Chapter Two: Security
➵

One ensuring that the shipping yard was secure and uncompromised, Alfred, Bruce, and I left the property, Bruce handling the last perimeter check on the MV Agusta before rocketing out of sight, myself following not far behind in the Camaro. Alfred, too, meandered behind us with the Rolls Royce, keeping a steady, lazy pace as he checked for tails and suspicious activity that might plague his charge as we left.

We arrived at the hotel in Midtown, a sparkling tower of windows and wealth, just as a line of taxis departed the curbside, having offloaded passengers of various classes in front of the building. The hoard of people began to dissipate, each in different directions as I guided the Camaro to the curb, where the awaiting valet practically flew out from beneath the entrance canopy, anticipation putting a spring in his step. He was at the door immediately, pulling it open with a graceful and familiar tug. This was home.

The destruction of the Manor had demanded a relocation of not only the Batman and Reacher operations hub, but also the living quarters of Bruce Wayne and his wife, prompting a thorough investigation of accommodations within the city, driving us here, to Midtown; our home for the past months as the Manor recovered and Gotham slowing pieced itself back together once more.

We had decided on the Penthouse in Hotel 21 for two primary reasons: first, that Wayne Enterprises already housed their important clientele base in the facility, and thus had good water beneath the proverbial bridge; two, because Lucius Fox had been overseeing a project prototype pertaining to the hotel's security system, and thus, could ensure that not only would we, as affluent members of society, be safe, but also our secrets.

Bruce had taken it upon himself to collect most of the stock pertaining to the hotel industry in Gotham upon the decision for us to stay in a Penthouse, earning him a share in the company, and thus, conveniently creating leadership and insight into Hotel 21's oversight. Shortly after our move into the Penthouse, Bruce had upgraded the building's entire security system; ensuring that Fox's protocols were mandated and executed properly, and had personally handled a small renovation to the Penthouse itself: he'd added a security room in which to house spare gadgets, a smaller computer database linked to the Wing, and spare suits for the both of us.

Since, Hotel 21 had been our home, and we'd been familiar and welcome faces to most of the staff. The valet service, specifically, had profited greatly since our arrival - not only did they park each of our vehicle's in a secured parking ramp, but, they personally oversaw the inventory of our most expensive stock, and thus, received commission. Both Bruce and myself had made a point to ensure that Hotel 21 had been adequately staffed with trusted people, and thus, tipped appropriately.

Bruce, untrusting of the staff's ability to properly handle the Agusta, swerved down the adjoining alleyway to park at the lower ramp himself, something he did often. It was an excuse not only to check up on security, but also be sure that our inventory of pristine vehicles remained just that - pristine. Disappearing down the alleyway, revving the bike's engine as he did so, I stepped out of the Camaro, slinging my purse over my shoulder as I took the valet's hand.

His eyes seemed to dance at the excitement. "Good morning, Mrs. Wayne," his tone was smooth, and his hand was reassuring as he led me aside, palm open in anticipation of my keyring. He reached behind the Camaro's front seat for my other bag, which sported my change of clothes and riding boots, courtesy of Oliver Queen and his generous attempt at negotiation. The boy swiftly looked me up and down, acknowledging my attire.

I accepted the bag from him. "Good morning," I responded lightly. Dangling the keys above his palm, I hesitated for only a beat. "Please be sure my car is accessible. I'll be going out this afternoon." Nodding his understanding, I dropped the keys into his hand before he snatched them from me.

He dipped low into the car, thudded the door closed lightly, and started the engine, which rocketed to life with a powerful, throaty rumble.

Guiding myself to the sidewalk, I nodded to the doorman, who pulled open the hotel's heavy glass doors with ease. Slipping inside, I noticed the lobby was unusually busy with a swath of arrivals, a line forming lazily at the front desk. The familiar receptionist, dressed primly in dress pants and a lavender shirt with a large silk scarf, appeared more flustered than usual as she manipulated a guestbook, flipping pages frantically.

I approached, coming up beside the line to address the intern currently seated in front of a computer and manipulating a keyboard so swiftly I could hardly see her fingers move. Nervous perspiration began to dot her forehead, and she pushed her glasses up her nose absentmindedly as the receptionist rattled off a list of room numbers. The girl's eyes never broke from the computer monitor, though her hand had scrawled the numbers on a pad next to the keyboard without missing a beat.

I bit my lower lip, hesitant to interrupt. I cast a side glance to the party waiting on the receptionist, immediately spying what appeared to be a Wayne Enterprises identification card hanging from a the neck of a middle-aged, Asian businessman. Looking less than pleased with the inconvenience of waiting, he sported a large gym bag, as well as a hard suitcase on wheels, marked FRAGILE from the local airport, according to the luggage tag.

