Headline from the 23 December 2008 Front Page of The Gotham Gazette:

Violent Night: A Christmas Season Gone Horribly Wrong in the Heart of Gotham

One person is dead and another person critically injured after a stunning act of violence left one of the city's prominent halfway houses ransacked and reeling.

Mob violence is suspected to be the culprit, Commissioner Jim Gordon confirmed, although, he added, "Personal motives are not being ruled out."

At approximately 6 PM on December 22, select members of the Arrows mob staged a lightning-strike invasion on Safe Haven Consulting Services, a halfway house which was recently catapulted into the limelight when it became Bruce Wayne's Pet Project of the season. It appears that the offenders were attempting to kidnap a key witness in both local and federal law enforcement investigations.

While details are still emerging, several facts have been confirmed: 1. Multiple shots were fired on behalf of the offenders; 2. One woman was killed and another sustained a severe gunshot wound, and 3. It was due to the timely intervention of Gordon and his MCU team, along with the unsolicited assistance of the Batman, which brought the siege to its end.

One witness, speaking on condition of anonymity, offered the following statement:

"It was really scary in there. We thought we were going to die. But the Batman, he was everywhere, like a ninja. I'm so glad he was on our side, because man, I sure wouldn't want him to be our enemy."

The names of the casualties have not been released to the press, and Commissioner Gordon refuses to confirm rumors that Annabeth de Burgh, recent love-interest of Bruce Wayne, and devoted Safe Haven employee, is one of the victims.

At the time of press, Safe Haven is closed until further notice, although remaining staff are scrambling to restore order. For those wishing to volunteer or donate goods, services, or money, the Wayne Foundation has set up a temporary 24-hour hotline at 735-812-2004.

Even when the Joker was terrorizing Gotham, raining down chaos and violence and indiscriminate death and destruction, the city had more or less carried on. At least, Annabeth had carried on at Safe Haven. During those frightening days, she had showed up at work, dressed in her thrift-store suits, cranky and driven as ever, demanding coffee and excellence, offering comfort or a stern talking-to, whichever the client or colleague needed most. During those frightening days, her steadfast presence unintentionally calmed many of the Safe Haven clients. If Annabeth wasn't panicking, well then, neither would they. She carried on, same as ever; the only concession or indeed, any acknowledgment she made at all to the unfolding chaos, was the temporary beefing-up of security. Other than that, business as usual.

So it was perversely fitting, in a way, that after Gotham unleashed her cruelty upon Safe Haven, the rest of the world carried on as normal. Children still got excited about Christmas and begged their beleaguered and cash-strapped parents for more gifts, people still went to work and complained of the weather and tried to ignore the latest victims. But Vicki Vale's efforts ensured this was not just "business as usual." A front-page story, in addition to a little shameless invocation of the power and name of Wayne, guaranteed that this story wouldn't be tucked away on the back page. It guaranteed that people would not be able to look away.

But even though the citizens of Gotham couldn't look away, they could —and did—still carry on.

Maya saw this with her own weary eyes the next morning, a few painfully short hours after she had headed home. Despite the pathetic amount of sleep that she had gotten, she was already heading back into the city, riding the shuttle with the other distracted commuters. It was Annabeth's influence coming to bear: life went on. Shit still needed to get done.

By 10:30 that morning, she was wearily shuffling into the ICU Waiting Room at Gotham General. She glanced around, but only saw Bruce Wayne's butler. He sat quietly, reading a newspaper and sipping coffee and looking suspiciously alert and well-groomed for someone who had pulled an all-nighter at a hospital. In fact...she studied the older man more closely. He was in an entirely different suit altogether! How had he managed that trick?

"Why do I have the sneaking suspicion you've managed to set up a room for yourself up here?" she asked, without bothering to keep the note of accusation out of her voice.

Alfred merely smiled. No need to tell her that a few well-dropped hints had in fact sent some hospital staff members scurrying to produce an unoccupied room just a few doors down from Annabeth's. There he had managed to snag a few hours of sleep and a quick shower. In addition to this, he had had Jessica over at Wayne Towers courier over some gourmet coffee and bagels, the latest newspapers, and a change of clothes for both Bruce and himself. No, there was no need at all to mention any of that lfred had the supreme good sense to know when not to broadcast the life of privilege that came as a result of being connected to the Wayne family. He did, however, gesture to the vat of coffee and the box of bagels. "Looks as though you could use something to fortify you, my dear. Please help yourself."

