The humming of the once boisterous party began to fall off, dotted with screams and the thuds of bodies hitting marble floors. As madness surrounded them, his only focus was her. "Trust... who do you trust?" His voice dipped low as he held her close, the words fell with a question, but also a command. If she couldn't trust him, then she had no use to them.

He watched as a red satin finger began to etch the metallic letters of his belt. G...E...M slowly she traced each letter. That was the word he was hoping for, though she never uttered a sound. The smile deepened at the corner of his mouth knowing that she still belonged to him. Raising a glass to her mouth, she stared at the pale golden liquid inside, not exactly knowing the outcome but allowing him to push further against the glistening opening anyway. She watched as the bodies continued to fall around her, still she readily allowed him to tip the glass to her lips. Swallowing thoughtfully, she waited, hoping he hadn't lied to her as he had done so many times before. Hoping her body would not be among the others, as they laid in piles like rags beneath them. Their once opulent finery, nothing against his chaos. Her stomach clinched in fear, but she tried to show nothing on her face.

Slinging the champagne flute behind him it broke into a million pieces shattering, the shards raining down joining all the others. Drawing in her bottom lip she collected the remnants of fluid that hadn't quite made it in. He watched her intently, but he could never read her. She always seemed a little frightened, apprehensive, but of which one.

Taking her cheek in his hand so delicately she leaned into the softness of his palm. His thumb carefully wiping clean the lipstick she wore on the right side. Holding her body tighter against him she hung loosely, her arms draped around his neck. The red dress she wore pooling around her feet. With all her strength she only focused on one side of his face, trying to block out the other. In one she found madness, in the other she found freedom. The left side, this was the one she had loved and lost herself to years before. Pressing into her further his mouth consumed hers. Tearing his head away moments later, his chest heaved against her body, the kiss leaving a crimson shadow of a smile on hers. Together their lips created the perfect pair.

Holding the weight of her body he began to spin around as if the music still played within the darkened hall. "Cherry... Cherry." He hummed wistfully.

"Rozzy... Rozzy. Snap... Snap" A familiar deep voice coaxed her out of her artwork.

Looking up she saw her boss in the doorway the height of the structure making him look small in comparison. His thin frame leaning impatiently against the grain trying desperately to get her attention. His dark hair edged perfectly on golden skin; eyebrows arched disappearing behind his bangs which fluttered against thick rimmed glasses. She thought his face was always mesmerizing, but the textiles that hung just below were so boring. "Navy again, the monotony." She huffed mentally as a smile began to creep across her face. She hadn't expected a visit, but he was always a welcome surprise.

"Did you just call me Rozzy?" She questioned. He had never called her that before, as a matter of fact no one had ever called her that before.

"I've been calling you for two minutes straight, Rozanda. I thought another name would get your attention." Finally, with her acknowledgment he had been given permission to enter her office and he strutted through the doorway. Rozanda couldn't understand why he never barged in... everyone else sure as shit had. But she did like watching him walk to her desk, slowly methodically, hands dipped in his pockets, always quiet, always pensive. He was so soft and unassuming but sometimes when his voice lowered registers in anger across the conference room table, she swore there was a little fire in him. She loved that feeling as her stomach tensed at his tone, though it was few and far between.

Dipping her pen back into its inkwell. Her train of thought was lost, and she'd have to continue later. "Rogers, whatcha doing in my neck of the woods?"

"You've got a better view than I do." He pointed to the wall just outside her window. The once rust colored surface of the brick now littered with graffiti, bringing bright confetti onto an otherwise gloomy surface.

"Somehow I doubt that." She rolled her eyes looking at her editor. She had never been to his office, but she was certain he could actually see the skyline instead of just the dankness of crumbling buildings.

"You know he'll never let you print these. Why do you work on them?" His finger smoothed over the edge of the comic that she was working on, careful not to smudge the still drying ink.

