Note: This story is in the midst of a being rewritten. Any insight and/or opinion is welcome. There are some major changes ahead.

"Delilah Wayne?"

"Are you sure?!"

My mother's hand felt warm around mine, reassuring me with a squeeze. But even now the memory of her is distorted over the bulbous oxygen mask. I like to think she didn't look terrified. That her pale green eyes weren't glossy with the sheen of unshed tears. She flinched at the sound of the voices whispering in the hall, but simply blinked her wet lashes, and gave me the best smile she could manage.

"It'll be alright Baby." She said, pressing her lips to my small fingers.

In the cacophony of monitors and intercoms, there were words that made my mother seem to jump. Confidential. Secret. "Breach of contract". I realize now, it was the first time anyone outside of my parents knew of my identity. That included me too. Not that I understood the gravity of it at the time.

"Okay, Delilah, you ready?"

My mother rose from her chair as a team in blue and green scrubs crossed the threshold. Dr. Elliot tried to offer me a kind smile, but as my bed was being wheeled away, I began to panic. "Mama!" The mask muffled my plea, as my mother's hand slid from mine. "It'll be okay, Honey, you need to relax." A nurse said, keeping me steady. In my struggle, the stuffed Batman that was clutched to my chest slid to the floor. "My Batman!" I twisted my head, just in time to see the man I knew as "Mr. Wayne" bend down and pick it up. I can't say when he arrived on the scene. But knowing what I know now, the memory is ironic as hell.

Someone's hand reached out and traded out my mask.

"Can you count backward from ten for me?" Dr. Elliot asked as we arrived in a larger room, full of things that now give me the creeps. I think I made it to eight.

When I first opened my eyes, he was a blur, a broad shouldered shape painted against the wide pane of the window. It was the first time I had seen him so disheveled. Having ditched his coat and tie on an empty chair, he had unevenly rolled up his sleeves. I watched him try to sweep away wayward hair. Still fisted in his hand, was Batman.

"Bruce, you don't have to stay." My mother said, softly, cutting across my vision to hand him a cup of coffee. Their hands seemed to linger together. "I just want to be sure—"

I was caught.

"Someone's awake."

My mother beamed. "How do you feel?"

My chest ached something fierce, but I think I was too hazy to care. "I don't know." Even words didn't feel right. But my response seemed to pull Mr. Wayne's lips into a weak smile. "You'll be fine," he told me, setting Batman by my pillow. My mother sat on the edge of my bed, just as Dr. Elliot poked his head through the door. "Bruce, a word? We've got a paparazzi mob building out front. "

"Sure, Tommy."

He gave my mother's shoulder a squeeze. "Take as much time as you need. The office can wait."

"Thank you…for everything."

The silence could have been filled with a multitude of words. I sometimes wonder what he would have said if he had known it was the last time he'd see my mother alive. But he only nodded, and quietly slid out the door. Only my father would know, and I've never had the courage to ask.

Many months earlier…

In a modest neighborhood, someone like Bruce Wayne stuck out. "Shall I wait for you, sir?"

"No, Alfred."

Bruce stepped from the car and into the damp October weather. Dry leaves scraped across the concrete, scattering around the trunks of bare branched trees. The streets were eerily quiet. Not at all like the inner city of Gotham. Before he could knock on the door, it sprung open, letting the smell of pumpkin spice and cinnamon, waft into the air.

"Mama! Someone's at the door!" Standing in the door way was a small girl, donned in a black and yellow tutu, with batman plush doll. Her eyes were as blue as his own. For a second he wasn't sure if he could breathe.

"You don't just open the door for someone you don't know!"

Paige Larson immediately filled the space. "Bruce. Come in." The child he had seen only in pictures had changed, but her mother hadn't changed from the day she began working in Wayne Enterprises' PR department. She was a small woman, but what she lacked in size she made up for in personality. And her smiles? They could have melted him. Her dark chestnut hair was caught in a messy bun, but her pale green eyes were as bright as ever.

"Thank you."

The child pounced in front of him. "Who are you?"

"Delilah Bay! Mind your manners…this is my boss-Mr. Wayne.

Delilah made a small curtsy, and then zipped around her mother into the living room behind her. "Is that one of my towels?"

"Don't you know a cape when you see one?!"

Paige let out a sound, something caught between a sigh and laugh."I'm sorry to make you do a house call." She said at last. "I have the paperwork in the kitchen." Truth was, Bruce never made house calls. They both knew why he was there. Three years ago, this woman had quite literally bumped into his life. Coffee stains, dress shirts, and paperwork were involved. And yet somehow with such a chaotic start, something came of it. Of course, it would later result in the birth of his daughter. A daughter who was jumping from the love seat to the sofa, with a towel tied around her neck.

"It's quite alright," he said, sliding out of his jacket. "She's got skills." Paige's face flushed, as their daughter, leapt and kicked from one piece of furniture to the next.

"It'd be a miracle if she makes it to ten."

As he followed her to the small open kitchen, he couldn't help but let his eyes wander. Casts of tiny feet. Handprint paintings and toothy smile pictures. These were things you wouldn't find in the decor of Wayne manor. In fact they had decided that it would be safer for Delilah if he didn't publicly claim her at all. But that didn't stop his curiosity. A sudden crash tore away his attention. Delilah stood guiltily over a toppled lamp.

"I think our job is done." The words he realized were short and struggling. Most kids could maintain being so active. But then again, Delilah was not like most kids. The moment Paige placed her thin hands on her hips Delilah made short work of righting the mess. Bruce knew that look. He had gotten that look a time or two. The outcome, however, was much different.