Maya didn't need any urging. She made a beeline for the vat and helped herself to a steaming cup. Only after she had taken a few cautious sips did she attempt a more civil conversation. "I'm beginning to see why Annabeth has always mainlined this stuff...how is she this morning?"

"Sleeping. Other than that, no change." Alfred glanced towards the hall towards Annabeth's room. "The doctor seems to think she's going to recover."

"Janey sent me a text early this morning; that's what she said, too." Maya smiled wanly. "That's something, at least. But...where is everyone?"

"Janey returned home, finally, to get some sleep. And Master Wayne is still with Annabeth."

"Good!" Maya said fiercely. She saw Alfred's ill-disguised surprise, and shrugged. "She needs her people around her. And it's about time Bruce Wayne stuck around."

Alfred coughed delicately, and only then did Maya remember a lesson her former boss had drummed into her head dozens of times."Say less, more," Donna had always admonished her. Well, what the hell? Donna was dead, and she had been discreet as anything—perhaps too much so—and Annabeth had nearly died, and never bothered to keep her mouth shut. So which was the better method? Maya was beyond the point where she could possibly give a damn.

Staring down a barrel of a gun can do that to you, I guess, she admitted ruefully. And so could spending the better part of a night at a hospital with almost total strangers, all of them rooting for the same outcome. It tended to break down a lot of barriers thrown up by traditional good manners.

"Perhaps," Alfred suggested tactfully, "This would be a good time for me to coax Master Wayne away? I imagine you have several things to discuss with him about Safe Haven—" her anxious grimace proved his worried assumptions correct— "and then he could do with a few hours' sleep. I promise I'll stay with Annabeth as long as she wants me, and likely longer than that, too."

Whatever weary hostility Maya had directed towards him instantly melted away. "Would you? That would be—so helpful." She collapsed into one of the waiting room chairs, and Alfred took that as his cue to go off and track down Master Wayne.

Although Annabeth had finally fallen back into a drugged sleep, Bruce hadn't moved from her side since much earlier that morning. Nor had he slept. He was still there when Alfred went in to fetch him, and he didn't look pleased to be routed from his watch.

"I'm not leaving," were his exact, growled words. At no point did he look away from Annabeth. "So don't bother to ask me to."

Alfred ignored this statement. "Maya is in the waiting room, Master Wayne. She needs to speak with you."

"She can wait."

Alfred gazed at Annabeth's pale, still form for a moment before he answered Bruce. "Poor dear. She's got no idea how things are falling down all around her. I feel badly for her. When she finally comes around, everything will be at sixes and sevens."

Bruce only nodded in agreement.

"Perhaps, sir, you'd indulge me for just a moment when I say to you that, until Miss Annabeth is back on her feet again, you and that young lady out there are the only two people who can really keep Safe Haven going. Don't you think you'll be more use to Miss Annabeth if you're out there, trying to salvage what she's spent the last few years of her life trying to build up? What she has lost so much for? Wouldn't that make her sacrifice in vain?" Fearlessly Alfred stared down the younger man, and for once, Bruce was forced to concede.

"You'll stay with her?"

Alfred nodded, and before he could say anything else in persuasion, Bruce was on his feet and moving towards the door. "You're right.Dammit. I hate it when you're right."

Right or wrong, there was too much to be done for Alfred to press the point any more. He simply settled himself down beside Annabeth and watched as once more, Bruce Wayne answered the call of everyone else's needs but his own.

It was an unhappy, and yet fortunate, set of circumstances which made it quite lucky that Bruce was not at the hospital that day.

First, the drugs in Annabeth's system finally wore off, and she awoke to not only quite a bit of pain, but also her normal coherence and lucidity. Reality set in right at the same time as did physical discomfort, and Alfred thanked the fickle fates for sending Bruce away before he could see Annabeth as she slowly came to terms with her new life.

