A/N: Thank you all for your patience! I'm getting married in exactly 27 days from today, so things will likely be sporatic until after that (and the subsequent honeymoon in November!) but I promise I haven't forgotten about this story! I'm going to try to get one more chapter posted beforehand, but hopefully, I'll be able to be more consistent with my updates after the wedding!

I haven't had a chance to edit this chapter fully, but I'll try to clean it up a bit over the next couple of days.

Chapter 22

Standoff

"Oh, right. It would only mean more paperwork," Gordon finished in an irritated voice.

She peered over the top of the desk and threw him a sheepish smile that did nothing to lessen the harsh lines bracketing his mouth. He looked even more rumpled then usual, and she could see the exhaustion behind his eyes. Struggling to her feet, she scooted around the edge of his desk as he moved forward and collapsed into his chair, every line of his body conveying the heaviness of the burden his job placed upon him. "I was just trying to –" she began, but he cut her off.

"I know what you were trying to do," he groused. "But you might have noticed, I'm a little busy at the moment. I would have thought you would have more important things to worry about, too. Or does Mr. Wayne not need your help right now?"

"Bruce can take care of himself," she retorted. "And I happen to think this is very important."

Gordon grunted, grabbed a sheet of paper from his desk, and focused his attention on it, pretending to ignore her. "I'm not giving you the file, so I suggest you go home before I change my mind about that paperwork."

She frowned at the top of his head and decided to press her luck, sinking into the chair across from his desk. "Okay, then. You don't want to talk about Batman; we'll talk about what happened at Wayne Enterprises today. Got any leads?" He ignored her so she pressed, "What about the Joker? He seems to have fallen off the radar, but he doesn't strike me like the kind of guy to lay low for long. Do you want to make a statement about what the GCPD is doing to find the man who just killed its beloved mayor?" When he glared at her over the rim of his glasses, she threw him a tight smile and arched her eyebrows in challenge.

Gordon sighed and dropped the paper onto the desk. Sitting back in his chair, he stared at her for a long moment before taking a key out of his pocket and opening a desk drawer. Her heart leapt, but she was disappointed to see him pull out a bottle of scotch and a glass. "You are annoyingly persistent, I'll give you that," he remarked as he relocked his desk drawer and poured himself a healthy shot. "I'd offer you some, but I doubt you'd want to take me up on it. The Joker killed my predecessor by putting poison in the bottle he kept in his desk."

"And that doesn't stop you? I'd think most people in your position would only drink from sealed bottles from then on," she remarked. He shrugged and threw back the drink. She supposed in a city like this, a man in Gordon's position couldn't spend too much time worrying about what dangers could be lurking in the shadows or he'd never leave the house. "Of course, Batman stopped the Joker from getting to you the last time…" She let her voice trail off suggestively.

His eyes narrowed, but when he leaned his head against the back of the chair, the corners of his mouth started to twitch into something almost resembling a smile. "Like I said, annoyingly persistent."

"I get that a lot," she admitted.

An unintelligible grunt was her reply. His eyes drifted closed, and given his visible exhaustion, Lois wondered if he was falling asleep. If he did, she had to decide whether to try to break into his desk with him sleeping mere inches away.

Her dilemma became moot when his voice broke into her thoughts. "So do I." Her gaze shot to his face. She saw his eyes were open again and he was fixing her with a calculating look. "Do you think Batman is an ideal hero for the city?"

The question surprised her, and she frowned. "We don't live in an ideal world, Commissioner," she pointed out in lieu of an answer.

There was a slight tightening around his mouth, and he threw her a wry look – but, then, he undoubtedly knew better than most how imperfect a world it was. "Humor me. If you could describe the so-called ideal hero, would it be someone like Batman?"

Lois huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Probably not," she conceded. At his expectant look, she explained, "I imagine it takes either a lot of anger or a lot of pain to do what he does every night. Maybe both. I would think the ideal hero – if there were such a thing – wouldn't just inspire hope in people. He'd have hope, too. And I'm not sure Batman does."

"Harvey did," Gordon responded. "He truly believed this city could be different. Better. He was better than either Batman or me, and that's why he was killed. People need to something to believe in. They need to believe in him, in what he stood for."

Her brow furrowed, and she retorted, "No offense to the memory of your friend, Gordon, but…that's crap. With everything going on in this city right now, the memory of a dead man may make people feel a bit better about what might have been, but that isn't going to keep them safe. Batman may not be the ideal hero, but a ghost isn't out there every night, fighting to stop madmen like the Joker. He is."

She expected him to be angry at her words, but he just passed his hand over his face, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes. "And what if you're wrong?" he asked wearily. "What if people need hope more than ever right now?"

