappear into a new city. And they have to cut off all ties with their old life. It's actually really hard to do that."

"Too hard?"

"You think that they contacted people connected with the Arrows, after they went into hiding? Some of their friends?" Annabeth, surprisingly, did not get offended at this prospect. "It's possible—quite possible. Like I said, it's hard to leave everything behind, even if it's awful."

"Why wouldn't they want to leave it behind?"

"You don't get it, do you? None of you do." Annabeth rubbed her eyes, stifled a yawn; her anger and fear were starting to subside. "It's hard to leave anything behind when it's all you've ever known. When you mistreat an animal from the beginning, how will it know that there's anything else out there? Carrolly and the others may have had awful, painful, frightening lives, but at least they knew what their lives were about. At least they had that identity. Yes, I think it's entirely possible that they could have blown their cover."

The Batman wasn't convinced. "Or maybe you want to shift the blame."

Annabeth had had enough. "Piss off. What the hell do you know? I'm helping these women, which is a hell of a lot more than you can say. Go, chase a bad guy. Blow up City Hall, save a puppy. Whatever. Just get out of my hair and leave me the hell alone so I can get some sleep."

"I'm going to be watching you," the Batman told her. The obvious threat in his voice didn't deter Annabeth in the slightest, only annoyed her.

"Oh, lucky me. My very own stalker. I think you'll need to try a little harder to scare me." She glanced at her watch. "Look, this has been lovely. A real healing session. I'm leaving this room for ninety seconds, and when I come back, you need to be gone." She bent over, and began to pick up the shards of her tea mug. "And don't ever come into my home again."

When she straightened up, the room was empty, and the Batman gone. Her window was open, and the only sound that could be heard was the pitter-pat of the rain.

Annabeth dashed to the window and leaned outside. "And use a damned throat lozenge!" she bellowed into the night before slamming the window shut. As she turned back and gazed around her room, once a cozy place, but now vulnerable and violated, she shuddered, and wondered if she would ever again feel safe in her home.