She came awake, and her eyes lit onto Alfred. "Jesus," she croaked. "I must be bad off if Bruce got you out of the Manor."

He smiled, and it was a soft, gentle laugh which sounded absurdly out of place against all the beeping, clicking, ticking machines. "Not at all. I just decided to keep you company for a while. How are you, my dear?"

Annabeth shrugged, and although it was a weak, feeble gesture, it spoke volumes: of her unwillingness to complain, mostly, but also of her insistent dignity: even at her worst, she would not admit to any sort of compromising weakness. "I'm here." She tried to hoist herself up, much as she had done earlier that morning, but again, the searing pain prevented her. Alfred instinctively jerked forward as she gasped. "Christ, that was bad." She glanced over at him. "Does the bed raise up?"

"You don't want to do that, Ms. de Burgh—not yet, anyway."

The new voice came from the doorway, and both Annabeth and Alfred peered over. An older woman stood in the doorway, and as Alfred realized who it was, he visibly brightened. "Leslie!"

She smiled back. "Alfred, it's been too long."

Alfred turned to Annabeth. "This is Dr. Leslie Thompkins, Annabeth."

"Another doctor," Annabeth sighed. "Fabulous." She eyed the woman, and decided that, with her tall elegance, her silver hair, and her kind eyes, she couldn't be too awful. At the very least, she couldn't say anything that Annabeth didn't already know.

"I'm an old friend of Alfred and Bruce's," Leslie Thompkins explained. "Do you mind if I call you Annabeth?"

"I've been called worse," was her laconic reply.

Dr. Thompkins glanced at Alfred, as if to say, No weepy, wilting flower here, eh? "Bruce and Alfred wanted to bring me in...I think they've got a specialist coming in later today, but they wanted someone personally involved, in the know, who can advocate for you and help you all through this."

"I'm pretty sure my insurance won't cover that."

"I'm pretty sure it won't matter." Leslie glanced at Alfred. "You have a lot of people who care a great deal about you, and want to make sure you're getting the best possible care. With your permission, I'd like to talk with you, and then do a cursory examination. Then I'm going to talk to the surgeon...Dr. Andrews, was it?"

Annabeth nodded.

"Splendid. I know him well. A fine colleague." Was that sarcasm in Leslie's voice? In her current state, Annabeth couldn't be sure. Her memories of Dr. Andrews were fairly hazy. "So..." Leslie glanced at Alfred again. "Would you mind terribly if I were to speak to Annabeth privately?"

"Not at all." Alfred smiled down at Annabeth. "I'll be right outside, Miss Annabeth, but I promise you you're in the best hands."

The two women watched him leave, and then, as he closed the door softly behind him, Leslie turned back to Annabeth. "Tired of being coddled?"

"Getting there." Annabeth admitted this readily, and then managed to muster up a grin. "I'm getting restless...I want news. Information. I want to know what's going on."

"I can imagine. And I'm sorry to say I don't have any news, at least not yet." She settled herself down beside Annabeth's bed. "But I also wanted to say—Bruce told me about your baby. I'm so sorry."

An odd look crossed over Annabeth's face, as she clenched her jaw against an unseen pain. "I...thanks. It's just that...there's so much that I'm trying to process, and I'm not sure it's really sunk in yet. That I lost the baby...I barely had the time to get used to it being there, being inside me, and now it's gone. I know all about the stages of grief...I wonder if I'm in denial."

"I'm not sure about that," Leslie shook her head. "You're pretty self-aware...I think the body will figure out when it's time for you to cope with that. You've been through a tremendous deal of trauma, and it's quite enough for now that you came out of it alive."

"Alive, huh?" Annabeth looked skeptical. "After last night, I'm beginning to wonder if I am. Because this feels like hell to me."

Not too far off, Bruce and Maya certainly felt like they were descending into hell.

Technically, Safe Haven was still considered a crime scene, but only Montoya and Bullock were there, wrapping up their investigation, and they were willing to let them in.

"We didn't clean anything up," Montoya said apologetically to Maya. "I'm afraid that's not where our primary focus was."

