Disclaimer: I do not own any characters except my own OC.

The freshly caught elites of Gotham were herded into the Court House by a group of vicious looking guards armed to the teeth. Amongst them were cocky politicians, once beautifully dressed wives of CEO's and a couple of young people who were probably their children. Some shook where they stood, filthy and bloodied from hiding in alleys and attics. Others swore viciously, anger flashing in their eyes. However, only one stood calmly, her hands clasped neatly in front of her. She was a young woman in her early twenties, dressed in a black knee length dress belted neatly at the waist beneath a black trench coat with high heels to match. She looked slightly ruffled, although her hair was in a perfect, elegant French twist and her mascara only slightly smudged beneath her eyes.

Roughly the captured were shoved into a single line, and the judgment began. Those sentenced to death were shot immediately, their cries and pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears. Those sentenced to exile were taken aside to be taken to the lake as a group.

Nearly two hours later, the young woman reached the front of the line. Her face remained an impassive mask and her hands remained unshaking, still clasped in front of her.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" came the voice of Jonathan Crane. The woman thought he might have been handsome if it weren't for the days' worth of stubble on his face and the ridiculous feathers on his jacket.

"Could it really be Gotham's little angel?" He spat the word as if it burned his tongue. "Oh how the mighty have fallen!"

As the spectators looked upon the afore mentioned woman, a confused murmur flitted through the crowd.

"Well, then. Let us not dally. Step right up Ms. Amy Bloor! Judgement awaits you!"

Without hesitating, Amy made her way to the chair set in the center of the room, her shoes making her every step sound all the more confident. She primly sat down, crossing her legs at the knee and placing her still clasped hands in her lap. She did not take her eyes off of Crane the entire time.

"So, what will it be, Ms. Bloor? Death or exile?" asked Crane in a mockery of an interested tone.

Amy remained silent for a minute. She didn't want to die. There was still so much she could have achieved. But that was not a liberty she had anymore. Making her decision, she opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted.

"Wait! Why is she here? She's not like the rest of the filthy rich scum! Let her go!" The voice came from the back of the assembled crowd. It was joined by others, all calling for the woman's freedom.

Furious, Crane slammed his gavel. The crowd quieted enough for him to speak, but did not fall silent.

"How is she any different? Did she not live in luxury while so many of us starved and perished in the streets? And even now, while most of us fight for a morsel of food, she looked well fed and groomed. What justice is it to let her live unpunished?"

The outraged crowd once again rose to a roar. They shouted of the generous amounts of money she donated to the people from her own pocket, the endless hours she spent volunteering in soup kitchens and shelters, and most of all they spoke of how she had started out as one of them. Through the din it was hard to understand the individual stories told by each protester, but as a collective it was clear that Amy Bloor had touched the lives of many.

The woman herself looked upon these strangers standing up to protect her with wide eyes. Something like hope, long ago forgotten with the arrival of Bane and his men, blossomed in her chest.

Suddenly, shots went off and people screamed, although no one seemed to be injured. The crowd parted to allow Bane himself to walk to the front, his sheer size and aura of power leaving everyone present speechless. Amy didn't dare turn around, but the thunderous footsteps left her with no doubt that it was indeed him who was leisurely approaching the back of her chair. Once he stood directly behind her, his every mechanical breath echoing throughout the room, he stopped and remained silent. He gestured with his hand for Crane to continue, but otherwise made no move to speak or harm the woman in the chair.

Now Amy shook. Although despite this, inside she felt a deadly calm. She felt cold and the blood roaring in her ears deafened her. Time seemed to have slowed down, the crowd returning to its protests with much less vigor this time, casting wary glances at the huge man looming in the center of the room. Crane's face reddened as he seemed to become angrier and angrier by the second before finally barking out words Amy could not hear. She remained frozen where she was until a voice sounded right by her ear, accented and eerie, but that she had no trouble understanding.

"You are free to go, Gotham's angel."

Amy finally seemed to have come back to herself five blocks from the Court House. She could vaguely remember slowly, ever so slowly, rising from the chair and leaving the room in long strides, the masked man's eyes burning into her back. When the door shut, and he could no longer see her, it was as if a thread had been snapped and allowed her lungs to expand again. She had somewhat registered the cold air that hit her like a physical being as she stepped down the stairs, but was not coherent enough to button up her coat. And then, she had simply walked in a straight path while the shock wore off.

Now, she buttoned her coat with shaking fingers, having sunk down the wall of a nearby building. She was alive. In fact, she didn't have a single blemish on her body to prove that she had just gone through that terrifying ordeal. That felt very, very wrong in a way. Surely something as huge as almost being killed and being within touching distance of freaking Bane would have pronounced itself on her skin?

Amy didn't know how long she sat there in the street, the cold slowly seeping into her bones. Instead of numbing her however, it seemed to make the final pieces in her mind fall back into place. She realised that she should have somehow expressed her gratitude to the people that had saved her life. But it was no use to cry over spilt milk, so she stood up and turned to go home.

The shortest route to her downtown apartment passed right in front of the Court House. She didn't think it was wise to test her luck for the second time that day, so instead she took the longer route that took her by Gotham General.

The hospital was well lit and appeared to still have ambulances running. On a different day, she would have turned right and visited the orphanage further down Central Street, which was always looking for volunteers to soothe the children. Amy didn't think that in her current state she would do anything but further traumatize the poor kids.

Thirty minutes later, Amy reached her building, climbing the stairs to her 23rd floor apartment. With her legs burning but warmed up after the cold outside air, Amy finally reached her floor and made her way down the hall. The walls bore splatters of unidentifiable liquids and the wood paneling was heavily scarred. Averting her eyes, Amy walked a little faster.

Bane's arrival didn't seem to have left anything untouched. Even her own apartment had been ransacked, thankfully while she hadn't been there. She didn't want to know what would have happened to her had she been present. She had had time to clean up, so there was no longer any broken glass or tattered bits of curtain lying around, however it looked barren, some of the furniture having been stolen and demolished into bits.

Battered as it was, it was still home, and it made Amy feel like she might just make it through the day.

Author's Note: My first published fanfiction ever! Super exciting! Please comment! I am excited to hear anything and everything! And please point out any grammatical/spelling errors I missed!

-lavenderbreeze30