Headline from the September 8th edition of the Gotham Gazette:

FIVE MORE DEAD IN VIOLENT KILLING SPREE

by Vicki Vale

In a press conference held at 6 AM this morning, Gotham City Police Commissioner Jim Gordon announced the tragic murders of five more Gotham Citizens: Bernice McCullough, Haley Myers, Sharone Oberti, Jadyn Fairchild, and Alexia Zabek. The victims were all allegedly prostitutes, operating out of the area of Gotham City commonly referred to as "The Narrows." While Commissioner Gordon did not release many details, due to the ongoing investigation, he did confirm that the most recent victims were murdered in a manner consistent with that of the murders which were committed last Friday.

The victims were discovered at 3:30 AM this morning, after an anonymous tip led police to the scene. The coroner estimates that the times of death were all within two hours of each other, likely occurring between midnight and 2 AM. If anyone in the region of The Narrows has observed suspicious activity, you are encouraged to notify Gotham City Police MCU with any information you may have.

(Article continued on Page A6, accompanied by editiorial: "When Do We Provide Equal Protection for All Gotham's Citizens?")

After several days of running on near-empty, Annabeth finally got some sleep. Not while she was huddled under the blankets, in bed, or curled up on her uncomfortable old couch, with her pets clustered around her. No, that would have been too easy. She finally fell asleep at 7:30, Monday morning, after she had come in to Safe Haven to get an early start. Her early start lasted all of half an hour, for soon after she checked her email, she simply konked out. At her desk.

At 9 AM, she was still there, slumped over, sound asleep, her cheek resting on her planner and fountain pen, a tiny line of drool starting to form at the corner of her mouth. Her breathing was deep, almost rattling, trying its best to turn into snores. But Annabeth was blissfully unaware of any of this; her sleep was as deep and impenetrable as the deepest ocean, and as peaceful, too.

Bruce almost hated to wake her. Almost. He had come in only a few minutes prior, armed with his Louis Vuitton briefcase and a thermos, and immediately headed up to her office…but when he peered through her open door, he saw her slumped form. Remembering her ill-fated attempts at sleep the night before, he wasn't too surprised that she was nodding off now.

"Annabeth." He said it quietly, and accompanied it with a gentle tap on her door. When that didn't penetrate her slumber, he sharpened his voice and spoke louder. "Annabeth."

She jerked awake then, nearly falling out of her chair. "Huh? What?" She shook her head, trying to regain her bearings. "Shit. What time is it?"

"Almost nine. I came up to see if you wanted this." He held aloft the thermos; within it was fresh, piping-hot coffee. "Maya said that French vanilla was your favorite."

"Oh my god. I love you." At that moment in time, she did. She would have crawled over nails to take that thermos from him, but he rendered the urge moot, bringing it to her. "This is truly wonderful. How'd you know I needed this?" She gave him a genuine, if somewhat bleary, smile.

He decided that telling her that he had watched her sleep—or rather, try to—the night before would not be welcome news, and diplomatically chose to go for an equally truthful point. "It's Monday. You're cranky on Mondays."

She paused in pouring the coffee and smiled ruefully. "I suppose I am. Very observant of you. But little did you know that the coffee will only serve to revive me into my normal state of bitchiness. At least when I'm sleepy, I'm too befuddled to think of anything mean to say." The coffee was fragrant and rejuvenating; simply inhaling the steam brought her an immense measure of comfort.

"Ah, but at least you're entertaining when you're mean. And cheap, too. It's boring listening to people faun over me, and how wonderful and witty and handsome I am. Why should I listen to them when I can have a daily dose of vitriol without having to offer to pay for its dinner?" Bruce settled down into the chair across from her, making himself comfortable and looking for all the world as though he was accustomed to chatting with her every morning.

Annabeth eyeballed him over the rim of her mug. "Do you even know how to spell vitriol? Or does Alfred just feed you a word of the day when you put on those ridiculous designer suits?"

Which ones? he was tempted to ask, but didn't. Instead, he just watched her sip at the coffee. "Long night? Too many dates in one weekend?"