"It's fine," Bruce reassured her. "You've got more important things to do, right?" He winked at her, but Montoya's only response was to turn away and roll her eyes at Bullock, who chuckled and grinned unsympathetically. He was a solid, honest partner, and knew Montoya could hold her own-which was exactly why he treated her like one of the guys. In fact, he took a wicked amusement from her utter indifference to the male sex; poor Bruce Wayne was barking up the wrong tree, there.

Maya was oblivious to this entire exchange. She seemed unaware of everything except the wreckage of her workplace. As they made their way through the building, she mentally made notes: an overturned chair here, a shattered vase there. A pile of ratty Barbie dolls lay abandoned in one of the bedrooms; Maya knew exactly which little girl it was who had been snatched away from her innocent play and thrust into to the world of adult intrigue and games. Briefly she wondered where the girl and her mother were—where had she managed to place them? Christ, why couldn't she remember? It has only been twelve hours ago, perhaps even less. She rubbed her eyes, and then wearily stumbled.

"Careful," Bruce warned her as he caught her elbow. He studied her for a moment. "When did you last sleep?"

"When did you?" Maya shot back.

Bullock and Montoya had followed them, and as they approached the playroom, Bullock finally spoke up. "I'm thinking you guys might not want to hang out in there."

No one felt the need to state the obvious: this would be the most trashed room in the building, and no doubt the blood of more than one person now stained the floor. Bruce and Maya glanced at each other and saw mirror images of grim resolve. Maya spoke for both of them. "We're going in."

The two investigators didn't object; they knew better than that. So they stood aside and let them pass into the room.

In the light of day, from the comfort of being on the safe side of the situation, it was strange to view the room in which so much had gone so wrong, in which such terrible events had unfolded so recently. Now the room was silent, and it was difficult for someone to imagine that the screams and cries of terrified hostages that had shattered the peace. Bruce and Maya had both been there, but of course, no one knew that this was not Bruce's first time seeing the room so defiled.

He schooled his expression into a look of shock. "I can't believe what they did here."

Maya took in the overturned furniture, the scattered, broken toys, the shattered window. "I saw it...I saw all of it, and I still can't believe they did this to us." She slowly made her way over to where Annabeth had been shot, and forced herself to look at the blood. And then she turned and looked at the other place, close by, where Donna had died.

"We can call in a company," Bruce assured her. "There are companies around the city that go in after a violent crime, or an accident, and clean things up. I'll have someone at the Foundation do it as soon as we leave. Or maybe the police guys can suggest someone."

"Gals."

"Pardon?"

"Police gals and guys," Maya reminded him. "Donna's dead for less than a day and you already forget everything she's tried to teach you?"

Bruce shrugged. "I'm a slow learner sometimes." He knelt down and began gathering up some of the broken toys. "Besides, I listened more to Annabeth."

"I bet you did." Maya knelt down beside Bruce. "Hey...I'm really so sorry about...everything. I can't help but thinking that I should have stopped this from happening...that if I hadn't been fooled by those assholes and let them in-"

Bruce wouldn't let her get any farther. "Maya, just...be quiet. It's too soon to know what the hell happened, but I will bet anything that it's not your fault. You're the last person to blame...you're a victim."

"Victim," Maya snorted. "I hate that word. And jesus, there's one hell of a lot of victims in this. The count just keeps on rising."

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't tell you earlier...I didn't want to set you off. I know you and Mayor Garcia aren't exactly BFF."

Bruce went still. "What about Garcia?"

"He's trying to cancel the Take Back the Night Rally. Says that it's a no-go, since Donna was going to be the keynote speaker, and now Safe Haven's in the doghouse. I got the call from his secretary on the way over here."

The transformation was remarkable: one moment, Bruce was the affable, bumbling billionaire whose girlfriend had just been shot up; the next he was a stranger, radiating determination and even a little bit of rage. Maya had no way of knowing that her words had just thrown to Bruce the lifeline that he needed: she had unintentionally provided Bruce with his next adversary. Something he could take on, face down, defeat. A call to action.

"That son of a bitch," he hissed. The next instant, he was scrambling to his feet. "We've got to leave."

