Action movies were always a hit in foster homes. For the weekly movie night, it was as safe bet to show an Indiana Jones or a Die Hard, rather than a rom-com (which would bore the boys) or an art house indie flick (which would bore everyone).

So Beth had pretty much seen them all. And she'd always wondered how she would fare in a life or death situation, captured and alone, at the mercy of a villain. She liked to imagine she would go down fighting, risking it all for her freedom, using her wits and her wiles to outsmart the antagonist and save the day.

The reality was very different.

Much to her shame, faced with her own captivity, the loss of her abilities and the knowledge that the world thought she was dead...she descended into a despondent stupor.

The hours blurred into days, and she spent them all curled in a ball on her cot, alternating between sleeping and staring at the sterile walls of her prison, trying not to think. About what violating drug her father would inject into her next. About the 'life' he was preparing for them in New York and what he would do to her there.

About Bruce.

She tried to avoid those thoughts most of all. It was too painful to remember their kiss. Too painful to remember the tiny slice of life they'd found with each other in the tower. Too painful to wonder what might have been between them...

So she consciously pushed those thoughts aside.

But her subconscious? Her subconscious was a heartless bitch.

The moment her eyes closed and she drifted into sleep, memories of Bruce would merge with impossible fantasies of an imagined life together, tempting and tormenting her until she woke with tears in her eyes and an empty heart.

She was grateful when her mind gave her a break from visions of Bruce, and supplied her with memories of her mother instead.

Because now she knew what she looked like; she shared the same warm, tan skin as Beth, and they had the same eyes and bone structure. It was no wonder Montrose recognised her at the party.

She also knew the books her mother would read to get her to sleep. She knew the sound of her laugh, and the smell of her hair.

And she knew how her mother had died.

They were running through the trees. Her bare legs stung with cuts from trampling past coarse shrubs, and her too-small shoes pinched her toes.

But they couldn't stop.

"We can't stop, Jennifer," her mom panted. She held her hand in a fierce grip and practically dragged Jennifer through the dark woods.

She didn't know how her mother had gotten them free. She'd simply woken to loose chains and her mother's frantic voice. "He just left. This is our chance, Jennifer."

So they'd ran.

And they kept running. Both figuratively and literally.

They hitchhiked with strangers, and stole rides in truck-beds. They journeyed for endless miles, weary with fatigue and the constant threat of discovery...until they finally reached the outskirts of New York City.

"We can disappear here, sweetheart," her mother said as they walked along the hard shoulder of the dark highway, the skyscraper lights just visible in the distance. "There are millions of people in New York - your father will never find us. We'll start a whole new life together."

But they never got the chance. A hit and run driver - most likely drunk - swerved onto the hard shoulder and came barreling towards them. Her mother pushed her out of the way and took the brunt of the impact. As she lay dying, her breathing wet and laboured, she urged Jennifer to leave her and keep going.

"I'm not going anywhere, I'm staying here with you," she sobbed, clutching her mother's cold hand in hers.

"You have to. You have to be brave, Jennifer," her mother pleaded.

But she didn't want to go. She didn't care if her father found her, or if she died by the side of the road with her mom. She didn't want to be alone in the dark ever again.

Her mother must have seen the resolve in her eyes. She used the last of her strength to pull a small syringe from her jacket pocket and press it against Jennifer's thigh. She depressed the trigger, emptying the contents into the muscle before Jennifer could react. "What was that?"

"It will make you brave."

Jennifer swayed, her head feeling woozy. She collapsed against the concrete, fighting to keep her eyes open. "You can sleep for a moment, Jennifer. It will be okay," her mother crooned. "Everything will be okay, now. I love you."

As her heavy eyelids shuttered closed, she could see her mom dragging herself into the dense shrubbery lining the ditch.

When she opened her eyes again a few minutes later, she was alone on the side of the road...and couldn't remember a thing.

Beth blinked away tears as she woke from the dream. She lay still on the cot trying to process this latest revelation.

Her mom had taken her memories.

She'd done it out of kindness - either to force her to leave that highway and continue her journey, or just to give her a fresh start without the pain of losing her one loving parent...or maybe it was both.

Either way, Jennifer had died in that ditch, and Beth had been born.

But she'd ended up right back where she started.

"Are you going to mope and cry all day?" Her father paused the clacking of his fingers against the keyboard and looked up at her from behind his laptop. "I must say, you make for dreadful company."