Feeling obligated, but not less unsure, I slid up the waiting party, immediately seizing the attention of not only the man in question, but also the receptionist, who seemed to not recognize me. She glared at me as if I had spawned from hell itself, her cheeks visibly reddening to an even deeper shade. The intern had even stopped typing, sensing the tension which now laced the air like a veil of haze. Regardless, I smiled at the man, gesturing between the receptionist, and his present self.

"Is there some kind of problem?" I hadn't even thought before asking, sounding managerially pompous instead of curious or willing to help - but, this really, in a sense, was a Wayne building. And, he was carrying a Wayne Enterprises parcel. Maybe.

If entitlement had been a word I could have stamped on any given situation, it would have been this one; standing here as the entire waiting line seem to take in my presence.

I'd long since grown accustomed to lingering stares, growing immune to the silent judgement. Bruce Wayne marrying a commoner had stirred the socialite world to high heaven; the papers had been filled with scandalous rumors and judgmental jabs about the ordeal, labeling it as a marriage of convenience, without using so many words. I'd been driven to house arrest more than once, by Bruce, insisting that the tabloids only wanted a minute's worth of story; that the entire thing would blow over.

It never really had, a year later into our marriage. But, the way this man was staring. His focus seem unwavering, as if he could see through to my very core.

His gaze continued to pierce me like a cold spear between the ribs, draining the confidence from my spine like a slow ill, destined for death. The emptiness behind his eyes was so real that it unnerved me momentarily, as if he had stared directly into my soul and snatched away my deepest, most closely-defended secrets; smug look and all.

My gaze never left him, a fact I was certain would cause the receptionist to blow a gasket, though she graciously looked between myself and the soul defiler. However, a sharp ring of the phone spawned the intern into action, seeming to bolt the entire situation alive with a jolt of unseen need for action.

The man looked me up and down twice, his eyes raising to finally consider me in the face. He quickly changed posture again; his spine straightened as if someone had thrust a rod through his back, and he brushed the shoulder of his suit, seemingly dramatically dismissive of the situation. The man in charge of the itinerary, presumably an assistant, stepped back half a step at the change of atmosphere, seemingly sensing what would happen next.

All at once, he answered my question. "There seems to be an issue with our reservations," he looked back to the woman, his tone swiftly dismissive. "Which seems impossible, given we were assured that everything was ready for our arrival." His chiseled jaw set as he peered down his nose at the receptionist, more judgmental than not.

He continued after a beat of silence, "Most unprofessional, for a building owned by Bruce Wayne."

He sounded disappointed, though in a diminutive sort of way, as if the comment was supposed to set me back a few steps in my position as a Gotham resident. As if he expected a common citizen to be proud of living in the same city with men the caliber of Bruce Wayne. His chest subconsciously puffed up with an almost invisible ire, thinking he had successfully given me a comeuppance that would send me skittering way.

I studied this man, honing my trained skills of observation and intuition to the human condition. Being a vigilante bent on bringing criminals to justice required a certain amount of observational skill, one that Bruce had mastered during his time in Tibet. Hours of sitting in dark silence - spending days without conversation among fellowmen - drove a man's observations to a new realm. I, myself, living in the desert among a people I did not share the same language with, had learned to read body language, silent cues, and look for signs consistent with the human condition.

These were inevitable realities which had become a part of myself, and Bruce; realities we no longer controlled, nor wished too. It was like breathing; my brain began to take in basic physical cues - his ethnicity, height, weigh approximation, how he held himself; gut observations made in case I should ever have to fight him as an opponent, which was a natural instinct among trained fighters.

He was proud, though poised - evidence of education, wealth, and privilege. Facial expressions were hidden behind a blank, practiced veil. A lesser woman may have mistook his silence for a show of superiority, malechauvinism, or tactics of intimidation. I, however, filed them in my mind as personality cues, and potential signs of weakness.

His inspection of me - with an air of superiority - I did not appreciate, as if he had classed me in a small category he would sooner forget than remember. I, however, had seen his hand - not only had he signed, sealed, and delivered his silent judgement of me, but he'd underestimated me, like so many others. It was a common practice of men when it came to their first impressions of women: underestimation.

Especially with me, the aforementioned commoner who had married money. However, in most of my studies of human behavior both on and off the streets, my theories proved effective: those who underestimate always were cowards. Cowards, because, they took the fastest route to dismissal.

And dismissing whatever is opposite of yourself or your situation was never beneficial, especially in a fight.

Gotcha.

