HEY GUYS! This ain't no April Fools, I'm back. I've had an exceptionally rough 6-7 months and I'm sorry for the accidental hiatus. I've had half this chapter in my drafts for ages, but haven't been able to get to it before now. To come back and see that people are still reading, reviewing and following this story is wild and I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. Thank you so much, from the bottom of my heart. I hope you like this one, I haven't proofread it yet, but I just wanted to get it out there.

Murphy tried the best she could not to wring her hands under the table she was seated at. The sort of discomfort she was feeling wasn't alien to her. She had spent a good part of her teens convincing people she was good enough to merely breathe around them; this was supposed to be a walk in the part for her. It was usually very easy; there was a very simple recipe to follow. Observe those around you and follow their lead. Blend in without trying to shrink yourself. She drew a breath and straightened her back, letting her shoulders relax with an exhale. Though she was nothing but a typical street kid in over her head, she had been around enough of the privileged elite growing up to know precisely how they worked. Go to any sort of charity event or party hosted by people with money, and you'll see something rare, rare for most Gothamites anyway. You'll see people moving around with a serene tranquillity that you had never known existed. With no underlying desperation, no tight jaws or frowns of worry marking their faces. These people were so free of the anxiety that plagued the rest of the population, the near constant panic that had been instilled in Murphy since birth and what it all boiled down to was one fact. One detail that separated the successful with the suffering; rich had money, and the poor had not. That little word was enough to shape cultures, segregate millions from each other, punish the innocent and rid children of having a chance at life before they even learned how to walk.

Sucking in a breath, she dropped the fork she had been clutching in her hand and heard it drop onto the expensive tablecloth covering the table in front of her. She straightened up in her seat and although she knew she didn't look like the usual clientele of the restaurant she was in, she drew in a slow breath and put on the mask she had so carefully constructed. Murphy had been seated in a more private area of the restaurant and was glad for it. She kept glancing to her left to see just the people she used to dream of being, eating over-priced salads and nodding their heads as if they were paid to. It was like a country club where no one knew or gave a shit about the apocalypse going on outside. Though she tried hard not to she couldn't help but feel a wave of disgust at the sight of the well-dressed middle-aged women, the perfect image of politicians wives having lunch and social-climbing their way to the top.

A waiter came over to quietly fill her glass with water, snapping her out of her muted rage. She gave a slight nod and smiled that tight smile only rich people gave you cause they're too lazy to believably fake a smile. Trying her best to channel Lillian's sultry cynicism she looked up as a voice spoke from opposite her;

«I took the liberty of ordering for us,» Wayne said as he sat down opposite her. «I hope that's okay,» he smiled.

Stiffly dressed as always, she wondered why he felt inclined to wear suits like that even though it was the hottest September on record. She herself had dressed for comfort, and that was one of the many reasons she stood out. They sat in a secluded area of the restaurant, seats that were probably meant for the extra special customers. The staff were very discreet, she barely noticed them. 'One of the many perks', she mused.

«That's alright,» she gave a quick smile and hoped this wouldn't take long. The thought of having to go back to the library and suffer through Lillian's interrogation was too much for her, she had taken the rest of the day off just to postpone the ordeal. Now that she thought about it she wondered what signals that would send to her boss and if it would only make matters worse. She sighed knowing it very most likely would.

«Lillian give you any trouble?» he asked with a sideways smirk as he took a sip of his water.

She let out a chuckle as if he had just read her mind.
«No, no, uh, though I'll probably get the full treatment tomorrow.»

«Working at the clinic must be a piece of cake compared to her, you have two of the toughest jobs in the city,» he chuckled and she huffed with a smile. He was probably right though, but where was all this personality coming from? The stoic if not brooding Bruce Wayne seemed long gone and now he was making fun of Lillian, making it impossible for her to dislike him.

She shrugged not knowing how to talk about her without blatantly bad mouthing her,
«We don't really see eye to eye, I usually stay out of her way so working in the archives helps.»

He gave a stiff nod and a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes,
«I've known Lillian for years, believe me, I understand.»

She felt her jaw go tight. Oh, right there it was. Elephant number one; The Elliot family.

