A/N: I know it's been ages since I last updated. I'm sorry for my long absence. I don't really have an excuse, but I finally finished this chapter. I did it a bit longer than normal, to make amends a bit.

My sincere thanks to everyone who's put this story on alert and favourite list. Special thanks to all my reviewers! I hope eveyone is staying safe and healthy. Please be safe!

Coming back to the story, our handsome superhero decides to make a tiny appearance in this chapter. Also, some readers wanted more Bruce/Rose interaction. So, this chapter is full of their banter! Enjoy! :)


Chapter 11

Vultures were circling. They were perched nearby, waiting for their prey to collapse and die.

Maroni's presence at the event was a ruthless reminder that I was swimming in the same water where big sharks lurked beneath the surface. It was a fierce display of power that he had access to everywhere in the city.

But . . .

If he thought I would retreat into my shell like a tortoise then he was fool enough to underestimate me. I was a proud daughter of a brave soldier; I was raised by a strong mother. I would never leave the arena without a fight. The mob would get everything they deserve.

Cocooned in a blanket I sat in the living room, seething. It was way past midnight, but I refused to go to bed. I had too much pent-up energy stuck in my body. Draping a thin sheet of darkness the spacious living room also yawned in silence. The darkness of the room was penetrated by a dim yellowish glow coming from the window. The night was quiet outside except the distant hum of late night traffic and the occasional wail of police cars.

Bro was snoring in his room, oblivious to the fact that his only sister was turning into a raging psychopath and was about to start a massacre in the streets of Gotham, screaming for the blood of her enemies. Surprisingly, after returning from the party he didn't raise the Batman topic. If I was fortunate enough then he would simply ignore this matter. However, I highly suspected the coming Sunday was going to be the day when bro would complete his monthly lecture quota with this subject. But lying to my brother about Batman was least concerning matter at this moment. The Mob was being the real pain in the ass.

"Little baby, huh?" I muttered angrily. They would know who I really am when I get my hands on them. And when I got my hands on them… oh, my vengeance would be terrible. I would skin them alive and laugh at their terrified screams when I covered their flesh with salt. I would boil them and invite cannibal tribes to feast on them.

As I sat in the semi darkness of the living room, immersed in my own devilish revenge fantasies, something flitted around my peripheral vision. My eyes flew to the rooftop of the neighbouring building. I thought I saw something stir. The movement was subtle as if whatever was there preferred to be undetected.

Squinting, I inspected each and every frozen territory of darkness, straining to catch even the slightest movement. Seconds melted into minutes, but there was nothing. Every patch of darkness remained mute and stoic as if terrified of something darker than them.

Just when I dismissed it as a by-product of an exhausted and overworked mind, there was a shift in the darkness. And this time I clearly saw a shadow. It moved and then it stopped. It moved again.

I sat up straight. The hairs on the back of my neck came to life.

Burglar? I mused. Probably taken the rooftop path to avoid patrolling police cars on the street. My brain, which was currently running on 5% battery, toyed with the possibility. This neighbourhood was affluent and home of wealthy people— doctors, lawyers, high ranking civil servants and not to mention the Mayor of Gotham himself. A short excursion to any apartment could make a burglar's wallet pretty healthy.

I was about to wake my brother and make him call the police, but stopped. The sight that unfolded before my eyes in the very next moment nullified my every logical assumption. With my breath stalled in my throat, I watched a darker darkness slither towards the edge of the rooftop.

It was not a thief. At least I had never seen or heard of any thief who wore cape.

For a brief moment, I couldn't decide whether I was suffering from hypnagogic hallucination— a condition that assured such enigmas in the friendless moments before sleep— or I already fell asleep and it was a dream. There were nights when I imagined that a shadow went past my window, and would believe completely for a moment that it was him. But every time it was just an offspring of my aroused imaginations. But this time it was real.

My heart raced like I had taken ten shots of espresso and I feared that it could be used as sonar. I couldn't believe my own eyes. This evening, just a few hours ago, I was arguing on his favour and now he was standing there. Like our minds were connected by a delicate telepathic bond. No doubt the recent criminal activities lured him out of his lair, but I thought he had preferred hotspots. Like besmirched parts of the city or that tiny shit everyone called the Narrows.

Barely concealing a squeal of excitement I sprang up from the sofa, and right then life decided to throw a big, sour lemon at me. There was a small end table beside the sofa with a cute metal showpiece on top of it. In the darkness, and partly courtesy of my over enthusiastic ass, I didn't notice the table jutting out further than usual. It collided neatly with my knee and toppled onto its side.

The table + the metal showpiece + the marbled floor = Brother stopped snoring.

The sound that table created could summon satan in world. Shoulder defensive, breath frozen in my lungs and knuckles caught between teeth I stared into the dark hallway, expecting light or sound from brother's bedroom. Nothing came. Bro was still sleeping tightly. I didn't waste time. Ignoring the dull throb in my knee I quickly corrected the table, put the showpiece back and then closed the distance to the window on my tiptoe for an extra level of stealth.

Slightly illuminated by the lights of the city Batman's silhouetted form towered over Gotham, motionless and stoic, like a sculpture of a majestic creature of mythology. A creature halfway between realism and fantasy. The magnificent cloak billowed around him as though it was stitched to the wind. The romanticism of the scene was unexplainable. I felt like a schoolgirl with a hopeless crush.

