Preface:

What's in a name? That which we call a rose, blah, blah, blah. It turns out when you have to take fictional cities and translate them into real ones, names are important; at least the real names.

Metropolis is a no-brainer. The Big Apple. Gotham is a bit more problematic. It has been used to refer to NYC, but in the comics it seems to be in New Jersey. For this story, however, I prefer to place it in Chicago since The Windy City stands in for the home of The Dark Knight in the movies. Star City is Seattle (natch), but Central City is a bit more vague so I chose St. Louis for the home of S.T.A.R. labs and the residence of the fastest man on Earth. Other locations will be translated as the need arises. Anyone who has objections to my version of mapping, please suspend your disbelief for the time it takes you to read and, I hope, enjoy this version of reality.

Patricia Walker, Hellcat, Jessica Jones, Luke Cage, Misty Knight, Colleen Wing, Matt Murdock, Kyle Richmond and Nighthawk are the intellectual property of Marvel Comics.

Elizabeth Kane, Kate Kane, Bruce Wayne, Batman, Batwoman, Alice, Alfred Pennyworth, Julia Pennyworth, Superman, Supergirl, Kara Zor-el, Kal-El and Carmine Falcone are the intellectual property of DC Comics.

This is a work of non-commercial fan fiction and not intended for, or to be used for, commercial purpose.

Chapter 1

It was considered a hidden gem, and remaining hidden was exactly what they were going for. The excellent weather was a bonus.

Beth helped Amal carry what little luggage she possessed into the airy bungalow before setting the bags down and looking around the colorful, cozy interior. "You'll be safe. No one your husband hires is ever going to think to look for you here."

The cottage was located on the Caribbean coast of Costa Rica. Playa Cocles was a favorite destination of Aric or, more accurately, of Heidi and Micah when they held their seven-day, six-night yoga retreats. But Puerto Viejo, barely a stone's throw away, was where he chose to stay since Azania Bungalows could be convinced that the one-hundred pound German Shepard named Tyler that accompanied him everywhere would not eat the furniture.

At the moment, both Aric and Tyler were absent. They had stayed long enough to confirm the arrangements for Azania Bungalows' newest resident, part of which was complete secrecy as to her presence which, if anyone were to ask, was being rented for the entire month of October by Mrs. Francine Whitman, recently widowed, currently morning the loss of her beloved husband Dr. Martin Whitman, of Spokane, Washington. Anyone interested enough to check would find a beautiful obituary to Dr. Whitman in the Spokane-Review as well as the Spokane Daily Chronicle. The fact that those obituaries, and the people populating them, were entirely fabricated was beside the point. Her stay was back-dated so that it would appear to those hypothetical enquirers that Mrs. Whitman had arrived four days before Beth and Trish had dropped into Jeddah and rescued Amal al-Jabbour from the virtual prison that her husband Alawi had constructed for her after her last successful escape from him; an escape that was foiled when Alawi al-Jabbour had hired Beth, still operating under the name and psyche of Alice, and her team to kidnap his wife from her residence in Paris and return her to her over-possessive husband. Beth's recent efforts to free the woman once again were a form of personal atonement; one small step in shedding some of the weight of guilt that Elizabeth Kane felt for all the pain and suffering she had caused while her broken mind had been under Alice's control. Beth knew that she would never be rid of the weight completely, that she would carry some of it all her life. It would take her more than one lifetime to right every wrong she had committed.

"You could work your magic on me like you do on Tyler," she had said to Aric as she petted the furry head of the thirty-year-old mutt that Aric was keeping perpetually young, "that would give me the time I need."

Aric had smiled at her as Tyler placed his head in her lap for easier access.

"Immortality is seriously overrated. Trust me. Besides, the woman you were back then no longer exists. The Daughters of Lilith broke your mind on purpose, to make you into a weapon they could use. If anyone has anything to atone for, it's them."

"I hear you. But I can only say it wasn't my fault so many times before it starts to sound hollow even to me."

Aric had leaned over and placed his hand on her shoulder before kissing her forehead. "What does Dr. Carver Burke say about it?"

She stared into his beautiful eyes for several seconds before the urge to kiss his soft lips overwhelmed her, which created a longer delay before she quoted one of the first things that her shrink had said to her after she had started her court-ordered therapy sessions with him.

"He said that separating my wrongdoings from my core self is important, that my wrong behavior doesn't make me bad, that my actions and identity are linked but also separate."

Aric wrapped his arms around her and she nuzzled her cheek on his shoulder. They stayed that way for a short time before he spoke.

"Reinhold Niebuhr said, forgiveness is the final form of love. You need self-love, just like any other form of love. You deserve it. Try and remember that."