Lois sighed and looked away, staring at a spot on her shoe as she considered his question. Finally, she lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug and admitted, "I don't know. I don't have all the answers. I don't know how to give the people of Gotham hope…or justice…or…" her voice trailed off, because they needed a number of things and she didn't know how to give them any of them. "I just have a belief that if things in this city are going to get any better, it has to begin with the truth. That's all."

"The truth sometimes hurts more than a lie," the Commissioner pointed out, his gaze unfocused as if he, too, was lost in thought. Lois shifted in her seat, reminded of the bruises that hadn't even really begun to fade and the heartbreak she'd hoped to leave behind in Smallville. Would she prefer to have never found out about the secrets Chloe and Clark had been keeping for her? Part of her wanted to say yes. "How do you know when it's time to take away a lie that brings people comfort? Or is that not something you worry about, in your profession?"

She opened her mouth, closed it again, and grimaced. She might have taken offense at his tone, if the weight he carried at present wasn't so obvious. "My job isn't about bringing people comfort; it's just nice when that happens to be the end result. Lies have consequences; so does the truth. My job is to reveal the truth, not to dictate what people do with it."

Gordon sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I wish things in Gotham were always that black and white." Before he could continue their discussion, the phone on his desk rang, interrupting whatever he was about to say. With a disgruntled look, he answered with a terse, "Gordon." He listened for a moment in silence, though he used his keys to open another desk drawer. This time, he dumped a file atop his desk inside and slammed the door shut before saying in a curt tone, "I just got back. What do you need?" Another pause, then he responded, "No, don't do anything with it, yet. I'll be right there."

He hung up the phone without saying goodbye and looked at her over his glasses. "Miss Lane, it's late, and I have work to do. I'm sure you can see yourself out." Pulling his keys out of his desk, he thrust them into his pocket. Then he stood and headed for the door, turning off the light as he left. Apparently, he expected Lois to leave the way she'd come.

But Lois wasn't thinking about leaving just yet. She'd noticed, when he'd pulled the keys from the lock on his desk, that he hadn't turned them first. Was it possible he'd left the drawer unlocked?

Holding her breath, she scooted around the desk and tried the drawer – the same drawer she'd been working to open when he'd come in the room. Just as she'd suspected, it slid open easily, revealing two files inside. Curious, she glanced at the file Gordon had just tossed into the drawer, but she shoved it aside when she realized it had to do with a string of jewel thefts in the city recently. She had bigger stories on her plate – too many of them for her liking, in fact.

Underneath it was a thick file, unlabeled. She shot a quick glance at the door before flipping it open. A quick scan of the top document confirmed her suspicions; it was Gordon's file on the murder of Gotham's last district attorney.

Had Gordon intentionally left the drawer open, or had it been an oversight due to his exhaustion? She wasn't sure. But, then again, he had to have known she'd broken into his desk on her last visit, looking for this very file; why would he have kept it in that drawer if he didn't want her to find it?

Unsure if she was rationalizing with herself – and even less certain whether she should care – Lois grabbed the file and tucked it under her arm. Then, because she couldn't help herself, she scanned the labels on the other files on Gordon's desk, looking for anything pertaining to Wayne Enterprises or the Joker. She hadn't been entirely facetious earlier, when she'd asked him about those investigations. To her complete lack of surprise, however, she found neither – a problem for another day, perhaps.

For now, she had what she came for, so she darted to the window and out on the fire escape. She climbed down as quickly as she could without making too much noise. Just in case the unlocked drawer had been an oversight, she wanted to be as far away from the scene of the crime, so to speak, as she could before Gordon discovered her act of petty theft.

As she rounded the corner, she almost bumped into an officer on his way out. She recognized his face from earlier that evening – Blake, the baby-faced officer she'd met outside of Wayne Enterprises. Recognizing an opportunity when it almost bowled her over, she dropped the hand holding the file to her side and tucked it behind her leg. The last thing she needed was for Blake to recognize it as a police file and take it from her.

"Um…hey! Officer…Blake, right?" she said brightly.

He turned to her in surprise. "Miss Lane! What are you – ?"

"I came downtown to see if there was an update on Bruce's case, but…you know how it is," she finished lamely, suddenly realizing she didn't particularly want him too curious about her activities that evening, just in case. "Um, but I'm afraid I find myself without a ride. I don't suppose…?" She let the question trail off as she mustered up her most disarming smile.

He smiled back, and there was something so sweet and innocent about the expression, she was almost painfully reminded of his age. She almost warned him about being too trusting of people's motives – particularly when the person in question was a reporter – but, since that would defeat her purposes at the moment, she held her tongue. He worked in Gotham, she reminded herself; that meant it was unlikely he was as naïve as he appeared – or, if he was, he wouldn't be for long.

