Headline from the Monday, November 3, 2008 edition of the Gotham Gazette:

MAYOR ANNOUNCES MASSIVE RALLY OF HISTORICAL PROPORTIONS

In what many are calling a surprising move motivated by local politics, Mayor Garcia issued an announcement on Sunday morning in which he promised the launching of an "aggressive campaign directed against violence towards women." In his statement, he cites "alarming trends in crime statistics of domestic violence and sexual assault" and warns: "If we do not address these crimes with swift and sure justice, if we do not raise public awareness, then we stand the risk of rearing our city's children in an environment which will provide fertile ground for these horrific and degrading crimes to increase at an exponential rate."

One of Garcia's tactics will be to lead Gotham in its first-ever "Take Back the Night" rally directed towards raising awareness of these crimes. Recently, 'Take Back the Night' rallies have become popular in college towns, and have drawn large turn-outs of citizens eager to raise awareness and combat crime against women. The rally is scheduled to take place on several blocks of downtown Gotham City on the day of December 27, 2008. Despite the fact that it is being held during the traditionally-slow week between Christmas and New Year's, a large turn out is anticipated. The Mayor's Office is currently working with the Gotham Chapter of the National Organization of Women, the Gotham City Rape Crisis Center, the Gotham YWCA, as well as numerous other local private organizations dedicated to women's issues.

Many of Garcia's critics claim he is motivated not by concerns for women's safety, but rather politics: already, his supporters have begun the campaign for his re-election in November of 2009, and critics claim that this is simply the latest plot in a series of moves by Garcia to pander to female voters who voted overwhelmingly for him in the last election.

Excerpt from the Monday, November 3, 2008 edition of the Gotham Gazette, Society Column, Section B1:

SAME OLD DOG, SAME OLD TRICKS

It appears that Gotham's Golden Boy is up to his typical shenanigans: Gazette correspondents were making the social rounds this weekend when they encountered Bruce Wayne out on the town, enjoying some of the more pleasant sights of the City: namely, the 2008 Miss Gotham University Beauty Pageant. This year, it was held at the Matador Hotel, and while the profiles of the winners are listed elsewhere (refer to the Local Section, D1), there was one profile in particular that Bruce Wayne seemed to study: that of India MacDonald, a 22-year-old GU senior majoring in Business Administration. After the pageant, Wayne was observed at her table, engrossed in conversation with Miss MacDonald as well as Katie Moriarty, wife of GU's president. Nowhere in evidence was Wayne's latest-and apparently, short-lived-paramour, the enigmatic Annabeth de Burgh. This is one dog that doesn't bury one bone before he begins to gnaw on the next.

Down, boy!

Excerpt From the Monday, November 3, 2008 edition of the Gotham Gazette, Business Section, C1:

National Economy Flagging, But Wayne Enterprises Is Keeping Spirits Up

Amidst growing national concerns regarding the U.S. economy's continued downturn, Wayne Enterprises released its 2007-2008 annual report, in which investors and employees may take heart. Among other encouraging numbers, the report indicates a shareholder dividend increase of 17 percent from the previous year, revenues of $ 88.8 billion, and an additional 3,000 jobs added in Gotham City alone. Despite a slight decrease in stock prices during the last month of Wayne Enterprise's FYE 9/30/2008, stocks have regained previous losses and in fact are currently healthy, considering the depressed prices prevalent on the stock exchange at present.

When asked to comment on his family company's success, Bruce Wayne had only the following to say: "While Wayne Enterprises continues from strength to strength, we continue to suffer from the loss of our former CEO, Lucius Fox. Lucius was an extraordinarily ethical man, as well as a visionary who brought an element of integrity to Wayne Enterprises, integrity which guided us through some of our most difficult moment. It's my firm belief that is with Mr. Fox that we will find our greatest strengths and successes, and my hope that he will one day return to the helm of Wayne Enterprises.

Anyone walking into the little corner cafe that Monday morning might be forgiven for thinking that two strangers were sitting at one booth: all they would have been able to see were two newspapers, held up, each blocking the faces of the other person at the booth. Those who knew the two readers knew that it was simply Annabeth and Janey, sharing a silent, companionable, early-morning breakfast as they took in the news and events of Gotham. The comedic appearance of the two newspapers was the source of much amusement for the more socially-minded regulars, who had long grown accustomed to the two women and their occasionally antisocial habit of ignoring each other.

They had been like that now for forty-five minutes. As soon as Sara had seated them, taken their orders, and brought them their requisite mugs of steaming coffee, each of them had unfurled their edition of the Gotham Gazette, snapped it open, and taken refuge behind its pages of dense, inky print.

From behind the depths of her paper floated Janey's voice. "Your boyfriend certainly keeps himself busy."

Without lowering her paper, Annabeth simply retorted, "He's not my boyfriend."

"No," Janey agreed. "Especially if you believe what the Gazette is saying on Page B1."

This did provoke a more spirited response from Annabeth, although she still didn't lower her paper. "You're inclined to believe the newspaper that prioritizes the Society section before the local news or business? 'Dear readers, sorry the economy is tanking, more on that later, but right now, let's hear about who Bruce Wayne is banging!'"

"This coming from the woman who actually continues reading the newspaper as she insults it." Janey clucked her tongue before she gave up reading and began to pick at the cold, soggy remains of her breakfast.

"It helps to know what the enemy is saying." Annabeth decided she had had enough, too, and threw down the newspaper in disgust. "Although, in this case, the enemy is a tad second-rate, and isn't fit to wrap fish in." She reached for her cup of coffee and frowned at the dregs. Sara, long attuned to her addiction, promptly materialized with another pot. "Anyway, since when do you follow the comings and goings of society playboys?"

"Since one of them seems to be intent on courting my best friend, only to publicly break her heart three days later." Janey's frown was fierce. "Why aren't you as riled up as I am? After what you told him-"

"What I told him, Janey, was not to try to sway things one way or another. I just figured he'd put up with my crap long enough, he deserved to know why I am the way I am."

"That's fine. I understand that. What I don't understand is how it only took you a few hours to explain." Janey's smile was grim. "I didn't think my best friend could sum up her crazy that quickly."

"I gave him an edited version. No sense in going over all the gory details."

"I suppose not. But what I don't understand is how you're handling this so well..." Janey thumped the newspaper, hard, with her forefinger. "According to the newspaper, he's moved on. Right after you told him everything. Why aren't you mad?"