"I know what form of love I want most of all," she said as she reached her hand for his, his heartbeat playing in her ear where it was pressed to his chest.

She could tell somehow that he was smiling when he answered.

"That's also an important form of love."

It was a love she never in a million years would have expected. It was Aric who had used his power, or gift, or whatever she chose to call it, and put her back together again, joining the two opposites of her split personalities back into one; though he would always correct her and say that it was she who did the reassembly, he had just been the tool she used. She usually called bullshit when he claimed that, but not always. Not everything has to be a fight. That was another lesson that had taken some time for her to learn. It had also taken her a while to learn how to stop thinking of Aric and switch to the task at hand.

"You should have your new passport in a few days. Passport, driver's license, credit cards. For now, just stick to the bungalow and the beach. Anything you need, just sign for it, Mrs. Whitman."

"Francine Whitman, née Mona. Birthday June 12, 1973, Fall River, Massachusetts."

"Right. Good."

The dark-haired, olive-skinned woman seemed to still be a bit stunned by her change in situation. It would not have been the first time in the last day or so that she spontaneously burst into tears, but she got a grip before she lost it, and only a few tears rolled down her smooth cheeks. When she spoke her beautiful dark accented voice was calm and steady.

"I know I have said this a hundred times already, but thank you for what you have done for me; you, and your friends."

"It's the least I could do; you were only there because of me. I'm sorry for that."

The raven-haired head shook in opposition to Beth's statement before she had finished it.

"He would have just sent someone else. It's not your fault he chose you, and I recognize now after talking to your friend what happened to you, and how you came to be in that position."

"Her name is Trish. I'll give her your thanks. You have my number if you need anything. You have the number of our friends in New York. They handle private security if it's ever necessary, but I don't think it will be. Just don't contact anyone from your previous life. They could track you by that."

"There isn't anyone from my former life that I have any interest in contacting," she said before her face changed, and Beth knew the look well enough to predict the question that would follow.

"Can I have the number of your other friend? The one with the dog?"

"She's good. She has my number and the one that Kyle set up for her just in case. How much were you able to pull from her husband's accounts before they closed the back door on you?"

"426,755,901 €. I'm sending it the long way around, and breaking it into smaller chunks than usual. No way he'll ever track it down, or connect it to her."

"Good. She'll need it to start a new life. I think it'll work out for her."

"I'm glad it went smoothly. How do you feel?" Julia asked from their apartment in Harlem.

"I feel good. I mean, I still feel bad, but I feel good. She spent years in that fucking prison, however gilded it was, because of me. At least she's out now. Nothing more I can do unless I want to go after that asshole of a husband of hers, and that won't change what I did."

"No, it will not. So erase that thought from your mind, and spend that energy on packing for our vacation. When will you be home?"

It was a little over two thousand miles as the crow flew from Playa Cocles where Beth was enjoying a bottle of Imperial to the apartment on 130th Street where Julia was sitting, but that didn't matter much given Beth's mode of transport.

"He's waiting for my signal. I'm gonna finish my beer, and then call him."

"OK, should I order food, or wait until you're here?"

"Hold off for a bit. I won't be long."

"Got it. See you soon."

Beth turned the bottle upside down to get the last few drops of beer before placing the empty bottle on the counter.

"Muchas gracias. Hasta luego," she said to the bartender with a small wave of her hand before turning and walking out. It was a short walk to the beach and the secluded spot she had selected.

I'm finished. Is my dark matter Uber available?

It wasn't telepathy, no matter what Julia or Jessica said. It was a byproduct of their connection, the bond they had formed when he had fixed her. He had tried to explain it to her early in their relationship, but that was back in the days when she had a one-track mind whenever he was around.

Hang on, there's a couple in the garden; though the way they're looking at each other, they probably wouldn't notice.

Almost three months since a simple job had turned into a life-changing experience; three months since Alice and Beth reconciled finally, since the new merged persona, who had retained the name Elizabeth Kane, had acquired two partners. One of them, a woman who was almost as tall as Beth, and almost twenty pounds heavier - and every ounce of that solid muscle, had been pursuing her own agenda against the New York City underworld at the same time as Beth and Julia had been following theirs. The other, a man who defied any type of label, be it superhero, demigod, or boyfriend; the man who had put humpty-dumpty back together again by tapping into a limitless supply of dark energy and wielded it like a carpenter used a hammer or a surgeon employed a scalpel.

She had always assumed that her life would come to an abrupt, messy, ending; and that her days before that ending came would be lonely and filled with sadness. Not quite three months since she began to realize that other fates were possible for her now, destinies that were much brighter and much less solitary. Friends. A man she loved, who might actually love her back. An existence that was not filled solely with pain and regret.

forgiveness is the final form of love.