"Of course. My car's right over there," he replied warmly, his voice breaking into her thoughts, and she murmured an appreciative thanks. He turned to lead her to the car, and she took the opportunity to lift the back of her shirt and shove the file into the waistband of her pants at the small of her back. Then, smoothing her shirt back down with a quick swipe of her hand, she readjusted the purse she had slung over his shoulder and tried very hard to look like the kind of person who wouldn't dream of stealing from a police station.

As she got into the passenger seat and reached for the seatbelt, he asked, "Do you mind if I ask a question? What's he really like? Bruce Wayne, I mean."

She paused, her hand lingering over the seatbelt clip, as she considered the question. How would she explain her boyfr…the man she was dating? Several seconds ticked away as she pondered his various sides. She'd seen the tabloids; she knew more than she really wanted to about his infamous playboy persona. But she remembered the look on his face, that first day at the Mansion, when he'd talked about his parents. There had been no traces of the carefree man-about-town in the man who had addressed the citizens of Gotham at the press briefing earlier that day.

"He's very…passionate," she finally replied in a low murmur, turning to face her companion. Even in the dim dashboard light, she swore she could see a dull flush creep up his neck. Realizing how her comment had been perceived, she added lamely, "I mean, uh, about everything he does."

"Right," Officer Blake said, practically squirming in his seat as he started the car. In an obvious attempt to change the subject, he said, "So, Wayne Manor?"

This was where things were going to get a little tricky. While she would love to return to the Mansion (and, hopefully by this time, Bruce), she'd finally gotten her hands on the file on Dent's death and she knew there was no way she'd be able to sleep until she had a chance to see the pay-off for her persistence.

However, as she'd anticipated, her chaperone wasn't overly thrilled with the idea of dropping her off on the seedy side of Gotham in the middle of the night. Of course, she didn't tell him exactly where she was going or why – she asked him to drop her off about two blocks away from her ultimate destination. But she wasn't about to let his chivalry get in the way of her story, and when she put her mind to it, she could be very persuasive. He wasn't thrilled about it, but he agreed to drop her off at the gas station by her supposed destination.

As she was stepping out of the car, he leaned into the passenger seat and pressed, "Miss Lane, are you sure – ?"

"I'll be fine," she stressed, narrowly stopping herself from rolling her eyes. "Really. I have a friend meeting me here soon. Good night, Officer." Before he could protest any more, she slammed the door and ran inside. She figured it wouldn't hurt to keep up the charade for a minute or so, until he was gone.

Ten minutes later, she paced the length of the chip aisle and glowered out the front window at the police car still sitting outside. "City full of dirty cops, and I have to catch a ride from Sir Galahad," she grumbled. She spun on her heel to make the circuit once again and caught the eye of the surly old man working the register. He was leaning across the counter, staring at her with a suspicious glare that made it clear he suspected she a hooligan with pockets full of his merchandise. Unfazed by his regard, she shot him a quick scowl before turning back to her task.

Maybe she could sneak out the back, she mused, glancing around the dingy, poorly-lit space. With a sigh, she realized the only other exit was behind the counter, and she doubted its guardian would be too willing to help her out. She wondered if there was a bathroom with a window she could crawl out of, but, before she could ask, something out of the front window caught her eye. Her attention diverted, she stretched onto her toes, leaned over a rack of potato chips, and saw Blake's car pulled forward a few feet. She watched as he pulled even with a car facing the opposite direction and rolled down his window. He leaned out to speak to the other driver for a couple of minutes and then, with one last look over his shoulder at the building, he finally pulled away.

Lois breathed a sigh of relief and watched the man in the second car for a moment. She couldn't catch a good look at his face, but she saw him shift in his seat to pull something off his belt before putting his car into gear and driving off, as well.

Finally.

Heaving a heavy sigh of relief, Lois grabbed a candy bar and headed to the counter. After pacing in front of a row of chocolate for more than ten minutes, she could no longer resist its allure. Then, bolstered by its promise of rich, sugary nirvana, she finally headed on her way. The edge of the file was starting to chafe, but she knew the dangers of life in the big city too well to give in to the distraction. Her strides long and purposeful, she ate her candy bar quickly and then shoved her hands in her coat pockets, keeping alert to possible danger.

Nobody accosted her on her walk, however, so it took little time for her to reach her destination. The charred shell of a building loomed over her, and she tilted her head back to take it all in. Fire damage to the structure was extensive and irreparable; they would have to raze the building to rebuild on the spot, rather than try to salvage the old building. Lois was lucky that it hadn't been destroyed already, though looking around at the broken glass and crumbling facades of the surrounding structures, she could guess why it hadn't been a pressing priority.