The look she gave him was pitying. "I don't have the time to date." The coffee revived her enough to begin a search through a stack of papers on her desk. "Did you just come here to poke fun at my sleep-deprived state, or did you have a purpose for barging in here?"

He was unfazed. "I'm just saying, you're looking a little rough around the edges. You need more sleep…or maybe a spa day. I know this great spa resort, they have the best facial. It's a twenty-four carat gold peel-"

"Mr. Wayne." Annabeth had reverted to formality, a sure sign that whatever goodwill she had harbored towards him five minutes earlier was quickly running out. "Do I look like I would go for a gold facial peel? Do I look like I can afford it, or stomach it?"

"I guess not." He put on a sheepish expression and acted suitably rebuked. "Seriously, though. You look like you haven't slept in days."

Maybe it was the kindness he had shown in bringing her coffee, combined with her own weariness; for whatever reason, her defenses were down. "I haven't been sleeping," she told him. "Not much."

"Why not?"

Annabeth smiled, almost reluctantly. "I bet you don't have a problem sleeping, do you? Bet your head just hits that soft pillow of yours and you're out like a light?" She paused, a unhappy look creeping on to her face. "But we common folk, we've got problems, things that keep us up at night. And in my case…well. Let's just say that someone broke into my home recently, while I was there, and it scared the shit out of me. Reminded me how vulnerable everyone is in this damned city, and how we're not safe, even in the place where we should feel safest." Her voice drifted off for a moment, and her eyes went out of focus as she revisited the memories. "To dread going home…there's no hope or comfort for you." To her horror, tears began to sting her eyes. "And so when I go home, I can barely sleep. And when I do sleep, I have nightmares, night terrors."

Bruce knew about night terrors, and told her as much. "When I was a kid…after my parents were murdered, I had those night terrors. They were awful."

"They are, aren't they?" She was still dangerously close to crying, but he had given her something else to chew on. "Losing your parents like that, it must have been terrible. I wouldn't be surprised if you still got night terrors. That kind of trauma doesn't go away easily." For a moment, she thought of him as a frightened child, and felt a little badly about her previously snotty treatment of him. What happened to Bruce Wayne in his childhood was common legend in Gotham, but she didn't think about it much. The child she imagined Bruce Wayne to be had very little to do with the man before her now. But who knew? Maybe there was more of Thomas and Martha Wayne's child in that man than she had originally thought. "Anyway," she shrugged, trying to dispel some of the heavy atmosphere. "I'm not sleeping because I am fucking terrified, and I hate going home at night now."

Bruce was silent. When she looked at him, she couldn't quite make out his expression. If eyes were the windows to the soul, Bruce Wayne's soul was completely shuttered off. Or he just might not have one, Annabeth reminded herself. But every day that she worked with him, she doubted that more and more. Finally Bruce spoke, his words sincere, if completely inadequate. "I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "It's not your fault."

Oh really? Inwardly he cringed, but outwardly his expression remained the same. "Anyway, if you want, you can stay at Wayne Manor." He smiled suggestively. "I'm sure we can find a spare bed for you."

Annabeth snorted and rolled her eyes, and with that, the atmosphere was broken. "Bruce?"

"Yes?"

"Did you major in Assholology?"

He chuckled. "With a certification in Jerk Studies."

"Seriously," she waved her mug at him. "Why'd you bring me coffee? Why are you trying to suck up? I'm pretty low on the totem pole around here...I bet Donna would appreciate it more."

He didn't respond; he was busy fishing around in his briefcase. A moment later, he surfaced with what he was looking for: the newspaper. This morning's edition of the Gotham Gazette, which he passed to her. When he looked at her this time, the expression in his eyes was completely visible: sympathy. "I'm so sorry."

Annabeth was confused until she glanced down at the paper he offered her, and then his previous act of consideration made sense. The headline was big, bold, black, and declared danger and doom. Her heart sank. In a desperate attempt to avoid his sympathy and hide the she knew was evident in her face, she tried for levity. "You read the newspapers?"

"Just read the article!" he snapped. It was so out of character for his normal amiable personality that she was startled for a moment. But then she looked back down at the paper, and studied the text and the grainy pictures of the victims.