"Who says I'm not?" Annabeth leaned forward, and all pretenses at sangfroid were discarded along with her copy of the Gazette. "He called over the weekend, and never mentioned anything about a Little Miss Gotham show...right now I'd kind of like to throttle him, or maybe punch him in the head. Failing all that, I'd at least like to know what the hell is going on."

"So would I." Janey's eyes glinted dangerously. "And...here's our chance."

The bell attached to the front door tinkled merrily as it swung open and Bruce Wayne stepped into the cafe, bringing a puff of cold wind with him as he did. He paused for a moment, scanning the early-morning crowd and taking in Madison Rose, muttering over her coffee, and Sara, who gazed warily at him for a moment, before he caught sight of Annabeth and Janey and began to shuffle, somewhat stiffly, over to their table. He had been out the night before, patrolling the docks, and while it had been an early night, the smugglers he had encountered—seven of them—had put up a hell of a fight. His chest and back were a mass of bruises, and he was beginning to suspect that he had sprained his knee. Nevertheless..."Good morning!" he proclaimed with more cheer than he felt as he approached Annabeth and Janey. Without ceremony, he seated himself next to Annabeth in the booth and gave them a winning grin.

Annabeth managed a feeble smile; Janey simply glared at him with venom practically dripping from his eyes.

"Bruce...this is my friend, Janey Lightoller. Janey, this is Bruce." She kept her voice light, and tried not to acknowledge the fact that Janey was glaring daggers at Bruce. She aimed a kick at Janey underneath the table, and her friend gave a start and redirected her glare at Annabeth for a moment before turning her attention to Bruce.

Oblivious to Janey's rapidly-growing enmity, Bruce simply smiled and extended a hand. "Janey...I've heard some wonderful things about you. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Bruce Wayne." Janey took in his sleekly handsome appearance. "Well, well, well. As I live and breathe."

He gamely kept smiling, although he shifted his eyes over to Annabeth for a moment. Annabeth tried to avoid his gaze, and privately reflected upon the awkwardness of the whole situation. Bruce had no idea of the furor about to be unleashed upon him.

"I'm surprised, Mr. Wayne." Janey began to finger her butter knife. "It sounds as though you had a busy weekend. What brings you out here so early on a Monday morning?"

Uneasily, he eyed the knife for a moment. "Annabeth hates Mondays," he said after a moment. "I thought I'd drop by the cafe, see if she was here, see if she wanted to go out this evening as a way to preemptively cheer her up."

"Uh-huh." Janey's ferocious face was a sight to behold. "Were you planning to pencil her in before or after your date with Little Miss Gotham City?" Her voice began to rise a little, and an older couple at the next booth glanced up from their oatmeal in amused surprise. More from embarrassment than anything else, Annabeth picked up her discarded newspaper and took refuge behind it, although there was no blocking out Janey's voice.

"So you try to put the make on my best friend, only to start gadding about town two days later with a college strumpet? Is that how it works?"

Bruce considered several possible responses before he answered with a badly-executed attempt at levity: "Uuuuh...does anyone actually 'put the make' on each other any more?"

Beside him, Annabeth raised her newspaper a little higher and remained noticeably silent.

"That's your answer?" Janey was practically shouting now. "For crying out loud, you're as stupid as they say!"

"Janey-" Finally, Annabeth spoke up, but it was too late-Janey was on a roll.

"Here you are, you could score with one of the best women in Gotham-"

"Janey-"

"And you can't keep it in your pants long enough to wait for Annabeth to get her crazy shit together? Did your butler feed you viagrain the crib or something? I mean, yeah, she gets her crazy on from time to time, but you'd still be lucky to date her—"

"JANEY!" This time, Annabeth spoke loud enough to interrupt Janey's tirade, loud enough that Sara looked over at them in annoyance, and Madison Rose paused her conversation with her coffee mug long enough to observe the commotion. Annabeth lowered the newspaper enough to peep over the top at Bruce. "Are you alive, over there?"

"No bloodshed," Bruce assured her. "Yet."

"Why do you care all of a sudden, Annabeth?" Janey stared at her in disbelief. "He's a walking, talking man-whore." To Bruce, she demanded, "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Down, girl." Annabeth passed her the newspaper. "Apparently we didn't read enough of the newspaper this morning. Interesting piece there, on Page D-1."

Janey followed Annabeth's pointing finger until she saw the article to which she was referring:

Gotham University Announces Surprising Curriculum Changes

Students beginning their college classes at Gotham University in the fall of 2009 may find some surprising changes in the curriculum. The President's Office of Gotham University released an announcement early Monday morning which indicated that incoming freshmen females must participate in a series of mandatory self-defense classes, and incoming freshmen males will be required to attend a seminar on sexual awareness and aggression. All students will be presented with updated editions of the seminal book "Against Our Will" by Susan Brown Miller. The classes and seminars, while mandatory, will not be for college credits, nor will students be charged for attendance. The curriculum change is being funded by an endowment from the Wayne Foundation, and in her announcement, Gotham University President Ichabod Moriarty explained that the change is justified given "increases in sexual crimes against females, as well as the generous support of the Wayne Foundation."

Guiltily, Janey raised her eyes up from the newspaper. "Um...whoops."

Bruce turned to Annabeth. "I wanted to take you to the pageant on Saturday evening, but I figured you were still sick. I had to spend three hours listening to fifteen different girls talk about how they'd make the world a better place...it was awful. I think the low point came during the talent competition...who is this Christina Aguilera woman, and why does everyone sing her songs?" He shook his head at the memory. "Katie asked about you...I think she thought you should be presenting the case for self-defense classes, but I think I did a pretty good job in your absence."

It had been a hastily-conceived idea, to be sure...after he had left Annabeth's condo that Halloween night, he had returned to the Manor, not trusting himself to suit up and roam the streets of Gotham as the Batman. His mood had been intensely withdrawn and morose—even more than normal—and Alfred had sensed that something was wrong, but tactfully refrained from pressing for answers. All that night, after he went to sleep, he had been tormented by nightmares-not of Annabeth, but of nameless, faceless women in Gotham, experiencing the horrors that Annabeth had described. Many times, in fact, he had awakened in the night, gasping into the darkness, bathed in a cold sweat, his mind still swimming with the tormented, painful images from his dreams. He had awakened the next morning with a new feeling: the feeling of hopelessness. It didn't matter what he did as the Batman-no matter how many crimelords he took out, no matter how many wife-beaters and child-molesters he scared into submission, it wasn't enough. He was addressing the symptoms, not the disease.