"Leave?" Maya echoed. "We just got here. I have a ton of shit to do to get this place cleaned up-"

"Maya." This was not the Bruce Wayne that she had come to know over the last few months; this was an angry young man who was looking to raise some hell. "That asshole did everything he could to bully, patronize, belittle, and undermine everything that Donna and Annabeth did, and everything they stood for. Donna's dead, and he's still doing it. The only time he ever stops is when someone smarter or more powerful flexes their muscles."

Without realizing it, Bruce had been raising his voice, and it had grown loud enough that both Montoya and Bullock abandoned their tactful distance and peeped into the room to see what the commotion was. Maya remained on the floor, gaping up at him in undisguised surprise.

"Trust me, Maya, that man is scum of the highest order. We can't roll over on this—Annabeth fought hard to make the rally happen, and Garcia trying to cancel it is like him spitting in her face. In the face of every female in Gotham—not just the ones I date." He leaned over, took her by the elbow, and half-hauled, half-helped her up. "We've got to get down to City Hall now."

"We?"

"Yes, we," Bruce snapped impatiently. "You're just about the only person left in charge—the only one that can speak for Safe Haven right now, you know that."

As he hustled her out of the room and past Bullock and Montoya, Maya cast one woeful look back at the playroom. Another problem for another time.

Bullock and Montoya gazed after them. "That man really loves women," Bullock remarked.

"Shut it, Bullock."

In scarcely any time at all, Bruce had hustled Maya out of Safe Haven and back onto the sidewalk, where his latest Lamborghini was parked. He ignored the three neighborhood kids gawking at it, and hustled Maya into the car. "Come on. After City Hall, we need to get on the horn with the other agencies about all that's left to be done. And then we need to figure out how soon Safe Haven can re-open."

" You sure I'm the only one left in charge?" Maya remarked.

Bruce didn't even seem to hear her. He turned the car on, revved the engine loudly. "And call the hospital, to see how Annabeth is doing."

As she dialed, she wearily remarked, "How long before we can stop putting out all these damned fires?"

"How long will it take for the whole city to burn?" was Bruce's bitter reply.

Although Bruce wanted—needed, if he wanted to be honest—a clear and defined enemy, he did not find it at City Hall. Nor did he find a battle needing to be fought. As soon as Mayor Garcia's assistant came to him with the news that the de facto director of Safe Haven, along with her unexpected champion Bruce Wayne, were in the lobby, demanding an immediate audience, the fight very prudently went out of the Mayor.

"Send them in, Jilly," Mayor Garcia sighed with put-upon weariness. "Tell them I can meet with them for a few minutes. But no more than that—I'm sure there's something more important for me to be doing than messing around with these do-gooders."

The assistant Jilly, whose name was, in fact, Lilly, gave him an impassive look before she turned and headed back out to the lobby. She was painfully aware of his eyes fixed appreciatively on her legs, and made a mental note to wear only slacks from then on out. Only in Gotham could an elected public official get away with being such a creep.

"The Mayor can see you now," she sighed as Bruce and Maya looked her expectantly. "Just don't take too long, or he'll blame me."

Other than her phone conversation with him earlier, Maya had had no interactions with the Mayor, and both Donna and Annabeth had tried to protect her and keep her in the dark about their distaste of him. She glanced curiously at Bruce as she took in the assistant's strangely unprofessional attitude, but Bruce seemed—equally strangely—unsurprised. Or perhaps he just was just too exhausted. No, he was shrugging wearily as they headed in. "You'll see."

And so she did see. As they entered the room, the Mayor rose from his desk and gave Bruce a hearty handshake; Maya had to make do with accepting an indifferent nod. Bruce saw it right away, gritted his teeth, and launched the opening salvo.

"Mayor Garcia," Bruce said without preamble, "Have you met Maya Franklin, the Intermediate Director of Safe Haven?"

Beside him, Maya had the presence of mind to hide her surprise.

Mayor Garcia had no such compunctions. "Miss Franklin...I had no idea...when we spoke on the phone, you made no such indication..."

"It wasn't yet confirmed," Maya said, and her voice contained a degree of coolness which belied her spinning mind. What the hell was Bruce doing? Donna and Annabeth had always spoken of him as a loose cannon. She silently prayed he had neither a lit fuse nor bad aim.