So long. I had been waiting for this moment for so long. So many sleep-deprived nights I counted my twists and turns thinking about the man that was tucked away into the sanctuary of the mask. Other nights I tried to imagine the colour of his eyes. Were they Green, blue or brown? Or simply black like his cloak?

That night I couldn't see him properly in the dark alleyway other than his lips and strong jaw, and tonight when I finally got another chance to see this Byronic hero he was too far from me. From this distance he was nothing more than a silhouette —like a black chunk had fallen down from the moonless sky. The blackness of him was so pure, complete and great that I felt him staring back at me, right in the eyes. A forbidden sensation started to devour me. Something raw fluttered in my stomach like the ruffling of a bird's wings when it startled.

"Rose?"

The living room suddenly flooded with blinding lights. I whirled around, blinked several times and when my eyes adjusted to the light my gut twisted. Bro was standing there. He was scanning the room as though expecting a thief hiding beneath the sofa or under the coffee table. He then gazed at me with a questioning look.

"What was all that noise?"

I stood there dumbfounded, not knowing what to say. Plus the fact that with all these lights now switched on I was currently under Batman's clear view made me feel exposed. Naked. It was like being cast in the spotlight and there I was (with my moronic glory) for Batman to see. Officially prestige punctured.

I cleared my throat and pointed an accusatory finger to the side table. "I hit that table in the darkness, brother."

Brother glanced at the alleged furniture, then at me then slowly dragged his sleepy eyes to the clock behind him. I utilized that moment to sneak a thirsty glance outside the window and my eyes collided with an empty rooftop. Batman was gone. Like the wind took him away to an unknown destination.

I didn't know which emotion had the stronger grip on me— Relief or disappointment.

He knows. Just by chance, if he remembered me from our last encounter, then now he knew that I was related to the Mayor—the very man who denounced him publicly. I mused how Batman would regard me now.

"What are you doing up at this hour, kid?" I was startled by brother's voice.

"Huh? It's Bat—"

I clamped my mouth shut before the forbidden combination of alphabets slip my lips. It didn't work. Brother heard me.

"Bat?" he uttered slowly. His eyes narrowed; mine widened.

"Bat-battery. I said battery," I stammered. "My phone's battery has drained. I was looking for its charger."

You know... that needs a supreme level of idiocy to pull what you just did. My brain drawled.

Hands on hips, brother's eyes remained slim. Was it from the brightness of the lights or from suspicion blooming in his mind, I couldn't tell. I wished there was some background music so I had a clue about this current situation. I tried to look supremely innocent, but the way brother was looking at me I suspected if my face was giving off a criminal type vibe. I felt like an unruly teenager, who tried to sneak out at this time of night and got caught by her authoritative father.

After a brief silence (that seemed to last a century when only five seconds had elapsed) brother ran a hand over his face and stifled a tired yawn.

"Don't stay up late, kiddo. It's not good for your health."

I released a breath I have been holding unconsciously. Either bro was too tired to dissect his sister's white lies or he believed my each word blindly. Or both.

"Go to your room and sleep."

"Yes, brother. You go and get some rest. I'll sleep on the sofa." I tried to shoo him away as I wanted to stay in the living room with a hope to see Batman in case he visit again.

"No. Couch is not a place for sleep. Go to your room," he commanded with unquestionable authority.

Now, after all this drama in the middle of the night I could not decline the high-command's order. Brother was patient enough to endure his sister's puerile behaviour and I didn't have any intention to let him through another episode. So without stretching the matter I retreated into my room, missing the sight of a caped figure jump off the building and melt into the night.

...

At the far end of the hallway, the door hung partly ajar. Daniel watched it nervously. The lion's den.

A few days ago the Joker had given his men an important task. After looting Gotham police' ammunition stockpile, the madman was preparing something magnificent and grand to announce his return. To carry out his entertainment shows the Joker needed a decent flow of money and nothing could do better than the Mob's security deposits. So the clown dispersed his men in different parts of the city to gather info. But what they found wasn't pretty.

The Mob was playing the game a little smarter this time. They had taken lessons from their predecessors as they siphoned their dirty cash to overseas banks that were inaccessible by Gotham Police. A few million cash that was earned from their 'lawful businesses' remained in local banks to run their household tasks. However the fear of the Joker forced them sweep that money from those banks. The lump sum amount of that cash was divided and relocated into different locations.

Joker's men failed to discover the locations.

After strolling down almost the entire downtown and Narrows, combing through Gotham's besmirched localities and even spending time in rumoured mob nightclubs and bars… they found nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Everyone in the Joker's crew knew that their boss would be angry. He already was. The ammunition robbery, the dead body near police HQ— Joker was leaving hints for his favourite playmate, but still there was no sign of him. That pigheaded Bat blatantly ignored everything which ultimately made the Joker impatient. Hence, no one agreed to inform the clown about this recent development. Nobody wanted to be the victim of his wrath.

Their fear was justified. The Joker was the most volatile man they had ever seen. His left hand didn't know what his right hand would do. And staying away from this man as much as possible was definitely a wise choice.

