Carla drank very slowly that evening, turning down the offer of more drinks from every man that tried to talk to her and every waiter that held out more glasses of champagne on silver trays as they walked on by.

She wasn't having a terrible time, but now that Harvey had been accepted by the so-called trust-fund friends that Bruce Wayne surrounded himself with, the only conversation anybody wanted to have with Carla was superficial.

Bruce floated around the penthouse like a good host, making small talk with people who's names he couldn't remember and faces he could barely recall seeing more than once or twice, but he did a good job of pretending like he remembered their friendship as well as they did.

Carla stayed by the window, admiring the view that had become her fascination after seeing it for the first time from the terrace, though choosing to stay out of the cool winds that whipped around the tall buildings piercing the black sky.

"It's nice to see you, Doctor Fiori."

Rachel approached her with somewhat of a forced smile. Carla could see that from a mile away, but there must have been some pity from the assistant district attorney that forced her to make conversation with the woman standing alone.

"I like you dress," Carla smiled, being truthful about the black satin number Rachel had chosen that night, "It suits you."

"Thank you," she looked up, "Harvey picked it."

"Harvey has good taste."

Rachel scoffed then, her smile widening, "Are you-"

"Miss Dawes, don't worry about Harvey."

Rachel didn't present herself as an insecure woman and Carla didn't suspect her to be one. She did, however, understand how Rachel's boyfriend's recent actions might've looked and how they might've plagued her mind with questions and thoughts that she couldn't ask him, but needed answers to.

Carla didn't particularly consider any of the people at the fundraiser that night a friend, but she saw the worry in Rachel's eyes and as a woman, decided to put her at ease. She didn't say much else and Rachel didn't ask anything further, accepting the handful of words from Carla for what they were, and trusting them, too.

"Oh Christ Rachel's talking to Carla. I wouldn't be surprised if she tried to throw her off the roof or something," Harvey grumbled when he caught sight of the two dark-haired women stood together on the opposite side of the room.

Bruce glanced over and laughed quietly to himself, "Everyone loves a cat fight, don't they?"

Harvey's face repulsed as he stared at Bruce, "Seriously man, what's wrong with you?"

"What's your deal with her, anyway? Bringing her as your plus one tonight when you're dating Rachel?"

Harvey sighed, "I feel bad for her, that's all. New city, working with Crane...she's a nice girl, I'd hate to see this city swallow someone else that didn't deserve it."

"Speaking of Crane, are they like, dating?"

Harvey raised a brow, almost laughing as he looked at Bruce, "Why? You want a piece, Wayne?"

Bruce rolled his eyes, "If I wanted a piece I would've had it by now."

Patting him on the shoulder, Harvey and Bruce started walking in the direction of the two women, "Whatever you say, Bruce, whatever you say."

Harvey laughed inwardly at the confidence of Bruce Wayne. Of course, he too knew that his statement would've rang true for most women, but Carla wasn't like most women. The jewels on her neck and the leather of her purses made it clear that she wasn't phased by material things, and she was no fool for the charm that Bruce laid on, either.

There was no hesitation from Harvey to sling an arm around Rachel's waist when he reached her, kissing her cheek with a kind smile after interrupting what seemed like a friendly enough conversation.

"You ladies enjoying your night?"

"It's a great party, Bruce," Rachel said, one hand on Harvey's back, "Like always."

He smiled at his friend before looking at Carla. She was stood poised with her shoulders pushed back, a champagne flute between her fingertips that she took small sips from every so often.

"How about you, Doctor? Having fun?"

"It's not the worst party I've ever been to."

He held back a grin, enjoying the way she refused to pay him any kind of credit. He'd been catching glimpses of her across the room all evening, feeling guilty when he saw her stood alone or rolling her eyes at the advances or another boringly dressed man he didn't know.

She didn't seem to care, having the same nondescript emotion resting on her sculpted face that she held most of the time, but still, Bruce had a twang of repentance that tugged hard on his insides the longer the night went on.

He'd seen her texting on her phone a handful of times too and couldn't help but wonder if she was texting Doctor Crane or somebody else. Bruce didn't particularly care but the question of why she gave Crane the time of day still played on his mind, someone as godly as her giving her precious attention to a man like Jonathan Crane seeming unnatural in the world's order.

Bruce was about to snap back with a sharp comment, only the firing of a gun into the ceiling of his penthouse drew screams from desperate lungs and flushed mania through the guests.

He couldn't quite see what was going on, but that didn't matter. Bruce had been communicating with Commissioner Jim Gordon about organised and unorganised crime that was sweeping Gotham of late, and the sound of plaster crumbling from the ceiling left Bruce without time to ask questions.

Rachel had grabbed onto Harvey's arm after dropping her glass on the floor in shock, though Carla's champagne was still fizzing in her hand. Bruce turned to them while the panic set in across the room, acting quickly while he still had time.

"Take the girls into the bedroom, lock the door. Now."

Harvey nodded and took Rachel by the hand, shuffling down the side of the room while people continued to scream, Bruce heading in the opposite direction. Carla stayed rooted to the spot, eyes wide as she peered through the crowd and caught the eye of a man they called the Joker.