The closest Murphy had ever come to Bruce Wayne in the past was through Thomas Elliot. She had even considered him a close friend and now his mere name would send chills down the backs of the establishment he once belonged to. That was one of the major differences between the classes. The culture in which she grew up there were very few taboos. People were so poor they couldn't even afford family secrets, everything was left out in the open and people wouldn't hesitate to point out the obvious. When she felt her hands twitch, that hereditary impulse kicking in, wanting to bring it up, she held herself back. It was strange and downright unnatural for her to not talk about the only connection she had with the man sitting in front of her. Especially him being who he was. In reality, they could only dance around the subject of Lillian Elliot for so long before Murphy would succumb to the need of pointing out the obvious.

Thomas Elliot more than being Maggie's college boyfriend, was also Bruce Waynes childhood best friend. In just a few months, Murphy and Maggie had gone from being two poor girls from Stevensburg to, thanks to Maggie, being accepted into the more affluent crowd. Soon after that, Maggie and Thomas were inseparable. As time passed they seemed to only grow closer and the issue of Maggie's background wasn't much of a hindrance. Having to set her own prejudice aside, Murphy grew fond of the broad-shouldered man Maggie had chosen. They'd had long conversations where Murphy saw that there was much more to this member of Gotham's royal family than met the eye. Once he relaxed she saw a very different side of him and she suspected that's exactly what Maggie saw too. Something about Thomas resonated with Murphy, they had some sort of silent understanding where they'd give each other a look and they'd both know what the other was thinking. The sort of bond you only ever get to have with a few selected people in a whole lifetime. He became a very unlikely yet very dear friend to her over those few years. Regardless of how things turned out, she wouldn't let it tarnish the good memories she had. For a while, he had made Maggie incredibly happy and that alone was worth the world.

When she first started college she knew people whispered, she could hear them. She knew Maggie had to inform others about Murphy and her for the lack of a better word, quirks before they met her so they wouldn't be surprised. Murphy wasn't in a good state of mind at the time, heavier medicated than she had ever been and living a hermit-like life most of the time. On more than one occasion people had mistaken her for a homeless person walking around campus and shoved a few dollars in the pocket of her jacket. It was the first time she had experienced just the type of secrecy that would later surround Thomas. To have everybody think and know the same thing yet never say it out loud. Every time she met a new person they looked at her as though they had already met because they had already been told about was different. He didn't treat her as though she would break. There was no awkwardness and without being crass he would ask her straight out if he had any questions. She had never had a normal and healthy relationship with anyone, she never thought she would have anybody but Maggie. It was the sort of respect she didn't know she needed and she'd challenge him right back. Both she and Maggie would make fun of him whenever they saw him talk to any other member of the elite, how his posture and speech would change and he'd make fun of them right back. Except for Maggie, he was the only other person that really knew her.

One day though, he seemed to disappear from the face of the earth. Everything was normal until one day it wasn't. Maggie went from having a charming, supportive boyfriend to never seeing him again except for the front page of newspapers. There was so much chaos it was impossible to piece together the full story. Both Murphy and Maggie were taken in by the police and questioned though they barely understood the situation enough to answer. It was like being pulled out of a car accident and asked to explain what had happened. One word kept repeating itself, whether it was said by the police or printed in big letters in the newspapers; murderer.
They were told on more than one occasion as it took weeks to sink in, that Thomas had shot his own father before trying and almost succeeding to take Bruce Wayne's life as well. He had attempted to burn his parents' house down not knowing his mother was trapped inside. The fire brigade managed to put the fire out, but for Marla Elliot, it was too late. Thomas was shipped to Arkham, his sister the only living member of their family was left to pick up the who had been so good at removing taboo's and secrets had now become one himself. This unspoken mystery that would forever weigh on the two girls from Stevensburg who had thought college would be a smooth ride compared to what they knew. No one had been able to predict the downfall of the once mightiest family in Gotham, no one knew what went on in Thomas Elliot's head, not even those closest to him. Time passed and they did their best to move on, continue with their studies and add the ordeal to the collection of traumas that had accumulated in both of their psyches. To move on as though nothing had happened.