I relaxed a little, sure of myself and my estimations, which were drawn from my experience and knowledge of summarizing an opponent. I leaned against the desk, purse on my shoulder, and gave him a wry smile; wondering exactly what his reaction would be when he discovered my identity, given he had all but dismissed me. He would certainly be disconcerted, knowing he had spoken so ill of the Wayne name in front of none other than Bruce Wayne's wife.

For a brief second, I noticed the man's attention fleck to just beyond my shoulder; a sure sign that someone had stepped into our conversational space a bit too silently. I, however, cued into the gesture, and turned on my heel to welcome the new conversationalist into our party. Not my first instinct.

I'd gave sooner reached over and grabbed the suspect bodily.

It took no more than a second for me to relax as Bruce eased his way into conversation beside me. He was currently unzipping his leather jacket, bike helmet dangling from the crook in his arm. He stopped beside me, first looking to me and then the man before us, still holding up the line and disinclined to move. Nonplussed by his messed hair and interruption, Bruce quirked his lips in his casual half smile, shrugging out of his jacket.

He looked between myself and the stranger again, summarizing the situation; knowing something was off, but not entirely sure. I could see the metaphorical cogs spinning as he tried to piece together the confrontation without appearing too cynical or sinister, a downfall to our vigilante work. He side-eyed me, fishing for some kind of explanation before the words even formulated.

But certainly, they did.

"Everything alright here, Marianne?"

Despite his childhood habit of always calling me Marty when we were not serious, Bruce always referred to me by my full name in front of the public. It was a socialite thing, he explained - the more serious you maintained your relationships outside the home, the more serious the public lens would be. So far, I had yet to experience the level of professionalism the sentiment implied.

I glanced at the man for a minute, noticing that he was watching us as if he were a snake determining when to land a deadly strike. His one brow was piqued in a sarcastically amused way, as if the sudden appearance of my husband confirmed my inability to manage in his presence. I hesitated in respond to Bruce's question only long enough to bite the inside of my cheek.

Shrugging a shoulder, I responded casually. "This gentleman here seems to be having an issue with his reservation," I gave the stranger a small, professional smile.

Bruce followed my gesture, nodding his understanding, not before noticing the parcel. The man before us dropped his brow into a confused furrow, as if he wasn't entirely sure why I had revealed such information to a seemingly unimportant third party. The woman behind the desk, still busy on the phone, looked passively to our trio, only before whipping her head back around in a double-take upon realization of Bruce's arrival.

She promptly dropped the appointment book, and the phone, on the table. The man, now seemingly irritated by the direction the conversation had moved, shifted his weight on his feet and gripped the handle of his luggage with an even tighter grasp than before.

Sucking in a silent breath that filled the man's chest with ire, he looked between us, cooly. "I fail to understand how this is any concern of -"

He was cut short by Bruce turning away from him, rounding the desk, and reaching for the head receptionists' book. Flipping it over, he found the appropriate log, and gestured to computer, where the now dumbfounded intern sat, passively; mouth agape with surprise by his brash move. Bruce whispered something to the intern, who pulled up the computer log, and certainly enough, relief washed over her face after he'd guided her though a few clicks of the program.

Confirming with the receptionist, I could only smile as her face turned a frazzled shade of pink beneath Bruce's forgiving smile. "Thank you, Mr. Wayne," she said quickly, pushing up her glasses on her nose, "I'll be sure to confirm with your office regarding reservations from now on."

The man, obviously surprised, stared at the two of us for a long moment, brows raised almost entirely into his hairline. When the situation stretched entirely too long in silence, the man cleared his throat, looked down to straighten his tie, and stepped out of the line to await his card, allowing for the next couple to begin checking in. Seemingly unfazed, the man thinly smiled, hardly plussed by the scene of inconvenience he had caused.

However, the point had been made, and his expression of realization had been priceless.

"Mr. Wayne," he said, his tone coolly reserved in understanding of the revelation. Extending his hand, he looked to me and nodded, once. "So good to finally meet you in person." Pulling a look to the door, he placed both hands on the handle on his luggage, as if passively waiting for whoever he had expected to materialize before him to see the task done.

Swiftly, he stated his name, one that I was more than surprised to hear: Lau.

Lucius Fox had only been talking about a pending arrangement with Lau for weeks, which would not only be profitable, but would ensure the continuation of a project that Fox had been overseeing personally by the way of green energy. A company growing leaps and bounds, Lau Security Investment Holdings had guaranteed not only full sponsorship of the program, but the oversight of important business dealings with stockholders and investors. If done well, Wayne Enterprises would consider signing Lau's company on retainer; a deal the Hong Kong based corporation could not merely ignore.