She began to truly believe that she could forgive herself.

OK, ready to come home? Aric asked her after a short delay.

absolutely.

The world dissolved into golden light, almost immediately replaced by the familiar view of the Harlem Rose Garden, and the man who was too fucking beautiful for words.

Trish Walker accepted her bag from the limo driver, paid the bill for the trip from JFK to the Tempo Building, took the elevator to the sixth floor, and unlocked the door to her apartment just as her phone vibrated. She looked briefly at the name on the display.

Jess

"When did you get back?" her best friend asked without preamble.

"How do you know I'm back? Are you watching my apartment building?"

"No, dumbass; I know you're back because you finally turned your fucking phone on."

"That's true. It was off the entire time we were in Saudi Arabia and during transit. We didn't want to leave any sort of cell tower trail for him to follow."

Trish wasn't sure, but she would bet money that, given the background noise, Jessica Jones was sitting at the bar at Cap's Bar and Grill - I Can Do This All Day.

"Are you at Luke's?"

"I am. Come on by and have lunch."

"The only place I'm going to is bed. I'm jet lagged as hell."

"You know what cures that? Bourbon."

Trish didn't bother to unpack. She stripped off everything she was wearing, walked to the refrigerator, and opened a bottle of mineral water.

"Bourbon is your cure for everything."

"Not always. Sometimes it's scotch."

"My mistake."

"So it went OK? Am I gonna hear in the news that some rich Saudi asshole was killed in his mega-mansion by unknown assailants?"

"No, he's fine. He wasn't even home, he was out with one of his girlfriends. Some of his guards got a bit dented. Beth wasn't very nice to them. You know how she is."

"I know she had a personal history with them, but she never went into detail. I'm just glad you're both home safe."

Jessica had met Beth, though she was still wearing the name Alice at the time, before Trish had. Both of them had been investigating a warehouse on Avenue C. It had been Beth who suggested that Trish needed to start planning for her retirement, and had shared the contacts that she needed to do that. Nothing that could be reported on her taxes. Free Tax USA didn't have a box to select for money I stole from some assholes who were selling guns, drugs, or slaves, and then laundered through a bank in the Cayman Islands. Jess had been in complete agreement on the topic, even though she had no interest in joining in.

"A million here, a million there; pretty soon you're talking about real money."

"I'll stop when I hit ten large, should be enough to live off the interest."

She was not quite halfway there. It had been a profitable several months in that regard. The NYPD was curious why so many of the locations that they were alerted to via anonymous tips were so short of cash recently, but no one was going to file a claim or ask the police for an accounting of exactly how much cash was seized.

"I'm home safe, Beth might still be with the client. She'll take a shortcut home once she gets her settled, so there's no telling when she'll be back."

Jess knew exactly what the word shortcut meant in that regard. A super cavitated bubble of exotic gravitons that could connect two points in space. Trish and Jessica had traveled that way more than once.

"You should come by when you're up to it. Both of you. You can spill on the details of your trip to the Middle East."

"Beth and Julia are going to Chicago to visit Beth's sister. If you want us both there you may have to wait a week."

"She taking the pretty boy with her? She gonna introduce him to the family?"

"No, and you know that they don't have that kind of relationship."

"They're fucking, I know that much; what other kind of relationship is there?"

Her timing had been perfect and resulted in a stream of mineral water leaving Trish's mouth and spraying across her kitchen counter. It took a moment, and a short bout of coughing, before Trish could answer.

"Lots of other kinds. You know what his life is like. He's not the traditional boyfriend, he can't be. What they have together is only a few months old. They need time to figure it out for themselves before you stick a fucking label on it."

"Who said I was labeling it? I only said they were fucking."

"Jesus. In answer to your question, from about a million years ago it seems like, I don't know if he'll be showing up at any family events in Chicago during her stay. She did suggest that if I had a few days off I should go out and meet her sister Kate and her cousin Bruce. I might take her up on that. Laurel Lance said she would be happy to put me up for a couple of days."

"Bruce? As in the guy with more money than Davy Crockett who called Kyle and bailed us out of that jam in the warehouse Bruce? You're going to meet another fucking billionaire?"

"Yes, that Bruce; and no, I'm not meeting another fucking billionaire, I'm meeting Beth's family. If I go. Which I may not."

"Why the fuck would you not go? Two billionaires are better than one, right?"

"I only work for Kyle Richmond, I don't socialize with him."

"No, but he wants to socialize with you; preferably with you draped over the back of a chair."

"God, what a fucking perv you are."