Decades before there was Andrew Carnegie, there had been Solomon Wayne.
By contemporary accounts, this ancestor of the current Wayne heir had been an ornery and eccentric man, a shrewd business man, a dedicated judge, a committed abolitionist, and a generous philanthropist. While he didn't broadcast this fact, Bruce was extremely proud of this direct ancestor, and emulated him more than just a little. Solomon had been heavily influential in bringing the Gothic Revival movement to Gotham, and it was due largely to him and his colleague, the architect Cyrus Pinkey, that Gotham boasted such an array of foreboding, medieval-like buildings, gargoyles, and monuments.
Not only had Solomon Wayne continued to amass the family fortune, he had also harbored countless fugitives on the Underground Railroad, alienated countless Gotham socialites (only to win them back later), and became single-handedly responsible for the establishment and construction of the original Gotham Public Library System. Certainly, it had started small with the Central Library, in all its overwrought, neo-Gothic glory. However, Solomon Wayne was a visionary, and didn't stop there. He personally established ten other branches in his lifetime, but it was the Central Library that was quintessentially Gotham, and quintessentially Solomon Wayne. And long after he had passed from the earth, long after the words on his tombstone had weathered to almost nothing—as per the demands in his will—the Gotham Central Library carried on, perhaps the most noble testament to Solomon Wayne's infinitely worthy, fascinating life.
Nothing much had changed. A few renovations had taken place to ensure the gargoyles, the spires, and the stained glass didn't decay away and topple over onto some lawsuit-happy Gotham citizen. The building had been retrofitted with all the necessary technology, and the staff had certainly altered with each passing generation. But the building itself remained outwardly unchanged, a people's university, a community gathering place, a type of paradise.
As Bruce opened the passenger's door of the Rolls-Royce and extended a hand to assist Annabeth—she she ignored it—he couldn't help but to admire the magnificent building. Despite its age, it was as majestic as ever, and resembled nothing so much as a cathedral. And it was all because of Solomon Wayne.
They joined the small crowd of people heading up the stone steps into the Library, and as they did, Bruce offered Annabeth his arm. After a moment's slight hesitation, she slipped her hand through it and allowed him to lead her in.
As they entered the foyer and passed the security desk—here Bruce did a double-take; since when did libraries need security?—someone called out Annabeth's name, and after a moment, an attractive older woman hurried over and flung herself at Annabeth. "I was hoping you would come!"
Annabeth laughed, a little uncomfortable at this unexpected attention, and as quickly as she could, disentangled herself from the woman's embrace. "It's good to be here," she told the woman. "Autumn, I'd like you to meet my...friend. Bruce. Bruce, this is the Library Director, Autumn Robertson."
The woman turned to Bruce and gave him a warm smile. "Bruce, nice to meet you." He found himself a little bit dazzled by her appearance-she was tall, with prematurely-white hair done into a French twist, and startling grayish-silver eyes. These eyes narrowed in thought for a moment. "You look familiar. Are you one of our regulars?"
"I haven't been, but I might start." Bruce lapsed into his flirty manner, almost instinctively, and was aware of Annabeth's cynically amused smirk. Autumn, however, smiled understandingly, as though she were used to it happening all the time, and then moved on to greet another patron.
As Annabeth and Bruce slowly made their way to the auditorium, Bruce leaned down and hissed in her ear. "Since when do librarians look like that?"
"Since when have you been in a library long enough to know what librarians should look like?" Annabeth rolled her eyes. "Trust me, they're a breed apart-entirely different these days. Case in point," she nodded as another woman, this one substantially younger and possibly even prettier than Autumn, approached them. "Bruce, this is the Volunteer Coordinator, Ginny McGovern."
Ginny had a way about her, a sexual magnetism that paired well with her short,curvy body. She had lustrous black eyes complimented by equally black hair that flowed down her back, and she gripped Bruce's hand with a surprising firmness and gave him an appraising look. When she moved, it was with an unconscious sensuality that turned more than one head in the crowd. "Bruce?" She glanced back and forth between Annabeth and him. "As in, Bruce Wayne?"
