Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics or characters associated with DC. I only own my OC.

Author's Note: This is my second fic, kindness is appreciated. Review or I don't update. (Personally, I like nice reviews.)

Sub Note: My OC's appearance is based off of model Catherine McNeil.

Another Sub Note: Dark Knight did take place; however, Rachel Dawes was not killed; only DA Dent died.

"Sir, are you sure that I should transfer to Gotham?" a young narcotics detective questioned. Her charcoal eyes begged him to tell her to stay, but she knew better.

"Yes, the narcotics unit desperately needs help, and you're one of the best. Plus, you'll be in charge of the unit." He paused giving her a sly look, "And besides, you'll get to see your old man." The older officer gazed down at his protégé with satisfaction and sorrow. She was his greatest student and the only woman to attain five accommodations within the Washington D.C. Police Department. The unit was going to miss her, but Gotham was in dire need of lawful police.

"I'm going to miss D.C…" her rich voice trailed off as she pulled her reddish brunette hair into a messy ponytail.

"We'll miss you too Regan but duty calls."

"Of course, my plane leaves tonight—on the red eye. Should I dress like a detective or an heiress?"

"Oh well, let's go with detective and then you can surprise Gotham's elite at some useless rich function. Go easy on them too; you've been gone nine years."

Nine years… Detective Regan Carmichael's mind flashed through nine years worth of memories. From studying to be a intelligence research specialist with the DEA, to being transferred into the Narcotics Unit as well as juggling a position with METs (Mobile Enforcement Teams—attack & dismantle drug trafficking & urban violence),to becoming lead detective with her use of advanced tactical and firearm training; the past nine years had been busy.

"Look, Rae, I gotta get back to work. Have a nice flight."

Sending him a nod she replied proudly, "I will Cap'. I'll give you a call tomorrow. See ya around." Her mentor gave her a faint smile as he took an important phone call. She exited his office with perplexing thoughts. Could she handle Gotham? Realizing it was now seven, she said her goodbyes, cleaned out her locker, and left.

As she exited the precinct, Regan noticed a thunderstorm heading her way, 'Maybe it's a sign that I shouldn't go back. On the other hand, Gotham needs good cops.' Her thoughts shifted to her parents. How would they handle her return? She was the heir to their fortune, and she hadn't been there to learn the business. Meanwhile, her sister appeared in the tabloids, which embarrassed her parents. Every chance Mercedes got, she made a mockery of her family's values, maybe her parents would smile at Regan, knowing that she kept their name clean, and she made it on her own.

When she and her sister had a falling out, Regan decided that she could live without her parent's money, and she did. She paid her way through school, bought her own car and apartment. Moving back to Gotham would mean eventually reconciling with her sister. Regan mentally rolled her eyes and strolled to her used black Honda Civic. After placing her belongings in the trunk, she drove to her apartment where she found her best friend waiting for her. Jillian Westwood was a tall, blonde hair blue eyed woman with a natural talent to win juries over to the prosecution's side. Working as assistant DA, Miss Westwood met Regan by chance at a Starbuck's when she haphazardly spilt her soy latte on the new detective. She became Regan's first real friend in D.C. In fact, Regan wouldn't be leaving D.C. without the assistance of Miss Westwood.

"Always late, Regan? Or just when you're doing something that will benefit you?"

Regan gave her a fake glare and retorted, "No, I wanted to get stuck in traffic, and then pretend that I want to go to Gotham."

Turning serious, Jillian pleaded, "Please tell me that someone's picking you up from the airport."

Regan snorted at her friend's assertion that she wouldn't have made plans. "I already made arrangements in Gotham—my other best friend is expecting me. Thanks for your lack of faith." Regan curtly replied.