Isn't that what Annabeth had been telling him all along? That it wasn't enough to fight crime; that they had to fight its roots as well? Now, it seemed painfully obvious. It seemed like the only thing he could do, other than continuing his nightly battle, was to throw the weight of the Wayne Foundation behind every damned social service he could think of. And of course, the haunting memory of one woman was a clear motivation for the first social service he could think of.

"Katie Moriarty loved the idea," he told Annabeth now, pointedly ignoring Janey. "You've clearly had quite an effect on her. She practically fell over herself to accept the proposition. And what she wants, her husband makes happen."

"I'm sure offering to fund the whole damned thing helped lube her up," Janey interjected, and immediately blushed at her crude description. "Sorry."

"Don't mind her," Annabeth told Bruce. "Her mouth is the dominant part of her body." She bestowed upon him an admiring look. "I think what you did was really admirable."

"It was," Bruce agreed fervently. "Do you know how boring beauty pageants are?"

Neither Janey or Annabeth were required to respond to this—Madison Rose chose that moment to scurry past their table, shrieking, "Bats! Bats everywhere! Damned rodents!"

"She gets nuttier every time we come here," Janey told Bruce. She was eager to make amends for her earlier tirade, and now tried to engage him in conversation. "You know how she got like that, right?"

"Ate breakfast with you two too many times?" Bruce nudged Annabeth playfully.

"Close." Janey frowned as she watched Madison Rose take off out of the cafe and dart past them on the sidewalk outside. "It's actually really sad. She was a public defender who worked down in the Narrows...and then, you remember that weird-ass shit that happened a little while back? That 'fear toxin' that somehow got into the Narrows? She was there that night, and got hit with a huge dose of it. She used to eat breakfast here, before all that happened, and I guess that was the one thing she really focused on when she lost her mind. That's why she hangs around in this neighborhood now."

Annabeth had heard this story before, and while it did make her sad, she wasn't prepared for the stricken look on Bruce's face.

"It's okay," she assured him. "Madison Rose has a lot of folks looking out for her. Sara and her dad, Joe, make sure she gets enough to eat. And there's a shelter nearby when it gets cold." Even these reassurances did nothing to ease his troubled expression, and as the atmosphere grew increasingly awkward, Annabeth glanced helplessly at Janey. Do something, she wordlessly implored. Surely Janey, who had a far more vast repertoire of social skills, could somehow smooth over this bizarre interaction?

Thankfully, Janey stepped up to the plate. "So...Bruce..." she said, and waited until he pulled himself out of his strange reverie. Then, carefully avoiding Annabeth's anxious eye, she blurted out the first thing she could think of. "So...when are you going to make Annabeth an honest woman?"

This succeeded in bringing Bruce around, but it also had the added effect of mortifying Annabeth. As red splotches crept onto Annabeth's cheeks, she rallied and responded with a volley of her own. "This, coming from the girl who's been shacked up with her boyfriend for how many years now?"

"Lost count," Janey shrugged. "Incidentally, Jason asked me to marry him again the other night." When she saw Bruce's surprised expression, she explained, "It was the third time. But I don't know...anyway, Annabeth, don'tchange the subject."

Bruce recognized an ally when he saw one; apparently, Janey had readily abandoned her opinion of him as the devil incarnate and was willing to champion his cause as Annabeth's long-suffering suitor. "It's hard to make an honest woman out of Annabeth when she won't even go out on an honest date with me." He adopted a look of injured disappointment.

"Annabeth." Janey injected an appropriate note of disapproval in her voice. "Did you or did you not tell me that you were going to give this poor man a break?"

"I didn't, actually." Annabeth couldn't believe what she was hearing.

Janey turned to Bruce. "She was on the phone with me just the night before last, berating herself on how mean she is to you."

"She's lying."

"She just feels really horrible, because she likes you a lot," Janey whispered this last bit, and then continued on in a normal voice, "But she doesn't know how to show it. She's kind of like a third-grader like that."

"Don't listen to her." Annabeth didn't know how else to warn Bruce away from buying Janey's outrageous statements. "She's deranged."

"In fact," Now Janey was relishing this, and embellishing where ever she could, "She simply wouldn't shut up about how cute you are-"

"She's a compulsive liar."

"-and how she finds you...how did you put it, Annabeth? 'Obnoxiously compelling?'"

"Lies-oh, wait." Annabeth considered this last statement, and admitted, "Okay, that last part was true. But I said that ages ago."

"She's utterly mad for you," Janey teased Bruce. "Hasn't shut up about you since she met you." She began to gather up her things. "Alrighty, my work here is done, and it's time for me to get to the hospital. Annabeth, go out with him. Bruce, it was nice to meet you." She got up and leaned over him, her hair sweeping forward and brushing by his cheek as she whispered, "Hurt her and I will maim you."

With these parting words, punctuated with a cheerful wave, she headed for the door—leaving Annabeth with the bill and Bruce with plenty to think on.

"Obnoxiously compelling, huh?" His smirk was smug. "How am I compelling?"

"Actually, now I just find you obnoxious." Annabeth smiled to take the sting out of her words. "However, you get points for sheer, dumb determination."

"I'm very stubborn," Bruce agreed, and playfully nudged her shoulder again. "Lucky for you, right?"

Annabeth smiled absently, but didn't respond. In the absence of Janey's more vivacious personality, there was a strained feeling between them; even though she sat less than three inches from him, she was taking pains to avoid looking at him. In fact...

"Budge over," she said. "It's time for me to go, too. Safe Haven isn't going to run itself." Still she would not meet his gaze.

"Not until you look at me." There was an unexpected firmness, a note of command in Bruce's voice that drew her eyes to him. He nodded, once, with satisfaction. "Nothing changed, Annabeth. Things won't get weird."

"Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?" she challenged him, but her voice was gentle. "Things might change. They might get weird. They did with my last boyfriend, Robbie, at least for a while." She saw his look of surprise and smiled grimly. "Yes, Bruce, I have had boyfriends. I'm not a complete nun."

"Good to know." He put his arm around the back of the booth seat and turned his torso so that he was facing her. "Things won't get weird. I just wanted to say, thank you for telling me what you did the other night. I really meant what I said-I think you're incredible."

