Disclaimer: Batman belongs to those people at DC Comics and Christopher Nolan. The Batman- ish stuffs that I would ever own is my Batman DVDs and comics. But my characters belong to only me and no one else.

A feminine figure staggered out of a club in Gotham's downtown. Leaning heavily on the wall adjacent to the entrance, she managed to recall where she had parked her car which was a nearly impossible feat when her brain had been soaked in alcohol for extended periods of time. Being a relative newcomer to the crime- infested city, she didn't possess Gothamites' natural sense of self- preservation.

Blissfully unaware of the dangers of roaming the local streets at an ungodly hour, she broke out into an off- key chorus of Bad Romance. She made it until two blocks away from the hip- hop and R&B- throbbing establishment without incident. Surprising even herself, her neuroses were only lagged enough for her to pick up the clear sound of footsteps behind her. It sounded nothing like the stray, inconsistent clicking of her five- inch heels. Clumsily she whirled around to an unshaven face of a man with a lustful gaze fixated on her. "Babe, you've drunk too much tonight." He waggled a fat finger reprimandingly.

"I like... it!" She swatted his hand away with less force than she intended, no thanks to her inebriated state.

He grinned, showing off his yellowing teeth which appeared even more yellow in the light of the streetlamps. "We can keep each other company all night." Then she wrinkled her nose, more from the sight presented to her than the fact that the man was no desirable company.

Probably encouraged by her lack of vocal opposition whatsoever, he closed the gap between them in swift strides. One of his hand clamped around her arm while the other went to rest on her waist and she shuddered. Goosebumps dotted her exposed arms. "No need to be afraid of me." His fleshy palms ran up the length of her arms and, in her alcohol-addled brain she still had the decency to back away from him. The closeness was starting to sober her up a little but not enough for her legs to break into a run.

His expression darkened slightly as she resisted him when he pulled her even closer toward him. It was the alcohol which made the decision for her feet to stop its retreat. She burst into laughter. "You're no monster." She said as if in sudden realization that she had nothing to be afraid of the stranger, pointing a feeble finger in his direction.

None too kindly, he dropped his head to the crook of her neck, inhaling the mash of leftover perfume and liquor. He took a slow long breath and proceeded to kiss her sloppily on the lips.

She managed to pull her mouth away from the unpleasant assault of his mouth on hers and just as easily he caught her mouth in his again. Giving her attempt more tries, she repeated it for the fifth time when it angered him to the point that he shoved her toward the dumpster in a nearby alley partially shrouded in darkness. With a cry of pain, her body sagged against the rusted metal surface and she brought up a hand to rub a sore spot on her scalp.

"Damn ungrateful bitch. I'm about to give you the best time of your life and that's how you plan on treating me."

"I'm humannnnn… Not female doggggggggg." She slurred, shaking her head vigorously.

Perhaps it was all she needed; a cue for the intervention of Gotham's sworn protector. An ominous hulking figure swooped down, seemingly massive enough to frighten simply by appearance. In her state of drunkenness and in the weak light that spilled into the alley, she barely managed to have a good look at the proceedings of assault on the man. His grunts of pain, however, were not lost to her hearing.

When it was seemingly quiet enough to indicate that the man was unconscious, she punched the air. "Yay. The bad guy lost!"

The spot she was lying on looked sufficiently comfortable as a place for her to spend a night on and she was almost closing her eyes when a gravelly voice sounded from beside her. "You're drunk. We need to get you home." Her arm was held in the unyielding grip of a black gloved hand while the rest of her slumped uselessly in an awkward angle.

His voice effectively made her look up at him as she tried to figure out who he was. The alcohol did nothing to suppress her curiosity. "What is your na—" She hiccupped. "We can be friends—" Drunkenly, she threw both arms around his neck, resting her face on the image of a bat emblazoned on the chest plate of the vigilante's suit. With a grunt, he took her arms away from him.

The Batman wasn't known to make small talk with those he happened to be in contact with, and he wasn't supposed to make any exceptions with this one question from a woman he didn't know. But he did, reasoning with himself that she wouldn't remember any part of this when she woke up from her undoubtedly bad hangover. "They call me the Batman."

She blinked rapidly to keep his face in focus before she squealed in delight. "Batman! I've always wanted to meet you. People say you have a nice carrrr. Can you give me a ride?"

"Did you drive here?" He asked, not in the mood to entertain her drunken whims.

"In my Mas— Maserati GranTurismoooooo S!" She smiled admiringly at the sight of her car in her mind's eye.