So, this was where Rachel Dawes and Harvey Dent had died. She remembered the look on Bruce's face when he'd spoken of his old friend's death and she sighed, pulling the report from the waistband of her pants. Whatever secrets it held, she hoped it wouldn't cause him more pain.

She couldn't afford to confuse her personal life with her profession, she reminded herself firmly. She had a duty to uncover and report the truth about the murder of Gotham's District Attorney – and clear an innocent man's name, if her suspicions were correct. And if they weren't…she had a duty to report that, too. She couldn't let her personal feelings interfere, either way.

On that stern self-reprimand, she turned her attention to the file in her hands. With the eagerness of a child opening a gift on Christmas morning – although, admittedly, the comparison was rather macabre – she flipped it open and rifled through it until she found the crime scene photographs.

Even though she braced herself for what the pictures would show, it was still somewhat jarring to see the extent of the burns on Dent's face. With a grimace, she forced herself to turn her attention to the background and strode slowly around the perimeter of the destroyed building until she found the spot where his body had been found. Then she stopped and threw a glance at the roof above. Running the edge of her index finger across the line of her jaw, she pondered the jagged teeth of wooden beams above her head, exposed in the explosion that had taken Rachel's life. There wasn't much she could see from the ground. She would have to make her way up to the roof.

She had to tread carefully as she made her way through the building; mixed in with the scorched debris from the explosion, she saw evidence that suggested that since the explosion, squatters had taken advantage of what little shelter the building's husk still provided. She tried not to look too closely at the mess they'd left behind, having learned her lesson on that score in her first month as a reporter. She shuddered at the memory and breathed shallowly through her mouth as the aroma of human waste grew more pronounced, the further she made it into the building.

She almost made it to the stairs without incident, and then her foot caught on a jagged piece of wood on the ground and she lurched to the side, falling against the wall and almost dropping the file in her hand. Thankfully, given the rather dubious wet stain a few feet away, she managed to maintain her grip. "Damn it," she muttered irritably as she straightened and wiped soot off of her sleeve. The smell of this place wasn't exactly something she wanted to take with her. "Alfred's going to kill me."

Pushing the matter of the ruined state of her coat aside, Lois carefully climbed the stairs to the roof. She would have preferred to run, but she didn't have enough faith in the stairs' structural integrity to do so. However, somewhat to her surprise, they held all the way to the roof, and she breathed a deep sigh of relief. Then she saw it –a shadow darker than the rest, several feet away.

She didn't know whether to try to hide the file again, but the shadow shifted and she accepted that the question was moot. "Batman. I wasn't expecting to find you here," she murmured. Some day, she was going to have to find out how he always managed to show up where and when she least expected him.

"Miss Lane," he said, his voice a deeper growl than usual. "Somehow, I'm not surprised."

"Oh," she replied, unsure how to take that comment. "Is that a good thing?"

He stepped forward until moonlight washed over the top of his cowl, though his face was still in shadow. "No," he growled, his tone abrupt.

A little taken aback by his tone, Lois fought the urge to rise to the bait. "Okay," she said, drawing out the word. "Well, I think we both know what I'm doing here. What about you?"

Batman didn't respond, and Lois refused to give him the satisfaction of letting the weight of his silence get to her. She held her tongue until she was certain he had no intention of responding to her inquiry, and then she managed to hold it a bit longer, to show him she didn't care. Then she shrugged and walked a few feet away. Pretending to ignore her companion, she flipped open the file and started to skim the contents.

The ballistics report confirmed the reports. All bullets had been fired from the same gun, which was unregistered but had been recovered – clean of any prints.

"You shouldn't be here," Batman growled.

She grunted and replied flippantly, "Yeah, I get that a lot." She didn't even bother to look at him; she simply turned the page and continued to read. Maroni's driver had been killed from a gunshot to the back of the head, which had caused the vehicle to careen out of control. Which meant the killer had to be sitting in the back seat, next to Maroni, when he fired the shot. It was hard to picture Batman sitting in the back of a limo.

She heard the scrape of his boot against the ground as he moved closer. "You need to leave," he reiterated more forcefully.

"Yeah, I got that," she replied lightly, finally looking up from her task. "But since I'm here and I'm not leaving, your opinion of where I should and shouldn't be seems to be kinda irrelevant right now, don't you think?" She didn't know what had caused his dark mood, but she wasn't going to let it get to her. Normally, his tone would make her bristle, but since he was a friend – and remembering her suspicion that he might be Bruce – she tempered her tone and offered gently. "Do you want to tell me what's wrong? You know, if you need a friend to talk to…I'm here."

"We aren't friends," he snapped in that dark growl of his, and the vehemence of his tone made her stumble back a step. "I don't have the luxury of friends."