"I'm not, Bruce. At least, no moreso than you." Annabeth had spent some time of her own thinking, since that night. "You've been through your own traumas. And we each handle things in our own ways. I'd say that you're the incredible one-you're a lot more well-adjusted than I am. Trying to have a normal life after you go through something horrible...that's the hardest thing to do."

"Appearances can be deceiving." Bruce's well-sculpted features contorted into an enigmatic grimace as he suddenly pulled himself out of the booth. "I've got to go."

"Another beauty pageant?" she teased him gently, but it didn't quite hide the troubled look in her eyes as she regarded him. It had been a while since he had been this mercurial, and it was an aspect to his character that she didn't particularly miss. "Bruce?"

The smile he threw her was a far cry from the normally self-assured grin he seemed to have at his disposal. "I just..." Need to get away from that look of trust you're giving me. "I just need to get down to Wayne Towers...I think there's a lot of work for me to do there today." Bruce began to back away from the table. "In fact...I think there's a lot of stuff I need to get done there, this week. I haven't been there a lot, lately."

"Are you blowing me off?" Annabeth was still smiling, but it had gotten a lot more uncertain. "Look, you're not the only busy one. God only knows how much work there's going to be for me when I get back."

With obvious relief, Bruce pounced on this. "Good! So if we get busy and can't see each other this week, we'll both understand?" He didn't wait for her response; just threw her one more travesty of a smile before he, too, took off, leaving a very bemused Annabeth behind.

And he doesn't think things got weird. I'd hate to see how he defines 'weird.'

Bruce strode down the sidewalk, eager to put as much distance as possible between himself and that cafe. As he wove through the early-morning crowds already filling the sidewalk, he pondered the disturbing left-turn their conversation had just taken."You're a lot more well-adjusted than I am." Annabeth's innocent words taunted him, and brought back to his awareness a piece of knowledge that he had desperately been trying to ignore: Annabeth had revealed something deeply personal, an event which had altered her entire life, and instead of reciprocating, he had only remained quiet, assiduously maintaining the vast and essential web of deception and lies and misinformation and false images that he had been carefully weaving for years. Somehow, Annabeth had gotten caught in that web—no, to be honest, he had trapped her in it—and he had no idea how to get her untangled without tearing the web apart and without hurting her.

Hypocrite, a nasty voice hissed inside his head. He was a hypocrite. And who was he fooling? Annabeth, of course, and himself. Did he think that somehow, he could carry on a normal relationship with her, without her finding out who he truly was? As it stood right now, she did not know the true him. Each time he presented himself to her, he was drawing her deeper and deeper into a lie. Telling her was out of the question; completely aside from the fact that she'd feel betrayed and probably skin him alive, it simply put everything-herself, his secrets-in too much danger. He had revealed to Rachel his true self, and not only had she rejected him, but it had resulted in her death. It didn't matter that she had already been at risk—he knew he had played a role in her demise. He couldn't bring that on Annabeth, as well.

Finally getting past Annabeth's defenses had been both a blessing and a curse. She had honored him with her trust, but it had opened his eyes to a sorry fact he had done his damndest to ignore: ultimately, none of this was possible, and it would be just as Annabeth had said-stories didn't always have a happy ending.

As Bruce was coming to some unhappy conclusions as he made his way to Wayne Towers, Annabeth was coming to conclusions of her own: a week away from Safe Haven was simply too much time away.

"Annabeth!" Maya caught sight of her as soon as she emerged from the elevator, and rushed over to her, her fashionable heels clicking against the linoleum. She looked as pretty as ever, her face radiant with youth and hope and good health; for some odd reason, the unhappiness and horror that regularly flowed through their doors had not yet troubled her. "Welcome back! How are you feeling?"

"Better." Annabeth eyed the stack of file folders and paperwork that Maya clutched in her arms. "Been busy?"

"This just needs to get filed. Donna's over at City Hall, working with Garcia, so she gave me some busy work." Maya shifted her weight and got a better grip on the paperwork, which had begun to slip. "Did you hear the good news about Marjane? She's safe!"

"I did, actually. Bruce told me a couple of nights ago, on Halloween." Annabeth took some of the file folders from Maya, who relinquished them gratefully. Together, they started heading for Maya's desk.

"How'd he find out about Marjane?" Maya frowned. "He hasn't been back to Safe Haven since you got sick."

Annabeth was confused. "You told him, Maya. You called him when you found out." They reached Maya's desk and dumped the files there with relief. Every day, it seemed as though there was more paperwork. Even in a private organization, the tentacles of bureaucracy reached deep.

"I didn't call him." Maya looked as mystified as Annabeth. "Why'd I do that? He doesn't even work here, not really." She grinned saucily. "Besides, with you gone, he had no reason to be here."

Ignoring Maya's comment, Annabeth ruminated over the mix-up. "Huh. I wonder how he found out?"

"No idea. Maybe he was in touch with Donna?" Maya had lost interest. "Look, there's a lot to get done. Donna wanted you to work with Zelda Arron; she and her kids just got here last week, and one of the kids has some serious healthy issues. Since they're covered by Zelda's husband's insurance, but trying to hide from him, the insurance company's giving them grief. Donna said you'd worked with the Appeals Department of this insurance company before, so she said, and I quote, 'give them hell and make them cry.'"

Automatically, Annabeth began to slip back into work mode. It was good to be back; this was where she belonged. This was what she knew and understood; this was her identity. As she fell into the soothing of the demanding tasks and duties of Safe Haven, all thoughts of Bruce, and what had developed between them, receded to the furthest corners of her mind.

There was work to be done.

The eighty-fifth floor of Wayne Towers was the gleaming, priceless jewel in the crown of Gotham. It was the headquarters of the headquarters, it was the command post, it was the nerve center of the living, thriving, ever-growing organism that was the Wayne family empire. The main boardroom and the two offices housed on the eighty-fifth floor were all spacious and immaculate, but remarkably almost spartan in appearance. For all of its obvious importance and for all its subtle symbolism, it was a very modest floor within the Tower. The only apparent luxury was the view available from wherever one stood or sat; and as soon as one took in this view, the sparseness of the surroundings made perfect sense. It was all about the view. The view was all one needed to impress, intimidate, or intrigue, depending on the nature of the business taking place on the eighty-fifth floor.

