Bruce adjusted the focus on the binoculars as Beth walked into view.

He'd reverted to spying again.

It was his only option. He needed to make sure she was safe, but he couldn't keep spending time with her. He was getting in too deep. The panic he'd felt last week at the thought of something happening to her proved it.

He'd vowed after his parents' deaths that he'd never get close to anyone again. He would spare himself from the crippling fear and pain that came from that kind of loss.

Yet it kept happening. First with Selina, and now with Beth.

Alfred thought it was inevitable - they'd fought about it earlier that night.

"Bruce, human beings are social animals. We're not made to live in isolation. You're not made that way. You were always such a sensitive boy, with so much empathy...its not healthy for you to shut yourself away from people."

"I told you last year in the hospital - what I went through, with my parents...I can't go through anything like that again. I can't."

"So what's your plan? You're never going to see this woman again? And just hope the feelings you have for her disappear. Haven't you heard that 'absence makes the heart grow fonder'?"

"It's not like that. We're just friends."

"Keep telling yourself that. You need her in your life, Bruce. I've seen the effect she's had on you."

"I don't need anyone-"

"Yes, you do! You can't keep going on like this! Spending every waking minute obsessed with this city and trying to right all of its wrongs. When are you going to live your life? Find some happiness for yourself? Do you think your parents would have wanted you-"

"Enough, Alfred!" Bringing up his parents had been the last straw. Bruce had grabbed his gear, hopped on his bike and taken off.

And ended up here, lying on the roof across from Beth's apartment, watching her write something at the small desk in the corner of her living room.

Alfred was wrong.

He could get over this...attachment...he had to Beth. He could master his feelings and detach himself from them.

He'd turned his phobia of bats into a symbol that now terrorised others. He'd conquered his fear of his own mortality. He'd honed his body and his skills over months and years of hard work.

He could do this too.

He just needed some space. When he was around her, it was too easy to forget the risks. With her bright smiles and her hopeful optimism, she made it seem as if nothing bad could ever happen. That the world wasn't a brutal and destructive place, and that he could let down his guard against heartache.

But when he was away from her...when he was immersed in the underworld of Gotham, where pain and loss were constants, the price of such a relationship seemed far too high.

So, he just needed more distance. His feelings for her would fade. And then he could continue his mission with no distractions, his heart safely stowed away, not at risk of being damaged again.

With that thought, he re-focused on his task tonight. He scanned the streets below, checking for any suspicious vehicles, and scoped out the rooftops surrounding her building.

There was nothing and no one.

Beth moved within her apartment, catching his eye. She'd finished whatever she was writing and now approached the window across from him. She fixed the A3 sheet of paper to the glass, and he zoomed in on the words printed in thick black lettering:

Stop spying.

You're being ridiculous.

He dropped the binoculars and sighed. He was being ridiculous. It had been over a week, and there was no sign that anyone associated with Newsome was looking into Beth. She was right - there had never been any danger.

His phone buzzed. He sat up and rummaged through his backpack until he found the burner device.

It was Beth.

For a split second he debated sending the call to voicemail. Instead, he answered. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself. Did you get my message?"

"Pretty hard to miss."

"And are you going to stop? I appreciated the vigilance in the beginning, but now you're crossing into stalker territory." Her tone was light and teasing and he closed his eyes against the sound. She was doing it again - sucking him into her bright and carefree orbit.

"Yes," he replied.

"Are you okay? You sound...off."

"I'm fine," he lied. "I need to go."

"Okay. Take care of yourself out there. And if you need patching up later by the world's most out-of-practice doctor, you know where I am."

He hung up without saying goodbye and squeezed the phone in his hand.

He could do this.

He could distance himself from her.

He had to.

———

"It's me. I don't know why you're not answering your phone. I hope everything's okay. I hope you're okay. Can you let me know if you are? You're not the only one who worries...and if I've done something...and you're angry at me...just tell me. Please, Bruce?"

He played the message again.

And again.

It was at once a pleasure and a punishment.

It had been almost ten days since he'd last seen Beth, from that rooftop vantage point. Two weeks since he'd spoken to her in person, the night he came to tell her about Newsome.

And he missed her.

He missed her smiles and her teasing remarks. He missed the warmth of her apartment and the sense of escape he felt when he was there with her.

He missed the way the light would hit her hair, and the way she would push her glasses up her nose with one finger.

He missed her voice.

So he played the recording to hear it.

Again and again.

But he hated how worried she sounded. How confused she was by his actions. And that 'please' at the end...he really hated that. That was his punishment - to listen to the hurt in her voice and know he was the reason for it.

But it was for the best.

He had to believe that.

At the sound of Alfred's footsteps on the staircase, Bruce shut off the phone and stashed it under some files. He turned up the police radio and grabbed the wrench he'd abandoned in favour of torturing himself with Beth's message.