Bruce gave her a smile that would have melted someone less self-possessed than Ginny. "I am. Nice to meet you...how do you know Annabeth?"
Ginny grinned at Annabeth with more than a little appreciation. "She volunteered for our adult literacy program for years...she only stopped when she got a real job. And then, before that, she was a hellion kid that terrorized the staff...at least that's what they tell me." She glanced at her watch. "I've got to go help set up...nice to meet you, Bruce!" She winked before heading off, leaving Annabeth to smile at Bruce's shell-shocked expression.
"I told you, a breed apart."
"I'm more intrigued by the description of you as a hellion." Bruce playfully bumped her shoulder with his own. "What sort of shenanigans did you get into? I had you pegged as a straight-edged kind of lady. Now, there's tattoos...teenaged rebellion...what else?"
"There's piercings."
Bruce's eyes lit up. "Really?"
"No. I just wanted to see how gullible you are." Annabeth begin to search for a couple of empty seats. "Jesus, Bruce, do you have a thing for bad girls? You keep unfolding like a delicate little flower."
He leaned in, far too close, and with his lips hovering just above her ear, he whispered, "So do you."
More and more people filled the auditorium-young and old, men and women, middle-class types, artsy students, even a few wealthy older people, and more than a few homeless folks, too. Annabeth was perfectly in her element, and as she sneaked a glance at Bruce, she was a little surprised to see that he seemed unperturbed by the motley assembly, crowded in cheek-by-jowl. In fact, as the auditorium became more and more crowded, he caught sight of an older woman searching for a seat, and hastily gave it up for her, opting to stand with the late-arrivals.
A moment later, Annabeth joined him.
"You should have stayed," Bruce protested, but Annabeth shook her head.
"They'll bring out some folding chairs. Besides, what's the point in bringing me out if you can't be photographed with me?"
"As I remember, you asked me out. Practically bullied me into it." Bruce was enjoying himself immensely.
A few moments later, library clerks materialized with the promised folding chairs, and they were able to sit down once more. By that time, however, more than one person had caught sight of the rather imposing figure of Bruce Wayne, and people were beginning to whisper. As Bruce and Annabeth settled into their seats, they were temporarily blinded by the flash of several cameras.
Annabeth smirked. "Score."
Slowly, Bruce draped his arm around the back of Annabeth's chair, an action which was not lost on her. She glanced over and inched away from him a little. "You know, I really do like my personal space."
"I feel like a freshman on a first date," Bruce sighed. "Can you at least pretend a little bit?"
She squirmed and looked a little guilty. "For a little bit. But...I mean it. I don't like to be crowded."
Bruce glanced around at the auditorium, now seething with people. "Are you sure you're in the right place?"
"I'll be fine." There was a grim set to Annabeth's mouth, and a determined glint in her eyes. "I'm not going anywhere."
Not long after, the house lights dimmed, and the classical pianist, a prodigy from Boston, stepped onto the stage, took a quick bow, and sat down for his performance. Unconsciously, both Bruce and Annabeth leaned forward, allowing the music to wash over them. Bruce remained intensely focused, listening to the notes, the cadences, watching the pianist's motions and performance; for him, it was a way to detach from the present and become analytical with no pressures involved; he simply observed the performance. For Annabeth, the pieces coaxed her into a calmer state of being, transported her past the crowds and took her to a place where life was much more simple and pure.
From time to time, Annabeth surfaced from her peaceful state of mind and glanced over at Bruce, who seemed to be unaware of his surroundings, so focused was he. In the auditorium's darkness, his individual features were obscured, but she still saw enough to have a pleasing view. Sure, he was easy on the eyes-Janey had plied her with demands for a description of what Bruce looked actually looked like, in the flesh, and grudgingly, Annabeth had complied. Now, however, under the cover of darkness, she allowed herself to study him with a little more thoroughness. And the more she thought about it, the more she liked what she saw. Dammit.