After a moment, "All of them were prostitutes," she whispered. She raised haunted eyes to Bruce. "It reminds me of Jack the Ripper…someone's targeting these women." She resumed reading the article. Each of the murders had taken place the previous night, in the Narrows…she hadn't been there to stop it. But I could have been a victim, too. The knowledge of this possibility sent a wave a nausea crashing into her stomach. "Oh god—excuse me." She rose quickly, her hand over her mouth, and darted out of the office.

Bruce only hesitated for a second before he followed, hard on her heels.

Annabeth dashed into the bathroom at the end of the corridor, not bothering to lock the door. She made it just in time, collapsing in front of the toilet and voiding the meager contents of her stomach. Even after it felt as though there were nothing left to bring up, she remained there, her head draped over the toilet—and a good thing, too, for a moment later she wretched again. Occupied thusly, she didn't hear the door open behind her, didn't notice the approaching footsteps until Bruce Wayne was crouching beside her, kindness and concern in his voice. "I thought I might help induce vomiting," he offered with a crooked smile.

She returned his smile with a weak one of her own just before another wave of nausea hit her, and she lowered her head again. She felt one hand on her forehead as he smoothed back her hair, another hand pressing in between her shoulder blades as he steadied her and channeled a calming effect through her as the dry heaves wracked her body.

Finally the nausea passed, and she was able to struggle to her feet, Bruce assisting with a hand at her elbow. "Thank you," she told him. "That doesn't usually happen."

"I've got plenty of experience making women want to vomit," he assured her. "Need a backrub?"

Annabeth moved away from his touch quickly, her shield of aloofness sliding itself back into place before his eyes. "No. I'm fine." She smiled, trying to take the abruptness out of the words. "Really. I need to get back to work."

Bruce watched her as she exited the bathroom and rather shakily made her way back down to her office. He had found out about the murders at four that morning, shortly after he had left Annabeth's fire escape. All had occurred close together, while he was out on Annabeth's fire escape. That thought alone bothered him deeply. All of the bodies had been moved, left in the shadows of the alleys in the worst part of the Narrows. An anonymous caller, someone who wanted the bodies to be discovered, had reported them. The Batman had learned this when Gordon had called from the encrypted phone, summoninh him to the MCU. He had never seen his comrade so shaken, so frustrated. Even when the Joker had nearly brought Gotham to its knees, he has been more collected. Then he could take action; now he could only do so much—in part because there was so little evidence to go on, but also because there was little departmental support. People tended not to get too worked up over the deaths of prostitutes, even when the deaths happened in large quantities.

Which was why he had bribed a certain enterprising reporter—and her boss—to run the story on the front page, along with an incendiary editorial tucked further back. Time to stir up a little awareness, see if the public couldn't be encouraged to raise a little bit of an outcry. Vicki Vale was a reporter that loved to report on Bruce Wayne—the more salacious and derogatory, the better. She loved to write about him, and he willingly provided her plenty of grist for the gossip mill. It was an arrangement they had: a little bit of flirting on both sides, and they could agree on stories that could achieve both of their ends. He willingly gave her some fodder for her gossip columns, and every now and then she would run a piece, encouraged by Bruce Wayne, that actually served some worthy purpose. It was actually a good working relationship. And Vale had stepped up to the plate as usual, providing a front-page story that revealed all the murders, told in a way that would be sure to pluck at the heartstrings of the good citizens of Gotham.

Now he followed Annabeth back to her office, and watched as she sat back down at her desk. She looked more exhausted than ever. Bruce felt a tightening in his chest for a moment as he considered what could have happened last night, had she been down in the Narrows, instead of at home. She could have been one of those women, beaten beyond recognition. That realization stopped him cold.

"What can we do?" he blurted out.

Annabeth jumped; she had assumed that he had wandered off to flirt with one of the clients, or talk with Donna. "Do?" she repeated. "About what? Those murders?"

He nodded.

"Bruce…" Annabeth started to say, and then stopped. What to tell him? How to explain that some times, some days, there was nothing they could do, or at least nothing more than they were already doing. Even her nocturnal visits to the Narrows couldn't do everything. She pitied him for a moment, pitied that he didn't yet understand that by and large, Safe Haven was treading water in a never-abating flood. As she struggled to find the words to explain this, she watched his face…and was disturbed to see a slightly maniacal gleam in his eyes. Right now he looked…well, he looked like how she did, before she went down to the Narrows. He wanted action. He wanted to do something, anything. Just don't let him do nothing.