"I know. But it's my lunch break and I can do what I want." Rozanda said defiantly a little tinge of embarrassment hitting her behind the ears. She knew he thought this endeavor was a waste of time. But losing herself in the world she created was far more entertaining than the world in which she lived... far less dangerous too.

"She's pretty, she kinda reminds me of you." Rogers pointed to the lead protagonist of her work. Rozanda had always loved when he spoke about her hobby, though he thought it foolish he had always seemed sweet enough to be interested.

"Oh no she's way too elegant." Rozanda thought deeply about Cherry, she wished somehow, she could find that strength within herself. Statuesque, resolute, always stunning. Her red hair falling in waves mysteriously covering an eye as she waited for him to join the party.

"So is that what you like? Should I get a suit like that... purple." His finger pointed to the other character in the frame a little less carefully as his fingernail came way too close to the moist ink within the panel. She could have swore she heard a hint of jealousy in his voice as he questioned her. The villain in the purple suit always intrigued her, also intrigued Cherry. She held a part of him, but not all and she wasn't sure she wanted the other half.

"No." She moved his finger from the page quickly. Rogers was so different from the character on the page. "No no that color's not for you... red definitely red, slim lines, so it follows the curve of your body. Clean, no lapels, wide exaggerated shoulders, white shirt, high collar etching your jawline." Rozanda had dressed him up like a paper doll in her mind a thousand different ways over the years. Sometimes gold, sometimes pink, sometimes white, red though had always been her favorite on him.

"So you've thought about this before?" He questioned with a small chuckle as every detail fell like a fact.

"I mean anything's better than your normal brown and navy." As he leaned a hip against her desk she reached out and tugged the pocket of his dark blue jacket.

"Listen, I've worn pinstripes." His tone defensive yet playful.

"Oh how groundbreaking a newspaper editor in pinstripes." She teased still tugging on his pocket.

"Hey." His voice lowered dangerously and he shoved her hand away from his pocket.

Hands up in a truce she smiled wondering why he had been so quick to shift his mood. Her hands had always been able to freely pick at him. Their exchanges were always flirtatious but never going farther than a glance, a simple touch, maybe a hand lingering far too long on the other. "What changed?"

"Fine, the pinstripes were nice... the khaki though... never again." She tried to find his smile but it never bubbled up to the surface. "I'm kidding." She tried again. Finally he looked at her and produced one feebly.

"I don't understand why you draw these. There's so much going on out there in the real world." Again that sullen mood drew him back down.

"But this is a world I created, Rogers... a world I can control. Through everything out there, at least in here, I know the outcome." Their world outside, constantly under attack. It had seemed like a never ending stream of lunacy. As soon as the Bat got one, another would pop up in its place, much like a monstrous hydra. A never ending stream of danger.

"Their chaotic Rozanda."

"But don't you think it's romantic? Even with all the insanity, burning... death they find each other. The world dropping away as they dance together." She looked at the two lovers longingly as they embraced. The black and white of the ink, against the red and green of the pages as they danced, swirling.

"Romantic?" He questioned. "They are literally dancing on dead bodies."

"They're stepping over them." Her voice pitched as she tried to reason, hoping he would see what she saw, no luck. "Besides I haven't decided if they're dead yet. Come on, live a little." She chided her straight laced superior. "It's just a comic. Fantasy never hurt nobody." Joining him on the other side of her desk she reached out a knuckle and gently etched the fine line of facial hair on his cheek. She watched as he closed his lids, taking in her touch.

With a short puff of air escaping him, he shook his head as if bringing himself back to reality. "Well someone's fantasy can be someone else's nightmare." Tossing a piece of paper on her desk. It became painfully clear why he was in such a sour mood.

Picking up the sheet, Rozanda read the words, "U better get your house in order, it's gettin' late." The letters splattered across the white page a jumbled mess of letters in all shapes and colors. 'What does that even mean? Whose house?'