Unfortunately, Daniel wasn't that lucky. Working for the Joker for an extended period of time went against him as the new members of the 'Joker gang' appointed him to break the news to their boss. Their point— Daniel was an old helper so the Joker 'favoured' him. Daniel snickered at their pitiable conclusion. Those morons didn't know the Joker. He was a highly impartial man.

Joker. Favoured. Nobody.

Daniel was still surviving because he was that smart dog in the pack who knew how to act around the alpha. But that didn't grant him any kind of favour. Working with the Joker was similar to walking on a minefield. One wrong step and… Boom!

He looked at the partly open door like it was a portal that led directly to the hell and the Devil himself was sitting on the other side. All the other goons were under earshot— partly waiting in laboured anticipation of his fate, partly because they wanted to be ready when the Joker summoned them. Like a pack of wolves ready to respond to the alpha's howl.

Collecting remaining courage inside him, Daniel crossed the distance to the door and dared to peek inside. And there he was, relaxing in his chair with his eyes closed and feet propped up on the desk. His infamous purple jacket was draped from the back of the chair. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows. His makeup half gone, revealing the human traces underneath the smudged layers of greasepaint. His hair became greasy from the lack of grooming. The fresh and tidy look he had brought with him when he escaped from Arkham was slowly dying.

Daniel looked at the expanse of the desk. It was an evidence of the Joker's love for chaos. Red and black marker pens, few loaded magazines, a scissor occupied a majority of space. Old and new newspaper cuttings also lay scattered. A number of words and phrases were circled with red ink while some titles were doodled or transformed into dark humour.

JIM GORDON STRENGTHENS HIS UNIT... LiES.

Daniel caught a glimpse of a news caption. The word 'Unit' was crossed and 'Lies' written above it. Daniel didn't have enough knowledge to dissect its meaning.

"Anything, uh, important, Danny boy?" Daniel was startled at the voice of his boss. The Joker had still his eyes closed, but was aware of another presence.

Daniel shifted in his place. "Yeah, boss. It's Mob."

The Joker remained still for a moment, then beckoned him. Daniel opened the door fully and stepped inside; the door's creaking noise only increased his nervousness.

"Annnd?" Joker drawled.

"Um, bad news, boss. The Mob moved the money from their banks," Daniel notified cautiously and lingered in the doorway. His prime plan was to run at the first sign of gun or knife. However he knew his chance was scanty if Joker decided to kill him. The clown was too fast when it came to handle weapons. Daniel had never seen someone using a diverse range of weapons with supreme accuracy.

"All the money?" Joker asked in a calm tone. His tongue flicked out of his mouth like an aggressive cobra and Daniel thought he saw a metallic glint in his mouth.

"All the money, boss," he parroted and licked his lips. He didn't know whether his mouth was parched or it was the Joker's magnificent persona that forced others to copy him and his other gestures. "We double-checked everything. You know, just after you paid them a visit they cleaned their vaults. But they didn't dump it to their foreign banks. The money is still in Gotham."

"Hmm," Joker made a low humming noise. He finally turned the chair and planted his feet firmly in front of him to fully face the man. It was when Daniel saw it. Something was clenched between Joker's teeth and was dangling from the corner of his scarred mouth. A ladies bracelet.

That thing became an object of Joker's interest these days. On several occasions Daniel and his colleagues had caught the Joker toying with this bracelet or simply staring at it. And every time there was an endearing yet devilish smile on the madman's face.

As much as Daniel was curious to know the untold tale of this beautiful piece of silver, he loved his life more than anything else.

Too much knowledge could be a curse. He thought.

The Joker rolled the bracelet in his tongue, like a predator desperately trying to find the taste of its prey. He then took the bracelet out of his mouth and tucked it inside his vest pocket.

"Bad news indeed." Joker tsked, standing up from the chair. Even with his slightly hunched frame he was taller than an average male, and the lack of the purple suit made him look much leaner, taller and inhumanly menacing. He slowly sauntered over to Daniel and placed a hand on his shoulder. Daniel flinched at the contact but didn't move. Couldn't move. "Bad news for Mar-oni. Because I'll shuffle the deck."

With that, Daniel understood everything. They were going to loot the mob; by hook or by crook. And where the Joker was involved the way had to be crooked.

...

Morning came without any drama, and when I woke up the clock was glaring ten o'clock.

Last night was merciless. After tossing and turning in my bed for the whole night, I just got some sleep closer to the dawn. But while sleep came, rest evaded me. The residues of the recent past gave way to my dreams, and as a result I was feeling highly cantankerous with a blistering migraine blooming behind my eyes. Charming.

Another day to float about like a vengeful ghost. I thought dourly. But today I wanted to be a productive vengeful ghost. I couldn't just sit and anticipate what stunt those piglets would pull next time. I was already in big trouble and being the stupidest creature of the universe, it was my responsibility to stride deeper into this shit.

With a tired groan, I rubbed the lingering sleep off my eyes and dismissed myself from bed. A long hot shower and a cup of hot chocolate later, my central nervous system started working moderately.

Brother left early today; earlier than usual. He was very busy these days, actually. The other day we were having a conversation where he mentioned about an international sports event he was trying hard to bring in Gotham. Bro claimed that such magnificent event would represent Gotham as a world-class city. I hadn't retorted when he diplomatically omitted that it would be a great milestone in his political career as well.