Lois sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Okay," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "So about our interview…"

He stiffened, and she finally caught a glimpse of his face in the dim light. His teeth was clenched hard enough for her to see the muscle flexed in his jaw. His eyes were narrowed. He practically radiated anger, but at what, she couldn't guess. "No."

She sighed heavily. "Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the stalactite," she grumbled. At his glower, she rolled her eyes and feigned irritation. "Hey, don't look at me; you picked the costume. You try coming up with better bat-related idioms." She watched him closely, but he didn't move a muscle. It was exasperating. "Really? Not even a tiny smile? You are in a mood."

This provocation garnered no response, but Lois didn't rush to fill the silence. To her mind, she'd done her share of heavy lifting in the conversation to this point; whatever was bothering Batman, he was going to have to do something to meet her halfway. He wasn't acting like himself, and, frankly, she was about a minute and a half away from letting him know just how she felt about this new, unpleasant side to his personality.

"I don't want you to write an article about me," he growled, each word sounding like it was being forcefully dragged out of him.

She pursed her lips and considered what she would graciously deem his 'request.' The sentiment wasn't a total surprise; he hadn't seemed overly enthusiastic about giving her an interview when she'd mentioned the possibility in the past. Still, this was the first time he'd shut her down with quite so much vehemence. She wondered at the change.

"Hm. Well, that's unfortunate, because I'm going to," she finally replied, trying to soften the blunt edge of her words but knowing she wasn't entirely successful. From the look on his face, for a second, she was sure he was either going to snap and tell her what was bothering him, or he was going to throttle her where she stood. To her surprise, however, he did neither. In fact, he didn't move, save for the muscle that continued to jump angrily in his jaw.

Reaching for whatever diplomacy she had in her, she offered, "I know the people in this town don't believe it right now, but I think you've been a –"

"Don't call me a hero," he commanded, one hand slicing through the air as though he could physically as well as verbally cut off the sentiment.

Lois scowled and gave in to her knee-jerk compulsion to snap back the lie, "What makes you think I was going to? I was going to say 'jackass.'" For a second – just a second – she could swear his expression almost softened, almost looked apologetic. But the moment passed, too quickly for her to be sure. "But, since you brought it up…" She didn't finish her sentence. She didn't need to, because she knew this foray would provoke a response.

She wasn't disappointed. His expression – well, at least the look in his eyes and the line of his jaw – looked bleak as he opened his mouth to respond. She wondered if he was actually taking her bait, or if part of him was feeling sorry for his behavior. She could still hear anger and self-recrimination in his voice when he said, "Don't act like I'm the answer to Gotham's problems. Whether you want to believe it or not, Rachel Dawes and Harvey Dent died because of me."

That didn't seem like quite the same thing as saying he'd murdered them, but Lois knew it wasn't the time to point that out. It also wasn't the time to press him about his claim that Rachel had died because of him, which was new. She debated pointing out that, as far as she could tell, the Joker had been far more culpable in their deaths than he, but she suspected he wasn't in the mood to listen. He was in obvious pain, and he seemed to be lashing out at the world around him because of it.

Her eyes dropping to her bandaged palm, she murmured, "You also saved my life. You don't think that's heroic?"

She tried to meet his eyes, but he looked away. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, practically biting off each word. Then, as though to shut down the conversation, Batman turned and walked towards the edge of the roof.

Of course. Why did it would be that easy? With a wry twist of her lips, she reached into her bag and grabbed the memento she'd found in her personal effects. Before he could pull his disappearing act, she tossed it on the ground behind him. At least, her intention was to toss it on the ground; in her desperation to keep him from leaving, she flung it with a little too much force and it hit him in the shoulder before tumbling through the folds of his cape to the ground, where it landed with a sharp metallic clang. She'd meant to get his attention, not nearly impale him with his own weapon.

She had to bite back a sheepish apology when he looked over his shoulder at her in surprise. Then she watched as his eyes fell to the ground and he sucked in a sharp breath. With more bravado than she really felt, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and walked towards him. "What were you doing in Smallville?" Her voice was steadier than she expected, given that part of her wondered if he was about to confess that he had been coming to see her because he was secretly her boyfriend. Were her suspicions correct? She still didn't know how she felt about that possibility, either way.

But if she'd hoped for some sort of statement that would shed light on his secret identity, she was doomed to be disappointed. When Batman met her eyes, he answered gravely, "You still have the files you took Arkham Asylum, including the one on the Joker. I need them."

Oh. Right. Of course. It was a perfectly plausible answer. It didn't help her figure anything out, including how she would feel if it did turn out to be true. She scowled, uncertain whether she was more relieved or disappointed at the moment. Her head bowed, she asked, "If I give you the files, will you give me an interview?"