She'd seen pictures and videos on the evening news about Gotham's latest terroriser, a freakish looking man with straggled green hair and black eyes, a washed out white face with a curling red sinister smile and deep purple suit. He looked like something out of a nightmare, hunched over as he walked, grabbing people by the throat with a knife to their neck before laughing and pushing their faces away unharmed, silence filling the room.

Harvey cursed when he saw Carla still stood by the window, Bruce nowhere in sight. He debated going back for her, but was yanked away by the force of Rachel and regretfully carried on running down the other side of the penthouse to safety.

"All I'm asking here is if anybody has seen Harvey Dent. That's it, very easy question. Surely one of you has, right?"

The Joker's voice was nasal and rough and his black eyes scanned the faces of the guests so intently it caused them to jerk back unnerved, a menacingly maniacal laugh rupturing from his cursed lungs as he pushed fear into their souls by a quick turn of his head and flash of his blade.

"What about you, hm?"

The way his beady eyes cut through several rows of people to find Carla at the back of the room was perhaps the most daunting thing, as if he'd singled her out above everybody else. It wasn't clear why since unlike some of the men trying to showcase their bravery, Carla hadn't taken a proud step forward just to be kicked in the ribs and tossed aside, she simply stayed still.

And she carried on staying still, frozen like the subject of a portrait as he cut through the other guests with each step until he reached her, tilting her head up with a push of his silver blade beneath her chin.

"You look like the type of dangerous little thing Harvey Dent would chase around, have you seen him tonight?"

Carla swallowed, the cold blade pressing further into her skin but she couldn't feel a cut, too paralysed by the strength of his unnerving smile and the jagged red lines that reached his cheekbones, a scent of black smoke and intoxicating liquor oozing from his overcoat.

"Too pretty for the District Attorney, perhaps?" He tilted his head, eyes crawling across her body before looking through her, almost inside of her, like he could see something nobody else could.

"He left."

His eyes widened at her words and he cackled loudly, sending a shiver down her spine and making her bones stiffen as he held her wrist, suddenly a feeling of warm blood trickling down her neck making her aware of her senses again.

"That accent," he shouted, "So European, sounds like poetry coming from your red lips. Makes me want to get a taste."

She winced as his face brushed up against her own, only to feel his tongue swipe the trail of blood seeping down her skin as he pulled away the knife, grinning as he yanked her towards him and dragged her over to the terrace with an arm around her throat, knife resting against her temple.

The other guests watched in horror as he held Carla in place with a strong arm, smiling while he did it, wind blowing through his hair and across her bare arms, her shawl slipping from her shoulders inside.

"Just to be sure," he said patronisingly, "Harvey Dent is definitely not here, is he, ladies and gentlemen?"

There was a silence that haunted Carla then, a helplessness in her empty brown eyes that she saw reflected in every man and woman stood staring back at her, none of them saying a word or daring to move even a muscle to come to her aid as she stayed held hostage on the edge of the terrace.

"If he left, maybe we should too, hm?" He said, lips giggling in Carla's ear as she turned her head away from him.

"Great idea."

Carla almost screamed when the man holding her leapt backwards, a howl of delightful laughter making him jump up and down when a dark figure appeared on side of the terrace, a black flowing behind his rigid armour and masked face.

"Finally," the Joker rolled his eyes, licking his lips as he spun the knife around against Carla's head, "The Batman."

"Let her go."

Crime was inevitable but up until that point, Carla had almost been convinced that the people she saw causing chaos on the news weren't even real at all. A Joker and a Batman sounded too far fetched, even for Gotham, though she wished she hadn't had to find out that she'd been incredibly naïve the way she did.

"You really shouldn't be so careless with your words."

The last thing Carla heard was the deranged laughter deafening her ears before she was pushed off the side of the terrace, falling with her back to the pavement and her eyes to the stars without having chance to even realise her feet weren't on the ground anymore.

She didn't know how close she was to the floor but the windows seemed to fly past her at lightning speed and she squeezed her eyes closed, praying for a quick and painless end. Only, she didn't hit the sidewalk.

A pair of arms grabbed her waist and a hard body beneath her softened the blow as she landed on the hood of a car on the street below, eyes opening wide as she gasped for the breath that had been knocked from her lungs by the impact.

It was a pair of dark eyes that she was met with, nothing but black yet the hands that held her were gentle, holding her still for a moment as he looked up at her, searching her face for injury.

"Are you hurt?" The Batman said, voice deep and gravelly.

She swallowed, shaking her head and touching her throat to feel the trickle of blood still flowing down to her dress, "No."

"You're bleeding."

He pulled her to her feet, towering over her as he peered down with narrowed eyes, examining the small wound on her skin.

"I'll survive," she said, taking in deep breaths, "Thank you."

She looked up at him, eyes wandering across his sharp jaw and broad shoulders, the intricacy of the bat symbol on his chest and the hard shell of his outerwear, somewhat in disbelief at anything that had just happened to her, let alone that the masked vigilante that half of Gotham wanted lynched was stood before her.

"You don't have to thank me," he replied, "Go home."