"We both know that I have faith in you as a detective, but you're stubborn. I assumed you would revolt in not telling anyone that you're going back." Regan knew her friend was right. She had considered throwing a tantrum, but quickly reminded herself that Mercedes would act that way and resolved to take this transfer in stride. Regan left her friend, and changed into nicer clothes—she couldn't allow her 'ride' to see her in street grunge. 'Always keeping up appearances.' She dressed in a pair of gray slacks accompanied by a burgundy soft knit sweater top (with a baby doll bodice and draped detailing on the front). She also wore 2-inch black heels.

Normally, Regan strived for simplicity. Simplicity made her life easier. She didn't have to worry about having a complete look or if the tones completely matched, not counting court. However, she'd have to change that lifestyle once in Gotham. Sighing, she packed the rest of her things and left her plain room. Luckily, that apartment came fully furnished, so her only worries were her clothes, files, and pictures. Since simplicity ruled her life, simplicity's best friend was also there—frugality. She bought what she needed. Primarily her clothes were for undercover assignments, which were very common for her.

"Regan, be sure to call me when you get there, and thanks for letting my brother have your car." Her friend stated smiling.

"No problem and I will." She paused and realized what her friend was implying. "Oh, you're not getting out of driving me to Dulles." Regan nudged her friend playfully.

"Darn you and your listening skills." Jillian countered which she complimented with sticking her tongue out.

"Very mature," Regan retaliated with a sarcastic tone.

"Let's get going. Traffic is going to be awful." Jillian groaned.

"Alright." The duo left the apartment, and Regan stole one final glance at her unpretentious place. Jillian pulled Regan out of the building and shoved her into the ADA's new forest green Honda Pilot but not before loading Rae's luggage.

The drive was silent, until Jillian remembered something important, "Rae, be sure to get laid. You definitely need to."

Regan shot her a glare and cockily asked, "And who would you suggest?"

Smiling wickedly, Jillian replied, "Bruce Wayne."

"No way in heaven. He's been missing—"

"He just got back about two years ago, and he's gorgeous—at least try. There's no harm." Jillian cut in, while retaining her devious smile.

"Bull. You want to live vicariously through me. What would Kyle say if I told—"

"You wouldn't."

"I would." Regan smile triumphantly at her friend's look of defeat. Jillian gazed over at her friend, "Would you do me a real favor, though. Tell DA Dawes that I've got a lead on one of her open cases."

Regan didn't want to be some lap dog for the DAs, "Why don't you call her?"

"Lines could be tapped." Regan shook her head, "And your car bugged?"

"Nope, I check that daily."

"Paranoid."

"Workaholic."

This time Jillian won. Regan temporarily forgot about the case and thought about Bruce Wayne. She'd met him only once…They were both 16.

"You're going to Mr. Earle's Party, Regan. Go get ready." Her mother ordered lovingly.

"Why isn't Mercedes going? It's her turn." Regan questioned thoughtfully.

Usually the Carmichael's took one daughter to each function, and the girls just took turns. They used this technique to avoid verbal disputes between the two.

"No Darling. She's fallen ill. Please go get dressed."

Regan gave a look of disgust but did as she was told.

Regan curled her mahogany locks, then loosely French braided them into a messy bun. She dressed herself in her latest purchase: a Michael Kors snake chain halter dress which was guava colored with a twisted neckline with a golden snake chain. The dress flattered her hourglass figure. After that, she did her make-up, which was a smoky effect. She covered her feet with 3 inch white Dior heels. Making her way down their massive staircase, she heard her mother exclaim, "Oh, Regan, you look beautiful."

The Carmichaels arrived via limousine. The house was large but paled in comparison to both the Carmichael and Wayne Manors. Elegantly walking in, Regan didn't anticipate the party to be so boring. Usually there were other kids her age but none at this 'party.' Upon arrival, Mr. Earle pulled her parents away thus leaving her alone in the middle of the large room. Desperately trying to find something to do, she eyed the bar and decided to order a virgin margarita.

Walking in a nonchalant speed, Regan crossed the room with grace. She ordered and leaned against the bar so she'd be able to survey the stuffy social gathering. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a boy her age ordering the same thing. The tender tapped her on the shoulder, "Ah miss, your drink." Smiling she stated, "Thanks, put it on my parents tab."

