hi! thanks for reading! this is probably shit, but i had the idea in my head and wanted to get it out. hope you enjoy! also i stole the title from a song by max richter (it's very beautiful please go listen)

Chapter One

The evening that marks Katherine Harding's arrival to Gotham City is a quiet, rainy one. Drops pound against the roof of the train, an old, rather slow creature that crawls along the tracks, shifting passengers here and there as it turns and swivels.

She glances down at her old but trusty watch - it reads 11:24 pm. She was meant to get here much earlier - closer to one, actually - but that flight had been cancelled. Glancing out of the train car's dirty windows, her mouth quirks up at the sheer cliche of the sight before her.

She doesn't know much about Gotham, but what she is aware of pertains mainly to the city's infamous perpetual gloom - a gloom personified by the rather striking lack of light in the neighborhoods they pass by. Then there's the crime rate, which just so happens to be highest in the East End, where Katherine will be living for the next…

She lets out a deep breath, clutching her single suitcase tighter. The uncertainty of it all is unrelenting these days. Who knows how long she'll be here? In a tiny apartment deep within the city, utterly alone.

Shivering, she pulls her gaze away from the window. She steals glances at the other passengers every so often, wondering what their own stories might be. Are they like her, a bit lost and lonely? Or are they perfectly happy - content with what they have, wanting for little - as Katherine's always wanted to be?

God. She shakes her head a little, straightening her spine. She needs to snap out of this stupor that she's been stuck in. There are positive things in the future, including some job interviews within the week. And even if those don't pan out, she's always got her tech repair side gigs. Sure, they don't pay much, but it's certainly better than sleeping out on the streets.

She knows the little savings she's got is partially her own fault. She'd be at least slightly better off if she charged more for her services. But she's lived among the working class for too long, has been part of the bleeding soul of the community. She's seen and experienced first hand the bullshit this economy has handed them. She'd never have the heart to charge them too much for her repairs, could never bring herself to put someone in the hole for even a little while over something so small. The big companies are asking for too much, and she's the one they turn to. She can't let them down.

It's nearly midnight by the time the train finally squeaks to a stop at the drop off closest to her apartment. Wrapping her windbreaker tightly around her middle, she steps off into the chilly October night.

She's lucky that her apartment isn't too far off, only four or five minutes away, but the knowledge does little to ease her anxiety as she walks down the flooded streets of the East End, old tennis shoes splashing in dirty puddles of rainwater.

Incredibly alert, she reaches into the pocket of her windbreaker, wrapping her free hand around her mace. It's not much, but it's something to help lessen the tightness in her chest.

When she reaches the correct address, she books it inside, wet feet slapping on the cold stone of the building floor. It's old as hell, and the elevator looks particularly dubious, so she opts for the stairs. The heavy door shuts with a slam behind her, making her jump. Sweat beading on her forehead despite the evening chill, she quickly climbs the three flights of stairs, exiting on her level and making her way down the hallway.

She finds her room number towards the end of the hall on her right: 311. She fumbles around in her crossbody purse, pulling out the key, turning it, and -

Home sweet home.

Unsurprisingly, it's pretty dingy. The walls are a rather pale beige, stained here and there. It's only one room, not counting the tiny bathroom to the left of the bed. Directly in front of her is a small kitchen area, equipped with a sink, a few cabinets, and a countertop.

Needless to say, there's a shitload of expensive stuff to buy. She closes the apartment door, locks both the handle and bolt, and trudges towards the bed, throwing her suitcase down and peeling off her jacket. She goes to hang it before remembering, with a dry laugh, that she doesn't even have a coat hanger.

She tosses it onto the kitchen counter and returns to her suitcase, opening it. It's just the essentials, really - two sets of pjs, a few casual outfits, a few work ones, all crammed into a little rectangular square. There's also her toothbrush, toothpaste, as well as her other toiletries, and -

For the first time that evening, a tired smile creeps onto her face as she pulls out her laptop. It's rather lonesome all by itself, but she's got some other equipment that she's having shipped to her new address. Soon enough, she'll have everything she needs to do her repairs, save for new parts she'll have to purchase here and there, depending on what the job requires.