When Earle had hired Jessica Waterhouse—having recruited her from her position as assistant to the CEO of a major European automotive manufacturer—Jessica had been awed by it, of course, but not for nothing was she the highest paid executive assistant in Gotham City. Within the first week of working at Wayne Enterprises, she had simply learned to ignore the view. Hers was a difficult position, and precarious, too; she had never been able to shake the suspicion that Earle had brought her on as a token gesture, an attractive piece of evidence to the corporate world that Wayne Enterprises was committed to progress and equal opportunity...and yet, she always suspected as though he had been searching for a reason to be rid of her. And so, she took care to arrive to work two hours early, dress in only the best designer suits, and made sure to never, ever get caught gazing out the windows.

Even after Earle's fall and subsequent departure, Jessica stayed on. She had a few moments of anxiety, of course, but any doubts she had harbored quickly put to rest. Not two days after Earle had cleared out his office, Lucius Fox had moved in, bringing with him an air of grandfatherly steadiness, which stood in stark contrast to the flamboyant energies of Bruce Wayne, who had taken up residence in the only other office on the eighty-fifth floor. Where Mr. Fox was quiet and methodical, Mr. Wayne was boisterous and impulsive; where Mr. Fox was measured and thorough, Mr. Wayne was erratic and inconsistent. And it was before these two men, these strange paradoxes, that Jessica had been summoned following Earle's departure.

Her memory of that day was clear and unfading; after all, it was the day that had cemented her future. Mr. Fox had brought her into Mr. Wayne's office and gravely indicated that she was to sit. Nervously, she had done so, and watched as Mr. Fox went to stand by Mr. Wayne and look over the younger man's shoulder at the sheaf of papers he had before him. It was, Jessica had realized, her résumé, cover letter, performance reviews, work history, and references. She had begun to get nervous at that point, but one of Jessica's strengths had always been that she had long ago mastered the art of controlling the appearance she projected towards others. So she simply sat, cool and unruffled, and returned the grave looks the two men had given her.

She had expected Mr. Fox to be the one to speak, but it was Mr. Wayne who surprised her by being the first one to launch the conversation.

"Ms. Waterhouse," he began, and that had been enough, right there, to earn her respect. Earle had called her "Jessica" from the beginning, and she had never appreciated that. In her opinion, you simply didn't call someone by their first name until they asked you to. "Ms. Waterhouse, in light of Mr. Earle's recent departure, we here at Wayne Enterprises have been attempting some restructuring..." Mr. Wayne had trailed off. "Oh, hell, Lucius, you do this. I sound like a pompous ass."

So as Mr. Fox had talked, Mr. Wayne remained silent, every now and then gazing up and around, as though he couldn't quite remember where he was at, or what he was doing there. Every so often he'd glance over and wink at Jessica, which she pointedly ignored, not knowing that this only raised her in his estimation.

"Ms. Waterhouse..." Mr. Fox had concluded, "I see you have your degree from Harvard, and that you actually completed a year at Stanford Law before quitting. Do you care to elaborate?"

In her low, calm voice, Jessica explained simply, "The more immediate rigors of the corporate world appealed to me more." She hadn't elaborated, and they hadn't asked her to.

"With your credentials and experience, I think you can feel assured that you will continue to have a place here at Wayne Enterprises, should you choose to remain." Mr. Fox's smile was both warm and genuine, and again, Jessica had the feeling that he would be just as comfortable reading storybooks to his grandchildren as he would running Wayne Enterprises.

"In fact, if you are amenable, you might find yourself working for someone else, in addition to myself."

And that was how Jessica Waterhouse had gone from a token minority to a critical employee of Wayne Enterprises: she became the executive assistant to both Lucius Fox, CEO, and Bruce Wayne, heir and majority shareholder. In the beginning, working for Mr. Wayne had not been difficult—he was only in occasionally, and the duties he taxed her with were by no means onerous. It was Mr. Fox who had generated the work, who had seen to it that she earned every cent of her very, very generous paycheck. He had been a pleasure to work for, and Mr. Wayne, when actually present, wasn't too unpleasant, either. After her initial interview with him, he had always treated her with an offhand, distant kindness and always called her "Ms. Waterhouse" and remembered her birthday and never became impatient with her on the very rare occasion when she became backed up with her work. Occasionally, he'd try to get a little flirty, but it was almost as though he viewed it as an obligation that he fulfilled once every few months.

After Mr. Fox left...well, things changed. Whereas before the eighty-fifth floor had been a hive of activity and constant, controlled noise-acrimonious board meetings, tense and terse private meetings, phones ringing constantly, couriers darting in and out, boisterous banter coming from Mr. Wayne's office as he chattered away on the phone with one of his golfing buddies, or his latest lady friend, the gentle strains of classical music floating out of Mr. Fox's office. After Mr. Fox left, the eighty-fifth floor became something of a graveyard. A No Man's Land, really. It was only after Mr. Fox's departure that Jessica learned a number of things, each more surprising than the last. Jessica found that, bereft of the kindly and personable CEO, work was now rather lonely. Also surprising-Mr. Wayne began coming in more often, and if anything, Jessica's workload increased, as did her salary. It was only then, as Bruce Wayne single-handedly managed the empire and guided the fractious board, that Jessica Waterhouse realized that beneath that jovial, flirtatious playboy exterior, there was a keen mind filled with charm, ruthlessness, and acumen, particularly in business matters-all in all, a potentially lethal combination. He became more difficult, more demanding, more intense, and more high maintenance, and if he was pleased that none of this fazed Jessica in the slightest, he never let on. He just carried on as though she were doing nothing more than what was expected of her-which is exactly what she was doing.

But Jessica missed Mr. Fox. He had given the eighty-fifth floor a genuine touch, a human touch, and while Jessica may have projected an Ice-Queen exterior, she appreciated a friendly boss as much as the next. Still, hers was one of the best jobs in the city, and she wasn't complaining. It paid well, and it kept her interested, challenged, and very, very busy.

Her current busy day had begun at 5 AM, the same as it did every morning; her early tasks included a quick run on the treadmill, a quick shower, a quick breakfast of juice, fruit, and yogurt, a very deliberate wardrobe consultation (she was possibly the only employee of Wayne Enterprises who dressed better than her boss, and was definitely the only person unafraid to do so), and a leisurely perusal of The Gotham Gazette. The other newspapers—the New York Times, The Daily Planet, and The LA Times, she would read if she had the time. But the Gazette—that was essential reading, for any number of reasons. It had all sorts of essential information, not just about the crime rates and the violence that Gotham seemed to feed on, but also business and society. The longer Jessica worked in the corporate world, the more deeply she appreciated just how closely those two were linked, and in culling the social and business columns, she could pass on information that would be useful to Mr. Wayne. And then, every now and then, she came across some news that simply made her day.