In that moment, Annabeth truly began to accept that Bruce Wayne had become an ally, and wasn't just a passing benefactor. He was ready to fight.

They stared at each other from across the room, and an understanding flared between them. He watched her gaze soften, almost imperceptibly, and that alone did something to him that he wasn't sure he liked. Damn it, he liked her.

"Annabeth! Bruce!"

Donna's strident voice rang throughout the corridor as she came bustling through to Annabeth's office. "Oh good, you're both here—christ!" she exclaimed as she caught sight of Annabeth. "You look like hell, Annabeth!"

"Thanks, Boss Lady." Annabeth seemed unperturbed by Donna's assessment. "It's a new trend."

"Yeah, what's that? The 'hell in heels' look?" Donna was already losing interest in her protégé's personal appearance. "Just make sure you don't smell. Look, I wanted to talk with both of you. When do you have a minute?"

Bruce sidled up to her. "I'm always available." He winked at her, then turned to Annabeth. "Shall we join your lovely boss?"

"Actually, no, we can convene here." Donna wasn't the type who needed to manage her organization from behind the comfort of her own desk—Annabeth's would do just as well. She sat down, smoothing her pencil skirt as she did. "Do sit, Bruce, dear. Don't be shy."

"If you two are going to flirt your way through this meeting," Annabeth piped up, "do you mind if I tune you out? Threesomes aren't really my thing."

"Damn," Bruce muttered as he took the remaining seat. Both he and Annabeth turned expectantly to Donna. She looked right back at them, and smiled in satisfaction.

"This has been quite a happy marriage of resources, don't you think?" It was a rhetorical question, and she didn't waste time waiting for an answer. "Bruce, your presence here has been working wonders. Of course, we're grateful for every resource you have contributed, and we look forward to more in the future." Her smile grew wider, and her carefully-maintained pearly whites gleamed in a manner reminiscent of the Cheshire cat. "But your presence here is worth even more than your money."

"I don't hear that a lot," Bruce admitted.

"I bet you don't." Donna eyed him for a moment, assessing him before she spoke again. "You're quite the enigma, Bruce. Not nearly as dumb as I originally assumed. But you bring a lot of ideas, a lot of vision to Safe Haven. And you have a way with the clients—Marjane in particular is absolutely charmed by you."

"Well," Bruce pointed out reasonably, "No one else understands what she's saying."

"True. But she's learning a smattering of English, and even when you talk, she still likes you. You're doing something right."

Annabeth glanced at her watch. "Donna? Speed it along, please?"

"Yes, yes." Donna rolled her eyes. "I take it you both heard about the most recent murders?"

This question was not rhetorical. Both of them nodded, and Annabeth spoke cautiously. "Bruce was wondering if there's anything we can do."

Donna actually laughed aloud at this. "You've been spending too much time here, Bruce. You're turning into an idealist. Actually," she became serious, "There is something that we can do. A few things, actually. But they're only an indirect way to help."

"Better than nothing. What is it?" Bruce was eager to hear Donna's ideas, but Annabeth was a little more hesitant—god only knew what Donna would pull out of her hat.

Donna looked from one to the other, relishing their attention, before she spoke. "Take back the night."

"Huh?" Bruce was utterly clueless, but Annabeth—

"Yes!" A hopeful smile lit up Annabeth's face, transforming her features and causing Bruce to do a double-take. "Donna, that's brilliant!"

"Wait…I'm confused. What do you mean, 'take back the night'?" Bruce looked from one woman to the other.

It was Annabeth who answered his question. Annabeth, who was practically bouncing out of her seat with glee. "Take back the night, Bruce. It's a rally, a march, this huge thing that a lot of college towns do. People come from all over and gather together and rally and march as a way to bring attention to violence against women, and to protest it. It's called 'Take Back the Night', so that we—women—can make it so that it's safe for us to go out in the world, without fear." She turned back to Donna. "Do you think we can do it?"