Anyway, brother's political ambition was completely out of my syllabus and beside the point. The point was that despite being a refined politician bro wasn't quite vigilant about tiny little things. Today, in his hurry, he left his small office room unlocked, and there was his laptop. Unprotected.

Taking great advantage of his absence I slithered into the room and unethically borrowed the laptop, a notepad and pen. Gathering the raw materials of my project I moved to the living room. I set up the device on the coffee table and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of it. I wanted to do some research on my freshly made foe— such as extracting the entire history of that Vinnie the poo and the geographical distribution of his kingdom.

Few keywords, few clicks and . . . BINGO! Maroni's biodata was on the screen.

Apparently, Vincenzo Maroni was as slippery as an eel. He successfully created an illusion of being a cultured gentleman. In public eyes, he was a 'legitimate businessman' who owned an import-export and shipping company. Not only that, he was a well-known face in the restaurant and hotel business. He made regular donations to various charitable causes. Even in policemen's ball. These things bought him respectability and he easily mingled with social elites of Gotham.

But according to the hush stories, Vincenzo Maroni was the new head of Gotham's towering criminal empire. After his brother (half- brother to be precise) Salvatore Maroni died under unexplained circumstances, Vin ascended the throne by subduing his contemporaries and became an undisputed ruler of Gotham underworld.

And this new king was managing everything with skill and expertise. He controlled a vast underground economy in Gotham. Police failed to connect him to the vortex of crime as the phantom king lurked invisibly behind a magnificent diversity of crime.

I frowned. Export-import business, restaurants— a yesterday-born could tell Maroni was running his dark empire behind these, and police didn't find any evidence? Nothing at all? Now, I had no doubt Gotham police was infested with moles. The Mob had stretched their tentacles deep into the system. The cozy romantic liaison between the police and criminal organizations was not a new thing. Like people say—darkness thickens at the base of the lamp. The saviours were the devourers here.

With mounting displeasure, I ran a quick research on Gotham Police Department. My quest led me to some news reports and what I found was interesting.

There was a division in the GCPD named Major Crimes Unit, especially designed to investigate high-end cases. Handpicked by my brother, Commissioner Gordon was the commander of this special squadron and recently he made some changes. Dozens of detectives and officers were suddenly demoted, transferred or suspended from their jobs. Some officers even took early retirement.

The reasons were not adequately explained; MCU and Gordon refused to comment on the report. But a source claimed that it was just an ordinary reshuffle. That commissioner wanted to include young and fresh cops and strengthen the core of the organization. Some claimed it was a direct by-product of last year's mishap. Haters tried to vilify Gordon saying that he was just filling his squad with a bunch of yes-man.

Among all these speculations and assumptions, several media buzzed with rumours that it was actually a 'cleansing process' within the force as several cops in Gordon's unit were suspected to be in contact with unhealthy organization.

"Cleansing process." I scoffed derisively. Greed is the mother of corruption. Gordon could never throw out the rotten apples from his basket. No matter how many reshuffles he executed, they always filled the blanks.

As I browsed through various websites regarding this report I noticed an odd little thing; seemingly ignored in this important hubbub. The timing. Strangely enough, this entire transfer and demotions had started at a specific point of time— last year, right after Harvey Dent's death. Perhaps it was insignificant and trivial, and these were not at all correlated. But it sowed a seed of suspicion in the fertile ground of my imagination.

Harvey Dent. This man was an epicentre of mystery. His rise in the power at a young age, his immense popularity, then his sudden and mysterious death ('selfless sacrifice' in my brother's word) and most importantly Batman's involvement and Gordon's strange silence over the matter—everything was draped in a thick mist of confidentiality. Something about it called to me; a mystery demanded to be solved.

Nothing calls to you. Focus on the main subject. My inner voice chided. I shook my head and pushed that thought aside. I decided to dig up Dent's grave later. Right now my priority was my brother's safety and put Maroni & Co. behind bars.

I exhaled, exasperated. Whether I liked it or not, my opponent was strong. I was a newcomer in this city, my sources and contacts were limited, almost zero, while Maroni knew Gotham like the lines of his palm. I against him was like a canary versus an eagle.

Going to the police was not an option; I'd already snipped that string of hope. No doubt many of them were sold. I needed someone who was not corrupted, and could take strict action against Maroni. Someone who shared my enthusiasm of stuffing the Mob's ass into prison. Someone like…

A name struck me like a bolt of lightning. Why didn't I think of him before? Commissioner Gordon.

At the party, I witnessed his disgust towards Maroni. Clearly, he was trying his best to kick Maroni's ass, but not succeeding with a handful of cops and the scarcity of the evidence. He needed a helping hand to flush that big, dirty rat out of its sewer. It was where I entered the game— a secret player, who could tie Maroni to the ring of crime. If I could supply Gordon evidence anonymously without giving myself away, then he could strike their spine.

The loophole Maroni was using to get off scot free, somebody had to make it the noose around his neck. Let it be me. He wasn't going anywhere, neither was I. Let the debt be settled in Gotham. Either a checkmate . . . or a stalemate, because I was not going to lose.

Driven by na?ve optimism and blinded by rage I started to jot down every single detail I found about Maroni. Like the name of his export-import company, address, locations of his restaurants etc, etc. It wasn't much but it was a start. Baby steps.