"No," he repeated, his eyes flashing again as the anger that had been simmering just below the surface bubbled up once more. "An interview might catch the Joker's attention. It isn't safe."

"Story of my life. That never stopped me before; it's not going to stop me now." She swore she could feel his glower, so, to hide the shiver that ran down her back, she held up the file for him to see, figuring he would recognize it for what it was. "I'm writing this story – with or without your help."

"I can't let you do that," he growled in an undertone.

Her jaw dropped. "'Let' me? I don't think you're in a position to stop me!"

"I could take that file from you." Even as he spoke, he stepped closer.

Pressing the file tight against her stomach, she glowered at him. "You could try," she growled in return.

It was hard to believe this was the same man with whom she had shared a similar moment on a rooftop such a short time before. There was nothing playful or amused about this Batman – she could see his anger and frustration in every line of his body and she was genuinely concerned that he might actually try to take the file by force this time.

"This isn't a game, Lois," he growled, and suddenly, she found herself trapped in his grip, her shoulders gripped so tight between his palms that it almost hurt.

"I'm not saying it is!" she started to argue, but she might as well have been talking to a brick wall.

"The Joker had been quiet the last few days, but guarantee he's planning something. You don't know him like I do. He's a lunatic who will kill as many people as it takes to prove whatever deranged point wants to make this time. You can't write that article. If he even thinks you have a connection to me… Too many people have died because of me already; I'm not going to let him get to you, too."

She was almost touched by his concern, but then, of course, he had to ruin the moment. "You should leave Gotham," he added abruptly, as if was a decision he had any right to make. "If Bruce Wayne was smart, he'd send you away from this city before you get yourself killed."

The file fell to the ground as, with one hand, she shoved him away while, with the other, she slapped him hard across the face. His cowl deflected much of the blow, and the bandage around her palm muffled the sound. The impact also made her cut sting, but she didn't care; she was too furious to even really feel it.

She was wrong. Batman wasn't Bruce. Bruce would never be such an ass.

"How dare you?" she snarled. "I guess you were right, earlier; we aren't friends. Because if we were, you'd care that Bruce actually makes me happy, and you'd know me well enough to know that he couldn't send me anywhere! And if we were friends, you can still go to hell for that comment. Understand?"

He lowered his chin, the shadows obscuring his face once more. "Lois," he began, his voice lacking an angry edge for the first time that evening as he reached for her once more. "I –"

Before he could finish his sentence, Lois heard something, a little softer than the riffling pages of a book. An arrow pierced the ground at Batman's feet.

Lois couldn't believe her eyes. She turned to find the Green Arrow standing at the top of the stairway. Another arrow was already nocked in his bow, and it was pointed directly at Batman's head. "I wouldn't, if I were you," Oliver warned, his voice distorted by the electronic modifier he used. "Step away from her. The next one won't miss."

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, ignoring the threat he'd just lobbed at his fellow vigilante. Instinctively, she tried to step forward to intercept the shot, but Batman grabbed her arm and held her back as he tried to shield her with his body. When she felt him tense, preparing to attack this new threat, she threw her arm up to stop him.

"This isn't necessary," she blurted, speaking to the Green Arrow, although she might have addressed that remark to either of her would-be rescuers. As if she couldn't take care of herself. One of these days, she was going to have a firm chat with both the vigilantes in her life. Wondering when her life got so complicated, she added, "Do you really think I couldn't take Batman if I wanted to? Honestly; I'm fine!" He stared at her for a long moment and then, with a slight smile, finally lowered his weapon.

She looked over her shoulder at Batman, expecting to have to talk him into standing down, as well, and was surprised to find that he was looking at her with a sort of bemused chagrin. "What?" Realizing what he was responding to, she arched her eyebrows at him. "I could totally take you!"

"Lois," he growled, sounding exasperated. At least he seemed to have temporarily forgotten whatever had caused his earlier black mood.

Waving her hand as though to brush aside that particular topic, she turned back to the Green Arrow. "Anyway, you didn't answer my question. What are you doing here?"

"I read your article in the Daily Planet and wanted to see if you were okay," he responded.

She felt her jaw drop. He was checking up on her? Ollie should know better than that! "I'm fine," she said in a voice that indicated he might not be able to say the same in the very near future.

If he was concerned about her wrath, he didn't show it as he slung his bow over his shoulder, his eyes still locked on the man at her side. She noticed he didn't return his arrow to the quiver. Apparently, while he was willing to lower his weapon at her request, he was still on guard and wanted to be ready to fire at Batman if the need arose.