There was something, though, something that she hadn't noticed before, something that she was only now becoming aware of, crowded in close as she was. He was more...substantial...than she would have imagined; it felt as though there were a massive power coiled in his body, ready to strike. It wasn't anything she could put her finger on; it was just an unexpected observation and her own paranoia, most likely...nevertheless, it made her slightly twitchy. Until Bruce glanced over and saw her staring, at which point his nicely-sculpted lips curved upwards in a small but warm smile, and Annabeth relaxed once more.
When the final notes faded away, and the crowd rose for intermission, Annabeth was one of the first to rise. "Be right back," she muttered, before darting out of the auditorium before the crowds. Bruce shrugged and simply began to people-watch, silently observing these citizens of Gotham. These were the people to whom he had dedicated his life; it stood to reason he should spend time with them.
Before long, however, he noticed someone approaching: the breathtaking Library Director, Autumn. This time, she was singling him out, headed his way. "Mr. Wayne!"
Bruce shook her hand. "You discovered me, huh?"
"Word travels fast around here," Autumn smiled. "I'm afraid I don't keep up with social news, which was why I didn't recognize you. So what brings you here?"
"Annabeth." Bruce glanced around, then leaned in closer. "We're dating."
"Really?" Autumn's tone indicated, perhaps, a little disbelief, but with the tact of a typical bureaucrat, she smoothly covered her tracks. "Annabeth's a lovely woman...and clearly a good influence, if you're coming to the library. It's not normally the domain of billionaires."
"I like to see where my tax dollars go." Bruce took in the stately surroundings. "I'm pretty certain they're being put to good use."
"They certainly are," Autumn assured him. "If for no other reason than to offer a safe haven for so many of the city's youth. That's how we got to know Annabeth here, you know. She started turning up here, every day after school, more often than not causing problems. Terrorizing the staff, annoying the patrons, trying to start fights."
Bruce was not as surprised as he could have been—in a way, knowing of Annabeth's fierce fighting spirit and smoldering anger, this was no longer news. But here was an opportunity to go digging...so he prompted Autumn, just a little. "Annabeth was in foster care, wasn't she? A ward of the state?"
"She was. And somehow, despite all indications to the contrary, she turned out remarkably well. We had some staff that really stuck by her and helped. She was a terribly smart girl...but with no love, no direction, no nurturing, she got lost. Somehow she managed to find her way...she was one of the lucky ones." Autumn smiled at her memories of the younger Annabeth. "I remember...she must have been about ten. Was hanging out here at the library one evening, when her foster father showed up. He was the reason she began spending so much time here...she was scared of him. He came in that night, in fits about something, and he started to get rough with her. I was the head of Reference then, and was about to call the police, when she just hauled off and kicked him where she knew it would hurt. Ten years old, and she knew that."
Just hearing the story now, so many years after the fact, set Bruce's pulse racing with the all-too-familiar rage. He allowed himself a moment to master it, and then asked, in what he hoped wasn't the voice he reserved for the Batsuit, "What happened then?"
"I can't remember," Autumn smiled sadly, but before she could say anything more, Annabeth's voice chimed in from behind them.
"What happened was that he took me home that night and slapped me silly. I had some bruises for a week after." She sidled up to Bruce. "Been nosy, have you?"
"I was bored...you left me to my own devices. Disaster usually strikes." Bruce gave Autumn an appreciative look as the director wandered off to schmooze, and then turned back to Annabeth. "I'm sorry. You don't exactly seem very...open about yourself. Where did you go, anyway?"
"I ducked out for a bit, so the crowds wouldn't get to me." Annabeth glanced around; even now, as people were beginning to settle back into their seats, the atmosphere was too close and pressing for her comfort. "Look, Bruce, if you want to know about me...just ask."