"Please, have a seat," the Mayor said. Almost reluctantly, it seemed, he included Maya in this invitation.

"Thanks all the same, but we'll stand," Bruce said. "We're terribly important and busy and don't have the time to linger."

Both Maya and the Mayor stared at him, but he gave no indication that he was joking. In fact, his next words were barely on the safe side of civil, and his tone certainly wasn't. "Garcia, the Interim Director is still very new to her job, so can be forgiven if she misinterpreted your conversation with her earlier. Are we to understand that you're trying to cancel the rally?"

It was brilliantly worded, Maya had to give him that. Bruce gave the Mayor an escape route—gave him the opportunity to deny what he had clearly told her less than two hours before. It made her look like a fool, of course, but better that than making an outright enemy of the Mayor and having to call off of the rally.

The Mayor, clearly, was on the same wavelength. He glanced over at Maya, and then back at Bruce, and then his eyes slid away from both of them. He bit his lip in thought, and then spoke. "It's unfortunate Ms. Franklin here interpreted my words that way. Of course, I don't want to cancel the rally. Now more than ever, we need to take a stand against the violence our women face. I was merely offering Ms. Franklin an understanding way out, should she find she's not equal to the task."

Like hell. His exact words had been "Give it up now or look like a fool when I cancel it for you." Still, Maya kept her mouth shut and simply glared fiercely at the Mayor.

Bruce nodded. "I thought as much. And just so there is no question, let's just specifically clarify—the Take Back the Night Rally is scheduled for the 27th, with no cancellation or interference from City Hall?"

"Of course," Mayor Garcia said simply. And then, almost as an afterthought, "but what about the keynote speaker?"

"Pardon?" Bruce actually looked taken off guard for a moment, but Maya realized instantly what the Mayor was referring to. Shit.

"Donna Drake was going to be the keynote speaker," the Mayor pointed out with exaggerated patience. "But as it turns out, she's a little bit dead. So who do you propose to speak in her place, and to lead the rally? It's a little pointless, otherwise, don't you think?"

If the Mayor had thought this was his trump card, he was immediately disabused of the notion. Bruce didn't miss a beat.

"It's all taken care of," he assured the Mayor. Again, Maya kept quiet, but the Mayor didn't miss the questioning look she shot in Bruce's direction.

"Interesting," the Mayor said thoughtfully. "Dare I ask who?"

"You may." Bruce's smile was innocent. "But you don't need to. It's me. I'll be the speaker."

A moment of stunned silence followed, and then the Mayor burst into laughter. Both Bruce and Maya stared at him; Bruce looked as though he weren't surprised by the reaction, but Maya's eyes were beginning to blaze with an anger not unlike that of Annabeth's gaze.

"Ah, haha, sorry...heh...please forgive me, Wayne," Garcia said, still chuckling, "but you never struck me as a type particularly adept at public speaking. I don't think you're really man enough...or should I say woman enough...for the job."

Maya had heard enough. She rose from her seat, and while her face was pale with rage, her smile was honey-sweet, which made her following words all the more difficult to comprehend.

"Mayor Garcia," Maya said sweetly, "If we wanted your opinion, I'd take my dick out of your mouth and ask you for it."

"You said what?"

Janey gazed at Maya with an expression which was equal parts awe and disbelief. She wasn't the only one, either—Alfred was trying, and failing, to hide his expression of appalled amusement, and Bruce looked as though he still didn't know quite what to make of it.

"I said, 'if I wanted your opinion, I'd take my dick out of your mouth and ask you for it.'" Maya had the grace to look a little bit sheepish. "I've got to say, I certainly didn't go in there planning to say it. I just got so fed up with him and his condescending attitude. Prick."

Alfred couldn't resist the temptation to venture into the complexities of the issue. "Should I even attempt to point out how anatomically inaccurate your retort was?"

"I suspect this was less about accuracy, and more about shock value," Bruce sighed. "While I'm not sure I'm on board with the statement, it had the desired result of leaving the Mayor speechless. We were able to leave pretty quickly after that."