"How's it going?" Alfred asked, reaching the floor.

"I've almost finished with the spark plugs. Then it just needs an oil change." He bent over the engine of his car and tried to avoid Alfred's perceptive gaze. The older man wasn't a fan of his plan to distance himself from Beth...and if he knew how difficult Bruce was finding it, he'd launch into another lecture.

"Good. Crowley called from the Wayne Enterprises board. They want to set up another meeting."

Bruce hummed a non-committal response. He didn't have time for Wayne business. Last week he'd come across a low rent thug who had a canister of the same gas that had taken him down in the junkyard a few months ago. Bruce had disarmed him before he could depress the trigger, so there was no repeat of the paralysing effects...

But it worried him.

Someone was supplying Gotham's criminals with chemical weapons, and he needed to find out who it was.

That was his priority right now. And if it created a helpful distraction from Beth, all the better.

"Bruce, you need to take this seriously, the-"

"Hold on." Bruce dropped the wrench and moved closer to the radio. He thought he'd heard something from the police scanner...

He turned up the volume.

"-points bulletin for for Patrick J. Newsome, caucasian male, late twenties. Red hair, brown eyes. 5ft 10in. 200lbs. Escaped from custody after plea hearing. Last seen at 16:24hrs at the Gotham City Courthouse. Repeat, this is an APB for officers in the downtown area. Be on the look out for escaped prisoner, Patrick J. Newsome. Caucasian male-"

Bruce checked the time on the computer screen. It was past five o'clock. Newsome had been on the loose for over half an hour.

He could be anywhere.

Shit!

He needed to find him, before he could hurt anyone else.

Beth!

He grabbed his phone and dialled her number. "Come on, pick up," he whispered under his breath, but it just rang and rang. "Shit." He threw the phone down and raked his hands through his hair.

"She'll be fine," Alfred said. "She'll be at work, in a building full of people and locked doors."

There was one way to check. Bruce snatched up the device again and opened the tracker app. He sighed in relief when the red dot of Beth's phone confirmed her location at the M.E.'s office.

"You said it yourself, Bruce. Nobody knows Beth helped that girl. She's safe, so just concentrate on finding him. Where would he go?"

Bruce paced in front of his workstation. His instinct was to race out and scour the streets, but it would be futile - a needle in a haystack. Alfred was right; he needed to think this through logically.

Where would Newsome go?

What would he do?

Would he run? Put as much mileage between himself and Gotham...or would he get his revenge?

Bruce had studied the man. He'd read his confession. Listened to his interrogation tapes. He knew him, and knew the way he thought.

He was bitter. Narcissistic. With a superiority complex, and no impulse control.

He would get revenge.

"Samantha Sterling," he said, suddenly. "He'd find her. She was the one that got away."

Bruce quickly changed into his gear and took off on his bike. He raced through the rush hour traffic, weaving between cars on his way to West Harlow, where Newsome's last victim lived in a one bedroom walk-up.

He abandoned the bike outside her building and rushed up the stairs, then stopped as her front door came into view.

It was ajar.

He inched closer, listening for any sounds of a fight or confrontation, but it was eerily silent. He stepped into her apartment, and his foot crunched on something. He looked down. A shattered glass littered the linoleum floor, as if someone had dropped it in surprise.

"Miss Sterling?" he called out.

A faint moan came from behind the couch. He rushed over to find the girl lying on the carpet, blood seeping from a wound at her temple. Her lip was split and bruises were already blooming across her cheeks and arms.

"Miss? Can you hear me?" Her eyelids fluttered, then opened with a start. She shrank away from him.

"It's okay. He's gone. You're safe."

She looked around, confused for a moment...then started to cry. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He helped her sit up. She moaned again and clutched her head. "I'm sorry," she repeated.

"You don't need to be sorry."

"But I gave it to him. I didn't want to, but he was hurting me. It hurt so much."

A sinking feeling grew in Bruce's gut. "What did you give him?"

"I only kept it as a reminder. I wasn't going to say anything. It was just a reminder, that there are good people in the world."

"What did you give him?" He repeated, his voice now rough with fear.

Because he knew...somehow he knew.

This was about Beth.

He could barely hear the girl's response over the pounding of his heart. "The ID card. The doctor's ID card. I stole it from her car when she wasn't looking. I just wanted a reminder." She collapsed into sobs. "Tell her I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Bruce froze for a split second, before he whirled on his feet and ran out of the apartment. He flew down the stairs, dialling Beth's number as he ran.

"Pick up, Beth," he growled. "Pick up!"

"Bruce?" He almost collapsed with relief at the sound of her voice.

"Where are you?" He barked. He jumped on his bike and kickstarted the engine.

"I'm driving home from work. What's going on? Why-"

"I don't have time to explain." He pulled back on the throttle and took off, steering around cars one-handed, the phone pressed to his ear. "I need you to meet me, right now." He mapped her route home in his head, and picked a location that would work. "Drive to the parking garage on Battergate road and meet me on the roof. If you see anyone following you, or anything suspicious at all, keep driving and call me."

