"You would not believe who walked into the office today!" Isabelle shrieked as soon as she entered the apartment later on in the evening. She quickly removed her red coat and placed it onto the leather sofa, depositing her black bag on top of it as she looked at Jonathan's back. He was sat at his desk, his hand holding his head as his other one held his pen.

"Bruce Wayne," he drawled back to her and Isabelle's face fell as she kicked her shoes off and walked over to Jonathan. "It's been on the news."

"I see," Isabelle responded, wrapping her arms around his chest as she leant behind him and he sighed once, looking to the side as she rested her head onto his shoulder. "You look..."

"Fed up?" Jonathan wondered as Isabelle's eyes scanned down at the paperwork which he was completing. "Tired?"

"Yes," Isabelle responded simply. "What's wrong?"

"Work," he simply said, his voice gruff as he pulled at his tie and Isabelle kissed his neck gently as he leant back in his seat, his hands holding onto hers.

"You should take a break," she urged him. "Jonathan...you work too hard...all of this testifying in court...well...it can't be good for you."

"It needs to be done," he said lowly back to her. If only she knew what he had gotten himself into. "But, it doesn't matter."

"And why is that?" Isabelle wondered as he stood up and turned around in her hold, his own arms wrapping around her waist as he cradled her closely to him.

"I've booked us a honeymoon. We're going away this weekend," he drawled. Isabelle's eyes enlarged as she watched him and he noted her face. She was supposed to be happy. She was supposed to be happy when he had proposed and she was supposed to be enthralled now. "What's the matter?"

"I have work...Jonathan..." she muttered and Jonathan removed his glasses as well as his arms from around her waist and he looked away, his jaw set in a stubborn manner as Isabelle shook her head hastily. She didn't want to disappoint him. He needed a break and so did she. They both needed just to spend time with each other. "But...it doesn't matter..."

That seemed to please him. Jonathan smiled back at her, his hand running through his hair as he nodded once.

"Where are we going?" Isabelle wondered, moving into the kitchen and pulling out a wine glass whilst Jonathan picked his notebook up and flicked through it, checking his notes were all up to date. He'd removed his sweater and stood there in just his loose tie and shirt which was tucked into his black trousers.

"I've booked us a room in a hotel in New York," Jonathan simply responded, seeming more interested in his notes as he leant against the worktop in the kitchen and frowned at what he had read. He rolled his eyes and took his pen, scribbling the writing away. Isabelle downed her wine and managed to smile for him. "It's away from Gotham. That is the main thing."

Jonathan needed to get away from the city. He needed to leave. He had been to see Falcone about a certain Rachel Dawes, telling him of the problem which she was causing him. She had insisted that he had been corrupt. Of course, she was right, but, she didn't need to know that. Jonathan needed to get rid of her. She was becoming unavoidable.

A honeymoon was the perfect excuse to skip town.

...

I hated flying. I mean really hated it. It was the thing which scared me the most. The thought of being thirty thousand feet in the air was not something which appealed to me. I'd cried the last time I had been to Disneyland with mom and dad. They had to give me a brown bag to breathe into.

So, it was no surprise that I was a nervous wreck. Jonathan had checked us both in and gained the ticket which we needed before we moved to the waiting room. He'd taken a seat, folding his legs whilst I remained stood up, looking out the large glass windows as planes moved up and down the runway.

"You can sit down," Jonathan stated and I did as he had said, taking a seat beside him and leaning forward, my teeth biting down onto my bottom lip.

"What's wrong?" Jonathan wondered, his hand moving onto the small of my back as he moved it up and down the material of the black blazer which I was wearing. "You've turned awfully pale and look sick."

"It's nothing," I muttered back, still looking as a plane hurled down the runway and finally left the concrete.

"You're scared of flying," Jonathan deadpanned with me and I looked into his eyes as he sighed and shook his head. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to worry you," I complained and he rolled his eyes.

"I had always wondered what you feared," Jonathan mumbled. "Flying is perfectly safe."

"I should maybe get a drink," I responded, ignoring his previous comment. Flying is perfectly safe? I'm in a tin can in the middle of the sky. How is that safe? "It might calm my nerves."