"Last name, miss?"

"Carmichael." He nodded and returned to making the other orders.

"So are you Mercedes or Regan?" the boy asked smoothly. He was dressed in an Armani suit with Valentino shoes.

"Regan." She replied monotone.

"Thought so. Mercedes usually basks in the limelight." At the mention of her sister, Regan furrowed her brow. The boy eyed her look of discontentment and added, "And she bores me to death." Regan's frown turned to a broad smile followed by a quiet giggle. Attempting to change the subject, she questioned animatedly, "Are all of Mr. Earle's parties this boring?"

He laughed a little bit, "Unfortunately, yes, and I have to go to every single one." His tone was a mix of bitterness and pride. "Well, I'll make a point of making Mercedes come to Mr. Earle's parties." He was surprised at her assertion.

"Then I'd be bored. Who would I talk to? No one here is remotely interesting." His cocky demeanor made her sarcasm come out. "Awww, I'm touched." She faked an enamored look, and added, "By the way, I still don't know your name."

"I'll tell you after we dance." He retorted slyly.

"Dance?" she questioned quietly.

"Yeah, that's why the band's here. Come on, it may be fun." He replied as he grabbed her drink out her hand, set it down, and led her to the floor. She was shy, and he was enjoying every minute of pulling her out of her element. The music flow abruptly changed to a waltz. He placed his hand upon her hip and clasped her free hand.

Attempting to make the dancing seem friendly, he questioned, "So what are your plans after high school?"

She thought about it, "This may sound weird, but law enforcement has always interested me. Money isn't my main priority. This," she said looking herself up and down, "isn't who I am."

"Policewoman instead of an heiress? That's original. Do you know what area?" He answered as he dipped her.

"Well either narcotics or special victims."

"Sounds adventurous. My future is going to be boring." He said giving her a faint smile.

"How so? What's your plan?" she asked as she studied his brown eyes. "Well, when I become old enough, I get to run the family business—I'm destined to be a businessman."

His downcast expression forced her to say something inspirational, "You can make your own destiny. And that's too bad; you seem too smart to be a stuffy businessman."

His brown eyes sparkled at her, "Thanks."

The music ended. "Thanks for the dance?" she asked searching for a name. Before he could respond, an older gentleman beckoned him as, "Master Wayne, it's time to go." Regan mouthed goodbye and he nodded.

That was the last time she saw him.

Snapping back to reality, Regan saw the airport in the distance. "Thanks for the ride, Jillian." Her friend smiled softly. "I'm going to miss my best detective, but Rachel Dawes can't wait to meet you. Since you were my best friend first, she can only be your second best friend. Rae, please call me when you get there."

"Sure, Jil. Oh, and don't worry. Rachel will never replace you."

Jillian returned her focus to the road.

Minutes later, Regan found herself saying the final goodbye and entering Dulles. She checked her bags, and spoke to security concerning her firearm. Finally making her way to the gate, she spoke to the attendant about the current status of whether or not there would be a delay, and made her final check in. She sat down and patiently waited for the flight. No one was around, and Regan openly welcomed the loneliness as she commonly did after work. Speaking of work, she could hardly fathom a way to tackle Gotham's dealers and save the department from utter failure.

Eventually a few businessmen gathered in the gate. "Flight 213 boarding first class." Regan had refused to pay extra for a little foot room on the red eye. 'Spoiled brats.' She thought as she watched them walk down the corridor. Next, Regan boarded the plane with a few late people straggling behind her.

Once on the plane, Regan began to read Gotham's newspaper that the flight attendant freely distributed. The front-page article caught her eye:

BATMAN TAKES DOWN CRIME RING

Batman? Regan had never heard that name before. As she read on, a smile formed on her face. She wouldn't be alone in this city-wide fight.