"Let's get you home." He reached out for her, scooping the grown woman who reeked of a night of too many drinks into his arms. She settled into the envelope of muscles made visible by the suit and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Your pointy ears are sooo cute. Anyone told you that?" She cocked her head to one side, smiling up at the vigilante and would have managed to tug at those ears had he not been quick enough to react. "You're no fuuuuuuuunn!" She complained, punching him feebly in the shoulder.

He stared at her through the cowl, eyes narrowing slightly to appear intimidating, if only for nothing else but for her to know it wasn't meant to make him appear like a cuddly toy.

She pressed her lips together and crossed her arms, obviously unafraid of the change in his expression and annoyed by the fact that he wanted to frighten her. "You— you're not scary." Childishly, she stuck her tongue out at him.

The vigilante inwardly shook his head and badly wanted to roll his eyes. "Bats are supposed to be scary. The symbolism makes me effective in striking terror into criminals."

Their short walk ended by a modified pristine white coupé with heavily- tinted windows. She felt him stop and lifted her head to look at the car beside them, pouting. "I don't want to drive. You drive."

The Batman could see no other options available to him. "Give me your keys and address." He demanded, knowing full well that she would obey.

"Ah! Wait." Dutifully, she removed her handbag from her arms and sifted through the contents of her bag for the keys. Passing him the keys, she mumbled her address. In quick succession, he unlocked her car and deposited her into the passenger seat.

She shook her head at the image of Batman in her car. In comparison to his size and the bulk of his costume, the steering he had in his grip and the driver seat seemed comically small for him— and that was not considering how he drove with his head bent forwards to accommodate his fake bat ears.

Chloe Greenwell reveled in the silence that pervaded the Ambergeas Bay Marina at night. The sounds of her footsteps rang loud and clear amongst the yachts that, she was sure, were tirelessly worked on, to make them radiate the luster that she can now see even under the faint moonlight. She took her time to make her way to where her father's yacht was permanently berthed.

She easily sought out the intended yacht and began retrieving the inflatable boat that she had stashed somewhere abroad the recreational boat. It was a damned waste of gasoline to take her dad's yacht out to the sea for star- gazing. In ten minutes, she'd done inflating the boat— all thanks to having done it many times in her college days when she and her boyfriend would go fishing on weekends. For her, it wasn't so much as a fishing trip as it was for him. Those frequent outings with him were to her, an opportunity to learn more about boats in general. She slung her 60's Swiss army backpack over her shoulder and got onto the boat.

The lights of the Amerigold Columbus Bridge bridge cast its reflection on the water, spilling its feeble lighting onto the watery surface. Notorious for its unusually high crime rates, she had been less than willing to return to this city. But she had— perhaps lured by her fascination with the Batman, more so than her obligation to the family business.

As the engine whirred on, she gazed at her surroundings, taking in the different view of Gotham. The city's skyline twinkled in the distance, but it was not quite as she remembered it. It certainly looked more beautiful although it now had a foreboding quality to it and the thought of being back in its limelight was enough to make her cringe. Chloe had memories of endless parties and galas in this city, but the only ones that she cherished were those spent in the family home at Gotham. When she'd left for college, it wasn't with a heavy heart that she packed up and left for someplace new.

At some point in the past few years however, she'd decided to reacquaint herself with the city where she'd been raised. It was during then that she'd begun to keep up with its resident playboy's exploits just because she wondered what sort of a man he was, and over time, it had became a sort of regular entertainment. Then came the stories about the Batman, the city's sworn protector and savior. From then on she'd been especially curious to read about him and she added stories about him to her reading list, along with Bruce Wayne and just about everything that went on in the city.

Putting her headphones on, she directed the boat further toward the open sea. She'd known her return was inevitable and well, the idea of having her own permanent residence was too irresistible to pass up.

As the music played in her ears with the sky spread out above her, she missed the presence of a yacht in the vicinity. Even when the recreational boat had gotten a little bit too close to her boat, she hadn't noticed its looming shadow over her, nor have heard the human noises it brought to the quietness of the Lower Gotham Bay. Too late, she realized that air was whooshing out of the boat and made the connection when she saw a yacht moving away from her boat.

She remembered the device she had to her ears and acted fast— took out a Ziploc bag she had in her backpack, dumped her mobile, iPod and headphones into it, sealing it back tight. Looking for any sign of who the yacht belonged to, she caught sight of a man she had heard much about in the tabloids and immediately ground her teeth together.

Bruce Wayne. A tiny part of her had wanted to encounter the billionaire in person and see what he really was like. This was one hell of a first impression.

Chloe got out of her partially- submerged boat, swimming now. With the strap of her bag over one shoulder, she went for the motor— it hadn't come cheap. Taking it off from the deflating boat wasn't all that difficult but having to swim and hold on to it was no easy task.