"Is that him again?" Tora Tora and his Bump Squad were the latest in a very long line of those who terrorized the city.

"Yeah fourth letter this week, and it's only Tuesday." Picking up the paper he crumpled it in his fist and shot it successfully into her trash can.

"Wait, don't you need that?"

"No, we'll probably get two more tomorrow." The Gazette had steadily been printing each one. Keeping the community aware of their findings. It seemed it was exactly what Tora Tora wanted, a spectacle. "I'm not printing any more of them."

"Hold on, you said there were four, two Monday and one today, that's only three." Rozanda checked each one of the letters off her fingers: Bow Down Motherfucka, Count the Days, and now this one. Each one threatening, yet so cryptic. "Where's the fourth?"

"Mario's probably got it, don't worry about it." Shifting her train of thought back to the artwork on her desk, he pointed. "What's his name again? Scorpio... Virgo..."

"Gemini." Rozanda pushed his shoulder playfully. She knew he remembered, but for some reason he always hated to say his name correctly. Would go around calling him every other sign except for the right one. "Literally right there on his belt, ass."

"That's what you get for making fun of my pinstripes. I thought I looked nice that day."

"You look nice every day." She smiled, though she wished he would live a little outside his comfort zone.

Looking up to meet her gaze he adjusted his glasses, slightly scooting his body closer so his thigh pressed warmly against hers.

"Does he scare you?" Rogers' voice barely above a whisper leaned in closer to Rozanda. Again he adjusted his glasses nervously as he waited for her answer.

"No, of course not. He's a villain. They all have reasons they do what they do. He's the parts of people that they are afraid of, a reflection of sorts. But there's liberation in his anarchy. He does what he wants to when he wants to, he isn't regulated by anyone, certainly not even himself. They're always trying to create barriers... wealth, capitalism, education, the haves against the have nots. He wants to break all that down... part of him does... anyway." Thinking fondly of the character she created. "We stop ourselves from doing so many things because we're afraid. Aren't you tired of being afraid?"

"He beat a Sheriff to death, Rozanda I'm pretty sure I'm afraid."

"He's never done that." She responded tersely. Though she wouldn't put it past him to do so. He hated the establishment...any establishment for that matter.

"Yesterday morning, head bashed in, they said he was wearing a red scarf this time, but it was him. It was all over the news... in the paper, you didn't see it."

"Ohh yeah, no I saw." Suddenly she was brought back to the hell of her own reality instead of the romanticism of the world she would rather be in. He wasn't talking about Gemini... he was talking about Tora Tora. "The Bump Squad is wreaking havoc everywhere in the city. I can't believe people are actually leaving." Gotham again under attack for weeks with no reprieve, death, arson, theft, insanity at every turn.

"Are you?" He laced his pinky around hers as he spoke.

"No, Batman's gonna save us." The words fell from Rozanda harshly and he drew back his hand at her words. For a second she regretted her cynicism.

"At least he's trying to do something. A lot more than a lot of us have the courage for. I just..." His words fumbled. "I want you to be safe." Again his fingers reached for her softly.

She was tired of their fading touches, tired of wanting him to make the first move, but never following through. She was the one creating the barrier against her wants, not him. If Gemini had ever taught her anything it was that your wants shouldn't be dampened by the fear of others' opinions. They were already the topic of office gossip, anyway, may as well bring some truth to their lies.

"Then why don't you protect me." She had decided that the first move was going to be hers. With heavy lids, she widened his stance, smoothing her hips between his thighs as he perched on her desk. He didn't resist, only releasing a small thankful sigh. The soft chestnut of her arms brushed against the wide shoulders of his suit as she leaned her body over him, dominating her boss's smaller frame. 

"The... the door." Breathlessly he squeaked. 

"I don't care. Do you?" Rozanda whispered her lips moving closer to his.

"No." Taking off his glasses he sat back in anticipation, careful not to touch her work or spill her inks. His pelvis tilted to gently nudge against hers.