I was still scribbling down everything when the doorbell rang. Startled, I looked at the front door. My first thought was brother coming home in the middle of lunch hour. My eyes went wide as I watched the glamorous presentation before my eyes. If brother found out I was using his laptop to search about the mob, then I had some serious questions waiting for me.

That's more like it. I was eagerly waiting for this. I thought sarcastically and quickly came into action. I tore the page from the notepad and tucked it in my book that sat innocently on the coffee table. It was the safest place. Bro would never lay a finger on the crime-thriller novel I loved to read. I put the laptop back to sleep mode and tucked everything neatly back into his office.

The doorbell rang again.

It couldn't be brother. I surmised. Why would he ring the bell when he had the keys? Perhaps it was Gordon; came here to interrogate me about Batman.

Or an axe murderer hired by the Mob. My brain supplied cautiously.

I trotted to the front door and like an authentic idiot I opened it without a check. But when I peered through the gap I found my breath caught in my lungs. It wasn't my brother coming home. It wasn't Gordon, and it definitely was not an axe murderer hired by Mob bosses. There, armed with an exquisite bouquet stood the poster boy of charm.

It had taken precisely eight seconds for me to grasp the visual depiction because for a moment I couldn't recognize him. Bruce Wayne, the unofficial brand ambassador of Armani suits, stood at my doorstep donning a simple black t-shirt, jeans and a jacket. A pair of dark grey aviator sunglasses hung on his t-shirt. Without the layer of pristine white shirt and crisp tailored suit he reminded me of an unnamed stranger who used to walk past the table at my favourite cafeteria in London.

"Have I come in a wrong time?" Bruce's voice cut through my thought. I noticed that I was still clutching the edge of the door and peering at him through five-inch gap like little girls assess strangers.

"No. Actually, nobody comes at this time and brother isn't home. So..." I trailed off and shuffled aside to welcome him.

Bruce didn't enter right then. He lingered outside, taking careful notes of my stiff posture as if weighing the pros and cons of coming inside the apartment in my brother's absence. After a moment of surveying he found it harmless to step in and I was suddenly overwhelmed by his towering height. Bruce was precisely a foot taller than me and with no high-heels to augment my height I discovered that my head barely reached his shoulder.

Eighth dwarf of snow white. I thought sullenly.

Upon entering the living room Bruce handed me the bouquet. "Thought you'd like it."

I took the flowers wordlessly and suspiciously, still fumbling for an immaculate reaction about his surprise visit.

The tension of the last evening was still there, at least on my part. At the party we hadn't talked, and when we finally did it was a concentrated argument about Batman where Bruce acted pompously and made some unsophisticated remarks about the masked man and argued with me. I wondered if these flowers had some propitiatory purpose.

I smelled the fresh, innocent blooms with crystallized suspicion. Did Bruce think I was mad at him for that? Yes, I was irate when he used derogatory words for Batman, but did I have the right to be angry with him when my own brother was spitting up acid against the caped man? And on top of everything, could it be the only reason he showed up at my doorstep or there was concealed motive behind his outwardly benign action.

"Sorry, I came without notice, but I have a reason to disturb you." As if reading my mind, Bruce alloyed the words that verbalized my thoughts. He reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. "My birthday."

It clicked me without delay. Bruce Wayne was the hottest topic nowadays — for his sheer success in global market and his upcoming birthday party. There was too much media hype about Prince of Gotham's birthday. I had digested the news like any other commoner living in Gotham— seen and forgotten. My ongoing mob agenda could be blamed for that. But Bruce coming here to invite me personally wasn't something I imagined. I mean, we weren't … close.

I nestled the bouquet in the curve of my elbow and took the invitation card from his hand. Its royal appearance ensnared me momentarily. Black velvet envelope tied with a red satin ribbon, and my name printed in golden curves.

"You invite everyone personally?" I asked innocently, brushing my fingers over the envelope's velvety surface.

"Never."

My head snapped up. I was right. Bruce Wayne would never waste his time pointlessly. This invitation was just an excuse. He came here to correct an unbalanced equation. He had some discussions about that day when I ran away like criminals run from police.

Bruce was glancing around the room. His gaze swept over the expanse of the living room methodically, lingering at the window for a second longer before coming to rest on me. My heart took an involuntary leap in my chest when he nonchalantly cracked a knuckle.

"Mr. Mayor has a nice place," he commented and ambled away. I could not help but admire the weight of his presence. This condo, that was my ruling territory, was now completely dominated by his presence. He stopped near the window and looked out. "You get a nice view from here."

Failing to grasp the game he was trying to play I mumbled, "Yeah, countless windows and a few stars."

Bruce craned his neck and looked at me; the light coming from the window titivated his features. "Only that?"

My gut twisted, and I couldn't decide whether it was from the softness of his look or from the memory of my previous night. There was no way for Bruce to know about my personal entertainment show.

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"The park." He glanced out the window again. "I can see a beautiful park out there."

A strange silence that settled after that tried to throttle me. I cleared my throat, volunteering to be the one to break this quietness. "So…"

With his hands stuffed in his pockets Bruce turned, giving me his full attention. "So?"

I floundered for proper words. My mind relentlessly warned me not to provoke his memory; it told me that he possibly didn't remember and I was making a thing out of nothing. But then again when I was that intelligent?

"Is there any other reason besides this invitation?" I pressed with extreme caution.