"Need the inhaler?" It was then Wayne noticed the array of pill bottles lined on the counter. Each bottle presented a label just for Delilah. The child shook her head. "Time to cool it." Conceding to her mother, the child plopped on the worn out sofa. Clearly, it wasn't the first time the furniture had met with Batgirl.

"What do the doctors say?" Bruce asked, nodding to the small pharmacy. Paige's response was to open a cabinet.

"Coffee?"

When he nodded, she continued.

"They're talking about doing a surgery to try and repair the valve in her heart." Paige paused as if the deep breath she was taking would push back the overwhelming fear he saw written on her face. "Some say it's a good idea. Others say it's an unnecessary risk."

Bruce rescued the mugs from her hands, closing the space between them when the woman shook her head. "I don't know. I don't know if it's the right choice." Her fingers were warm beneath his. "If it comes to that, I'll make some calls." Giving her hand a squeeze he helped himself to the coffee pot.

"Mama? Can you fix this?" Composing herself, Paige turned to her daughter as she presented her with Batman, the seam in his arm had popped, exposing the white cotton underneath. "He was wounded."

"Put him next to the sewing kit. I'll fix him up later."

"Can I carve my pumpkin while I wait?"

"Newspaper, lots of newspaper."

As Delilah skipped away, Bruce handed her a cup. "Strange taste in toys."

"Strange? Or ironic?" Paige frowned into the cup when she realized he gave it to her completely black. "How you drink coffee should be criminal."

His lips twitched. "It's better than wearing it."

"Batman made front page again." Turning to the sound of Delilah's voice, the both peered down at the quilt of newspaper the child had made in the corner of the kitchen. 'Do you have some time tonight? I realize it's already late, but I found something I think you need to see." Eyeing his black and white portrait, Bruce nodded. "That bad?"

Paige, had the oven door open, filling the room with warmth. "You won't be happy about it." She warned, pulling pie from the oven. Between putting it down and burning her hand, she noticed that her small child had made off with the largest butcher knife in the block.

"Yeah, that's a no."

"But MOM…"

Bruce's cup made a soft thud on the table. His deft fingers made short work of rolling up his sleeves. "Let me see that knife or else your mother might have a coronary." Paige didn't know what to say, watching as he took the knife from Del, kneeled down and to cut the top of the pumpkin out, revealing a world of pumpkin gore to the child.

"Ewww…that's awesome."

"Del, what do you say?"

"Thank you."

This type of moment wasn't in Bruce Wayne's repertoire of life skills. In truth, he was winging it. It was normal for fathers to be sitting on the kitchen floor, smearing pumpkin guts on the pictures of Superman just to make a kid laugh. (But let's be honest defacing Superman felt pretty good too.) But like his daughter, Bruce Wayne was not quite normal.

"I wasn't expecting that." Paige murmured softly as if her voice could stir the Batgirl who was sprawled out on the sofa. "You didn't have to you know…" she amended, eyeing the jack o' lantern. Its smile was lopsided and toothy and be damned if it wasn't covered in bats. One might think that would be the child's idea, but Paige knew better.

"You've got a…' Bruce stilled as Paige reached up and pulled a pumpkin string from his shirt. The second she went to pull her hand away, his fingers wrapped around her wrist. The way he looked at her now made it hard to breathe. "I know." She could feel the words murmuring long before her ears caught them. His palm slid up her arm, to cup her cheek. This side of Bruce Wayne, she knew. "No." She whispered, feeling him pull her face toward his own. The feel of lips was light and sweet, tasting of pie coffee and regret. When she finally freed herself, he let her slip away from him, shaking her head. "Let me get my laptop, so you can see what I've got." Without another word or so much as a look back she slid into the darkness of the living room.

Paige returned quickly, her lip nestled into her teeth as if she could still taste him lingering there. What had been here between them split between fondness, admiration, and lust. It filled the void. Neither dared to call it anything more.

Bruce straightened as a computer was set in front of him. "Tell me what you see."

It didn't take long for him to notice that a bit of profit was being skimmed. Different accounts, small amounts, so small that most analysts wouldn't have noticed. "Every one of them is a Santa Prisca account."

"Yeah… So I asked around." Bruce looked away from the screen, raising an eyebrow at her.

She did nothing more than reach for a piece of the newspaper that was on the floor. Apparently, she had become immune to his looks as well. "You've seen this right?"

The headline read out in thick bold type Child Dies, Parents Blame "Zesti Soda"

"Strangely enough, this, happened just before, the money started to disappear." She shrugged.

"Maybe I'm trying to connect dots that just aren't there. But since we partner with them so often, it has some people asking questions. It's a PR Nightmare."

Bruce took the paper from her, studying the picture of the small boy who could hardly be any older than Del. Strange rashes, vomiting blood. And the parents were certain had something to do with the soft drink.

"What does your gut say?"

Paige shook her head. "It doesn't feel right. Maybe it's just my "mommy mind" freaking out, because some poor kid died horribly. I don't know, but something feels off."

Bruce let the paper fall to the table. "Mentioned this to anyone else?"

"Of course not! I was kind of hoping you would tell me that it's crazy."

But as much as he wanted to, he couldn't. It was a curious coincidence. One he certainly didn't like. And he definitely didn't want her poking around in it.

"Is this everything you have?"

"So far."

"Stop digging. I'll take care of it."

"Bruce."

"Paige."

"You're not going to tell me anything are you?" she asked crossing her arms in front of her.

"No."

At that moment, not sharing what he knew or thought, seemed the safest option. How could he possibly know otherwise?