Lucius had been all for it, leading us to this present arrangement with Lau himself. For a brief moment I'd appreciated his arrival to discuss business dealings in person, but that was swiftly disregarded by the smug look of superiority he sported standing in the lobby of a Wayne asset. I may have been the merely the arm candy of Bruce Wayne by his standards, but I knew more about this negotiation - and project - than probably Lau did himself.

After shaking his hand firmly, Bruce casually slipped his hand into his trouser pocket, smiling at the man placatingly, obviously unimpressed with his attempt to recover his behavior.

"Mr. Lau, I'm glad you've made it to Gotham in one piece," he chuckled, turned slightly on his heel, and gestured to me. "I see you've met my wife, Marianne." It sounded more like a question that it did a statement, but nonetheless, I extended my hand and smiled at him as genuinely as I could muster.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lau. Bruce has told me so much about your company and your negotiations with the Enterprise. We're pleased to have you in Gotham with us." Deceptively sweet, I layered on my introduction with a cheeky grin. Again, I could see the void of stupidity fill Lau's gaze, obvious evidence that he had not expected me to be Bruce Wayne's wife, instead maybe a generous stranger. It had not occurred to him that I could be married to his counterpart, an observation I tried not to take too personally.

He carefully took my hand, and shook it lightly. "Mrs. Wayne," his tone was cautious, "forgive my manners, I'm afraid traveling has got the best of me." Looking to Bruce, his tone immediately was serious. "I only hope to be more prepared for our lengthily negotiations at tomorrow's presentation."

Bruce shrugged a shoulder, and wrinkled his nose understandingly, as if to dismiss Lau's concerns. "I can cut you a break; traveling has its drawbacks." He gestured to Lau's luggage. "Leave your luggage with the desk, the staff is excellent. I'll show you to your suite personally."

Scratching at the stubble accumulating on his chin, Bruce waved the man forward with two fingers, his other hand coming to rest on my waist, to guide me to his side as we moved from the desk, the line of check-ins diminishing as the group dispersed from the lobby.

Lau ignored the suggestion, toting his luggage behind him swiftly. Bruce left word to see that Lau's associates were escorted to their own room and that the rest of his belongings were looked after, before we made our way to the elevator. The man kept a brisk pace behind us, though we put enough distance between us for Bruce to feel confident asking me if everything had been fine before his arrival, until we arrived at the elevator.

The ride was mostly silent, save for the mindless pleasantries which, of course, Bruce initiated. I sat idly by, watching the floors tick off, before I felt my phone buzz in my back pocket, signaling a text message. Fishing for it, I glanced a the preview text, finding that it was from Fox, confirming a time this afternoon to discuss my sketches and "inquiries." Texting him the acknowledging confirmation, I slipped the phone back into my pocket.

Another chime signaled our arrival, and Bruce exited with Lau, stopping turn on his heel to face me. Lau did the same, watching our interaction as if he were looking for inconsistencies in an algorithm instead of watching a married pair.

"I'll show Mr. Lau to his room and be back soon," he thumbed over his shoulder, signaling the direction he'd be leaving in.

I nodded my understanding. "Of course," I smiled thinly at Lau. "Again, it was good to meet you, Mr. Lau; I hope everything lives up to your expectations." I wiggled my fingers to him in a girlish wave, my tone noticeably too sweet.

The man nodded to me departingly, his lips pulled thin with complacency. I wrinkled my nose in mock approval of his nod before pressing the button for the Penthouse floor a bit too aggressively. Before the doors closed, I managed to eke out another squeaky parting farewell. When the door heavily met, I rolled by eyes and massaged the bridge of my nose. Subconsciously counting the floors as the car elevated further, I attempted to stay the headache which already threatened to blossom behind my eyes.

The car leveled, and I pressed through the small opening of the doors before reaching around to send the elevator back down with a mechanical whine. Crossing the corridor to the Penthouse door, I unlocked it with a swipe of my keycard, stepping through to the room of which we currently called home; door closing with a light click.

Facing an open and empty Penthouse at the realization that Alfred hadn't returned from the yard, I moved to the kitchen fluidly, slapping on the lights as I went, not bothering to raise the blinds which enclosed the room in a shadowed, womb-like effect. Entirely comprised of floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides, the Penthouse allowed Bruce, Alfred, and myself a gorgeous view of higher Gotham, skyscrapers in every direction thrust upward like steel titans.

Tossing my purse on the kitchen island, I moved to retrieve a water from the fridge, kicking the door closed with my heel smoothly. Downing a hefty pull of the drink, I marched my way into the living area, where a silent television stood dark amidst the modern display of wealth. My laptop and notes, discarded from the afternoon before, sat primly stacked beside one another, a fresh bouquet of stunning white roses delicately arranged in the center of the entertaining table.

I could only smirk at the display, obviously Alfred's doing - he was always picking up after me.