"Why? Should there be?"

"If Bruce Wayne is doing something unlike Bruce Wayne then there must be a disguised motive."

With a soft chuckle he moved away from the window and waltz over to me. Like a predator advancing towards a wounded prey. "Playing detective, are we?"

"Curious is more befitting word, actually," I retorted softly. "I'm mildly curious why you're wasting time when you could've simply mailed this invitation card."

"Oh," he uttered. There was playfulness in the way he raised his brows. "So I'm wasting your time?"

I pressed my lips into a thin line, my face became pinched. His playfulness angered me. I didn't like how he twisted my words and used it against me and sidestepped my question. Bruce was the last man I wanted to face right now when I've had almost no sleep, half of my gray cells nearly died and I was ready to shred anyone apart.

"I'm sorry my words gave you that impression," I said calmly, not wanting to channel my anger towards Bruce. "I just thought business mogul have important things to do."

"I try to keep business out of the way," he said simply.

"Out of the way of…?

Bruce didn't reply to this. He simply held my gaze, dangled me with those indecipherable eyes of his before diverting his attention to the fish tank. "That's a nice aquarium. I should install one in my penthouse."

Anger flared within me. I had zero evidence to prove it, but I had this scanty suspicion that Bruce's prime goal in life was to annoy me to no extent and then test my anger management skill. He found perverse pleasure in my annoyance. No matter what, he found most reliable and effective methods to infuriate me. Since the day we met.

Maybe he forgot. A softer part of me— that wanted to be partial towards him for some unidentified reason— tried to convince my obstinate part. However, a niggling voice kept telling me that Bruce remembered everything. He hadn't forgotten. Bastard was just playing me. Otherwise, why he suddenly showed up at my doorstep? I wasn't convinced by his personal invitation theory.

Equally mulish, I depended on a different tactic. He had to say directly that why he was here. I wasn't going to let him pass that smoothly. He was in my territory.

"Aren't you supposed to be at Wayne Enterprises right now?" I questioned.

"Wayne Enterprises?" he echoed as though he heard the name for the first time. "I rarely go there. Only when I need to sign papers or attend board meetings. That's once or twice."

"Once or twice a week?"

"Month," he corrected. If my eyes could roll out of the sockets then they'd be halfway to Pluto by now. Bruce continued, "So, technically it's my day off. Besides, I woke up pretty late today. You know the last night party was hectic."

"Hectic? You left the party before anyone else."

"Quite observant, aren't you," he teased lightly, but when I offered him a flat look he continued, "Well, I met a few old friends. We hit random places, had fun all night and then..." Bruce pressed his lips and rubbed the back of his neck. From tiredness or hesitation, I couldn't tell. But judging by the dark smudges under his eyes I surmised it was from tiredness. "I don't remember anything clearly after that."

"If I'm not wrong then alcohol is the culprit behind your amnesic tendencies and bizarre sleeping pattern?"

"How could you be wrong?" He shrugged without a trace of shame as if downing bottles after bottle of alcohol and then passing out in a gutter was an ordinary and a prideful act for him. In my already sour mood, I decided stubbornly that Bruce possessed every obnoxious quality known to mankind and had no shame about it. Like he enjoyed being the (in)famous sleazeball of the city.

Cruel injustice of life. Here, I accidentally joined the Italian mafia, Maroni was showing his disgusting face everywhere, and Bruce Wayne was soaking dollars in expensive wines. And he had the audacity to show up at my doorstep and sang his hedonistic saga.

I closed my eyes and inhaled. Temper, Rose. Temper. I reminded myself. What Bruce did with his time and life wasn't my concern. Now I was bloody sure he didn't remember a thing about the other day and that was in my favour.

"It's so sweet of you that you came here to invite me personally after a hectic night out," I said through my teeth and gestured to the plush sofa. "Please have a seat." And honour my sofa with your classy ass.

With that, I turned and headed to the kitchen to put the flowers in a vase.

"You love reading?" Bruce asked suddenly.

I stopped in my track. That one little harmless question was enough to terrorize my whole existence. How could I be so freaking careless? The book. It was still on the coffee table with my secret ploy inside it.

I turned sharply. But before I could react or protest Bruce had his hand on the forbidden item.

Holy fuck to the power of profanity. Or infinity? Whatever.

"Wait!" I screeched. Bruce's eyes flicked up, briefly stunned by my strong objection. My gaze shifted between him and the book, nervousness evident on my face. "Don't open the book."

A dark brow arched from the opposite end. "Why? What's in it?"

"Th-that's a woman's book." I stammered.

"Really?" Bruce murmured sceptically; his brows drew down into a soft frown while his eyes skimmed over the title. He then read it aloud in his whiskey-drawl, "Oaths of Vengeance. Now what type of womanly vengeance this book is all about?"

Oh, you have no idea. "Not the type that would interest you."

I was across the room in an instant. Dumping the bouquet and invitation card on the coffee table I reached out to snatch the book from his hand. My fingers even succeeded to graze the book and then it was gone.

What the–

I blinked in surprise. Bruce Wayne, the supreme ruler of Wayne Empire, was a devious bastard. He held the book above my head and out of my reach.

"Hey, give that back!" I demanded hotly.

"Take it," was his simple reply.