A waiter came over with their food, placed the two plates down and left just as quick as they came. Looking down at the immaculate food she realized it was a chicken pasta salad, though the fanciest one she'd ever seen. This one didn't come out of a prepackaged plastic bowl but had actual fresh salad in it. She tried to shake the memories away as she cleared her throat. She didn't know what to say to Wayne without offending him or bringing up past events he'd rather leave to collect dust. Skimming through her mind for anything to say she came up empty. Small talk wasn't her forte. Dancing around subjects wasn't her forte. She found it hard to shake the desire to ask him about Thomas. He was the only person she knew besides herself, Maggie and obviously Lillian, who had a close relationship with him, at least in the past. For obvious reasons, she wouldn't ask Lillian and she didn't dare break the almost five-year-old silence she had with Maggie on the subject. Murphy didn't know what she wanted, but it would've been nice to talk to someone about a friend she lost in the grimmest of circumstances, especially when said friends best friend was sitting right in front of her.

«Have you talked with the others regarding my proposition?» he spoke and pulled her away from memory lane.

She forced herself out of the dense forest of memories and smiled tightly as she nodded,
«Yes, yeah I have and unsurprisingly they're overjoyed and have agreed to the terms.» she fished out the documents from her bag, handed them to him and he accepted with a chuckle.

«As expected then?» he smiled as a large man dressed in black appeared and took the papers before leaving again.

«As expected,» she nodded back.

She looked down at the pasta salad in front of her and though she wasn't hungry she as modestly as she could, started eating. She didn't see the point of the meeting now that she'd delivered the documents and childishly thought to herself that if she finished her food she could excuse herself. Like a child stuck at school when she had a brand new PlayStation waiting at home she had a hard time sitting still, only what she was looking forward to was far from a video game console.

Again he broke the silence, elegantly wiping the sides of his mouth with a napkin,
«If you don't mind me asking, how did a library archivist end up working at a clinic frequented by the Italian mafia?»

She huffed a laugh, before he added with the hint of a smirk, «You've already ruled out idealism, so now I'm curious.»

«I supposed just like the owner of a conglomerate does; stumbling upon an opportunity and going with it,» she took a sip of water before continuing, «Regardless of the trouble that comes with it.»

«How come I feel like I'm trying to convince you more than myself?» he said near humorously.

«I told you before, you picked the wrong gal if it's convincing you're looking for,» she shrugged lightly.

He let out a small laugh and a smile showing his perfectly white teeth, «Well, yes, clearly.»

«Besides, it seems like you've already made up your mind so who am I to stand in the way?» she shrugged as she put her fork down having finished half of the plate and smiled tightly as she had done too many times during the past thirty or forty-some minutes.

Though she was trying to keep the conversation light she couldn't help but distrust him. He claimed to want to fund the clinic in an attempt to 'clean up' the Narrows, but she didn't buy it. Hell, she had even told him the clinic, for the most part, was a field hospital for the mob and he had just acknowledged that. He was aware of that yet still wanted to throw money at them to help them keep helping the same people that were tearing the neighborhoods apart. The same neighborhoods he wanted to restore, it didn't add up. It was like throwing money down a sinkhole. To go against her better judgment and give him the benefit of the doubt there was a possibility he had a greater plan that he just didn't share with her for whatever reason. Regardless of his true intentions, she knew he was holding something back. She had been wrong about him being the naive rich kid she had initially thought him to be, but now she was left without many assumptions and he became more and more of a mystery to her. A mystery that didn't sit well.

Clearing her throat she wanted to dig a little deeper,
«After going through the legal documents and the plans, I have a few questions if that's alright.»

He responded with a professional smile and a nod before she continued,

«See, the problem I keep coming back to is how discreetly we'll be able to make this transition. There are plans of connecting us to a lab for any testing we need to do, giving us the best equipment available and not at least practically remodeling the whole clinic. All of those things we sorely need and I don't want to rain on your parade, but we're being watched. There's no love lost between me and the mob but flashy as they may be they'd know in a second that something's up. What I'm saying is, now that we're doing this we should do it step by step and watch our backs.»

He nodded again with a solemn expression, «I understand. You don't want it looking like bait.»

«Exactly.» she nodded back. It wouldn't just be Maroni's men who'd get suspicious, but the Russians were probably their most substantial threat and one they should do everything they could to steer away from. As much as she wanted to be happy about the deal with Wayne she couldn't help but feel it would put a billboard-sized target on them with flashing neon lights.

He leaned in just slightly and held her gaze,
«This plan I set up is long-term. The list you're referring to is merely a suggestion and we'll decide together what to do when and if we'll do it at all.»

He gave her a reassuring look, moving in just a little closer, «That is something I should have clarified in the contract, I apologize for that. We'll amend it, it's not binding.»