Changing gears, she read the entire business section. Regan made mental notes on every fact. She knew that she had to show her father that she could do both—business and police work. Regan had worked double shifts with the DCPD in preparation/anticipation of working in the business world during the day and fight the war on drugs at night. She sighed heavily and closed her eyes knowing that her life would be hectic.

The two-hour flight went by quickly, and when she stepped off the plane, she was instantly bombarded with a bone-crushing hug by Jena Fox. "O my God, Regan! It's so good to see you. Dad would've come but there was some gala he had to attend."

"It's fine. How are things?" Regan asked her long time friend. Their fathers had been friends long before the two were even born. "Umm, my modeling career is thriving, which is good. Dad's back on the board at Wayne Enterprises and your sister's in rehab. I think your parents will be excited to see you."

"Thanks for the quick update. Let's find my bag and get out of here." Regan analyzed her best friend: long ebony hair riddled with highlights of dark brown; blue eyed contacts replaced her brown covered with glasses; her figure had changed dramatically, from a size 5 to a size 0. Regan prayed that Jena wasn't taking drastic measures to remain thin.

After grabbing her heavy luggage, they hailed the valet who brought around a brand new silver Land Rover. "Nice ride," Regan complimented.

"Thanks, I bought it after my first major campaign ad for DKNY."

"Cool."

"How was D.C.?" her friend questioned as she tipped the valet and pulled away.

"Well, it was a nice breath of fresh air, Jen. I earned my BA in forensics and pulled a minor in business. Doing my own thing without Mommy and Daddy was nice." Regan returned smiling. "Tell me, how bad is Gotham?"

"Not great. You heard about the terrorist attack on the Narrows that happened about a year and half go and the psycho Joker's attack on the city about nine months, right? Well, that's still a mess. Batman's helping, but it's only halted the crime rate from rising."

"Wonderful. How's the drug war?"

"Drugs still run ramped even if Falcone is behind bars—there's always someone new. Oh, let's stop talking about this." Her friend replied airily. Regan had been gone a long time. Getting used to the apathy of rich people would take awhile. "So Jena, you said your modeling career was doing well, what other—"

Her friend cut her off, "DKNY, Juicy, Ed Hardy, and Lancôme, and of course I modeled for Ralph Lauren too."

"That's awesome, Jen." Regan returned with a fake smile.

"Know what, Rae?" Jena asked raising an eyebrow.

"No, what?" Regan replied less enthusiastic.

"Tomorrow's Saturday, we should go shopping—like we used to."

"I have to work tomorrow Jena. How about Sunday?"

The model contemplated for a moment, "Maybe, I'll have to check my schedule."

Regan's mind flashed to the paparazzi. "Who knows I'm back?"

"Just my father and I. Don't worry, none of the sharks know."

"Thank God." Her friend laughed heartedly at this. "So you'll stay at my place till you find your own apartment?"

"If that's okay—"

"Oh, God, yes. Girl you should know better." Regan nodded and turned her attention to the city. It was rotting. Regan mentally whined and settled into the leather seat.

Jena could see how tired her friend was, "Rae, I'm going to drop you off, then go meet up with my agent."

The detective remained silent. 'At this hour?'

After passing by Wayne Tower, Jena pulled in front of Carmichael Luxury Apartments. "Okay, I'm in apartment 15, here's your key, tell the doorman who you are."

Regan pocketed the key, grabbed her bags, and flashed her badge to get into the building. She wasn't ready to meet her old life. 'Tomorrow maybe.'

She entered the lavish flat and set her things in the room she assumed was for guests. Regan unpacked what she needed for work. She quickly set her cell phones alarm and fell asleep on top of the comforter.

An hour later, she was awoken by people laughing loudly. Regan wiped the sleep from her eyes, fixed her hair, and left the room. Jena yelled loudly, "Rae, meet Don Fredricks. His dad works with my dad." Jena was clearly drunk, and Donnie boy looked like he wanted to take advantage of that.

"Nice to meet you." She threw his way and she turned to Jena, "Look, you have that thing early tomorrow morning."