Not far from the living area was the bed, centered directly in the room, glass panels at its foot stretching upward, only to disappear into the ceiling in an utterly useless attempt at privacy blinds. Perfectly made and fluffed, the bed was complete with a white down duvet, red roses centered on either end-table, along with trinket trays currently possessing not one, but three of Bruce's Armani watches, and a set of cufflinks, as they had the night before when he'd discarded them.

Deathly quiet, I realized that despite our quiet life together, I hadn't been truly alone in a long time. Two years ago I was a single intern, living in a small Gotham apartment not much bigger than the kitchen area of the Wayne Penthouse, wondering how my life had arrived at such a point. Now, I was tucked away in a high, safe nest of empirical wealth, left only to remember my nights of solitude and ponder my reaction to silence, a feeling that left me unsure, and slightly baffled.

Depositing my water bottle on the table, I moved into the small wardrobe, flicking on more light as I moved through the space to change. I'd be meeting with Lucius, which demanded a level of attire appropriate to that of the standards Wayne Enterprises demanded, though I'd later be traveling to the clinic in the Traps, managed by none other than Leslie Thompkins, and Wayne investments.

Hardly overthinking, I retrieved a pair of skin-tight khakis in a navy wash, a black silk camisole, and a black blazer, only to nab a pair of white stilettos. Never one to walk in stilettos for too long, I also settled on a pair of low pumps, which I'd stuff into my purse later. Discarding my riding clothes, I quickly dressed, threw my hair into a messy bun, and completed my look with a silver bracelet, a simple necklace, and lipstick with mascara.

By the time I'd exited the wardrobe, Alfred had returned, though there were still no signs of Bruce. I closed the door behind me carefully, smiling at Alfred when he stopped polishing the tray from breakfast to consider me. He offered me a polite, pleased kind of smile, like he did most often when he was pleased with not only my presentation, but my presence. While Alfred may have been the butler, he was so by name only. To Bruce and myself, he was more like family than anything, and I appreciated our moments alone.

He returned to cleaning his tray, though Alfred was hardly one to deliberately avoid conversation. "Attending to business today, are we?" There was a hinting undertone at his statement, one that veiled suspicion. Alfred knew I'd been wanting to pitch my ideas to Fox for suit improvements for awhile now; I'd just been far too particular to really pin down a date.

Then there was Bruce, who had to have a say in everything, and wouldn't have let me approach Lucius without signing off on plans anyway. We'd both considered my upgrades carefully, as Reacher hadn't seen suit improvements in some time. The Batman, on the other hand, had just underwent some extensive plate adjustments, now outfitted with a new, lighter titanium alloy that would not only stop bullets, but also improve dexterity.

I nodded, gathering my laptop and case notes to move to the bed, water bottle under arm. "Yes, but I fully intend to visit Leslie and close some of these charts from last night. I also need to get her presentation for next month's levy proposal, which needs to go before the Foundation before then. Bruce and I need to agree on next year's proposal before the board attempts to negotiate."

Alfred chortled approvingly. "Just listen to you," he teased me ribbingly. "Who would have ever gathered that little Marianne Lancer would be all talk of Foundation proposals and tax increment financing, when just a few years ago you were a starving graduate." He tossed his rag into the sink, lifting the tray to the kitchen strainer where it would dry. The tray sparkled as if it had never been touched, reflecting the kitchen's overhead light perfectly.

Once finished, he turned to face me, working his sleeves back into place. I could only shrug and chuckle, "Time has a way of changing things around, I guess,"

He chortled back at me, and I borderline expected him to cluck his tongue at me tellingly, like a mother hen. "Certainly so, though I always suspected you'd find your way into this family one way or another. You were far too determined to stay on as Master Wayne's friend, despite the societal differences," Turning from my work at the bedside, I saw a flicker of reminiscent memory pass through his eyes, as if he were enchanted with a fond memory.

Then, swiftly, he looked back at me. "You certainly were determined," he nodded to my work. "And it continues to show."

I could only offer a small smile, batting at a fallen curl which had departed from my bun, only to rest beside my temple. I shrugged my shoulder, mildly dismissive, uncertain of how to address Alfred's venture back into memories long since buried in my mind. I couldn't very well tell him that I'd loved Bruce from an early age - far earlier than many even understood the meaning of the word. As a child, I had always been fond of the Wayne's, and my deep love for Bruce only swelled from there as my foundational years progressed, him remaining a friend, despite the challenges society brought.

Dismissing the thought, I sighed deeply. "Thank you, Alfred," were the only words I could form as I smiled at him, us sharing a silent moment of appreciation before he turned to continue his work in the kitchen. My watch lingered a few moments longer, mind drifting back to earlier years when I'd seen Alfred do much of the same work in the Manor.