«Alright, then we're in agreement, Mr. Wayne.» she nodded and gave another professional smile.

He replicated the smile and sat back, she could almost say he looked relaxed and maybe he did. Was this some sort of guilt thing? Throwing money at the poor to help with his own insecurities? Giving back to the community he never belonged to in an attempt to turn down the volume of the working class? What in the world was his motivation? When she looked up from her salad she was immediately met with Wayne's gaze. She said nothing nor did he, but there was something there in his eyes. Something she wanted to recognize but couldn't quite. It was as though she was trying to stare into his soul, to figure him out and read all his secrets like the books she worked with every day. There was a strange sense of calm and honesty there when she looked beyond the brooding facade. Familiar but also new somehow. For the first time, she saw a person in there, flesh and blood. Then it hit her in a course it was familiar, it was just like looking at Thomas Elliot.

A small hour later she was back home, home meaning the clinic. Getting back into her scrubs felt like coming home. At the clinic she wasn't surrounded by people she had to change for. Whether it was Lillian Elliot, Bruce Wayne or people visiting the library, she had to pretend she wasn't a foster kid from the poorest part of the city who still had to beg for scraps. She had to pretend she was one of them and amusing as it was, like going to a costume party, it left a bitter taste in her mouth. Being at the clinic was soothing in a way it shouldn't be. While the other staff did all they could to avoid the night shift Maggie knew she could turn to Murphy for help. It wasn't in any way safer at night, not that it was safe at any time of the day, but with the darkness came a different kind of clientele. The longer she worked there she saw more and more of the dark nuances of Gotham and almost despite herself she came to like it. Something about the sun setting over the city opened the door to all the creatures who hid in the shadows, the same creatures Gotham had become known for. The kind of people the city had unintentionally, or not, made and were now overrun by. Wasn't there some strange sense of poetic justice in that? Murphy, alone in her fascination was lucky if she got even two of her colleagues to join her for an overnight shift. A few hours into her shift she was handed a clipboard by Charlotte the nurse, another one of Maggie's visionary trainees. They had been pretty busy that evening, but with the usual sort of injuries. They were more than specialized in stitching up wounds at that point, so much so that they would with a little shame, be excited whenever they got patients with more substantial injuries. As Murphy looked down at the chart she knew this was one of those cases.

«Chemical burns?» she mused as she read the page named 'Jane Doe 245'. As they rarely got a name out of their patients they had to add numbers just to keep track.

Charlotte cleared her throat and shuffled nervously next to her, «We tried to clean the wounds but she wouldn't let us near her-»

«Did you manage to give her something for the pain?»

«Yeah, plenty but...» she hesitated.

«But what?» Murphy mused.

«We had to triple the dosage for it to have any effect. I was scared she would fall asleep and not wake up.»

«Is she lucid?»

Charlotte shook her head in confusion, «Surprisingly, yeah. She seems better now, but...»

«I don't have all night, you know,» Murphy sighed and put the clipboard down.

«She won't let us put the bandages on and she won't let anyone near her. She tried to get up to leave but I guess the morphine held her back.»

Everything about Charlotte screamed she had no intention of going back into the surgery. On a normal day, she came across as a timid and hesitant girl, a valid assumption would be that she had real problems transitioning from work at the hospital to the clinic. Murphy would be surprised if Charlotte wasn't terrified.

«Alright. You're on stitch duty tonight, I'll take care of this.» before she could even finish her sentence the new nurse scurried down the hall, quite glad she had dodged a bullet.

Murphy pushed against the door to the surgery and walked inside. This was where they kept the most injured of their patients and most nights it was filled with patients and staff running around in a controlled panic. Tonight though, it was quiet and the large room held only one patient.

«I've been told you're refusing treatment?» she asked as she approached the girl laying on the examination table. The girl had to be around her own age, mid-twenties ish. She had jeans on, well, there wasn't much left of the denim. It looked as though she had fallen into acid, the entire right side of her legs and torso was covered in large red welts and burns. Nothing in her training had prepared her for this, she was less shocked by gunshots and stab injuries than chemical burns. Murphy had to restrain a flinch at the mere sight of it. Based on the amount of morphine she had been given Murphy knew it had to hurt like a motherfucker.