"No," Jonathan said, grabbing my hand before I could move off for the bar in the corner. "You drink like a fish already."

"I have one glass of wine when I come back from work," I deadpanned.

"If you keep drinking then you'll become dependent and it won't tackle your fear of flights," Jonathan informed me. I knew he would go into psychiatrist mode. Even though he was sat there in just his white shirt and black trousers, he still thought he was back in the office.

"You do know that my driving to the airport is more dangerous than stepping onto this plane, don't you?" Jonathan checked with me and I remained silent, looking into his blue eyes as he spoke. "You could board a plane every day and it would take twenty six thousand years for you to die...statistically speaking, of course."

"What if this is the flight?" I worried and Jonathan shook his head quickly.

"No," he replied simply. "You need to distract yourself."

"How?" I worried. "How can I distract myself?"

"Let me," Jonathan said back to me and he curled his finger under my chin before pressing his lips against mine softly. That was working. That was working really well. He pushed his other hand onto my cheek before allowing it to move through my hair and his lips moved against my bottom lip, the pressure varying as I felt myself redden and move closer to him.

"How was that?" he wondered, his voice slightly full of cockiness as he pulled away and smirked at me.

"You're...well...extremely distracting..." I murmured as I noted his eyes shimmer with smugness.

"Well," he mumbled into my ear, "we can't keep that up for the entire flight. They'll have us kicked off."

"Much to my dismay," I mumbled and he wrapped his arm around me and pulled me closer to him, his lips pressing into my hair.

"There's nothing to fear but fear itself," he whispered down to me. "I'll help you."

...

The honeymoon was everything which I had wanted and possibly more. The hotel was lovely, the city was always alive. But none of it seemed to matter. Nothing existed except for Jonathan and I. We holed up in our room, preferring the company of each other in comparison to the thousands who walked by us. Jonathan had insisted on taking me out for a meal and to see a show on the Saturday night before we flew back on the Sunday afternoon.

And that was when reality returned.

"Your mom has left you a voicemail," Jonathan informed me as I stood in the bedroom, unpacking our clothes from the holdall we had taken as he sauntered into the room and finally turned his mobile on. We had both left our phones at home, not wanting any distractions for the weekend.

"She'll probably be wondering if we got home," I responded. "She knows what I think of flying."

"It wasn't that bad though, was it?" he checked with me, engrossed on his phone.

"Not with you," I mumbled and he chuckled before he pressed his phone to his ear and I focused on the unpacking and deciding what needed washing. He listened to the voicemail in silence before he sighed once, tutting as he did so and then moving to his side of the wardrobe.

"What's up?" I enquired, seeing him place on his usual tie and sweater before checking his watch.

"Carmine Falcone has been caught whilst we've been away," Jonathan said and I gasped audibly. I didn't think that was possible at all. The mob would be in complete disarray. Did that mean the end of it? Of course not...there were others who were corrupt. "They found him in his cell with slit wrists. He'll be looking for the insanity plea."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," I snapped out at Jonathan, indicating to the door. "They don't need you to go out this late at night and tell them he's not insane! We all know it is a lie, Jonathan. He knows what he's doing."

"Still," Jonathan muttered, "it is better to be safe rather than sorry."

"It's a waste of time," I snorted.

"Enough, Isabelle," Jonathan hissed at me, his eyes glaring into mine and I looked at him, shyly folding up a shirt which he hadn't worn. "It is my job. I don't moan at you when you need to go and fetch lattes at seven in the morning, do I?"

I pursed my lips and didn't say anything to him. He grabbed his briefcase before he looked at me.

"Don't wait up. I will be back later."

...

Jonathan wasn't having Falcone tell him what he wanted. He wanted to be in on the plan with the toxin and Jonathan knew the man he was working for would not agree to that. He certainly didn't.

"I've been sat here for ages," Falcone complained. "The walls started closing in on Saturday morning but you only just got here...what kept you?"

"I had more interesting business to attend to," Jonathan said, remembering the weekend which he had just endured. His time with Isabelle had been what he had needed. She had made the perfect distraction for him and he was grateful to her for that.