"Bruce, I-"

"Please, Beth! Just meet me there. I'm 10 minutes away."

"Fine." She disconnected the call. Bruce accelerated. He was technically twenty minutes away, but he would make it in 10.

He thought he'd been scared for Beth before, when there was just the possibility of Newsome knowing about her. But it was nothing compared to the terror he felt now.

And this heart-stopping, gut-clenching anxiety wouldn't abate until he could see her with his own eyes, and know she was safe.

———

Beth leaned against her car, arms crossed, and tapped her foot on the damp concrete. To say she was pissed off was an understatement.

She'd had the day from hell, with three horrendous autopsies in a row - cases with stories so sad and tragic, she was at risk of breaking down in tears if she thought about them too long. All she wanted to do was go home to her warm, cozy apartment, put on her comfiest pyjamas and eat a tub of Ben & Jerry's.

Instead, she was on a rooftop in downtown Gotham, cold, hungry and annoyed.

Who the hell did Bruce think he was?

He'd completely ignored her for over a week, then expected her to drop everything and come running the moment he called.

And she'd done it. Dropped everything and come running.

Which meant she was just as annoyed at herself as she was at him.

But he was her only friend, the closest one she'd ever had. And yes, that was a damning indictment on her life - she'd only known the guy for a few months after all - but it was true.

And she missed him.

She wanted to see him, and make sure he was okay.

And find out why the hell he'd been avoiding her.

She'd gotten a glimpse of what a true friendship could be like, then he'd ripped it away with no warning. She'd been going crazy the past ten days wondering what had happened between them. She'd even asked a co-worker for advice, which had surprised the younger woman even more than Beth.

"Camila, what does it mean when everything's going well with someone, but then you don't hear from them for a week?"

Camila frowned and glanced around the office. "Are you asking me for help with your love life?"

"No, no, no. It's not a romantic thing." At least, not on Bruce's end, Beth thought. "He's just a friend."

"Well, its not that unusual for me to go weeks without hearing from my friends. We just pick up where we left off, and everything's fine. That's pretty normal for busy people."

She and Bruce were both busy people...but they didn't have a normal relationship. They were both so new to this type of intimacy; both so unaccustomed to having someone to trust and confide in.

Did he regret it?

Was that the explanation? Had she pushed too hard and too fast in her desperation to form a connection with him? Or did he sense that her feelings weren't strictly platonic and it freaked him out?

Whatever the reason, he needed to tell her.

Speak of the devil...

She heard the rumble of his motorbike seconds before it wheeled into view. He parked below the security camera in the corner of the open roof and wrenched out the wires from the bottom of the device. The blinking red light went dark.

What the hell was he doing?

She got her answer a moment later when he ripped off his cowl and dropped it on the seat of the bike, exposing his face to the empty rooftop. He stalked towards her. "You need to come with me." He started removing his cape.

She straightened up. "Hi, Bruce. Nice to see you again. How've you been?" The sarcasm dripped from her words.

He sighed. "I know you're upset-"

"You don't know shit! You ghost me for over a week then start barking orders at me. I'm-"

"Newsome escaped."

That silenced her. But she shook off the hint of worry. "He doesn't know I-"

"He does, Beth. He knows you were the one who helped Samantha Sterling escape."

She felt the blood drain from her face. She shook her head. "No," she whispered. "That's not possible."

"She took your ID and now Newsome has it. He's after you." His gloves came off. He held them and the cape in one hand and stretched the other out to her. "I'm going to take you somewhere safe. I won't let him get to you, I swear."

She hesitated, her mind racing. "But what about work? And I don't have anything with me..." It seemed crazy to be worrying about a lack of clean underwear and toothbrush, but she couldn't let her mind focus on the more important issue...of what might happen if Newsome found her.

"I'll take care of it. Just...please. Come with me."

He looked scared. A man who never seemed phased by anything - a man who took on the worst of Gotham night after night...looked almost frantic with fear.

That convinced her to put her gloved hand in his. He squeezed her fingers briefly. "Thank you."

He led her to his bike, where he stashed his gear in the backpack strapped to the rear. He covered the rest of his suit with the jacket she remembered from their night under the stars. Within moments, Batman was gone, and the dishevelled, grease-painted Bruce had taken his place.

He handed her a helmet. She shook out her ponytail and shoved the headgear on. "Is all this covert stuff necessary?"

He nodded and swung his leg over the bike. "We can't let anyone see you with Batman."

She climbed on behind him and carefully wove her arms around his waist. The bulky armoured suit was hard under her fingers.

"And we can't let anyone see where you're going," he added as he started the engine.

"Where is that, exactly?" she yelled over the noise.

"My place."