The four of them were clustered in the ICU waiting room, holding an impromptu meeting. Alfred had been sitting there when Bruce and Maya returned from their adventure to City Hall, and Janey had turned up a few minutes later. Now, having grown tired of contemplating Maya's sudden sassiness, Bruce turned his attention back to more personal matters.

"How's Annabeth?"

The loaded look which Janey and Alfred exchanged did nothing to reassure Bruce. He repeated the question, putting a little more command into his words. "How is she?"

"Dr. Thompkins is in with her right now," Janey said. "She's been really great. She pisses off Dr. Andrews, who's an insensitive, territorial little Nazi—he doesn't like the fact that Dr. Thompkins showed up and started advocating for Annabeth..." she drifted off as she saw Bruce's impatience. He had been asking about Annabeth, not hospital politics, and her attempt to distract him had not worked. "Physically, she's doing really well. They're pumping her full of antibiotics to ward off infection. She's in some pain, but other than that—she's getting along remarkably well."

"You said 'physically'," Bruce pointed out. "So what about otherwise?"

Again, Janey and Alfred shared a glance, and this time, Alfred spoke. Both Maya and Janey had the impression that he chose his words with the greatest of care. "I think, Master Wayne, she is perhaps unhappy...at present. Her way of dealing with sorrow has always been to immerse herself in work...and that's not an option right now. So she broods."

For a moment after that, they stood there silently, a cluster of troubled people, each one struggling to comprehend the enormity of the problems that had been assaulting them since the attack on Safe Haven. They were each of them exhausted and worried; in the case of both Bruce and Maya, they were both holding grief at bay by nothing more than sheer force of will and the knowledge that there was still more work to do. But in that moment, they were all, more or less, dangerously close to giving up.

But in the next moment, Dr. Andrews—the insensitive, territorial little Nazi himself—turned up. No doubt some political animal of a nurse had alerted him that the Annabeth faction was gathering, and so he bustled his way in before they could form too much of a mutiny.

"Good to see you all," he said as he approached them. "It's so nice to see how Miss de Burgh has such supportive...friends." Here he glanced at Bruce Wayne, as though he were attempting to gauge just how "friendly" Bruce and his patient were. "It's very important for our patients to have a strong support network around them."

Janey happened to glance over at Bruce in that moment, and noted two things—one, that his face had gone pale with rage, and two, that his hands were clenching into fists. Not good. But before she could do anything to intervene, Dr. Andrews had already sailed off, satisfied that he had done his duty. What that duty was, no one but him knew.

"Don't pay him any mind," chimed in another voice, and they turned to take in Dr. Leslie Thompkins standing behind them.

"Leslie!" Bruce's voice reflected both a warmth and a familiarity that neither Maya nor Janey had witnessed before. "Once more, you came through."

"For you, Bruce, always." She smiled at him, and then turned to the others. "I'm afraid dear Dr. Andrews hasn't taken too kindly to me becoming Annabeth's primary physician—"

"How is she?" Bruce interrupted.

"She's going to pull through just fine." Leslie Thompkins was one of the few people who was neither disconcerted by, or in awe of Bruce, and it showed. "Right now, I have to be honest—I'm more worried about you. All of you," she added, glancing around at them all. "I've been keeping up with the news, and I can guess how hard you've all been working."

They didn't bother to protest, because they each knew it to be true—Bruce and Maya had been running around almost non-stop, trying to do damage control; Janey had been preoccupied with Annabeth's health and hospital politics, and Alfred, unsurprisingly had been attempting to provide physical and moral support for them all. "You all—go home right now. I mean it," she added as she saw Bruce start to protest. "You're all exhausted. I'm still fresh and new to the situation, I can stay here a good long while. But you all—you need to go home. Rest. Shower, eat. I don't want to see you around here until tomorrow night."

Nothing was more of a testimony to their stress than the collective blank look that they gave her. Bruce was the one that finally voiced the question that was on their mind.

"What's tomorrow night?"

Leslie glanced around the ICU waiting room and took in the decorations, the fake tree, the feebly blinking lights before she answered Bruce. When she did, her voice was even more kind than it was normally.

"Christmas Eve."