"Will you answer?"
"Probably not." Annabeth saw him about to protest, and went on to explain. "At least, not yet. I barely know you. And I know I've been an asshole to you. I haven't been fair. I want to..." she paused, clearly struggling. "I want to be able to talk to you. Just...give me some time."
He looked down at her, seeing past her barriers and her defensive posture...all along, he had sensed her fear and her coldness, and it was then, as he saw the fear in her eyes, felt the anxiety that emanated off of her, that he realized that there was someone in Gotham more broken than even he. It was an incredibly saddening thought, and as it occurred to him, Bruce felt flooded by an empathy he had never expected, nor even wanted. Annabeth could represent all of Gotham-the Gotham he had failed.
Slowly, tentatively, Bruce reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders, and with infinite tenderness, he pulled her into his body, just close enough to place a kiss on the crown of her head, before he released her and stepped back. In the background, he could hear the click of half a dozen cameras, but the flashes did not blind him, and so he had the gratification of seeing Annabeth standing, looking somewhat dazed...and maybe, just a little bit happy.
He started to turn away, but before he could, Annabeth caught his arm and gave a slight tug. "Thank you." She didn't look very comfortable with the exchange, but she was trying, at least. "Sometimes, you really are a prince." As she said it, she blushed down to her roots.
When the intermission was over, and the music commenced once more, Bruce and Annabeth turned their attention back to the stage and tried to ignore the roaring confusion in their heads and the muted excitement in their hearts.
By the end of the concert, everyone knew that the Prince of Gotham had descended from on high to mingle with the commoners.. Annabeth could sense the rising interest of the crowds, in the low murmurs she could hear over the music, and in the stares from the patrons around them. She began to get restless, shifting in her seat, occasionally glancing around, becoming hyper-alert.
Beside her, Bruce could sense her heightened discomfort. His arm, which up until now had been casually draped around the back of her chair, slowly tightened around her shoulders protectively, and he gave a brief squeeze before withdrawing entirely—giving just enough physical reassurance without contributing to her tension. He felt a little guilty. Nothing could have adequately prepared her for the kind of scrutiny that hounded him. Long ago he had learned to accept, if not embrace, this scrutiny, but it was an entirely new thing to Annabeth. Now the vultures were about to descend, and she'd have to learn to cope through total immersion. Effective, perhaps...but not a comforting thought.
"Are you alright?" he murmured.
Annabeth stiffened, not realizing he had been observing her so closely. "I'll be fine. I just don't-"
"—like crowds," Bruce finished for her. "You sure you're up for this? I think the press may have been breeding like bunnies since intermission."
"I'll manage."
In reality, as the concert ended, and the patrons and staff rose and began to mingle, it was Annabeth's Gethsemane. Truly, in that moment before the crowds began to swarm, she prayed for the cup to pass from her lips. But, after all, coming to the concert had been her idea, and while she suspected it would be a success, she wasn't expecting this. She began to feel the familiar, crushing weight on her chest, and her heart began to pound.
Bruce placed a hand at the small of her back and leaned in close, and for once, Annabeth didn't protest or shrink away. He could feel the tension building within her, and he heard her breathing begin to grow more rapid. "Listen to my voice. Focus on it." His voice was low, barely audible over the noisy laughter and chatter of the crowds, yet it commanded her attention. "Breathe, slowly, from your diaphragm. Stick close to me." He glanced down at her, and noticed at how small and terrified she looked. "Anticipating all the crowds and the press is only going to make it worse. Don't think—just do."
Together they began to inch their way out of the auditorium.
"Bruce! Mr. Wayne!"
Without drawing away from Annabeth, Bruce looked over to the source of the bellowing voice. It was Vicki Vale, his favorite reporter for the Gazette, looking practically feral as she descended upon them. "What brings you out to the public library, Bruce? Don't you have more prestigious places to go?"