She scrubbed the tears from her face, wincing as she rubbed at the bruises staining her temple and cheek. They had both turned a sickly shade of bluish-green over the past couple of days. She sat up to face her father and crossed her legs. "I'm so sorry. Was I supposed to be entertaining you?" she asked sarcastically. "Engaging in lively conversation with the man who kidnapped me? Trading banter with the monster who ruined my life!?"

Montrose stood up from his desk and loomed over her. "I did not ruin your life! I gave you life! I made you what you are!"

"Exactly!" she yelled, jumping to her feet. "You made me into a freak who can't touch another living being! You turned my childhood into a never-ending lab experiment, torturing me and punishing me! You took away my mother!"

He scoffed. "I didn't kill your mother."

"You may as well have! She died in agony in a ditch because of you - hit by a car while we were running away from you!"

"Is that how she died? Good. She deserved it after stealing you from me. She faked your death in a fire and took you away, and I thought you were dead for years, Jennifer." He took a step closer and sneered at her. "But I got the last laugh. She staged a fire to help you escape, but I staged a fire to get you back. And you're never getting away from me again."

She shook her head, the cloak of despondency that had shrouded her for days suddenly falling away. She would get away from him. She wouldn't let her mother's death be in vain; she wouldn't let Bruce mourn her a moment longer.

She would escape.

Montrose studied her, and seemed to recognise the spark of defiance and hope in her eyes. "I think your blocker is wearing off." He moved to the supply of blue vials lined up like soldiers on his workbench. He started prepping a syringe as he murmured under his breath.

She caught one of the muffled words. "Wait, did you say Protrium?" she asked, shocked.

He glanced over at her. "Yes. I was wondering if the dosage was off - you're acting more agitated than I expected."

She gaped at him. "You've been giving me Protrium?" It was a powerful mood stabilising medication that had been taken off the market years ago after concerns that it caused severe depression.

And her father was dosing her with it.

"Yes, its part of the original drug formula. You were always such a wilful child - this just helps blunt your edges. Makes you more compliant." He turned back to his work, seemingly unaware of the incandescent rage building inside of her.

She'd been so disgusted with herself for giving up. For giving in to her captivity. For choosing to submit rather than fight...

But it had been the drug all along.

He'd not only imprisoned her, kept her weak with hunger, and blinded her psychically...he'd also chained her mind with chemicals.

Four layers of bonds keeping her captive.

Her hands clenched as she scowled at his turned back.

She. Fucking. Hated. Him.

She felt her anger rise up and take over, until it overwhelmed all common sense and practicalities...and the moment he was in range, she let it rip.

She punched him square in the face, with all her remaining strength.

She felt the impact crack against her knuckles, but barely registered the pain over the satisfaction of seeing him stagger back, clutching his bloodied nose.

"How dare you?" he spluttered.

"How dare I? How dare you, you asshole!? I'm your daughter, and this is how you treat me?"

"Your daughter?" A familiar voice at the door made her freeze. "That explains a lot, Montrose."

Beth slowly turned her head to find Royston Connell leaning against the doorway of the lab.

———

His voice was calm and his pose was relaxed - shoulder against the door jam, legs crossed at the ankles - but his face told a different story.

Connell was pissed. His cold, hard glare and his tense jaw showed that he was monumentally angry at her father.

Join the club, Beth thought.

He took a step into the room, away from the two bodyguards-slash-henchmen who flanked him, and held up his bandaged arm. "I was paid a visit the other night by a certain masked vigilante. He was looking for you - said you'd kidnapped someone. I said that was impossible. That he had the wrong guy."

A warm glow of hope spread through Beth at those words. Did Bruce knew she was alive? Was he searching for her?

Or did he confront Connell before the fire?

The glow faded.

As much as she wanted it to be true, she couldn't rely on Bruce rescuing her - she had to do everything she could to get out of this situation herself.

A situation that was rapidly escalating.

Connell advanced on her father, his voice rising. "He came into my house! Made a fool out of me! All because of you, and whatever fucked-up family drama you've got going on here. Now my entire operation could be at risk!"

Montrose raised his hands in supplication. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to impact your business. It's just that-"

"Well, it has! And you're going to fix it. Now." He removed a gun from the holster hidden beneath his jacket and handed it to Montrose. "Kill her."

Beth gasped and took a step backward. As she did, the chain around her ankle clinked, reminding her that she was trapped. If her father took that gun...there was nothing she could do to stop him pulling the trigger.

Luckily, he refused. "I'm not going to kill her."

"Then, I will," Connell replied, raising the weapon to aim it at Beth. She froze, her mind flooding with only one thought:

Bruce.

She'd never get to see him again.

"No!," Montrose yelled. "She can be an asset to you! She can help you!"