Bruce was unapologetically tall, and from the perspective of my smallness the distance was a light-year. My gaze flitted helplessly between the book and the man who was holding it far away from my reach.

He dangled the book high over my head in a tantalizing gesture, like an expert fisherman dangling special bait at the end of the fish-pole to lure the rarest fish out of the lake.

Standing on my tiptoes, I pawed for the book. Bruce tipped his head to his side to get a better look at my strained feet and the action made few wisps of hair fall charmingly into his eyes. It was when I noticed that today his hair wasn't gelled back. It looked softer and silkier. Bruce looked… cute. I diverted my focus away from this illegally charming creature.

"What's keeping you on your toes?" He smirked lazily.

Oh, he really was the devil! "Love letters!" I snapped.

Bruce raised his brows playfully. "Interesting."

I made a revolting face and jumped for his arm like a cat jumping around the laser, but my target remained evasive. Bruce parried my each strike and feint with precision as if my moves were predictable to him. None of us realised that we were dancing on a dangerous arc where my limits ended and his space begun.

I stopped for a moment; my hands clenched into tiny balls by my sides. During our tussle a wavy lock somehow got loose from my haphazardly tied hair and fell into my eyes. I blew it out angrily and glared at Bruce. However, in my avalanching brows and angry flushed cheeks he found immense delight. That infuriating smirk on his face was now a fully nourished grin. A devastatingly rakish grin.

Honestly, if I didn't know who he was and anyone introduced him to me as the owner of a world-renowned company, I would have laughed. With the crisp lines of expensive suit Bruce had shed his billionaire entrepreneur cocoon and the man standing in front of me was a child who just grew old.

"Giving up already?" Bastard taunted.

Can I murder him? Just a little bit?

I inhaled sharply, strictly resisting the immense desire to pin him to the sofa and smother him with a cushion.

"Look, my Eiffel Tower. Don't count my civility as my weakness," I slowly uttered with my teeth snugly clenched, which only increased his delight. "Give that back or—"

"Or what?" He challenged and then to my horror tossed the book in the air and caught without looking at it. My heart juddered in panic, and without a second thought I lunged towards him.

And then . . .

Time lost its momentum.

Fate had been lying in ambush, waiting for this treacherous gasp of time. For an infinitesimal moment my balance compromised and I stumbled into a forbidden territory.

I didn't know who crossed the boundary first, but Bruce was now standing too close to me or I was standing too close to him and neither of us was trying to rectify the inaccuracy of our stance. My hands were clutched onto his arms while his free arm encircled around my waist to arrest my fall; his big hand pressed against the side of my waist.

A heartbeat passed . . . then another and we stood there like that. Motionless. Pushing and pulling breaths from the tiny space between us. From this close I could hear every breath he was taking— each heavy inhale and exhale. Crystal clear. The warm puffs of each ragged exhale stroked the top of my head, making each hair on my back rise in attention.

I kept my eyes glued to his chest, but I could feel Bruce's gaze on me. I wondered what kind of expression ruled his features at this very moment. Was he still grinning mockingly at my poor attempt to beat him? That raw, smug smirk still graced his lips?

I summoned enough courage to drag my eyes along the expanse of his chest, over the bulge of his Adam's apple, his chin and up to his lips.

Progress halted.

Bruce wasn't smiling anymore; his lips were now parted softly. And no matter how much I tried, my eyes couldn't move further up. Probably it was for the best. Maybe I wouldn't be able to hold the weight of his gaze at this moment.

I shifted uncomfortably, regained my balance and diverted my attention to the book. The culprit behind this situation. My crawling fingers tugged at Bruce's arm. His body, as if waiting for this stimulus, responded immediately. His muscles flexed under my touch and his grip tightened around me. His fingers came to life too as they dug slightly into my waist.

Suddenly I felt the room closing in, the air felt heavily charged. The whole world seemed to shrink around the two of us, trying to trap us in this cocoon of frozen time, capture us in this throbbing moment. Being alone in the apartment with a fully equipped (and dare I say handsome) male made my nerves highly alert. I reminded myself that beneath the layer of this boyish camouflage slept a notorious playboy.

I didn't wait. In a swift motion I pushed myself away from him and snatched the book out of his hand. The tips of my fingernails softly grazed his skin in the process. I took a few steps backwards, creating a healthy distance between us.

"Touching a woman's stuff is bad manner," I chided him. Only sheer force of will kept my voice from trembling.

Bruce didn't reply; he wasn't even looking at me. His eyes were fixed to his empty hand. He ran his thumb along the space where my nails touched his skin as if probing a newfound sensation. Then with a lazy drag he lifted his eyes and trapped me in an unbuttoned emotion. His deep stare threatened to penetrate beyond the surface of my wildly palpitating heart and learn its each systolic and diastolic pattern. I stood bravely against his stare clutching the book to my chest like a heraldic shield. A new breed of silence stretched between us with each rolling second as we stared at each other.

Say something, dammit! I screamed in my mind. Just make some boastful remark. Or at least clear your throat. Anything!

Bruce finally decided to unfetter me from this pounding moment. His Adam's apple bobbed as he pressed a fist against his mouth and cleared his throat softly. "I've learnt my lesson, then," he said, his tone had a different quality of deepness.

I let out a taut sigh. "Great! Now don't repeat that mistake ever again."