I was pulled from my reverie when the door to the Penthouse opened to reveal Bruce, leather jacket and bike helmet still at hand. Even from a distance, I could tell he was more tired than usual; dark circles shadowed his eyes, which were bloodshot and tired, and he had a more relaxed stance than normal, his shoulders sagged forward in further evidence of his condition. Though, an untrained eye may have not noticed such details as he moved to the kitchen, where he deposited the jacket and helmet on the island.

Setting my shoes beside the bed, I crawled to sit cross-legged on my side of the king mattress, reaching for the first case file my fingers found. I could already feel the burn in my sore leg muscles even as I sat comfortably, traces of the week's workouts still strongly evident in basic body functions. While I was tired, I could not cancel appointments already made; a practice Bruce and I maintained to not only reinforce our position in society, but also to practice not caving into stress or exhaustion.

Habitually slipping my pen behind my ear, I began to scan the case notes, most of which were mine, and tried conjuring up recollection of the week's patients. Weekly I visited the clinic in the Traps, funded entirely by the Wayne Foundation, to assist my oldest friend, Dr. Leslie Thompkins, in weekly case loads.

A low-income population often guaranteed more patients than the clinic's staff could handle, and I enjoyed the pro-bono work which allowed me to return to my roots in clinical medicine. Leslie also was a known contact for both the Batman and Reacher, one we relied on heavily for not only care, but also information related to the criminally-influenced underworld of Gotham. A perfect channel to receive sensitive, criminally-related intel, the clinic was a hub for lowlife injury seeking medical attention, as they knew care was both adequate, free, and most importantly, confidential.

In a matter of moments, I was initialing orders regarding a gunshot would-related case when I felt Bruce fall into bed beside me, a deep sigh emanating from him. I could practically feel the weight of his tension leave the room as he sank into the mattress, motionless for all but a few moments. I paused my writing, scanned another order for medication, and went to initial another order when I felt him move fluidly to wrap an arm around my waist.

Propped up on an elbow to peer at my work, he watched me for a few moments, me far too absorbed in recollection to break focus. These were moments we were well-acquainted with; moving around one another's schedules and work. I thrived under his contact and watch, finding it soothing and somewhat relaxing to have someone I so loved nearby and admiring my efforts. We didn't do silent moments together enough, given our work often drove us to different investigations most nights. Something about having someone in your ear while you're focused really wasn't the same thing as this.

After a few beats of silence, Bruce reached into the bag I'd packed and retrieved the envelope bearing the sketches of my suit, marked CONFIDENTIAL in scarlet lettering. Opening it without hazard, he removed the diagrams and drawings, scanning them intently for a few moments as I continued writing a few beats longer. Once confident the casenotes were complete, I closed the file, set it aside, and looked over to him, Bruce hardly in a position to break study.

Without looking away, he said, "I should come with you." The way he said it wasn't disconcerting or unsupportive - Bruce knew I could discuss my own suit with Lucius, and do so in a manner that was both discreet and lucrative. Lucius didn't scare me any more than thugs scared me out on the street. If anything, Lucius Fox intimidated me with his knowledge of not only the Wayne empire, but also the operations of our secret lives.

I smiled at him thinly, biting the inside of my cheek as I looked for a statement that would be both reassuring of my confidence, and final. I reached for the drawing, and Bruce handed them over willingly, me bringing the sketch to rest on my lap. In one swift moment, I lifted Bruce's arm from my waist, and carefully lowered back to lean against him, head resting on his hip as he continued to eyeball the stretch.

"They look good, Bruce," I reassured him, lifting his hand in mine to kiss his palm. "They are far beyond the current suit, and they'll work for what I need. If Lucius has any input, you'll be the first to hear of the proposal, I promise." He watched my movements with the intensity of a predator, as if he were waiting for me to move just enough to put myself in the target line. However, I could tell he wasn't so critical by the playing smile curling the corner of his mouth.

There was a long silence between us, Bruce choosing to ignore the comment. Instead, he rolled to rest on his back, propelling me to sit up once more. Reaching for another file, I set aside my sketches, Bruce lacing his fingers together to rest beneath his head, fully engaged with watching whatever he found interest with on the ceiling. Within moments, I could see his eyes begin to fall half-mast, though he fought to keep himself awake to ask another question.

"And you're going to the Traps this afternoon?" he recalled the revelation of my agenda. "You should take Alfred with you," was the comment he left lingering in the space between us.