Donna looked at Bruce, her lovely eyes glowing with heavy meaning. "I think it's time we try."

"Why haven't you organized this thing before? What's special now?" Bruce was having a hard time understanding what made now so important.

"We've tried, in the past, but we need municipal and political support, and Gotham bureaucracy was never willing to cooperate. It usually only takes place in college towns. For Gotham to do it—well, it would be unprecedented. The amount of red tape alone makes it a nightmare—requesting streets to be closed for the rally, getting the necessary permits, bagging the assistance of the Gotham PD. But there's also the need for an aggressive advertising campaign, finding a keynote speaker…if we were to do it, we'd have to do it right. Funding is an issue, too, of course." Donna stared at Bruce, and made sure that the penny dropped.

"Ah." Bruce smiled. "And now is the right time because…"

"Because we have a very formidable partner to assist us in this." Donna's eyes were alight with the possibilities. "What do you say, Bruce? Is the Prince of Gotham interested in making history? You'll be a champion of women's issues, known all over the country!"

"Hmmm. I can't imagine why that wouldn't impress every man at the country club," Bruce chuckled.

Annabeth spoke up. "Bruce, this is an incredible opportunity, not only to bring more support in, but to raise awareness. How many women have been murdered in the past month? Raped? Beaten? Sold into the black market? Stalked? And who in this goddamned city cares? Who reports these crimes? Who conducts investigations? How many suspects are caught, prosecuted, punished? Hardly any of them. If we can make people stop and think about it—well, we need to." Her eyes had that fanatical blaze in them, and Bruce found himself losing grasp of his reason as he watched her. Oh, this was bad.

"It's a good idea!" he agreed, more to distract himself from the unruly turn his thoughts had taken. "Really, I'm on board. And it's a great way for me to meet women, right?"

The only answer was a muffled thump as Annabeth began to knock her head against the desk.

Donna watched her for a moment, a smile playing on her lips, then turned her attention back to Bruce. "Right. Here's what needs to be done…"

It was almost lunch time by the time the three of them had hammered out a firm strategy. Each of them had their jobs, but Bruce's was the first that would have to be executed, and everything depended on him. He didn't seem too perturbed by it; it may have been the most crucial part of their plan, but it certainly wasn't anything that he hadn't done before. Annabeth allowed him to use the phone on his desk as he placed the first of many phone calls.

"Yes, I'd like to speak with Commissioner Gordon…oh, no, he's not available? Fiddlesticks. Not even for Bruce Wayne?" He grinned at Donna and Annabeth as he unabashedly wielded the influence of the Wayne family name. "Yes. I'll hold." A moment later, "Commissioner Gordon! You know who this is, yes? No…no…call me Bruce."

Annabeth and Donna shamelessly eavesdropped as Bruce conducted his conversation. Annabeth was confused as she listened to him talk; his voice had changed, become more…jocular. More lighthearted. The way he had sounded when he had first come to Safe Haven—and come to think of it, he hadn't sounded like that in a while. He was usually much more serious now…or at least most of the time. But now, as they listened to him work his way around Commissioner Gordon, Annabeth marveled at the personality change.

"I was wondering, Commissioner, if you might be interested in this little idea I have—what?" He listened for a moment, a small smile playing on his lips. "No, it doesn't involve emus. Or major fires. Nothing like that…how about a little fundraiser? Something to help out the GCPD? I know you're always strapped for funds. And what better way to prevent crime?" He paused again. "No, I didn't have a date with Mother Teresa last night. But I do have the advice of two very fine women that I'm sure you know…"

The call went on for a while, but finally Bruce hung up the phone and smiled at Annabeth and Donna. "It's done. A fundraiser, to be held in a few weeks—Gordon's going to get back with me on a few things. You really think this is going to work?"

"Oh yes," Donna assured him. "Gordon's no fool. I've worked with him plenty of times, and I can tell a guilty conscience when I see it. He'd like to do more about violence against women…you'll just have to pull out that Wayne charm of yours."

"That usually only works on the females," Bruce pointed out, and glanced at Annabeth, who was studiously ignoring him. "And even then, not always."