"Oh yeah!" Falcone snapped out. "You and your little girl were going on honeymoon, weren't you? I bet that was fun...little Miss Dubois looks like she has quite the stamina...I don't know what I'm talking about! Miss Dubois? It's Mrs Crane now, isn't it?"

"It is," Jonathan said, remaining calm. "She's mine now. And her stamina – as you say – is just for me to know."

"That can be debated if you don't do as I want," Falcone snapped out. "If they take a look at what you're doing then they would see that the dear Doctor Crane isn't all too innocent. And...well...your little wife may be in trouble, too."

"I don't think so," Jonathan said, removing his glasses as he leant forward and looked pleadingly at Falcone. "Would you like to see my mask?"

...

"Jonathan!" I gasped his name the following night when he walked back into the apartment at eleven o'clock. I flung my arms around him and held him tightly as he froze, his spine seeming to stiffen under my touch. "Where have you been? You smell like...fire..."

I sniffed the air as he pulled away from me, his face calm and collected as he arched a brow in my direction.

"I thought you would be asleep," he informed me, his hands moving into his pockets as he let go of me and wandered about the apartment, seeming slightly bewildered.

"No," I said. "I've been waiting for you to come home, Jonathan. You weren't answering your phone!"

"I've been at work" he said. "A patient decided to experiment with fire."

"Jesus!" I yelled out, moving back over to him and taking his cheeks between my hands as I looked at him, absorbing his blue eyes which were still showing no sign of emotion. "Are you alright? How did that happen?"

"I'm fine," he said, wrapping his hands around my upper arms and kissing my cheek as he did so. "I'm fine. Nothing happened to me. They were suffering from schizophrenia. It was an unstable patient."

"How can I not worry about you?" I asked him, shaking my head as I felt my knees begin to buckle. I'd spent the last three hours wondering whether or not if I should call the police. Or should I go to look for him myself? I didn't know what to do.

"I can take care of myself, Isabelle."

"No...you're my husband...I love you...if anything had happened..." I felt myself turn hysterical. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he brought his hand to my hair and made me rest my forehead against his shoulder. He always thought I overreacted to a lot of things. But, I wasn't. I needed him to see how scared I was. I needed him to see how much I cared about him.

"Calm down," he urged me, his lips falling onto the top of my head. "You need to calm down."

...

"How can I help, Mr Earle?" I asked the boss as he stood by my desk the next day, a letter in his hand along with a cheque as I smiled up at him.

"Mr Wayne hasn't been here for the morning," he informed me. "He wanted these cheques signing for the Wayne Foundation. He wants to help charities with his shares."

He seemed to sneer at this fact as I looked up at him, my eyes narrowed slightly. At least he wasn't intending to keep his entire profits.

"That's nice of him," I simply replied and Earle shrugged, not seeming bothered as he dropped the papers onto my desk.

"Well he isn't that fussed. He hasn't been in this morning to sign them and they need signing so the bank can cash them in," Earle explained to me. "Take the afternoon off and go to Wayne Manor to make sure it is done."

"Me?" I squeaked out slightly and he arched his brow in my direction.

"Is there a problem?" he wondered and I shook my head. "Good. Go now."

...

"Holy crap," I muttered as I pulled onto the driveway of Wayne Manor. I stepped out the car, shutting the door and pulling my coat tighter around me as I tried not to stumble in the gravel due to my heels as I looked up to the Manor. I'd seen pictures of it in the papers, but, the real thing was much more. It was incredible. I rang the doorbell as I folded my arms and made sure my bag was held firmly onto my shoulder.

"Can I help you, Miss?" a voice wondered as the door opened to reveal a man with white hair and a piercing stare. A smile was on his face as he looked at me and I nodded at him, bouncing around on the balls of my feet to keep myself warm.

"I need to see Mr Wayne," I told him. "It's about a cheque which needs signing for his Foundation."

"Master Wayne is currently ill, Miss," he said back to me and I remained quiet. "Is it urgent?"

"Mr Earle seems to think so," I told him and his face fell when he heard that name but he nodded once, allowing me into the grand hallway of the Manor. I looked around, taking in the surroundings which astonished me. It was beautiful.

"Mrs Crane."