I attempted to fight the disappointment that clouded my judgement. Lately, Bruce had been overprotective of my interests, since the mob had been moving more and more money throughout the streets of Gotham. With the Narrows still lost to civility, unrest was hardly a comparable term. Instead, the island set within the Gotham River had been shrouded in speculation, no one quite brave enough to conjure up what wickedness might be brimming within its walls. It's sister suburb, the Traps, still squandered in existence.

So far Batman and Reacher had been the only two that dared enter the Narrows, a fact that Bruce was less and less comfortable with. Why, I wasn't entirely certain - perhaps it was the creeping suspicion of what was coming with the mob, or perhaps it was a midlife crisis that drove his growing lack of confidence in my abilities. Regardless, the growing doubt was beginning to take its toll on the nerves of not only Marianne Wayne, but also the nerves of my alter ego, as well.

I straightened, dropping the case file into my lap. Looking over to him, I did my best to release a slow, indifferent sigh. "And why would I do that, when I am perfectly capable of handling myself in the Traps? I know those streets better than anyone," when he turned to look at me, fully weighing my statement as more than a simple reply, I added, "even Batman."

Again propping himself on an elbow, he wrinkled his brow, obviously uncertain how to interpret my veiled undertone.

"I didn't say you couldn't," was his final reply, given after a few beats of silence.

I could sense Alfred had tuned into the conversation, given the way he had slowed his work at the sink to simple glass shining, a careful ear turned toward the affluent Wayne couple of which the Gotham socialite world worshipped. I felt my stomach begin to churn uneasily, and the headache behind my eyes had grown into an uptick throb, now leveling a rhythmic pain inside my head. My chest tightened with the ill feeling that I very well could vomit, though I suppressed the reflex with a sharp swallow.

Without warning, my phone chirped with a text message, ending the would-be argument of wills. Reaching for my purse, I retrieved my phone, responded to the text from the hospital, and propelled myself off the bed smoothly, my feet finding the floor fluidly. Turning to the bedside, I began stuffing my files into my oversized bag, safely stowing the sketches of my suit into the envelope once again. Once packed, I grabbed for my shoes, slipped into them, and bent to buckle the strap around my ankle swiftly.

Bruce was coming across the bed lithely before I straightened, swatting at another curl that had pulled from my temple. Now beside me, I went for my bag before Bruce reached for my wrist, gently stopping my action for half a second before I turned to face him, mildly flustered. Even after two years together, I still blushed madly when he caught me off guard like this, a fact that I both hated and admired in the same breath.

Placing a gentle hand along my jaw, Bruce brushed the pad of his thumb across the apple of my cheek, a tender gesture that he did often. "Just be safe," he concluded softly, giving my hand a reaffirming squeeze. "You know the Traps are as uneasy as the Narrows. I just want you to be careful."

I nodded my understanding, reaching out from his hand to grab my purse and bag. "How couldn't I be safe?" I smiled at him cheekily, moving to kiss the corner of his mouth swiftly. "I'll call you when I leave Lucius. I expect he'll be contacting you regardless which way the meeting goes."

He shrugged a shoulder. "Any good employee would check in with his boss about suspicious projects presented by the boss's wife," he teased me lightly, releasing my hand as I stepped away from him quickly, heels ticking across the Penthouse floor.

Alfred met me at the door, already poised with my keys and coat. Accepting the items from him, I said my goodbyes quickly, and the door to the Penthouse closed behind me with a soft click, leaving nothing other than the echoes of my footfalls to accompany me to the elevator door, empty and awaiting my inevitable descent.

Lucius Fox was a man hardly trifled with, complete with an approachable reputation, sparkling eyes, and formidable intelligence. In his early sixties and no stranger to the Wayne name, he had been on the payroll of the empire for as long as I'd been alive, at the very least. Though he'd been more abstract for the majority of his career at Wayne Enterprises, he'd personally overseen the Applied Sciences division with enough discretion and poise to warrant him not only the respect of Bruce Wayne, but also his appreciation.

Without Lucius, Reacher nor the Batman would exist to quite the capacity of which they currently roamed Gotham. Their confidence was owed much in part to Lucius, who had not only overseen most of the resource allotment, but also many of the designs we relied so heavily upon to be safe. He not only designed and built the technology we relied upon, but he handled the secrecy the job demanded at an industrial scale. Somehow, he managed to juggle everything in the books.

To say he was an appreciated asset would be hardly enough, though I couldn't help but relax when he offered me his hand in greeting and ushered me into his office with all the grace and approachability I had come to know. Once the door clicked behind us and we were entirely alone did he address our meeting, crossing to his desk smoothly to toss a completed stack of papers on its surface.

His tone was light,. "Come to discuss some private business have you, Mrs. Wayne?" He waved me further into the office, a place I hardly felt welcome, much less comfortable.