Bruce smiled toothily. "Don't you think the library is prestigious, Ms. Vale?" Annabeth's words came into his mind with effortless recollection. "After all, it is the people's university."
"How very… egalitarian." Like the good reporter she was, Vicki seemed quite unconvinced.
Distracted by the forceful reporters who stood before them, Annabeth had managed to calm down somewhat, and watched as Bruce handled the press with finesse and ease and even graciousness. He must have spent his whole life in the media spotlight, and it didn't seem to bother him in the slightest—the man must have developed the patience of a saint. And here the press was, looking for an angle from which they could ridicule him once more. Suddenly, Annabeth found herself quite riled up.
"What's wrong with Bruce coming to the library?" she piped up, taking both Bruce and Vicki by surprise. "He pays his taxes like everyone else, so he should be able to enjoy the same things we do! The library's open for everyone." Her eyes flashed a challenge, daring Vicki to contradict her.
Bruce did his best not to show his surprise. Actually, Annabeth looked a little surprised, too. But he recognized the fire within her, and Vicki's pretend snobbery was fanning the flames. "It's about time the people of Gotham mingle a little more, don't you think?" she asked Vicki. "Maybe it's a good idea for us all to start bridging the economic divide and stop making assumptions about each other. It's high time we all come together and be willing to learn more and suspend our prejudices and our ignorance. Bruce Wayne is man enough to step up—so what about the rest of you?" She stopped abruptly, her chest heaving. The panic hadn't receded completely, but this had served as enough of a distraction to keep it at bay.
For the first time, Vicki really focused on the woman who by Bruce Wayne's side, and recognized Annabeth from the tabloid picture taken at The Top of Gotham. She practically licked her lips in anticipation; she scented fresh kill. "Are you going to tell us who your companion is, Bruce?"
By this point, half a dozen reporters within the vicinity, as well as an equal number of photographers, and even a fair amount of patrons, were hovering with baited breath. Out of the corner of her eye, Annabeth saw Autumn and Ginny lurking, trying to overhear as much as possible.
Aware of the attention, aware that much depended on how he presented himself, Bruce squeezed Annabeth to him and looked down at her adoringly. "This is Annabeth de Burgh. She's a hardworking Gotham citizen—social worker, counselor, volunteer, and lobbyist for economic and gender equality. She's the best kind of person, the kind of person we need more of in Gotham." Here he looked squarely at Vicki, and then turned to the cameras and tried to look as love-struck as possible. "And, lucky me—she's my girlfriend." He gave a vapid grin, signature Brucie Wayne. "How long before you think she gets sick of me?"
The crowd, and even Vicki Vale, laughed at this, delighted to see their Prince acting worthy of his crown for once. And then there were a dozen camera flashes illuminating the library, and Annabeth smiled a sickly little smile and tried her hardest not to strangle Bruce. After all, that's not what girlfriends—real or imaginary—did to their billionaire boyfriends. But judging by the guilty looks Bruce was sneaking her, he was clearly not discounting the possibility.
Not long after, they managed to disentangle themselves from the crowd—although not before Bruce managed to very publicly present Autumn and the Gotham Central Library with a substantial check, to the infinite delight of the press. Annabeth shook her head, but was secretly pleased... it was a business relationship, after all, and if everyone benefited the way the Library and Safe Haven did, she wasn't going to protest too much.
But still...as they left the building, she gave him a little bit of a hard time. "Why'd you give the check in public? Why not anonymously?"
"Are you questioning my motives?" Bruce didn't appear affronted, however. "If I did it anonymously, who would know? Who would care? Where Bruce Wayne goes, the rest of the wealthy of Gotham will follow. I promise you, supporting the 'people's university' is going to be the next big thing."
Annabeth shook her head. "You can be a disturbingly manipulative person, Bruce, has anyone ever told you that?"
Wisely, he remained silent.