"I do?" she slurred.

"That's what you said when you picked me up. You have to leave in like 2 hours, and I think you should get some rest. Sorry Don."

Her brilliance at lying was showing. Don shot her a glare and left the flat. Regan led Jena to her bed, where the model quickly fell asleep. The detective placed two aspirin along with a water bottle on the nightstand and groggily returned to her room.

After two hours of sleep, Regan awoke and did her daily routine of 100 sit-ups and 50 push-ups. She headed for the shower where she found solace. Nobody could bother her. The warm water felt good, it washed away the dreariness that had taken up residence in her mind. Stepping out of the shower, she blow -dried her hair and braided it. She applied light make-up. Then she dressed herself in a pair of black jeans complemented by a black elbow sleeve ribbed tunic. Her shoes were black track tennis for comfort. Remembering how cold Gotham was during the fall, she pulled a charcoal gray hooded wool pea coat from her luggage. Finally, she placed her gun holster on her hip and placed her badge in her right pocket. Before leaving the apartment, she gave one final check on Jena who was out cold. Grabbing her cell and key, she left the flat.

Regan coasted by Wayne Tower, and her mind flashed to his eyes. She shook her head at the thought of being with Bruce Wayne. As she began to hail a taxi, she felt someone staring at her. Turning, she eyed Lucius Fox smirking. "Mr. Fox." Regan greeted warmly as he approached.

"Detective," He returned and embraced her, "It's been a long time. How was D.C.?"

"Rewarding, but I've returned to Gotham to help the Narc Unit. Jena said you were back on the board. Congratulations."

"Thank you. I've got a lot to tend too. Perhaps dinner sometime?" he returned apologetically.

"Sure. I'll call you. It's good to see you, Mr. Fox."

Regan returned to the curb and hailed a cab. Climbing into the dirt covered taxi, she ordered, "Gotham Police Department."

"Right away miss." The drive lasted exactly 12 minutes, and by her standards that was long. She paid the driver and entered the dull HQ.

Checking in was a breeze and she already felt at home. Regan found the narcotic unit completely deserted and a mess. She was supposed to lead a unit like this? None of the detectives would be coming in today, so she set to work filing cases and properly labeling and detailing everything. As her mother would say, 'Rae, your OCD is showing.'

"Excuse me, Miss. You're not allowed to see that." She turned to see a man in his forties with glasses and mustache holding a cup of steaming coffee. She contemplated whether to rip a new one. 'Nah.'

Regan smiled sweetly, "Commissioner Gordon," she addressed via his name tag, "I'm the new lead detective that's been given the role of a captain. I was told that I could run the unit the way I want. The way I do things is organized, clean, and precise."

He instantly apologized, "Sorry, detective. Didn't realize it was you, glad to have you. Holler if you need anything."

"Thank you, Commissioner." She responded in a dismissive tone. He took his leave satisfied that the unit was in capable familiarized herself with each detectives file and record of conduct.

Three hours into cleaning, she stumbled upon dozens of leads on drug deals both pick-ups, drop-offs, and gang activity. Judging by their records, no one followed up on them. "These people are inept." She muttered as she finished the second filing cabinet.

Around 9:30 the phone rang, "Narcotics Unit, Detective Carmichael speaking."

"Why don't you sound official." She was hoping for a real call, but he would do.

"Hello to you too, Mr. Fox."

"How does lunch sound to you?"

"Depends on where. I'm not dressed for anything fancy."

"I assumed that, so I decided we could go to Mangoli's. It's upper-class, but casual."

"Alright, so 12:15?"

"Sure. See you then."

She hung up and returned to reading up on the poisoning of the Narrows and the anarchy the Joker provoked. The Joker's mindset intrigued her. His blatant disregard for human life and mind games were taken to a new level that she never dreamed existed. She made a mental file for all the pictures of the escapees from Arkham Asylum and those who were re-captured. 'I'm married to this damn job.'

Please review. Revised: 6/08/10