«I didn't like the nurses,» a surprisingly smooth voice answered and the girl's face came into view, pushing herself up from the table. Her thick long, wavy hair was strewn around her head where she lay. The girl was beautiful, especially to the clinics standard. Murphy hadn't expected the lazy smile that occupied the girls face, nothing about her demeanor suggested she had any of the injuries she was there to treat. Charlotte was right, this chick was tough.

Murphy replicated her smile as she pulled a chair out to sit down, «Without those nurses, you would still be in a lot of pain.»

«And you're a doctor?» the girl quipped a brow and sat up straighter.

«Nope. Just another pesky nurse,» she smirked back.

The girl then threw her head back and let out an exaggerated sigh before going back to her previous mood, folding her hands over her stomach and tapping her fingers in a steady rhythm, as if she was bored. «I can take care of myself,» she shrugged, «most of the time.»

«I don't doubt that,» Murphy spoke, «but seeing as you're here at the clinic I work at and in need of medical attention,» she suggested as she nodded her head at the wounds.

The girl bit her bottom lip and looked down at the floor as if in deep contemplation. She had already gone through half the treatment they could give her, it didn't make any sense to resist now. Before she could say anything else the girl turned to her with narrowed eyes,

«I've seen you before,» she mused, «Where have I seen you before?»

«Ever been here before?»

«Nope,» she shook her head slowly, her inspecting bright green eyes never leaving hers.

«Maybe we hang around the same chemical plants,» Murphy nodded to her leg and surprisingly it earned her a laugh from the girl.

Still laughing the girl wagged a finger her way and grinned,
«I like you, you're sharp.»

«Like a razor,» Murphy smiled tightly as she got up from her chair and moved toward the box of gloves,
«Would you object to me looking at those wounds of yours?»

Letting out another dramatic sigh, the girl threw her arms out in a theatrical defeat,
«Fine, if you must. Just keep those nurses out, if you don't mind.»

It was baffling how lucid the girl was, that amount of morphine would knock anybody out if not kill them. Normally if Murphy had caught anybody giving a patient that much, it would be considered manslaughter at best. The patient didn't even seem uncomfortable or dazed, it was nothing short of carefully cutting away any leftover fabric around the wounds, Murphy methodically cleaned them. She couldn't help but smile as the girl hummed her way through a few 1980's hits as though she was getting a pedicure done. It was hard not to be impressed by her, it certainly wasn't hard to like her. After almost two hours the wounds were cleaned and the bandages set. Despite the gnarly looking wounds, Murphy suspected they would heal well as long as all movement was limited.

«You're not gonna ask?» Murphy looked up to see the girls green eyes look at her with some sort of amusement. At first, she was confused but then realized the girl was talking about her injuries and Murphys lack of interest as to how she got them.

Scooting back in the chair she removed her gloves with a light chuckle,
«No, I never ask.»

«Why not?» the girl sat up slightly with furrowed brows.

Murphy let out a sigh, she hadn't really thought about it before.
«I don't know, it's never crossed my mind before. Besides, it's none of my business,» she shrugged as she threw the used plastic gloves in the bin.

«You're no snitch,» the girl smirked with an approving nod. «See no evil, hear no evil,» she mumbled to herself.

«Speak no evil,» Murphy mumbled back as she collected all the trash and tied the bags closed.

Looking up at the clock Murphy turned back to her patient,
«I'm taking a short break and for your own sake, I hope you'll still be here when I get back. If you move around with those bandages too much you'll only make things worse.»

The girl winked and gave a salute, «I'll behave.»

In the backroom, Murphy shrugged on her jacket and pushed the door to the back alley open. Pulling the garbage bags along as she walked down the steps toward the containers, the distinctive sound of feet against metal steps echoing through the alley. After dumping the trash she fished her cigarettes out of her jacket as she walked back up the steps to lean against the railing. She was in a strange mood and couldn't seem to identify exactly what it was. She lit her cigarette and exhaled as she went over the likely reasons or triggers. It was the side-effect of mental illness, this constant paranoia that any abrupt change in moods meant the end. Overanalyzing had to be better than being unprepared. She huffed a laugh at that thought because she knew it was bullshit, there was no way to be prepared. After all, she knew that better than most and yet she would cling to the false security of preparation. Her illness, her madness was the reason she was miserable yet whenever she reached for something more it was denied her because of her illness. In the end, it didn't matter how many group therapy sessions she had sat through where some middle-aged born again Christian would preach about how much more there was to them than merely their sickness. Of course, Murphy already knew that, but the rest of the world, this city, hadn't bought into that concept just yet. It was all well and good within a bubble of freaks and weirdos, but outside of that comfort she quickly learned to stay in her lane. She didn't want to have to convince anybody that she was good enough for them, to beg for someones patience and attention. One privilege she had never had was the ability to conjure the illusion of being well put together. It was clear she wasn't and although no one else was, at least they got to pretend. She was an unfinished building while others just lacked the interior. Nobody wanted a project or worse, a ticking time the smoke she turned her face to the alley and nearly choked,