"Time to branch out a little then, eh?" Donna's chuckle bordered on the mischevious, and she actually rubbed her hands together. "Well done! Once we get the fundraiser going, we can secure the GCPD's support. And then, things should get a lot easier."

Not long after, Annabeth hurriedly gathered her things—she had scheduled a lunch meeting with April, the wife of the President of Gotham University. Bruce had informed Annabeth that April essentially called the shots in that romantic partnership, and that she was a useful ally. So Annabeth and April had played phone tag since their meeting at Bruce's party, and there was no way in hell she'd miss this lunch date, especially considering the support they would need from the University. She sped out of the building as quickly as she could, completely unaware that Bruce watched her go, a wistful expression on his face.

"Mister Bruce! Aziz!"

He turned to see a small female rushing towards him: Marjane, the Persian girl he had befriended on the first day he had come to Safe Haven. In the almost-two weeks she had been living there, she had thrived: the swelling on her face had almost disappeared, and her arm was healing nicely. Bruce had made sure to spend time with her each time he visited Safe Haven; the result was that she had grown to adore him, and had picked up a little English, as well. As well, Donna had arranged for a language tutor to come in a couple of days a week, and resultantly, Marjane was quickly grasping the language of her new country. Bruce had grown quite protective of her.

Now she beamed up at him. "You stay for nahar? How you say…lunch? I cook!"

Maya appeared at his elbow and began to steer him towards the elevator. "You'll want to stay for nahar," she told him. "Marjane's an incredible chef. Come with us to the dining room."

"We eat ghormeh sabzi today," Marjane informed him, and hurried off.

"What's gor-may sob-zee?" Maya muttered to him as they watched Marjane's departing back.

"It's a stew…a green stew." Bruce chuckled as apprehension crossed Maya's normally untroubled face. "Don't worry! It's very good!" He nodded in the direction that Marjane had gone. "How's she doing?"

Maya tucked a lock of her auburn hair behind her ear. "She's doing reasonably well…she misses her parents. We advised her not to contact them, since they'd probably tell her husband where she is. And that's hard for her…she's a sweet girl. Still a kid, and she needs parents. Not a husband who rapes her and beats her for not preventing a pregnancy."

"What's going to happen to her?"

At last, a subject with a satisfactory conclusion. "Donna's located a family in Metropolis, a Persian family, who are willing to act as a surrogate family. They own a restaurant, so she'll be able to help them with that all she wants, when she's not in school." Maya clearly regarded this as a good step forward for Marjane. "She's going to leave in a week or two. Donna's pulling a few strings with Immigration, so she'll be legal, too."

"What about…the other thing?"

"Other thing?" Maya repeated blankly. "Oh. That other thing." She sighed, clearly not happy. "Marjane says she wants to keep the baby."

Bruce was shocked. "She's only sixteen!"

"I know, I know. But having the right to choose doesn't automatically mean you're going to get an abortion. It means you have the freedom to decide what you want. And some women want to to carry to term." She smiled grimly. "But even then…the right to choose is a wonderful thing."

Up ahead, they heard Marjane's happy, excited voice as she coaxed other clients into the dining room. Within a few minutes, close to fifteen people were clustered around the dining table, warily gazing at the stew Marjane set before them.

One toddler burst into tears.

"Well." Maya was struggling to be diplomatic. "It is a lovely shade of green."

Bruce was already spooning an enormous portion onto his plate, along with a generous helping of tadiq, a traditional rice dish. "I promise you, it's delicious."

Where the Prince of Gotham went, others were sure to follow, and soon enough, everyone was digging into the stew and rice, exclaiming over the fragrance and the subtle flavors. Marjane simply sat back and watched, a smug smile playing over her lips.

As soon as the initial rush of eating had passed, conversation arose and immediately turned towards various issues; mainly, men. Safe Haven, Bruce was coming to find out, was little more than a sorority house for disadvantaged women, and there was certainly enough gossip and talking to rival a sorority. Crowded into a relatively small building the way they were, everyone couldn't help knowing what was going on with everyone else, and they all had an opinion.

On Donna:

"She's a man-eater," was Johnanna's admiring assessment. "She's got a new one every month."