Alfred had managed to park the Rolls-Royce by the curb, right outside the Library steps, so that when Bruce and Annabeth emerged into the cool evening, and together, the they were able to hurry into the idling vehicle and elude the press as they streamed out of the building in pursuit. As the car pulled away from the curb, Bruce turned to Annabeth. "That was more effective than I expected it to be."
"You certainly milked it for all you were worth," Annabeth retorted. "Girlfriend? I know it's been a while since I've dated, but aren't guys supposed to ask before they promote their dates? Alfred? What do you think?"
Alfred glanced into the rearview mirror. "In my general experience, that is the standard practice. But then, I come from the era where grunts and clubs worked just as well. Or offering a dowry to the patriarch of the family."
Bruce laughed. "Well, Annabeth, you certainly gave them food for thought. I didn't think you'd jump in like that." Secretly, he was more than a little proud; day by day, she was revealing more and more grit. " 'Suspend our prejudices and ignorance'? Hello, pot! It's kettle, you're looking mighty black." In a quieter voice, so that Alfred couldn't hear, he told her, "You were amazing."
Annabeth didn't answer. She looked out the window on her side of the car, and watched the cityscape glide past. Occasionally a streetlamp would cast a yellowish glow on her face, which was otherwise obscured in the darkness of the car. Finally she turned back to him. "You were pretty great, too. Thank you for keeping me grounded. When there are crowds, sometimes I can get a little…" she paused, trying to search for the right words.
"Neurotic? Unhinged?" Bruce helpfully supplied. "Crazy?"
"No." Annabeth smiled despite herself. "I was going to say 'intense.' And it's not all the time that it happens. Just sometimes, when I'm already under stress, or when it feels like I can't get away. Anyway…you handled me better than I handle myself. Thank you."
Bruce was aware of Alfred, gazing at them once more in the rearview mirror. He was probably getting plenty of fodder with which to torment him.
"Any business issues come up tonight, Alfred?"
Their eyes met, and both of them knew that Bruce was referring to business more serious than Wayne Enterprises. Fortunately, Alfred was able to answer, "Nary a peep, Master Bruce. All is quiet with…the business."
A certain amount of euphoria was beginning to overtake Annabeth; it had been an extraordinary day for her, and for lack of any better way for her to process everything, she decided once more to pursue the noble path of liminality and push her own boundaries. She was feeling kindly disposed to all of humanity, and so decided to chat up Alfred. "Does Bruce always work this hard, Alfred? Seems like he's always talking about 'the business.'"
Alfred was keenly aware of Bruce's eyes boring into the back of his head. "Oh, yes, Miss Annabeth. Bruce is quite dedicated to his job. It keeps him up all night, sometimes. You'd be amazed at all the hard knocks he's willing to take for his business."
Now Bruce was staring out the car window. It was either that or trying to kill Alfred with his eyes, and he simply hadn't mastered that particular skill.
Yet.
However, Annabeth was gratifyingly—and unexpectedly—impressed. "I didn't realize just how dedicated you were, Bruce."
He grinned wickedly at her. "Time to suspend your prejudices and ignorance, don't you think?"
It was a short drive from the Library to Safe Haven, and soon the Rolls glided to a stop in front of the brownstone. Annabeth prepared to get out, but was surprised to see Bruce alight from his side of the vehicle and hurry over to her side of the car. He opened the door and offered her his hand, but Annabeth shook her head. "Date's over." She bade Alfred goodnight and began to climb the steps of the brownstone building, but saw Bruce sticking by her side. "Bruce, when the date's over, you go home and…do what ever it is you do in that enormous house of yours."
"I thought maybe…I could stay here a little while longer?" Bruce's voice was hopeful. Annabeth noted that it lacked his habitual self-assurance.
"There's no press here, Bruce. You don't need to milk the date anymore."
He shook his head. "I'm not milking anything, Annabeth. I just…don't want to go home. I'd rather be here."