«Hey, beautiful,» she jumped at the sound of the voice and the sight of a dark yet familiar silhouette calmly standing by the end of the steps.

«Jesus Chri- you trying to give me a heart attack?!» she whispered back harshly, a hand to her chest.

«I didn't want to interrupt your little uh, philosophical moment,» he sucked the side of his cheek and eyed her with a humored gaze.

She huffed, felt her body come down from the initial shock and turned to him. «I guess I'm pretty easy to sneak up on, huh?»

He smirked, «Too easy.»

She let out a little laugh and smiled despite herself. Her attention was immediately on him again as she heard the squeak of the metal stairs and saw him slowly walk up toward her. Panic set in as she turned to the door and then back to him, he merely raised his hands as if surrendering and spoke slowly,

«I won't go in and scare your friends and your nice customers, you have my word,» he said teasingly as though he had read her mind and stopped at the step below her, almost making up for the difference in heights.

He was in his full get-up, paint, and everything. It didn't scare her, but she didn't quite know how to feel about it. Despite that, she couldn't help but think it was a little strange he was still so attractive. She turned back to the door, a little anxious.

«It's probably not a good idea for you to be here. If anyone came out, seeing you...there.» she trailed off, mumbling. Of course, she was the only one who went out there, the others were too scared. There was a reason she was always on trash duty.

«They might misunderstand,» he said quietly, nodding. She tried to ignore what that deep rumble of his voice did to her and took another drag of her cigarette.

«Yeah, exactly.»

«Can't be seen with lowly criminals, I get it. Falcone and the Russians are okay, but me? Oh, no.» he said with mock pain as he put a hand to his heart. She felt a blush move over her face and smiled,

«Something like that,» she laughed almost shyly.

«You're selectively honest. We'll have to work on that,» he said matter-of-factly, more to himself than her. She looked back at him and found him looking at her. Like always it was as though he could see through her, it was unnerving yet also, somehow, comforting. Carefully he reached over and took the cigarette from her and took a deep drag before leaning his head back and exhaling the smoke into the darkness of the alley. It was just like the first time he had kissed her, she realized. He had to know what that did to her, the simple act of leaning back, exposing his paint-free neck and perfect jawline. She internally swooned at the simple move, apparently, that's all it took.

He leaned toward her. Letting out what sounded like a mix between a throat clearing and a sigh his eyes turned to hers,
«How was lunch?»

Whatever state of mind she was in it came down on her in a second. Ripped back to reality and the confusion that followed. His eyes unwavering she tried to make sense of his question and how the hell she would respond. She had almost all but forgotten her lunch meeting even though it was just earlier that day. Her brows furrowed as she went over it in her head. Why would he ask that? Why does he care? How does he know?

She swallowed though her voice was still raw when she spoke, «It was alright.»

«Yeah?» he said calmly and she nodded as she met his eyes. Her suspicion grew but she had no idea what to be suspicious of exactly. She never did with him.

«Yeah,» she simply answered.

«Uneventful, then?» he kept going, his voice controlled and yet almost light. This was a game and she had no idea how to play or, or even why they played it.

«Pretty much,» she nodded back.

He hummed before taking a breath,
«Now why would Bruce Wayne ask you to lunch?» he continued in a condescending tone and she took a step back in confusion, if not in offense.

Continuing he clicked his tongue,
«He's not known for associating with the uh, lower classes, you're not the most likely pair.»

She took another step back to try to move away from him, there was something dangerous about his mood. Like a black cloud that kept expanding and she wanted away from it.

Clicking his tongue again he kept going in his condescending mumble that had a razor sharp edge to it, almost like a warning,
«I'm not one to decide or dictate what Wayne Junior wants, but you don't seem like it.»