"HEY!" She shouted in the direction of the yacht, flailing her arms. No reaction. They couldn't hear her and possibly couldn't see her either. "BRUCE WAYNE! CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" She tried again with her indignation fueling the volume of her shout.

"HEY!" The coldness of the water was getting to her and the clothes she had on was steadily weighing her down and she had to put in more effort to stay afloat, at the same time keeping up with the damn yacht. "BRUCE WAYNE, YOU ASSH— " She spat out seawater from her mouth. Chloe was more than glad to start spewing all the colorful words she can think of. The billionaire deserved every single insult she could throw at him and much more.

At first, the Danish model had dismissed the sound as something of her imagination and returned her attention to the true crime novel in her hands. But she'd heard the same female voice again and again, sounding more frantic each time. So she leaned as far out as possible from the railing to look for the source. Little by little, she could make out a shape in the currents of water.

"… DON'T CARE WHO YOU'RE SCREWING WITH RIGHT NOW... " She heard it again, wholly sure that someone was in danger of drowning.

Erika immediately went to get Bruce, but not without having the other girls throw her some nasty looks. He shed his white button- down shirt, kicked off his deck shoes and jumped into the water.

By the time Bruce Wayne did come to her aid, Chloe was already shivering from the cold. His hand reached out for her, visually assessing her for signs of hypothermia. Instead, she motioned for him to take the motor— which she knew still wasn't beyond repair— to the yacht. She made it clear that she could very well swim and followed in his wake.

They both climbed up the ladder that Bruce's model friend had slid out to the water surface. In the time that Bruce had been in the water, Erika had readied two large towels while the other models crowded around to see what the fuss was all about.

Chloe came up to the surface of the water, sneezing uncontrollably. The models who were themselves glamorously attired in beachwear had no qualms of making her the subject of their collective ridicule. One brown-haired model, however, stepped forward and draped a dry towel over her shoulders and passed another to Bruce. As she vocalized her gratitude for the towel, she glared at the rest— although her drowned cat appearance somehow ruined the effect. With her hair in fat, damp strands and clothes continuously dripping water onto the dark wood deck of the yacht, the towel she had was quickly soaked.

She hadn't so much as thanked Bruce Wayne for jumping into the water, and was swept by an unexpected wave of guilt when she heard him telling one of the crewmen to make sure that the motor he had brought abroad is seen to be dried and be made to be running like new. In her midst of deciding whether or not she should be angry with him, Erika came to her side and steered her away from the deck. "Dump that towel, here's another one." As if by magic, Erika produced a new dry towel.

"I've more or less heard what you've been screaming about Bruce," she whispered conspiratorially. "But don't worry, I'm not telling him anything."

She gave the flat-chested, curveless figure of a model a startled look. Erika laughed. "I'm Erika Lundgaard." She stuck out a hand, one that Chloe took with a smile.

"The name's Chloe Greenwell." There was no point trying to dry herself when she had her wet clothes on. She proceeded to remove her wet combat boots— wet shoes are especially unwearable— opting to walk barefoot across the deck.

Erika scrunched her nose at Chloe's soaked clothes. "You're getting a change of clothes. Like it or not, you're going to have to wear mine."

Chloe shrugged, peeling her top from sticking to her skin. "Anything would be better than these."

She was led into a cabin, presumably, Erika's who insisted that she take a hot shower. Chloe took the shower at the highest temperature that she could bear, very nearly scalding her skin. By the time she was dressed in a Mickey Mouse tank top and denim shorts courtesy of Erika, the shivering subsided completely.

"It fits!" Erika exclaimed triumphantly when Chloe exited the bathroom with her hair already half- dried.

"It does," Chloe agreed wholeheartedly, somewhat amazed that clothes for someone as thin as Erika could fit her slim figure. "Thank you."

"No problem at all."

Erika made her sit down on the bed and despite Chloe's protestations, told her that she'll send her wet clothes to the laundry and then send it over to her when it's all nicely folded and ironed. "And I've got you a cup of hot chocolate— you need it." Chloe had the good grace to not decline a cup of the beverage despite thinking that it wasn't quite needed. The hospitality and concern that was shown to her from the start were admittedly quite surprising and she had to know where it came from.

"Are you Bruce Wayne's girlfriend?" It was the most polite phrasing Chloe could manage without appearing as if she judged any of them for keeping his company.

"He's a longtime friend of mine," Erika corrected, betraying the slightest hint that the question made her uncomfortable. "I'm not into men." She supplied, watching for Chloe's reaction as the implication hit her.

"That explains a lot of things," Chloe said as her expression barely flickered. "So, did he know about it when you met?"