Wayne tower was as homey to me as the desert had been; the coarse, industrial plausibility as cold and indifferent as silence. I spent as little time at Wayne tower as I needed to, though I was up-to-speed with many of the projects Bruce took special interest in. As a Wayne, is was practically a requirement, if not a pastime.

"And without your other half? Surprising," his mock surprise was teasing, though good-natured. "And here I thought you never left home without each other," was his finished phrase.

I approached the desk, carefully, my heels echoing in the open-plan expanse of room that felt entirely too uncomfortable for any hope of productivity to be accomplished, at least by my standards. Smiling at him genuinely, I sighed unevenly, watching his freedom unfold as he moved things around on his desk. Immediately I realized that this was the first time I had revealed my vigilante self to Fox alone, without Bruce at my side to fight this battle of intelligence with me. Lucius seemed as easygoing and loose as he did with Bruce, a fact I found interesting and immediately relieving.

A new level of Lucius Fox exposed itself before me, and I relaxed, however little I could muster. "Believe it or not, Bruce Wayne and I are not as attached at the hip as the tabloids suggest," I smiled at him, readjusting the strap of my purse on my shoulder. "I like to think I'm old enough to handle my own business, at least to some extent."

Fox had stopped fiddling with his stapler long enough to glance up at me, brow raised conspicuously. Whether he was impressed or not I would never be able to tell. "I'm surprised, Mrs. Wayne. You have more wit than the tabloids give you credit for."

Nodding complacently, I sighed, "Then there's that."

He chuckled, smile wide. "I'm not so easily fooled. Mr. Wayne has always had sound judgement, and if he figured you to be strong enough to put up with the chore of being his wife, that's good enough for me." Lucius opened one of his desk drawers to withdraw a slim remote, which he palmed carefully as he finished his sentiment, "And if you're able to put up with him, well, I can't argue."

We locked gazes for a moment, me feeling examined as if I'd been dipped into the tray beneath the microscope of Lucius Fox's impressions. While a bit unnerved by the lack of relationship between CEO and company heiress, I saw nothing unsettling in the eyes of Fox, or in how he treaded my presence. He was as open and approachable as he had been before the many times I'd encountered him with Bruce, and the realization began to ebb the anxiety from the corner of my mind.

With a press of a button, the bookcase behind Fox pushed back with a mechanical whine, splitting from the wall to fold inward like a heavy door. It was so smooth and precise not only the awards, but none of the library collections, and not a single trinket moved. Slowly, it unfolded into a dimly-lit, small elevator car, encased with shining stainless steel that looked pristine and utterly untouched. Stepping aside to allow me entry first, he slipped the remote into his pocket, and Lucius followed me into the elevator.

We stepped off the descending car once it leveled, leaving us standing before the brightly-illuminated basement of Wayne Enterprises, formerly the Applied Sciences division. Once it had been closed down by former Wayne Enterprises leadership, we'd never bothered to reopen the division, instead keeping its functionality off the books and strictly private. For any affairs regarding the Batman and Reacher projects that required experimentation, analysis, or development, Lucius handled them here; we occupied our time in the Wing more often than not.

Approaching a sleek computer desk, Lucius deposited his wallet and the remote on its surface. Fox turned and settled into the desk chair, then rolled over to the large drawing table set up beside the desk. Reaching to switch on the overhead lamp, he gave me a crooked grin and beckoned me over with a nod, him folding his hands together with his elbows resting on his desk chair. Briefly, he struck me more as a methodological genius than the man who ran my husband's company.

"So, Mrs. Wayne," he gestured for me to come with a wave of his hand, "What can I do for you?"

Author's Note: Tadaaa, here I am with another update ( a looong one, yes!). I know it's basically been forever, but a girl gets busy when it's winter with horses, a novel manuscript, and two jobs. Anyway, I wanted to provide you with our first look at Lau, because honestly he's a fairly important character in TDK which, in my opinion, doesn't get expanded upon enough. He's pretty essential in the money laundering scheme, so it stands to reason we tie him into Marianne and Bruce's life.

And only four reviews so far? Come on, Fanfiction, I know you can do better, lol! Just kidding. Though, seriously, please leave some reviews and comments below. They really inspire me and help me move forward and have a heavy hand in inspiring me to keep updating.

Also - how many would be interested in a Poison Ivy one-shot? I've been loving her more and more lately as I delve in the Arkham-verse, and I have an idea I'd love to write regarding Ivy. She's such an emotionally complex, misunderstood, and under used character. Seriously, I can't believe we used Selina and not Pam in Nolan-verse; Anne Hathaway much less. Ugh.

Once again, love having you with me and can't wait for the next update. Drop a review before you leave, leave a like and favorite, and be sure to tell all your friends.