Today was one of those days. As she sat at her kitchen counter, perusing the Gazette, her eyes landed on a very interesting piece indeed, concerning the thriving business of her employer. Her lips curled upwards into a pleased smile-rare for her, any time before noon-as she took in her boss's interesting statement. Jessica was a smart woman, and she read more between the lines than was actually printed, and she knew Mr. Wayne was trying to send Mr. Fox a message.

With some luck, and perhaps a little diplomacy on her part, hopefully the eighty-fifth floor would once more come alive.

Wayne Enterprises may have been a corporate monolith, spanning continents and employing thousands of souls, but when it came down to brass tacks, it was really nothing more than a sprawling, sometimes-dysfunctional, wealthy family: prone to forming alliances of convenience, clanny, gossip-loving, and extremely efficient when it came to spreading news. This grapevine never worked better than when conveying the valuable information that Bruce Wayne was making an entrance.

Jessica was never certain of how everyone else in the building learned of his impending arrivals—she suspected some of the employees working the switchboard—when she herself usually only had fifteen minutes' notice, usually delivered by a phone call made by Mr. Wayne's inscrutable family butler. Nevertheless, she would normally have fifteen minutes to prepare, which meant, too, that the rest of the damned company had fifteen minutes to casually inch their way down to the Main Lobby to await his arrival.

This Monday was no different. Around nine-thirty, as Jessica was carefully sorting the mail which had arrived over the weekend, the call came through, and she found herself listening to the slightly amused voice of Alfred Pennyworth, informing her that Mr. Wayne would be arriving shortly. Her reaction was immediate, swift, and decisive, which was precisely why she received the salary she did: she hauled out Mr. Wayne's massive social and professional engagement calendar (he liked to have it open and at his elbow); checked to make sure the latest agenda for the weekly board meeting was on the top of his desk (he slept through most of the meetings, but he liked to know what it was he was sleeping through); ensured that there was a large stock of Perrier water stashed away in the mini-fridge underneath her desk (he didn't know about that; let him think she had to send down to the kitchens for it) and then...then she hauled out her Rolodex. Before Jessica had the time to let herself think of what she was doing, she was looking up a name and a number, and her fingers were dancing across the phone, dialing-she found herself silently praying, please, please, please pick up.

Apparently, god was listening. After the second ring, a voice blossomed in her ear. "Hello?"

"Mr. Lucius Fox, please," she said, even though she knew she had already found him.

"Speaking."

"Mr. Fox, this is Jessica Waterhouse calling from the office of Mr. Bruce Wayne." She didn't wait for his response. "Mr. Wayne asked me to call and see if you would be available and interested in having lunch with him today..."

Not even fifteen minutes after Alfred Pennyworth had called, Jessica was waiting in the Main Lobby of Wayne Towers, cool and poised and gripping her leather portfolio, and waiting for the instantly-recognizable Rolls-Royce to pull up outside. She observed, although did not acknowledge, the presence of at least two dozen people, employees all, whose presence in the Lobby was not just unnecessary, but downright absurd. That didn't stop them. There were a few upper level executives who perhaps needed to speak to Mr. Wayne legitimately, but rarely had the chance, but there were far more eager, ambitious mid- and lower-level management and associates, all of them eager to get some face-time with Bruce Wayne and brag to their buddies, roommates, colleagues, or romantic partners that they had done so.

When Bruce Wayne's car pulled up and he emerged, Jessica was ready. She was at the head of the crowd of people milling about, but unlike the rest of the crowd, she did not have to look casual or disinterested. She was there for the express purpose of greeting her employer and whisking him away to the enormously demanding day she had managed to schedule for him in less than ten minutes. As the revolving door spat him into the lobby, he skimmed the small crowd and caught sight of his executive assistant, standing at the ready and seemingly oblivious—or indifferent—to the several men glaring at her resentfully. She could be as fierce as a bulldog when it came to running his schedule, and did not take kindly to over-zealous employees monopolizing his time.

"Ms. Waterhouse," he nodded, striding towards her, and Jessica fell into step beside him as they began to make their way over to the bank of elevators. Every now and then he would pause to wave, or smile, or exchange a word with someone—he suspected Jessica was always mildly surprised at just how many employees he knew by name—before resuming their path.

"What did you line up for me in the past two minutes?" he joked lightly as they began waited for the elevator. This was the critical point, when they were a captive audience, and vulnerable to any person persistent enough to attempt to engage him in a lengthy conversation. Being engrossed in conversation with his intimidating assistant was the best way to stave this off.

She glanced at her portfolio, but it was an empty gesture—all of the events and times Jessica had scheduled were locked away in her head, available for instant recall. She was scarily efficient, he thought, and completely immune to his charms. "There's a Board meeting at eleven," she told him, "and don't be surprised if they start pressing you to name Mr. Fox's replacement. And then, interviews for the top candidates for the Head of Finance position, starting at four."

The elevator pinged open, and they stepped inside. No one else was foolhardy enough to follow them in. "There's an awful lot of empty time, there, in the middle," he remarked teasingly. "Have you scheduled a top-secret lunch or something?"

"Mr. Fox called earlier." She glanced at him. "He was interested in scheduling a lunch today. I checked your schedule and saw that it was empty, so...you have a lunch with Mr. Fox at one today."

"Lucius called?" Bruce was amazed, and made no attempt to hide it. "That's...surprising." He glanced at her sharply. "And you said he asked to have lunch with me?"

Jessica looked him squarely, her eyes wide with the appearance of utter honesty. "He was most insistent on it."

"Hmmm." Bruce glanced at Jessica; as always, she was the paragon of discretion. She had never asked about Lucius' abrupt departure, and he knew for a fact she made short work of anyone who tried to pump her for information. "It must have been the article in The Gazette bthis morning."

"Must have been," she agreed. "It was a rather thinly-veiled appeal for his return. I took the liberty of ordering a lunch from the kitchens; I assumed you would like to dine in the board room." The two men had dined there, many times, before Lucius's departure.