"Of course, not." He jutted his chin to my hands. "You've just shown how those polished nails work."

Shame tainted my face red. I chewed on my bottom lip but quickly aborted the task when it attracted Bruce's eyes to them. The energy between us was still palpable, like a sharp edged sword ready to behead me at any given opportunity. I didn't want to tempt my luck.

I tried to mask my discomfiture behind a snarky remark and catlike haughtiness. "That's better than a black eye. You were warned. You mess with rose you get the thorn."

Bruce hummed quietly and slipped his hands in pockets. His composure relaxed, but I could see his hands were balled in the pockets. "Irrational violence over a simple book… you'll probably bludgeon and dismember me if I breathe wrongly in your territory."

I felt a strong urge of retaliation as I straightened on my defense. "Women could be fierce when provoked. I'm really surprised a man of your ilk doesn't know this already."

The area between his brows creased softly with a hint of interest, "A man of my ilk?"

"Yes. A man who has mastered in women behaviour. A quintessential playboy, a Casanova, a sybarite..." I paused to assess the atmosphere. He was listening with rapt attention. Good. "A hedonistic womanizer," I concluded ruthlessly.

Bruce stood calm and composed against this vicious assassination. Then he blinked. Once.

"Savage," he murmured. "Don't you think those are pretty harsh accusations?" There was a curious undertone in his query like he actually wanted to know whether my accusations were only playful stab or serious detestation.

I wouldn't lie. Bruce was very gentle towards me. Yes, there were flirts here and there, but he never made any advances on me. When I had visited his penthouse to honour his dinner invitation, the night had not ended in his bed. Bruce never touched me inappropriately. And just a moment ago, when I was literally in the danger zone– his arms—his gentleman shell didn't crack.

I had discovered that Bruce didn't find my little jabs offending. Maybe that gave me silent permission to mess with him. Or perhaps it was my profane desire to assassinate his male ego for saying bad things about Batman.

"Harsh accusation?" I parroted. "Do you mean that incident about you taking up the entire Russian ballet troupe for a cruise was fabricated?" I expected a witty riposte from him, but he chose to stay quiet. I decided to prod. "And your neighbours. Heard they demanded your eviction from the building because a gaggle of scantily clad women always congests the hotel lobby. Is that the reason you bought the entire hotel, Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce's lips twitched, and I was sure he was fighting a smile. "Researching on me?" he accused softly.

"Oh, I don't have to. Your legends lurk in every corner of Gotham."

"You mean rumours," he pointed with ease.

"I mean truth," I countered back. Our natter went on like a game of tic-tac-toe, and we were like two children who still didn't discover the optimal strategy to win this game.

A mischievous smile whispered across his lips as he slowly spoke, "'Truth has many faces. It depends on which side you are looking at'."

I was stunned into silence.

He repeated the exact same line I had told him last evening. He trapped me in my own web of words. Bruce really had a talent of twisting my words against me. He was a smooth talker. Maybe these were the ingredients women usually fell prey to, like flies caught in the honey.

His smile was infectious too, as I found a replying smile tug my lips. But my feminine ego didn't want to give him the satisfaction that I was enjoying this banter with him. No, this was Bruce Wayne. Any sign of weakness was a straight signal that he could enlist my name in his conquest list. So I wiped that smile off my face with a disdainful sniff.

"Would you like some tea?" I offered, diverting the route of conversation.

Bruce looked out the window, raked his hand through his hair before stuffing them back in his pockets. He looked back at me. "I was wondering if you want to add some more… adjectives with my name over a lunch."

The suggestion was as clear as the weather outside. So, this was the main intention of his surprise visit. He wanted to take me out for a lunch.

I dithered. This playful banter was different, but I didn't want to go out. I had bigger fish to fry. I had to gather more information about Maroni and weave plans against him. Not only that. I had to know about that Joker. I wanted to know what had he done that everyone was so terrified to even utter his name.

And on top of everything I had to know about … Batman. Last night's episode was still fresh in my mind. Only thinking about him, the real-life nightmares slipped into the recesses of my mind and nullified my sense of anxiety. I wanted to know what had happened in this city that warped his image. The mysterious accounts of Batman era beckoned at me, ready to reveal everything that happened a year ago.

And there stood Bruce, head canted at an adorable angle, face soft and unpolluted, waiting patiently for my reply. This man just came here to invite me. All these were enough to soften my heart. Bruce won. Again.

With an inward scowl at my own softness I huffed. "All right. I'll be ready in five minutes."


A/N: I hope the chapter wasn't utter poop and you enjoyed the charged moment between Bruce and Rose!

The plot is picking up. Rose is smelling mystery. The part, where she reads about the MCU, there I tried to give a hint about Detective Anna Ramirez's potential transfer or expulsion. In the movie TDK, we never find out what happened to her. Harvey didn't kill her, he just knocked her unconscious. She was one of those who have seen Harvey in his 'true heroic glory'. Plus she had almost gotten Gordon's family killed and also had Mob ties. So, I think Gordon wouldn't risk keeping her in the force. And this entire transfer thing might introduce a new character in the story. ;) Any guesses?

Cassie-011: Thank you SO much for always being the first to review! Always look forward to hear from you!

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As usual leave a review and let me know your thoughts! I hope it won't take another year to update the next chapter. See you soon, lovely readers! :)