While she didn't necessarily appreciate him acting like she was some kind of damsel in distress, in need of his rescuing, she was certain that his impulse came from genuine concern. For all of Oliver's flaws, he had always been a good friend to her. She stepped forward, instinctively moving to comfort him, but she heard Batman move behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that he had crouched and was ready to spring forward to intercede at the first sign of danger.

She stopped in her tracks, standing directly between the men still sizing each other up. If they wanted to escalate this already-volatile situation, they were going to have to get through her to do it. "I'm not going to let you kill each other, so you might as well relax, you two," she said firmly. Then, to Green Arrow, she suggested, "Maybe I can catch up with you later?"

"I'm not going to leave you here with a murderer," he stated flatly.

Tempted to argue the point, she decided against it and threw a challenging glance at Batman instead. He kept insisting he was a murderer, against her arguments to the contrary; if Green Arrow calling him one right to his face bothered him, she would be more than happy to hear him argue the point.

She could tell he could read her thoughts on her face, but he didn't rise to the bait. "According to the news reports I've read, your reputation isn't much better," Batman replied in an undertone.

"Aw, you've been reading up on me? That's sweet."

"You know, sarcasm isn't helping," Lois muttered irritably. Given how often she employed it, she would know.

Batman looked between the two of them, his expression thoughtful. "I didn't realize the two of you were such good friends."

Beneath the shadow of his hood, Ollie grinned that cocky smile she knew so well. "I was her first." She snorted, debating whether to scoff at his remark or just skip straight to killing him, since she had no doubt he knew exactly what he'd just implied. "The first vigilante she reported on, at least," he amended, his smile growing.

"I know. I've read her articles." His expression was shuttered, his tone flat, so Lois didn't know what caused her to think so, but she could have sworn he was annoyed by her relationship with the Green Arrow. She tried not to smirk. For a man who insisted they weren't friends, he seemed awfully irritated by people who were willing to admit that they were.

"Then you've read about the times I saved her life." Okay, she hadn't minded Green Arrow's needling the Batman a little, but now he was going a little far, she decided. She narrowed her eyes and glowered at him, trying to warn him to quit while he was ahead.

She could swear that Batman actually growled in response. "I suppose that's the difference between Metropolis and Gotham. When I saved Lois's life, I didn't need to read about it in a newspaper to know I'd done the right thing," he snapped.

Well. While she appreciated that Green Arrow had gotten a rise out of the normally-unflappable Batman, the fact that he was now even subtly competing over their comparative rescues of her life was dancing on her last nerve. As if she'd ever really needed rescuing!

She mentally checked herself. Scowling, Lois begrudgingly had to admit that perhaps in Smallivlle, she had needed perhaps a little saving. But that didn't really give Green Arrow and Batman the right to fight over her like this! Like she was some kind of favorite toy!

Stalking over to the file still lying on the ground, she snapped as she scooped it up, "Okay, you two. For all I care, you can stand here all night and compare the relative sizes of your," she waved her hand as though she could physically pull the word she was looking for out of thin air, "leather fetishes," she finally finished. "But you may be surprised to hear that that kind of thing doesn't impress me. I'm going home."

"This isn't a safe area," Batman interjected, moving towards her. "Let me take you back."

"I –" she started to argue, but Green Arrow cut her off.

"I can take her home," he offered. "I brought my bike. It's right out front."

"I have a plane," Batman snapped.

"Woah, both of you!' she snarled. "Has it occurred to either of you that maybe I don't need a ride?" Even as the words left her mouth, she remembered how she'd arrived in the first place, and she sighed at herself in exasperation. "Okay, maybe I do need a ride, but that doesn't matter. I'd rather walk than accept a ride from someone with a He-Man complex. Got it?"

To their credit, they both looked a bit abashed, their eyes dropping to the ground. She threw them both a hard look and then sighed, her shoulders sagging. It was late; she was tired. She might not have gotten the answers she'd wanted from Batman or finished her investigation of the site of Dent's death, but she'd gotten her hands on the file, so she would have to content herself with that for one night.

She frowned and stared out at the skyline, temporarily lost in thought. "Okay, Green Arrow," she finally said. "Let's go."

"Lois –" Batman murmured as he moved closer to her.

She held up a hand. "No. Not tonight." Keeping her voice low so that only he could hear, she said, "You're the one who said we're not friends, Batman. When you realize you're wrong about that, you know where to find me." She didn't wait for a response; she simply tucked the file under her arm and led Green Arrow down the stairway.

When she was on the street, she saw a shadow pass overhead. She didn't need to look up to know it was Batman. Now that she and Ollie were alone, she said, "You know, you didn't have to come all this way to check up on me. I really am fine."

She started to climb onto the bike, but the pressure of his hand on her arm stopped her. "You're my friend, and you were almost killed by a monster a couple of days ago. I'm not doing anything for you that you wouldn't do for me."