"I made it obvious right at the start and he simply said that I'd just have to pretend as if I'm not. I decided to indulge him and after a while, he turned out to be one of the nicest people I have ever met." Chloe raised her brows but said nothing. "He's a much better man than a lot of those other men you would meet out there," She turned herself to fully face Chloe. "Oh, and by the way, Bruce had the yacht head back to land."

"You sure he did?" She asked unsure of whether it even mattered to her that he did.

"Oh yes, he did." Chloe nodded mutely. "He actually insisted on it. And I agree, it's been a long night for all of us."

Suddenly remembering that, in addition to her clothes, her backpack was also soaked, she jumped up from the mattress. "Whoa, relax." Erika called out, clambering out of bed.

"I need to check my stuff." Chloe had stashed her belongings into the Ziploc bags without a moment's hesitation but now she couldn't be too sure. She needed to check if her personal belongings were still in working order.

She breathed a sigh of relief. Erika peered over her shoulder and smiled becomingly. "I wouldn't have thought of that."

Chloe waved a hand dismissively. "It's no big deal, actually." A knock sounded on the cabin door.

Erika rushed to open it and returned to Chloe's side with the promised beverage. She gratefully accepted it, luxuriating in the warmth of the mug she had between her hands. Chloe devoured the contents of the mug with an almost greedy intensity.

She realized that Erika had watched her drink and was suddenly self-conscious of how quickly she had downed the drink. "I really needed that."

Erika smiled in understanding, "No explanation needed. You really needed it." She had not given much thought to the events that had her having a complete stranger in the same room as her, up until now. "How did you end up out there?"

"Um, I was watching stars out there in my boat before this boat you're on came along. This yacht collided with my boat and deflated it. That's why."

"That's what happened— Oh my." Erika stared at her, surprised. She took a moment to come up with something more to say. "I should tell Bruce about this. He needs to know that one of his crewmen had been having too many sunset cocktails." Erika knew, without a doubt, that Bruce lived by the rules— discounting his occasional blunders— and would tolerate no misbehave when he was in the power to do anything about it. It would also help matters that it was a woman whom he had rescued— and in her opinion, Chloe was worth it. She hadn't known much about Chloe Greenwell but she liked the person she'd known thus far and it didn't hurt that she had tattoos too— a testament to her rebellious streak. That her hair was a gorgeous green further strengthened that opinion.

To that, Chloe said nothing. She didn't quite know what was to result from his knowledge about him being the cause of her current predicament. They both sat facing each other on the bed, legs crossed comfortably beneath them as they made small talk. It didn't take long before they were exchanging numbers.

Chloe was in the midst of saving herself as a contact in Erika's phone when it rang. She handed it to her as Erika swiftly answered it, immediately hung up and stood up, stretching her arms.

"Bruce says we've returned to land." Erika went to one corner of the room and zipped up her luggage bag which Chloe just noticed. Chloe, whose offer to help Erika with the laundry bag that held her wet clothes had been declined, trailed the model's shadow out to where she encountered Bruce Wayne standing by the ninety- foot yacht. At the sight of both of them, he flashed his trademark smile that had been photographed for far too many times whenever he has beautiful women hanging from his arm— with an extra wink directed at Chloe.

"I like you, in fact, a lot. I'm sure Bruce does too." Erika spoke loud enough for Bruce to hear, knowing that he'd know she was bestowing her approval on Chloe. She leaned in a little. "It's nice meeting you."

Before Chloe could say any more, she was cut off with a loud "Bye!" from Erika. And that was it. The androgynous-looking model's retreating back was all she could then see.

Chloe spared a glance at Bruce Wayne, feeling suddenly very awkward. "We certainly met under exceptional circumstances,"

If anything, he was curious as to who was the woman he had encountered as Batman just the previous night. "Bruce Wayne." He held out his hand, watching her gaze as it shifted between his hand and his face as if considering her options. "I don't bite, you know."

"Chloe Greenwell." She almost shoved her hand into his, surprised by the feel of his rough palms against hers. They bore no resemblance to the moneyed class that she had been born into and had eventually grown to loathe more than love. A lifetime of growing up around vainglorious, pretentious people had made her tired of women and men alike who'd had the smoothness of a hand slathered daily with a concoction of moisturizing products.

"Just an opinion, but I think you might have overestimated the female company you've brought onto the boat," Chloe added as an afterthought, all-too-aware that the tactlessness would have been otherwise ill- advised.

"Maybe I'm too much for one woman to handle on her own."

Chloe pursed her lips for a witty reply. "Then you should learn to control your urges better."

He held on to her hand for a moment longer than was necessary before pulling away wordlessly and flashing a bright grin.

Author's Note: Do tell me what you think!