Connell paused, the gun still pointed in her direction. "Explain."

"She has a gift. One that can be very useful to someone like you. Let me show you."

The arm holding the gun slowly dropped, and Beth exhaled shakily. Montrose grabbed the key from his pocket and removed the cuffs from around her wrist and ankle. He grasped her shoulder and pulled her over to Connell, careful to avoid her bare skin.

"She can read people's thoughts and secrets with just a touch. Let her demonstrate." Montrose nodded to the henchmen who lurked by the door.

Connell looked sceptical. Beth didn't blame him. Montrose's cool, detached persona had disappeared, replaced by a flustered, desperate man who seemed to be talking nonsense. Beth liked to think he was anxious about her well-being...but it was more likely that Montrose was next on the firing line and he was doing everything he could to avoid that fate.

"Okay, I'll play along," Connell said slowly, signalling to the henchman on the right. The man walked over, a frown between his eyes, but dutifully held out his hand towards Beth.

She stretched her own hand out, pausing an inch above the other man's skin. "What do you want me to find?" she asked.

"It's gotta be something only he and I know, right? To properly test this out?" He didn't wait for a reply, just clicked his fingers and pointed at her. "Got it. When I offered him a job with me, what did he say he was willing to do?"

Beth lowered her hand and made contact, wincing as the henchman's violent past bombarded her. She tried to ignore the specifics - the beatings, the murders, the glee he took in meting out pain on others - and rifled through his memories for the encounter Connell was interested in.

After an agonising few moments, she found it. "He said he was willing to do anything. He would kill his own mother and gift wrap her head for you." Disgusted, Beth snatched her hand back. She wanted to dip it in bleach to wipe those memories from her skin.

Connell laughed, a joyous sound that was somehow laced with menace. It made Beth's gut churn. "Holy shit, Montrose, you weren't kidding!"

"Remarkable, isn't she?" Montrose replied. He smiled at her - as if to say 'isn't my pet clever' - and it was the last straw for Beth. After days of captivity, being hit in the face, locked up, starved and forced to re-live her abusive childhood, that one patronising smirk drove her off the edge. She was sick of him treating her like a thing. Like something he'd cooked up in a lab, rather than his own child. Like something he could use for his own ends and leave discarded on the end of a chain when he was done.

She reached out and grabbed his bare arm.

She didn't know what she was looking for. She just needed something. Something to turn the tables on him.

He wrenched free in seconds, but those seconds were all she needed. She turned to Connell and smiled. "He double-crossed you. He sold another version of his gas to the gangs in Gotham. Your planned take-over of the city will just turn into a massive turf-war, with both sides equally armed. He's ruined your entire plan."

Montrose spluttered. "Th- that's a lie! I did no such thing."

Connell didn't say a word. He just raised his gun...

And pulled the trigger.

Beth jumped as the loud bang echoed in the room. She watched her father fall to the floor, a red bloom spreading over his chest where the bullet had torn into his heart.

She felt the blood drain from her face at the sight and she shook her head slowly. She hadn't meant for that to happen.

Had she?

She'd just wanted to get away from him. Connell was a monster - and would use her ability in horrific ways, just like Montrose - but at least it wouldn't be personal. It was worse when it was her own father keeping her captive.

But she hadn't meant for him to die...

Right?

She wasn't afforded a second more to process her guilt; Connell grabbed her by the upper arm and started dragging her across the room. "Let's go, princess."

She fought against his hold on instinct, but she barely had any strength. He easily pulled her through the lab and towards the door, the henchman she'd 'read' following behind.

"Torch the place," Connell ordered to the other goon by the door. The man nodded and started tipping over beakers of chemicals and solutions, creating a flammable pool of liquid that quickly drenched the worktops. Beth suddenly remembered the row of blue vials lined up on the other side of the room.

The blockers.

"Wait," she yelled, struggling to get free. "I need those blue vials! Please!"

Connell ignored her and tugged her into the corridor.

She fought harder, the thought of losing her one chance at a normal life giving her a surge of adrenaline. "Please! Just the blue vials. I need them! Please." Beth planted her feet and pulled against his grip.

Connell's patience snapped. He punched her in the stomach with his free hand. The force knocked the wind out of her and she doubled over with the pain. He used the opportunity to grab her around the thighs and hoist her over his shoulder.

He took a step forward...then froze.

"Let. Her. Go!"

Beth nearly sobbed with relief at the sound of that soft, gruff, wonderful voice.

Bruce.

Bruce was here.

He'd come for her!

———

The definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over, and expecting different results.

But Bruce didn't have a choice.