She was drowning in his voice, in her own confusion and couldn't help but feel his words sting. He was mocking her. Whether that was the intention or not didn't matter, he was mocking her in an attempt to get an honest answer. What he didn't know was that he'd get an honest answer, either way, he didn't need the detour of insults and crass insinuations. She took yet another step back away from him and his dark cloud,
«What-you-do you-I don't-»

He continued, unaffected or fazed by her confusion, looking up as if reading off a script in the clouds,
«This is a man who has it all, why would he then choose to luncheon with a part-time nurse, part-time librarian archivist?»

She stood still and felt her jaw tense, not just from anger, but she couldn't help but feel the insults sting. There was no reason to toy with her, she would have given him all the answers he wanted had he just chosen not to offend her.
«Just stop,» she heard her voice as sharp as his state clearly and he did just that, he stopped and looked back at her.

She looked at him incredulously,
«I just don't understand. Why is important? Why do you give a shit? And why do you always ask questions you seem to have to answer to anyway?»

He took a step toward her, though in Murphy steps it was one and stood towering over her, as always, his smell enveloping her,
«Just calm down,» he sighed, «This is a question I don't have the answer to, hence the question.»

She felt a breath she didn't know she had been holding leave her and her body relaxed, almost slumped where she stood. She brushed the hair from her face and considered it, the trust was there for her to tell him, but again, why would he want to know and most of all, how did he know?

«Fuck,» she sighed back,
«He's helping with the clinic, that's all. He wants to upgrade the place, turn it into a sort of field hospital and help us fund it,» she ended with a shrug.

His brows raised, he didn't look convinced so she kept going,
«It wasn't a date, but clearly you figured that out pretty quick,» she couldn't help but let her voice turn bitter.

Without missing a beat he shot back,
«Did you want it to be?» he asked simply, but all it did was piss her off.

Taking another step back from him just to make sure she wouldn't be bewitched by him somehow, she sighed again in frustration,
«No! Not that it matters anyway! Clearly, the guy wouldn't touch me with a ten-foot pole anyway!»

She had barely finished the sentence when the gap between them closed again and she was lifted off the ground and seated on the railing behind her, his arms around her and his smell yet again surrounding her as much as his body. With a gasp, she had no choice but to cling to him so not to fall backward and she searched his eyes for any clue as to what was coming next.

«What are you-» she croaked in confusion.

With one hand on the back of her neck, he pulled her even closer with a low hum, she felt the warmth radiate from him as though he was a fire. When he spoke it was with a deep rumble, serious and calm but somehow comforting. There was something about merely being psychically close to him that settled her nerves, regardless of the situation. He would wound her up and confuse her over and over but then he'd remove the gap between them and she was left in an almost childlike state of comfort.

His voice was deep but clear and sharp as he looked back at her confused state with unwavering eyes, his hands cradling her face,
«I don't want you to forget, do you understand? I want you to remember.»

Bewildered she shook her head just slightly and looked back into those brown eyes to try to make some sense of his words. He was trying to tell her something and she was desperately trying to understand, but she just couldn't grasp it. His eyes didn't explain, but they showed her something she hadn't seen before. A more human side, it was nothing short of vulnerable.

When she spoke, her voice came out soft,
«I don't-please just-»

Leaning his forehead against hers, he merely repeated himself,
«Don't forget it, baby,» she looked to his eyes again only for a second before he removed the little of space between them and kissed her.

She wished she could understand, confusing was the word to describe her relationship with this man. Somehow though, being near him seemed to be the only way for her to understand him. There was something about kissing him that felt right, as much as they bickered and pissed each other off, they fit. The girl who trusted no one was making out with...she didn't even know who she was. In her head, she called him Marlon because of the resemblance, but she had never gotten a name. He had taken the liberty of calling her by her surname and somehow she didn't mind. Despite everything telling her otherwise, she felt some kind of comfort and safety with him, like it was just mean to be that way. Kissing him felt right, trusting him felt right and she couldn't deny that she hung on to every word he said as though it was law. She missed him when he was gone and felt a strange fear surface as she realized she wanted more, she wanted him.

Breaking the kiss she rested her head on his shoulder and reveled in the sound of his ragged breath in her ear.
«When will I see you again?» she breathed before adding, «and don't say 'soon', you're making me feel like a Bond-girl who doesn't know she's getting ditched.»