The elevator slid open, and the two of them emerged into the silent, dignified eighty-fifth floor. Jessica returned to her desk, but before Bruce headed into his office, he lingered for a moment. "What time is the board meeting?"

"Eleven. I placed the agenda on your desk."

"And what time is my lunch?"

"One."

"Postpone the board meeting until three." He favored her with an optimistic grin. "Let's get ourselves a CEO and get this place hopping, what do you say?"

A rare smile crossed Jessica's face, "Yes, sir."

She watched as her unpredictable boss ducked into his office, and pondered upon the possibility that perhaps she was not the only person who mourned the lonely place the eighty-fifth floor had become.

As the one o'clock hour sped closer, an unusual sense of apprehension began to blossom within Jessica, and for one of the few times in her life, she found herself plagued with doubt. Would this harebrained, unprofessional stunt she was attempting to pull pay off? This was the first time she had ever done anything so...sneaky, which was surprising given the environment in which she worked. And no one would have ever suspected her of such tactics. Being discreet and loyal and quiet not only meant that you saw a lot more, but that you were the last one that people would think of when pointing the finger.

Oh, but some people were about to be in for a surprise.

At a quarter till, a small troop of staff came up from the kitchens, bearing trays of the food Jessica had ordered. She watched with an eagle eye as they spread the feast out on the Board room table, and she noted with satisfaction when she ascertained that they had gotten the order correct: salmon and asparagus for Mr. Wayne; an enormous cobb salad for Mr. Fox. It had been with complete deliberateness that she had ordered each of their favorite lunch foods; she would use every weapon in her arsenal to get those two men to be as amenable to each other as possible. If she was going to get fired over this, it wouldn't be due to her lack of attention to detail.

Promptly at one, Lucius Fox stepped out of the elevator and onto the eighty-fifth floor, looking for all the world as though he had only stepped out for a moment, and hadn't been gone for month after silent, lonely month. He spotted her instantly and moved towards her. "Ms. Waterhouse."

"Mr. Fox." She favored him with a rare smile. "It's so good to see you again." She sensed, rather than saw, Mr. Wayne emerge from his office and come to stand by her desk. Mr. Fox ignored him and made small talk with Jessica. "How's your mother?"

"Good. She just came back from a world cruise." Jessica smiled again. "My gift to her."

Only then did Mr. Fox acknowledge the other person in the room. "Mr. Wayne." He smiled warmly enough, and held out his hand. "Good to see you."

"And you, Lucius." Mr. Wayne gestured towards the Board Room. "Shall we?"

Jessica's eyes monitored their progress as they made their way into the Board Room, and only after the door was shut did she let out a sigh of relief. She wasn't out of the woods, not by a long shot, but hopefully they could manage things from here. Hopefully the two men could confront their differences and move past them. And hopefully Jessica would still be employed by the end of the day.

Bruce glanced out the glass wall at his executive assistant, who was still hard at work despite the fact that it was her lunch hour. "You know," he said slowly, "I didn't even know Jessica had a mother."

"She does." Lucius gave him a pitying look. "Everyone has a mother. You should maybe take the time to get to know your employees better."

"I do!" Bruce protested. "I know her birthday. I know that she...she...is she married?"

"She's been in a committed relationship for eight years. Her partner's a rising star at one of the top civil rights law firms in Gotham and just won a substantial settlement in a class action suit."

"I read about that. Against one of the food processing plants, right, for sex discrimination? But the attorney leading the class action suit was Sandra Sondheim..." Then the penny dropped, and Bruce figured it out. "Ah. Her partner. So...I guess I should stop trying to set her up with Ronald Denfield down in Mergers and Acquisitions?"

"That would be advisable," Lucius drawled.

The two men looked at each other from across the boardroom table; between them lay not only the lunch, but a thousand unsaid things-reproaches, questions, apologies, explanations, and the time to address all of it was painfully brief.

Never one to waste time, Lucius took a stab at it. "So why did you invite me to this lunch meeting, Bruce?"

Silence met his question, which he was not prepared for. Nor was he prepared for the look of surprise that Bruce gave him.

"Bruce?" Lucius prompted, disconcerted. "The meeting?"

"Lucius, you arranged this lunch." Bruce was deeply confused, but a seed of suspicion was already growing in the back of his mind. He glanced out at Jessica again, but she had disappeared, perhaps fortunately.

"I didn't. Jessica called me this morning and said that you wanted to know if I was available for lunch."

"She told me that you called and asked that same thing."

The two men looked at each other, mutual comprehension dawning. After a moment, Bruce pulled a face. "Still waters run deep."

Lucius craned his neck to peer over at Jessica's empty desk. "Better keep an eye on her. She'll steal the company out from underneath you."

Ever the opportunist, Bruce wasn't about to let pass this unexpected opening that Jessica had so deliberately provided him with. "She wouldn't if you were here."

Lucius took his time in responding. For a good minute, he gazed out at the stunning view of Gotham skyscrapers, no doubt filled with other corporate men and women, intent on their work, not one of them burdened with a decision as crucial as the one he knew he would have to make here this afternoon. 'When I left Wayne Enterprises, Bruce, it was difficult. I'd devoted my life to this company, and to your father's dreams, your family's visions. I didn't want to leave, but I needed to."

Bruce nodded. Of late, he had gotten much better at simply listening and trying to understand people. This was at least one way in which Annabeth had subtly altered the pattern of his very existence.

"When you returned from...where ever it was you had been all those years, I didn't know what to expect. And I certainly never would have imagined..." Lucius glanced around and decided that discretion was still the better part of valor. "I never would have guessed your commitment to the company, and to your other...hobbies." He gave Bruce a hard, meaningful look. "And I never would have guessed that you would have included me in them. And at first, I was pleased. Proud of the man you had become...you've blazed your own trail, which is no more than what your parents would have wanted. You've found a system of beliefs, you've found something that brings you some measure of comfort and purpose. And you included me in that, you gave me another purpose, beyond this company, beyond my job. You presented me with a choice to pursue something bigger than all of us."

"You're making it sound like my...hobby is a religion."

"Maybe I did see it that way. And maybe that's why I reacted the way I did when I realized that I didn't agree with everything you did. I saw you commit what I felt were violations of my moral and ethical code...and I still feel like that," Lucius added sharply. "One has to have a set of standards, a code of honor, a sense of what is right and honest, to keep them from falling to the level of that which they abhor. And day by day, I saw you fall closer to that level."