She places the laptop on the little bedside table, plugging it in. She turns on the lamp as well, and yellow low-light floods the room. It gives the room a more comforting aura, and she shimmies into a set of pjs and snuggles under the covers. She keeps the lights on tonight, as she sleeps.

She's tired, and a bit sad. She needs it.

It's been a long time since her last job interview - approximately two years, in fact - and Katherine is a bit out of practice.

The next morning is one of near constant nerves, clawing at her, scraping her insides raw. She knows it's not the end of the world if she flubs this one up, because there are at least two more scheduled in the near future.

But if she screws up now and during the next two…

Katherine digs her nails into her palm, willing herself to make the thoughts vanish. She has to keep a good attitude. She must go into this with confidence.

She finishes getting ready, dressed in black slacks and a white blouse, dark hair in a tight ponytail. And the finishing touch - a pair of black pumps that she slips into, wincing slightly at the instant pinching of her toes. They'd been a gift from her mother - although gift probably isn't the most appropriate word.

Grabbing her purse, she marches out the door, head held high. I've got this.

The East End is less unsettling in daylight. She drinks up her surroundings, doing her best to commit them to her memory. It's a slightly useless endeavor, in all honesty, given her tendency to forget, well, everything - but she may as well try. Depending on how long she stays in Gotham, she may in fact manage the task by the end of it.

She hops on the train, squeezing her way among the other passengers. It's less crowded than it would be during the early morning rush, but it's still a shock for her. She'd grown up in a very small town in South Dakota, and public transport is a whole new world for her. Uncomfortable, she tries to get a feel for the etiquette, awkwardly risking glances at the others. Is she supposed to make conversation? A few people seem to be talking, but they could be friends, or coworkers.

She decides not to risk it. Her immediate train companions don't appear to be in the mood anyways, eyes downcast, faces blank.

Katherine's gut twists. She wonders if that's how she'll look within a few months. Bored. Headed to work at the same dead-end job every day, quiet and cold. The thought makes her a little sick, but she shoves it down. Not right now. Remember - you've got this.

Her stop comes up about twenty minutes later, right in the heart of the city. She climbs out, clutching her purse, and the slightest of smiles rises to her lips. It's lighter here, almost, the sun's rays piercing through the cloud cover. It's busy, too, people of all sorts heading to and fro. Heels click on the pavement, and Katherine's join them. She melts into the crowd, oh so easily, and heads towards the building that towers above all the rest - Wayne Enterprises.

That momentary feeling of belonging to the thrum of the city fades away as she nears the tower, finally stepping through the revolving doors.

The look of the lobby is enough to make her want to crawl out of her skin, to hide away and wait until she's someone different before coming back. Someone smarter, and more capable. Someone more worthy of this job.

The people who are abound are so well put-together that it's damn near frustrating. Unconsciously, she reaches up to tighten her ponytail, running her hair through her fingers and sighing at how the strands have already frizzed up.

Cautiously, almost as if she's tiptoeing around a minefield, she makes her way up to the receptionist. She's busy tapping away at her keyboard, gaze clear and focused. Katherine waits a few moments. Nothing. She awkwardly clears her throat.

The receptionist looks up, eyebrow quirked.

"Hello," Katherine says, quietly. "I'm here for an interview with…"

Shit. She's forgotten the HR worker's name. Heat rushes to her face as she gives a quick sorry, just a sec and starts digging around in her purse.

"Name?" the receptionist asks.

Katherine pauses in her foraging. "Katherine Harding, ma'am."

The woman types for a minute, peering at the screen, and nods. "I see - you have an appointment with Mrs. Woods at 11:15?" She looks at Katherine, apparently for confirmation.

Sure. Indeed. Sounds right. Katherine nods. "Yes."

"You'll be meeting her on floor sixty. The elevator is to your right."

"Thank you - have a great day!" Katherine gives the receptionist her best smile. And it's mostly genuine; there's one hurdle that she's overcome.

The receptionist gives a nod, which Katherine takes as a victory as well. Smiles, she supposes, are probably rare in the cutthroat world of business - especially when those businesses are headquartered in Gotham City.