She looked away for a moment, considering. When she turned and looked at him again, it was with a gaze of sympathy and understanding. "I know the feeling. Come on inside."
Outside, clouds began to gather, and the temperature rapidly fell—a sure sign that autumn had come to Gotham. Within the walls of Safe Haven, however, all was comfortable, even downright cozy. In the common room, which, Bruce learned, was where almost everyone gravitated to in the evenings, the atmosphere was actually cheerful. Over a dozen women had made themselves comfortable, as well as half as many children again. The women chattered, read, watched television, fussed at their children; a few kept to themselves; one stretched out on the couch and slept.
"New arrival," Annabeth whispered as she and Bruce settled in at one of the tables. "She's depressed-sometimes they are at first. It's a hard adjustment."
Bruce nodded, but his attention was focused on the children. All of them seemed unusually subdued for children, but then, given their circumstances, perhaps it wasn't so strange. One child in particular, a girl no more than four or five, looked particularly somber as she quietly played with a menagerie of stuffed animals. Every now and then, she would glance over at her peers-two children playing with the wooden block set-but didn't seem interested in joining them.
"That's Jaclyn," Annabeth informed him. "She and her mom came in last week-her mom had just gotten out of the hospital."
"What was wrong with her?"
"Her husband shot her." Annabeth paused. "In front of Jaclyn."
Bruce let out a breath and focused more closely on Jaclyn. Her silence seemed disturbing, now, and he began to wonder how the girl was internalizing all she saw. "Will she be okay?"
"Who? Jaclyn or her mom?"
"Both."
"I hope so." Annabeth didn't seem too optimistic. "They've been in here before, actually. And then Jaclyn's mom went back to the husband last time."
"Why?" Bruce was genuinely baffled. "Why would someone go back to that kind of situation?"
"Lots of reasons. Financial reasons, for example—they think they can't make it on their own. Sometimes they're right; they have no marketable skills. Or sometimes they think that they don't deserve any better-society does a great job of devaluing and objectifying women, and getting us to internalize it. And then, there are some women that just get addicted to the angst in the relationship. And then there's the saddest reason of all."
"What's that?"
Annabeth laughed, but there was no mirth in her voice. "The oldest reason alive. Lust." She paused. "And even more than that, love."
"No." Bruce rejected that, flat out. "That's not love."
"It is to them, Bruce. Not all love is healthy love. There's obsessive, sick, violent love—which isn't really love at all, not the way it's usually defined. It's pathological, really.People get warped ideas of love. Just look at all these children. Think of all the boys that have come through here, having seen their fathers beat and threaten and manipulate and control their mothers. That's what they're raised to see as acceptable. And the girls learn to accept it, too. And sometimes, that kind of love is just a nasty addiction, and going cold turkey is hard."
With that, she abandoned him and settled down on the floor beside Jaclyn, where together they played with the stuffed animals. Bruce remained at the table and contemplated the scene before him. Annabeth amazed him; she truly did. He didn't know how it had come to pass, but he knew, truly knew, that much of what Annabeth had learned, she had learned the hard way. Briefly he thought of the various models, actresses, and socialites he had half-heartedly pursued; while their physical beauty was astounding, not one of them had the internal grace and tenacity that Annabeth did. Nor did they have the issues, the moodiness, the resentment, the hostility, or the substantial chip that Annabeth carried. And yet…none of them had intrigued and challenged him as Annabeth did.
Suddenly, he felt foolish for remaining at the table, holding himself aloof from the activities of the rest of the room, and after a moment's deliberation, he joined Annabeth and Jaclyn on the floor. Annabeth looked at him with surprise, but Jaclyn, somber though she was, offered him the simple smile of a child and offered him a stuffed cat that had clearly seen better days.