He had no other way of tracking down the man holding Beth captive.

So that's how he found himself watching Connell from afar, hoping that the man would lead him to Montrose's hideout.

Again.

Just as he'd done for the past three days. He'd followed Connell to the opera, to his mistress's home, to a meeting with the Mayor, and to countless boardroom meetings.

And they'd all been dead ends.

But maybe tonight would be different.

And if that rational was insane, so be it. Insanity was preferable to the alternative...

Which was giving up on Beth.

That was unthinkable.

He would spend his life looking for her if need be.

He just prayed it wouldn't take that long. It had been five days already, and he was desperate with fear and worry. He barely ate. Barely slept. He could feel the concern radiating from Alfred, but the older man was wise enough not to say anything. He knew how important Beth was to him.

She was more than important. She was...everything to him.

And he hadn't truly realised it until she went missing. He hadn't realised how much vitality and colour she'd brought into his world, until it suddenly turned grey.

He'd known he loved her, of course. And that he wanted to be with her...but he'd somehow deluded himself into thinking that he could compartmentalise those feelings. That he could separate out that relationship from his life as Batman and keep the two distinct.

The reality was, that without her...it all fell apart.

He fell apart.

He hadn't been patrolling in days - and he felt no desire to. The city could burn as far as he was concerned. It bred and harboured and attracted the kind of scum that could take someone as kind and lovely as Beth, and hurt her.

He was done with Gotham.

Bruce readjusted his binoculars, scoping out the building that Connell had entered ten minutes ago. It was a hardware depot in the middle of an industrial park, bordered by a self-storage facility and a bordered-up old pet store. The depot wasn't listed as one of Connell's holdings - either under his own company or one of his shell corporations - and Connell didn't seem like the typical DIY-er.

So what the hell was he doing here?

A truck pulled into the parking lot, obscuring Bruce view of the door. A couple of men jumped out of the cab and started unloading large plastic containers from the back.

Containers full of chemicals.

Which they proceeded to carry into the depot.

Why would a hardware store need vats of chemicals?

It wouldn't.

Unless it was a front for something else. Like a lab where Montrose was manufacturing his paralysing gas.

Bruce's heart started to pound as glimmers of hope stirred in his soul.

This could be it.

He left his hiding spot and dashed across the deserted parking lot. He stepped through the unlocked door and into the store. He paused, allowing his vision to adjust to the unexpected darkness.

There were no signs of the delivery men.

It was definitely a front.

So where was the lab?

Bruce crept along one of the aisles, flanked by shelves of timber and plumbing supplies. He was desperate to run through the store, to break down every door if there was just the smallest possibility of finding Beth locked behind one of them...but he needed to be cautious. He couldn't let one reckless move ruin his chances of finding her.

A faint glow of light from behind the sales counter drew Bruce's eye. As he stepped closer, he could see that it was seeping out of the gaps of a trap door in the floor. Bruce tugged it open and descended down the stairs...

And found himself in a state-of-the-art laboratory. Barrels full of chemicals were stored in the corner, and racks of canisters lined the walls, all filled with a familiar red gas. A few workers in white lab coats milled around complicated distillation equipment, keeping an eye on the liquids bubbling through the tubing. One of them caught sight of Bruce and jumped, letting out a little squeak of fear.

Bruce could work with that.

He stalked towards them, and in his most menacing voice, growled, "Where's Montrose?"

The lab geeks cowered. Bruce lunged at the nearest one, threatening a punch, and it was enough for them to give up their boss. "Th-through that door. He has his own private lab back there that we're not allowed to enter."

Bruce pushed through the door in question, and entered a brightly lit corridor. He'd taken only a few steps when the sound of a gunshot rang out in the distance.

Bruce started running, his gut rolling with fear.

The corridors stretched for what seemed like miles, branching and forking into a maze. The space was huge, underlying the entire block of buildings, not just the hardware store. Just as Bruce despaired of ever finding the source of the gunshot, he heard a much more beautiful and miraculous sound.

Beth's voice.

"Please! Just the blue vials. I need them! Please."

As beautiful as the sound of her voice was, her desperate pleading and obvious distress nearly broke him.

He turned the corner...and there she was.

At last.

Her normally warm, tan skin was pale under the fluorescent lights and her slender frame looked gaunt, drowning in the too-large sweats that she wore. Her vulnerable bare feet skidded along the ground as Connell dragged her by the arm, but her face was fierce with determination as she struggled against his hold.

Connell punched her in the stomach in response. As she doubled over in pain, a tidal wave of rage washed over Bruce.

"Let. Her. Go!"