The elevator ride is long as hell, and a bit awkward, given the stony-faced strangers she shares it with, but it's over soon enough, and she steps out on her floor. She walks up to the front desk, and after a few exchanges of info, the receptionist disappears into a room. When she returns, she's accompanied by a rather stern-looking woman.

She's probably fifty or so, and quite impressive-looking, hair done up in a flawless bun, dressed in a beautiful beige two-piece suit. Her gaze sweeps over Katherine quickly and shamelessly. Katherine flushes at the quick but blatant scrutiny, painfully aware that she looks like trash compared to everyone else here.

Something like shame curls up in her stomach, and she's almost angry at herself for it. She knows, logically, that the people in this building are no better and no worse than her. But she also knows, in her heart, that people are judgmental. People will seize any excuse to look down upon others. Hell, she knows it because she's done it, has had moments of prejudice. She's not proud of it, and she's sure they're not either. It's human nature. And there's a certain amount of logic in that, too.

She does her best to mask her embarrassment, lifting her chin and smiling politely. "It's lovely to meet you, Mrs. Woods."

Said woman inclines her head. "Likewise, Ms. Harding. Follow me." She turns around, quickly making her way down the hall.

Katherine follows, nearly speedwalking to catch up. They stop at a rather large room at the end of the hall. Inside sits a gorgeous desk of dark wood, in front of which are a few chairs of similar make. There are shelves full of books, various pieces of art hanging on the walls and a wide window of glass. It may be the most expensive room she's ever been in.

Mrs. Woods takes a seat behind the desk, and gestures for Katherine to sit as well. "Let's get to it," she says, and picks up a file, opening it and taking out a sheet of paper. "It says on your resume that you have quite a lot of experience in IT work, particularly with tech repairs. What kinds of tech are we walking about?"

A bit taken aback by the direct line of questioning - she'd expected some polite "let's-pretend-to-get-to-know-each-other" conversation - Katherine is silent for a long moment, scrambling through her brain for an answer. At the sight of Mrs. Woods rather blank expression, the search goes into red mode, and she manages to spit out, "Oh, various. Lots of different stuff. Um - mostly having to do with personal computers. I've worked with gritty stuff, taking things apart to figure out what's mechanically wrong, but I've also done a lot of work with programming, getting rid of viruses and doing hard drive recovery and all that."

Mrs. Woods nods, seemingly pleased. "Very good." She pauses, setting the file down and looking back up at Katherine, gaze piercing. Katherine shifts in her seat, attempting to keep her smile looking authentic as possible. "There is one thing, though…"

Here it comes.

"...I noticed that your resume has no reference to any higher education." She frowns. "Do you not have a degree?"

She'd known that it would get brought up, but God - no amount of mental preparation is enough to keep the pure shame from churning in her gut, from seeping into her veins and almost certainly into her eyes and face. "No," she says, softly. For all of her might, she can't bring herself to keep eye contact, looking away and locking her gaze on the carpet. It's nice stuff. Very clean. Immaculate. "I don't."

"You are aware that the application specifically requires the minimum of a bachelor's degree in a related field?"

Katherine straightens her back. She's prepared for this, at least. "Yes. However..." she looks Mrs. Woods in the eyes now, utterly determined. "...I'm a firm believer that experience can be a perfectly appropriate substitute for education. Everything that degree holders know, I have taught myself independently. In fact, I would argue that I might know a bit more."

Mrs. Woods seems to consider this for a long moment, peering at Katherine fixedly. Finally, she sighs, dropping Katherine's resume and folding her hands on top of the desk.

"I brought you in for an interview," she begins, "because I thought you might have made a mistake on your resume, that'd you simply forgotten to add your degree. It's happened before. The rest of your resume is quite impressive. But it would seem I was incorrect. I'm sorry, Ms. Harding, but the education requirement is important for many, many reasons, beyond just knowledge. Receiving a degree requires an incredible amount of dedication and hard work - both of which are character traits that are of utmost value to Wayne Enterprises. It is a requirement. I do hope you understand."

Katherine's mind is buzzing. Words echo here and there, bouncing off the walls of her brain. Dedication. Hard work. "Character traits" that she, apparently, does not possess.