Suddenly sheepish about her earlier irritation over his concern, she lowered her gaze and offered him a tremulous smile. "And I appreciate it, really, even if it doesn't always seem like it."

She felt his gloved hand push a lock of hair off her cheek and could hear the guilt in his voice when he said, "You know, if I'd had any idea what was going to happen –"

Before he could finish, she rested her palm against his chest, cutting him off. "No, it's okay. You did the right thing, and I don't blame you at all for what happened." She sucked in a deep breath and raised her eyes to meet his gaze. "You really are a good friend," she said in a voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you for trusting me to help stop the monster in Metropolis…and for understanding why, right now, Gotham is the place I need to be."

A long moment stretched between him as, even partially obscured by his glasses, she saw conflicting emotions war on his face. In the end, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against her forehead. "I don't really understand," he admitted when he pulled back again. "But I'm trying to accept it. Just promise me that you'll call me whenever you need me." The corners of his mouth twisted in a wry smile and he added in a voice that was only half-teasing, "And promise not to kill me in the future if I keep showing up when you don't."

Following his lead, she let the poignant moment go and snorted. "I make no such promises, Archer."

Just before he turned to climb on his bike, she saw him wince. "Archer? That's the best you can come up with? I liked 'Hood' better."

"'Hood' feeds your ego too much," she retorted as she shoved the file back under her shirt and climbed onto the bike behind him. "Don't think I don't know you well enough to know that you like to see yourself like some kind of roguishly charming, rob-from-the-rich-to-give-to-the-poor man of the people."

"Aha! So you do think I'm charming!" he shot back, practically crooning in satisfaction.

Lois coughed to hide her laugh. "No, I said you like to think of yourself as charming. That's not entirely the same thing."

As they pulled away from the curb, neither of them noticed the figure lurking in the shadows, watching them.

A short while later, Lois crept across the lawn and let herself into the house. As relieved as she was that her absence and subsequent return had apparently not been noticed, that she could get back into the house so easily didn't speak very highly of the security on the estate. She made a mental note to speak to Alfred about it later.

After letting herself in through the huge front doors, Lois kicked off her shoes and jogged up to the bedroom she shared with Bruce. Wishing she'd hidden a set of nightclothes somewhere where she wouldn't risk waking him up by changing, she gnawed on her lower lip and quietly pushed open the door.

Only then did she realized that a part of her – the part that was suspicious that he spent his evenings moonlighting as Gotham's vigilante – hadn't expected to find him there. She let out a breath she didn't even realize she'd been holding when she caught sight of him, burrowed under the covers, his hair mussed and one arm draped over her pillow. He looked so inviting, it reminded her of how tired she was, and a wave of exhaustion hit so hard, she practically stumbled as she moved towards the bed.

"Lois?" he murmured her name groggily. "I looked around for you when I got home but I couldn't find you. Everything okay?"

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," she said, moving quickly past the implied question of where she had been. She stripped out of her clothes quickly, letting them fall to the floor at her feet with only the slightest twinge of guilt over the mess she was leaving for Alfred.

She had intended to change, but before she could find her pajamas, his arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her down onto the bed next to him. "Mmmm…You're cold," he breathed in her ear as he tucked her against his body.

She succumbed to a jaw-cracking yawn and pressed her cheek against his shoulder, putting all thoughts of her investigation and her suspicions aside as she let herself revel in the feel of his arms around her. "I'll warm up."

For the next couple of minutes, the only sound that cut the silence was his heavy, even breathing. Lulled by the comfort of his embrace, she had almost drifted off to sleep when she heard him say in a voice that was surprisingly firm, given the grogginess of a moment before, "Lois? I'm sorry about tonight."

It took a lot longer than it should have for her to wrestle her way back to consciousness, but when she finally managed to pry her eyes open, she saw that he was staring at her with a grave expression on his face, genuine regret in his eyes. "It's okay," she replied, pressing her palm against his cheek. "You needed to check on your employees. I understand why you had to go. And I'm sorry; I should have asked. How are they?"

He frowned. "No, I was…" But before he finished the thought, his voice trailed off and he sighed heavily. "I mean, you don't need to apologize. The doctors didn't really have any updates for me tonight; they still aren't really letting people in to see them, but I had to try." He pressed his lips against hers and ran his fingers through the hair that had fallen over her shoulder. "But we can talk about that tomorrow. It's late; you should get some sleep."

She didn't have to be told twice. Her eyes fluttered shut and she scooted ever closer to him. "'Night, Bruce," she said – or tried to, at least, though the words were barely intelligible.

She felt him press his lips against her forehead, this time. "'Night, Lois," he murmured in response.