"Donna's earned it!" Maggie protested. "She put up with enough crap, let her have her fun." The rest of the clients clustered around the table nodded fervently, all in agreement, even Marjane, who was slightly in awe of the polished, poised director of Safe Haven, and who probably didn't understand exactly what a "man-eater" was.

On Maya:

"When are you getting married to that boyfriend of yours?" Brianna asked her as she looked up from her son Luke, who was stubbornly refusing to eat the stew. "Come on, baby. When your sister gets home from school, don't you want to show her how brave you are?"

"Maya, if you don't marry that man, I'll take him off your hands for you," Johanna offered. "He's got huge hands."

This elicited a few ribald laughs and comments from the other women. Brianna covered Luke's ears.

Maya paused in her gusto consumption of Marjane's fast-disappearing meal. "The wedding's next spring. March."

"Unless Johanna gets a hold of him first," Donna interjected as she hurried into the room, amid hoots and catcalls directed towards Maya and her self-appointed rival. "Did you leave me any food? Oooh, good." She reached for the bowl that Marjane passed her and settled down next to Brianna. "What are we talking about?"

"Your man-harem," Maya stage-whispered, provoking a few more laughs.

"What about Annabeth?" Bruce asked. "She have a man-harem too?"

He wasn't expecting the burst of laughter that followed his question, but perhaps he should have. When Donna finally caught her breath, she managed to ask, "Are we working with the same Annabeth? Mean as hell and has to be restrained from castrating most men on principle?"

Maya wiped away the tears of mirth that had gathered at the edge of her eyes. "Do you remember that repairman that came in here one day and tried to flirt with her?"

Johanna had been there long enough to remember. "She made him cry a little, I think." She paused. "Or was that the code inspector?"

Shaking her head, Maya explained to Bruce, "Annabeth's a little…emotionally unavailable. The only person she dates is...well, all of us. She's devoted to her work."

"Oh." Bruce looked disappointed. "Why?"

The clients gazed at each other in confusion; to most of them, she was simply Annabeth, their advocate and protector. They had too many problems of their own to worry about Annabeth and her lack of romance. Donna and Maya, however, exchanged a heavy, meaningful look, one that was not lost on Bruce.

"Some people just have a purpose, a calling," Donna explained to Bruce. "And that's all that matters." Her expression clearly indicated that she wasn't happy with Annabeth's lifestyle choices, but Donna knew enough to stand out of her way. "Anything else would be an inconvenience to her."

"That's got to be pretty lonely ," Bruce mused. Christ knew he had enough firsthand experience to be an expert in that field.

Maya spoke up in defense of Annabeth. "I don't think Annabeth has the time to be lonely. She's either here or at the Y or the hospital or the Narrows-"

"Maya!" Donna exclaimed.

"What? It's the worst-kept secret in the damned city." Maya shrugged. "She's crazy for going down there night after night. She's lucky she hasn't gotten hurt yet."

"The Narrows?" Bruce repeated. "Isn't that the really dangerous place she was telling me about?"

"Yup." Maya was terse on this subject; it was apparent that she didn't think much of her colleague's night life. "It's a cesspool-"

"It's where she found me," Gillian interrupted. Bruce remembered her as the girl whose uncle had traded her for drugs. "Annabeth was down in the Narrows one night, heard one of my uncle's friends talking about me in one of the bars, and she tracked me down. I owe her everything."

Glancing around the table, Bruce could see that Gillian wasn't the only one who felt like that.

"What does she do down there?" he asked. Batman might know already, but Bruce Wayne had to play dumb.

"She looks out for people to help. Night after night, she walks those godforsaken streets and tries to bring women in here. She goes looking for trouble." Donna's voiced revealed the grudging pride she felt.

"Wow." Bruce put on the appearance of struggling to comprehend the sheer lunacy. "That's...intense."

Shortly thereafter, the conversation turned to more salacious subjects, but Bruce remained quiet and contemplative. Throughout the remainder of the meal, Donna watched him, her expression thoughtful, her eyes seeing what few others in the room had noticed.

Bruce Wayne was falling in love with the hellion of Safe Haven.

God help the poor son of a bitch.