The words hurt Bruce, but the tone in which they were delivered hurt more. Lucius was still disappointed, after all these months, and it was audible in his voice. "I couldn't be a party to that, Bruce. I couldn't stand by and permit it, or enable it, or let you think that in any way, I approved of it. My moral code comes before all else, and I think what you did was wrong. And you know it."

With the exception of Alfred, there was no one whose judgment Bruce wanted-and dreaded-more than Lucius'. And here it was, laid out on the table, his words damning, but no less true for their harshness.

"You're right, Lucius." Bruce held the older man's gaze and did not flinch away from the judgment there. "Sometimes I think you have more courage than I ever had, because you were able to walk away. Sometimes, that take more courage than anything else. But then, sometimes it takes even more courage to come back. The company needs you, Lucius. Gotham needs you. I need you."

Just as Bruce did not turn away from Lucius' judgment, Lucius could not turn away from Bruce's need. These were all conclusions that he had already drawn on his owen, over the last few months, but it didn't mean that he would simply roll over. "Bruce, things have to change. I need for you to be open with me on these projects of yours. I need to have input. And you need to have a moral compass of your own. You need to be able to respect some ethical boundaries." He saw that Bruce was about to protest, and continued on before he could. "I understand that not everything is black and white. Very little is, really. But some shades of grey need to be avoided altogether. And if I see you walking down a path where I can't follow, you can be damned sure that this time I won't let you walk down it, either."

Now it was Bruce's turn to take his time in responding. "Am I to understand that you are willing to come back to Wayne Enterprises on the condition that you have the power to restrain me if you don't approve of my tactics?"

Lucius smirked. "Restrain is such a powerful word. Let's be honest, Bruce, I couldn't restrain you. I simply would walk away again, but I would also feel morally compelled to take actions to stop you."

The implications of his words were serious, ominous, even, but Bruce had to respect Lucius, nonetheless. The man had courage in spades, and Bruce needed him-his scientific genius, his business savvy, his vast and inexhaustible knowledge of Gotham's business world, and above all, his moral compass, his fearless and uncompromising ethics. There were days when Bruce feared that he, himself, no longer had much of those, and worse, he feared that he couldn't afford them.

"Come back to the company, Lucius." Bruce said this quietly, but there was no mistaking the plea in his voice. "I promise to listen to you. I promise to do my best to adhere to your standards..." For a moment, he paused, considering the intense drive, the insane, burning compulsion within him that drove him to such desperate tactics. "I can't promise that I won't do things of which you don't approve-but I can promise not to ask you to do them, too."

Lucius rose from where he sat and began to wander around the Board Room, his footsteps echoing in the silence. At that moment, he noticed Jessica, once more at her desk, hard at work, but from time to time glancing over their way. He had groomed her for this—he had been worried for a while that Bruce Wayne was sinking further into the abyss that he had created, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to follow him there. Jessica—stalwart, trustworthy, scarily smart, and unflappable—could at least manage him at the company, and Alfred, he knew, managed him during the other hours, the other times. But it wasn't enough. Lucius could see that now. He was still needed.

After a moment, he resumed his seat. "What do you need me to do?"

There would be time, later, for them both to strategize Lucius' return to the company. There would be time later to draft the press release, make the various announcements, and give Jessica yet another salary increase. There would be time for all of that later, which is why both men quickly fell to the task at hand.

"I need to know all you know about approximately three hundred Gotham businessmen, investors, and power players," Bruce declared. "Everything you know, everything you've heard. Facts, rumors, gossip, mergers, finances, whatever."

"All the facts on the three hundred most powerful men and women in Gotham?" Lucius repeated this with patient humor. "Is that including all of the information that they've take pains to hide?"

"Everything." Bruce repeated this firmly.

"That's all?" Sarcasm crept its way into Lucius's voice.

"For now." Bruce knew that Lucius expected more, some sort of explanation. Already their dynamic had changed. "I've got reason to believe that at least one important Gotham personality-maybe more-are getting involved in an operation that it's in serious violation of basic human rights."

This had been the right thing to say; it appealed to Lucius' innate sense of justice. "Give me a list of the people you want to know about. I'll also do an analysis to see what financial connections Wayne Enterprises has with them. We can't let the company be caught up in any of this, however unintentionally."

Twenty minutes later, Jessica gathered up her courage and took a long, hard look into the Board Room, and was very pleased by what she observed: both Mr. Wayne and Mr. Fox were hard at work on something, occasionally lapsing into intense discussion, and absently picking at the lunch she had ordered for them. For the first time in several hours, the knot of apprehension in her stomach began to uncoil, and she allowed herself a moment of triumph. No matter what happened to her, it appeared as though the eighty-fifth floor was about to come to life once more.

Unbeknownst to Jessica, the conversation in the Board room had taken an unexpected turn into distinctly non-professional territory. With a merry gleam in his eye, Lucius remarked, "You know, I've been keeping up with you in the papers...who's the young lady you've been spending so much time with?"

It had been very deliberately that Bruce had been holding all thoughts of Annabeth at bay, but Lucius' innocent question brought everything back to mind. Bruce winced. "Annabeth."

"That's right. She seems very nice, very..." Lucius frowned, searching for the right word. "Different."

"Mmmmm." Bruce didn't want to discuss Annabeth, not yet, not after his earlier misgivings. But Lucius was oblivious to this.

"Is it serious?"

And there was the question that Bruce had been avoiding, that Annabeth would never think to ask, that Alfred would never dare to ask. Lucius had no such compunctions, however, and he clearly expected an answer.

"I don't know," Bruce mumbled, and the answer was so half-assed, so weak, so unlike any aspect of his persona, that for a moment, he looked as surprised as Lucius. He tried to clarify, and in a stronger voice, he explained, "It's complicated. We're both...complicated. I know a lot about her, but she knows next to nothing about me. "

"And you'll put the people you love in danger, and it's better if she didn't know your secret identity, and she'd never understand, and this is a fight you have to do on your own, and really, you don't even know yourself who you really are, and there's just too much to keep you from getting involved." Lucius supplied all of these reasons in a droning, unimpressed voice.

Bruce was doing his best to ignore Lucius, but he was silently pondering, What on earth have I created?

Meanwhile, Lucius only rolled his eyes in disgust. "Superheroes." He kept the next thought to himself: So busy saving anyone else, they can't even save themselves.