And then there's this part of her, this fighting instinct deep in her gut, that rises up with sudden force. "Please - ma'am - I'm working on the education part. I applied to a part-time program at Gotham University, one I'll be able to work around. It's accelerated, and I'll have my degree within two years." She pauses, realizing how purely desperate her voice sounds. She plasters on a smile, nodding vigorously as she speaks, as if to say I'm serious, I promise, I'm a hard worker, I'm good, I'm good -

Mrs. Woods simply says - "I'm sorry, Ms. Harding. I have to ask you to take your leave."

Just like that, the fighting instinct, so rare but so precious and such a part of who she is, fades back into the recesses of her being. It's irrefutable: this is over.

Katherine rises, slowly, suddenly exhausted to the bone. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Woods," she says, quietly. She leaves, the door clicking shut softly behind her.

She walks back to the elevator in a daze, stepping inside and pressing the button for the first floor. There's one other person inside, but she can't spare any thoughts, not even a single one, for anyone else right now. All she can think of is her tiny apartment, with no fridge or dishwasher or fucking coat rack, and how she'll step inside and probably sleep for the rest of the day while the city screams around her. Sometimes, on days like this, she wants to scream with it.

With no small amount of horror, she realizes that there are tears forming in her eyes. As if her day couldn't get any more mortifying, she is now crying in front of a stranger.

She attempts to hold them back, but a few escape, falling down her cheeks in quiet streaks. She keeps her head down, trying her best to focus on the floor, and not on the stranger next to her. Just a few more minutes.

"Excuse me, ma'am - are you alright?"

Shit. Shit. Shit. She tries to inconspicuously wipe at her eyes, but it's no use. She looks over at the stranger - a handsome man with dark hair and eyes - and offers a weak smile. "Oh, I'm - I'm fine. I'm good. Thanks, though."

The man is, as most would be, unconvinced. "Bad day at work?"

Katherine's sure the man means well, but she's also quite sure that common elevator etiquette doesn't include conversation beyond the polite remark. It certainly doesn't include emotional vulnerability with strangers.

But the man's comment is so off the mark that she can't help but let out a dry laugh. "No, actually, um - bad interview."

The man gives her a sympathetic smile. "Damn. I'm sorry." He pauses for a long moment, then adds, "If it makes you feel better - you probably dodged a bullet. I've worked here for a while and it can get pretty dull."

And although Katherine could remark on how even a dull job is better than no job at all, and is much, much better than ending up on the streets, she genuinely appreciates the man's attempts to cheer her up. She gives a short laugh, says, "Thanks."

"If you don't mind me asking - what position were you applying for?" he asks. He turns more towards her, hands in the pockets of a rather expensive-looking suit.

"Nothing major - just an IT position." Katherine blows out a long, deep breath. "Too major for me, though, it would seem."

The man is quiet. Katherine's sure he's probably grown bored of the conversation, and she's attempting to suffer through the silence when he suddenly continues, "If I could give you some advice…" he pauses, glancing at Katherine as if asking for permission. His face is rather stoic, but there's kindness in his dark eyes. When she doesn't say anything, he goes on, "...always keep looking. Keep trying. Even when you think you've run out of options, there's always another one out there. Don't get caught on one thing - or corporation."

There is a long moment of silence, in which Katherine considers his words. They seem a bit idealistic, in all honesty. And it's a rather easy sentiment to express when you've got a job at Wayne Enterprises of all places.

But - he's also not wrong. All she can do is move forward. Sure, this interview experience was shit, but there's nothing she can do about it. When the alternative is quite literally deadly, the only option you've got is to keep going.

The elevator is coming close to the man's stop on floor eight. As it dings, and the doors slide open, Katherine says, quietly, "Thanks for the reminder."

The man nods, and although he doesn't quite smile, there's a certain warmth about him. "We all need one, sometimes."

The doors slide shut. The ride to the first floor is quick, and then she's out of Wayne Tower and setting off towards the train.

The rest of today is going to be hell. There's no doubt about that. It's likely she'll still spend most of it in bed, alternating between fits of crying and eating Great Value vanilla ice cream.

But she does feel a little better. And that's something.

These days, she'll take anything.

thanks for reading! i have a tendency to slip into first person sometimes idk why lol, so feel free to let me know if i've done that. any feedback would be greatly appreciated!