I turned around as I heard my name called out and I saw Bruce stood on the stairs, a dressing gown covering his body along with his pyjamas. His hair was out of place as he brushed his hands through it and rushed down the staircase.

"Mr Wayne," I said politely. "I'm sorry to disturb you."

"It's not a problem," he shook it off before looking at the man who had let me in. "Can I have a moment, Alfred?" he enquired as the man bowed slightly and then moved down the hallway.

"My butler," Bruce explained to me and I felt my mouth hang open. He had a butler? "He looked after me when my parents died." And then my mouth shut.

"He said you've been ill?" I checked and he looked away from me before nodding once.

"Something unfavourable got into my blood stream," he mumbled. "I take it that this isn't a social call?"

"Considering I'm supposed to be at work, no, it's not," I assured him, moving into my bag and producing a cheque along with a pen. "Mr Earle said these cheques need signing for the Foundation to be set up."

"I see," Bruce said; taking the pen and scrawling his name onto the paper before passing it back to me. "And Mr Earle couldn't wait for one more day?"

"Apparently not," I said, my arms dropping by my side as he smirked and handed me the cheque back. "Thanks."

"They tell me you and your husband went away for the weekend," Bruce said as I dropped the cheque back into my bag and made sure it wasn't crushed by anything as I nodded and smiled gently at the memory.

"We did," I confirmed. "He took me to New York"

"You sound as if you wish you were back there," he observed and I shrugged.

"I don't have a favourable relationship with Gotham..." I admitted. "There's nothing here but bad memories."

"So why are you here?"

"Jonathan won't go and I won't go without him," I shrugged. "Although...after last night I wish he would reconsider."

"What happened?" he wondered.

"A patient tried to set fire to himself. Jonathan came back stinking of the stuff." I complained. "Anyway, you don't need to know about that. You must have better things to do with your time then listen to my ramblings."

"Not really," he admitted. I wasn't sure if he was humouring or mocking me. "You must really love him."

"I...Jonathan means a lot to me...I can't explain it. He's everything." I rambled and then an awkward silence came between us before I coughed once. He didn't want to know about Jonathan and me! He was Bruce Wayne! He could find himself a million girls who were willing to throw themselves at him!

"I'd best go," I said, motioning to the door. "I need to send this cheque off...and then go home..."

"I suppose so," Bruce replied, moving to the door and holding it open for me. "Thanks for bringing the cheque around."

"No problem," I promised him and waved awkwardly as I walked down his steps. "I'll see you later, Mr Wayne."

...

Bruce stood in the cave, the remote in his hands as he folded his arms and looked at the TV which showed the picture of Jonathan Crane. He was the man he had encountered last night. He was the man who had induced him with his toxin. He was the one who had set him on fire.

And then he had gone home to his wife and lied to her about his whereabouts.

"She was a very pretty thing, Master Wayne," Alfred informed Bruce as he stood beside him at the TV screen and looked up at it as Bruce shook his head. Alfred was always trying.

"Did you not notice how I greeted her as Mrs Crane?" Bruce wondered, throwing his butler a glance as Alfred looked at the screen as Isabelle's photo appeared from her driving licence.

"I did," Alfred spoke. "I'm also noticing how you have a picture of her and her husband on the screen."

"Doctor Crane is the man who set fire to me, Alfred," Bruce explained, folding his arms as he glared at the man. "I remember that much."

"And you didn't think to tell his wife of this information, sir?" Alfred asked; his voice dry and sarcastic whilst Bruce rolled his eyes and shook his head, looking to the floor for a moment as he sniffed.

"She's not in danger," Bruce said with confidence.

"And how do you know that?"

"He's been married to her for a while. If he wanted to hurt then he would have done. She loves him and she wouldn't have listened to me, anyway. Who would she believe; me or her husband?"

"Do you not think it is only right that she knows?" Alfred enquired. "She's married to him."

"She'll find out," Bruce assured Alfred. "But not from my mouth."

"Then whose, sir?"

"Batman."

...

A/N: Thank you to Sam0728, Undertaker's Hattress, Bluebell, Mahxie, kaflute for reviewing! Glad you're liking it! Picking up a bit now, so please let me know what you think!