Jaclyn didn't speak much, but she gradually grew more relaxed in the presence of two adults who were not trying to kill each other. Bruce and Annabeth coaxed her with the stuffed animals, and then Bruce began piling all of them on top of Jaclyn, which provoked from her an unexpected laugh of glee. More than one of the clients looked over at them, all of them wearing the same expression of surprise that Annabeth now had.
"That's the first time she laughed since she got here," she told Bruce, not trying to hide the admiration in her voice. "You made her laugh."
Bruce tried to downplay it. "It's not a big deal." He began to tickle Jaclyn, which provoked another wave of giggles, but his attention was still on Annabeth. "I remember feeling like I could never smile again, when I was a child. That numbness, that hollow feeling. No child should ever have to feel like that."
Annabeth knew the feeling, too, all too well, but didn't feel the need to share it. After all, Bruce was referring to the death of his parents, which he rarely did, and which Annabeth was ashamed to say she didn't often think about.
"I forget sometimes," she told him. "I forget that shitty things happened to you, too."
Bruce smiled gently. "You forget because I don't publicly dwell on it. It's not your fault." How can you know I obsess over it every day and night and let it control almost every move I make and let it mold every aspect of who I am, layer upon layer? Wisely, he kept that thought to himself, and changed the subject to something that was less likely to provoke her to tears or him to don Kevlar. "Have you heard from Marjane?" he asked.
Annabeth looked up from the tatty stuffed elephant she held. "Yeah, she called a little earlier in the week. That reminded me-she asked me to tell you hello. I think she misses you." She shook her head. "Craziness."
"How's she doing?"
"Good...she's being home-schooled for the moment. I think she's going to give the baby up for adoption. But...I think she's really homesick. She kept talking about her parents, back in Iran. She can't contact them. My guess is that if she does, they'll tell her husband where she is."
Bruce remembered the frightened, injured girl who had arrived at Safe Haven the same day he had paid his first visit; perhaps it has beenhelping her that had really opened him to the idea of helping Safe Haven on a personal level. Being able to provide some comfort and help was an incredible feeling, vastly different than what he felt during his never-ending nighttime war. At least at Safe Haven, the relief was immediate and effective. "It has to be hard."
"It is hard, for all of them. Especially the ones that go into hiding, and change their identities. I don't know if I could have that kind of courage." Annabeth's voice was almost reverential. "It might not be much of a life I have here, but it would be awful to leave it."
Any answer he might have given was interrupted as the intercom on the wall buzzed, and the night guard's voice blared over the speaker. "Intake in the lobby, Annabeth."
Instantly, Annabeth was on her feet and heading towards the door.
"What's an intake?" Bruce asked before she left.
"A new client. Or a new family of clients." Annabeth slipped into business mode before his eyes. "I've got to go interview them and determine what they need. Sometimes they need medical attention. Stay here, hang out...or do whatever it was you were planning to do." She was out the door, but poked her head back inside, a small smile quirking at her lips. "Don't play with matches. And the emus are off-limits."
It had been for this opportunity that Bruce had decided to hang around. As soon as he was certain that Annabeth had headed down to the lobby, he encircled Jaclyn with an army of stuffed animals—this, too, delighted her—and casually rose and exited the common room, making sure none of the clients observed him. He had to move quickly, decisively-and so he wasted no time in making tracks for Annabeth's office.
The door was locked, but a few moment's jimmying had the door open in no time. From that point on, Bruce worked silently, and without interruption: methodically he searched her office, digging through the stacks of files and paperwork until he found exactly what he had been searching for, and what had compelled him to return to Safe Haven this evening. He found the blank money order, the one that had perturbed Annabeth so earlier in the day, and studied it closely. When he flipped it over, that was when he saw the terse message, succinct and sinister and penned in beautiful, neat script:
I need your help, and I can give you help too. Meet me in the alley behind the Narrows Y on Monday the 29th at 10 PM.
Bruce knew where he would be going on the night of the 29th. After all, the note hadn't said that Annabeth should come alone.