A light chuckle came from deep in his chest,
«I don't know about my schedule, but I'm sure I can squeeze you in somewhere,» as he said that he pulled her into his chest and squeezed her making her giggle like a maniac. There they were, two maniacs in an alley in the Narrows, neither one having any idea of what they had gotten themselves into.

After reluctantly leaving Marlon to go back to work, Murphy was in the back storage, desperately wiping anti-bacterial wipes around her face and neck in an attempt to remove the thick paint. She had almost forgotten about it until she wiped her face and noticed the red. If anybody had seen it she was sure he would think it was hysterical, but giving him something to laugh about on her behalf wasn't high on her list. She didn't have a lie to cover that up, especially not on the spot. Smiling to herself at all the hypothetical situations that may result in she threw the wipes in the bin and walked back into the surgery to see her hopefully only patient.

Seeing her patient patiently waiting just where she had left her, Murphy rubbed some antibacterial on her hands and let out a breath,
«Alright, how about we get you off that metal table and into a real bed?»

Sitting up with ease the girl mulled it over before casually pushing a thick strand of red hair over her shoulder,
«You know, I actually wouldn't mind that. Laying here I feel like I'm about to get autopsied.»

Murphy chuckled as she walked over to her side, «Yeah, it's not the most comfortable place to sleep.»

«I guess there's no use in trying to get home now, anyway,» the redhead muttered with her soft and yet deep and warm voice. She reminded her of old school Hollywood, like Lauren Bacall or Katharine Hepburn. Fiercely independent and radiantly beautiful. In that way, she wondered what the hell this girl was doing in the Narrows and not on the big screen.

Again, Murphy was amazed by how psychically unaffected her patient seemed by both the pain and the meds given to her.
The only way to move her to the beds was for Murphy to work as a crutch on her left side, her undamaged side, and for her to hobble over to the next room. She was still adamant that she didn't want any other nurses and when Murphy informed her that she would have to deal with another nurse in the morning, she begrudgingly agreed to stay the night regardless. All thanks to none other than Mr. Wayne himself the beds had been put in the week before so patients didn't have to sleep in the surgery or like most, in the reception. The redhead was happy enough with the arrangement, it was clear she didn't have anywhere else to go and she knew just as well as Murphy that there was no way she could walk anywhere with that leg. She was proud, that was clear and Murphy could relate. Nothing was free in the Narrows so receiving free medical treatment and a bed for the night couldn't come without repercussions. Most of their patients, the ones who weren't in the mob, felt the same way. People weren't used to being treated like just what they were, people.

Helping her into the bed, Murphy got her settled and just to be safe gave her a little more pain relief to help her through the night until the next nurse came in. Leaning over her to inject the morphine, the girl twirled some of Murphy's hair between her fingers and gave a distant smile,
«You were gone for a while,» she breathed as she pushed some of Murhpys hair to the side with a small sigh.

«Even nurses need a break sometimes,» Murphy smirked and finished hooking up the fluids.

Looking back at her she noticed her cheeky grin as the girl put her thumb to her neck and showed it to her, a smudge of red.
«Is this the kind of break you usually go on?»

Shit.

She froze, having no idea what to say or do. Instead of a complete sentence, her words came out as a clumsy selection of random words and sounds that made no sense. It was like she had gotten caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Although she had no reason to explain anything to a patient, she hadn't had one yet who was actually perceptive enough to notice something like that and call her out on it.

«Damn, you look like you're going to choke!» the girl threw her head back and laughed so hard it was more like a cackle,
«Oh my god, what do you think I'm gonna do? Call the cops?»

Murphy still lost for words merely stood and watched as her patient laughed until she nearly cried. Apparently, she had to have looked truly terrified to justify this kind of reaction.

Trying to come down from her laughter the girl cleared her throat,
«Okay, I won't tell on you, scouts honor.»

Letting out a nervous laugh Murphy removed her gloves and smiled,
«Thank you for your discretion.»

«I'm sorry, I'm just teasing,» the girl chuckled and sat up with her back against the pillows and her red hair cascading over her shoulders as though she was at a sleepover and about to gossip about the other girls in school.

Reaching her hand out she gave a genuine smile,
«I'm Pamela, just call me Pam.»

Returning the smile Murphy couldn't help but like this free-spirited flame-haired girl,
«Nice to meet you, Pam, I'm Murphy.»