(Y/n) looked out onto the dark damp streets. There was still a fine drizzle of rain filling the air. The mist seeming to dust everything around her in a sheen of diamonds, the droplets of water glistening like perfect jewels under the hum of the streetlights.

She had made this journey hundreds of times, yet there was always something about the short trip between the studio and her small apartment that always put her on edge. She hadn't always lived in Gotham; in fact, she had spent many years dancing all over the world in everything from West End shows to cruise liners; but a death in the family had brought her back to Gotham. And as much as she wanted to leave again, there was something about the dark, bleak city that held her close, refusing to let her go. The metropolis holding her to its bosom, as a mother would its child.

As she stepped out of the doorway, (Y/n) looked up into the heavens momentarily letting the fine mist of water settle on her warm skin. She liked nights like this, there was something ever so slightly magical about the rain that seemed to make Gotham just ever so slightly less depressing and had a habit of keeping some of the more unpleasant residents of the city, indoors. The local criminals appearing to have a dislike for good, clean water.

Carefully (Y/n) opened her umbrella, the bright colours of the parasol, breathing some life into the darkness that surrounded her.

Tonight, she had had enough of Michael. She had had enough of his wandering hands that always seemed to find their way from her waist to the swell of her backside. She had had enough of his revolting innuendos about her mysterious fan; and she had had enough of his continuing suggestions that the two should try just one more date. (Y/n) sure that it wasn't just a date that Michael had in mind.

Months before, (Y/n) had given in, accepting Michael's offer for a quiet drink. The two ending up in some dark, seedy place downtown, a place that Michael had thought would be safe to let his hands wander to places (Y/n) had no intention of letting him anywhere near; resulting in the night ending with Michael nursing a red cheek from the slap across his face, and a very uncomfortable manhood from where his genitals had had an unfortunate collision with (Y/n)'s knee. Ever since that moment, (Y/n) had tried to avoid any suggestion of Michael's about making up for the evening, determined that having to dance with him was as close as she ever really wanted to get.

She couldn't help but let her mind wander to the mystery man. She hoped that he was out of the weather, wrapped up warm in front of a fire somewhere, rather than being one of the multitudes of unfortunate souls that were forced to live on the streets. There was part of her that couldn't help but make up all sorts of stories for the strange watcher. That he was a European aristocrat that had somehow found his way to Gotham. A prince that had come to see what real life was like. That he was an international spy, suave and debonaire, with a Walther PPK tucked just inside his large dark overcoat. Or that he was a time traveller that had journeyed to this time, only to find himself falling in love with the beautiful dancer that he had seen. (Y/n) had to admit the stories she made up for him were just pure flights of her overactive imagination; but she couldn't help but smile as she thought about the idea of her very own international spy, or debonair superhero, watching over her. Protecting her from the seedier side of Gotham life.

"Well hello, beautiful." A voice called out from behind her. (Y/n) turning to see two men approaching her.

"You know, its not safe out here. A pretty little thing such as you shouldn't be walking the streets alone at this time of night. Ya never know who is watching you." The man cooed softly, as he and his compatriot circled (Y/n). The two looking her up and down as she tried to pull her long, thick coat, tighter around her form.

"I........ I don't have much money, but.......but what I have, you can take." (Y/n) told the pair. Holding out her bag to the man that had been talking.

"You hear that, Charlie? Beautiful here thinks that we are just after some money." The man in front of her chuckled eerily. Snatching her bag from her hands and throwing it to the floor.

"Oh no, we don't want ya money, gorgeous. We want you. We've been watching you for a while, seen you coming and going from that dance place, and tonight seemed as good a time as any to finally introduce ourselves." The man growled, pushing (Y/n) up against the wall as his friend seemed to keep a look out.

(Y/n) grew wide eyed, as the man gripped her throat tightly. His other hand pulling her coat apart before it began to wander down her side. Surly this couldn't be the man that watched her. She knew that she had built him up into her knight in shining armour, that she had made him into something improbable; but she couldn't have been this wrong about her quiet fan.

As the man's grip got tighter around her throat, a darkness began to descend over her vision. She didn't want the last things that she could remember being his face, or the smell of his rancid breath as he breathed against the skin of her neck. She had tried to struggle, she had done all she could, but as it became obvious that she was never going to win, all that she could hope was that someone was watching over her. And just as she began to lose consciousness, a soft yet angry voice filled her ears. She couldn't make out the words, but as she fell to the floor, she could swear that she had seen two bright flashs and the shape of a black umbrella, twinned with the smell of fine alcohol and expensive cologne.

                                                           >>-------------------------------<<

Oswald crouched down next to his dancer, after stepping over the two dead bodies. He knew that he shouldn't follow her, but for once he was actually glad, he had. The anger growing inside of him, as he had come around the corner and seen the large man touching what he desired so much; what he wanted with every fibre of his being.

To most of those that had no idea who he was, Oswald looked too fragile to put up much of a fight; but as the two men had turned to look at him, a small smile creeping across his lips; it was more than obvious that a man didn't need to be like Butch, to make those that angered him, pay.

"I think that you will find that she is mine." Oswald told them, his voice soft but angry; before he pulled the trigger of his gun, twice.

"Miss." Oswald said softly, as he placed his palm on her cheek.

He had never seen his dancer up this close, and she was proving to be more beautiful than his already vivid thoughts had had him believe.

"Miss." Oswald said again. Moving his hand to her shoulder and shaking it slightly, in an attempt to rouse her.

Cautiously the owner of the Iceberg Lounge looked through her bag. The jangle of her keys bringing a small smile to his face. He knew where she lived, and it was obvious that she was in no fit state to make her own way there. So, as much as Oswald wasn't sure whether he wanted to reveal himself to her, just yet; he knew that he couldn't leave his frail dove like this. Oswald dropping his umbrella, and with a newly found surge of strength, he picked her up. His arms arms wrapping around her protectively as he ignored his waddle like limp and carried her the final short distance to her home; unable to stop himself from looking down at her, as he walked up the few stairs to the door. What he wouldn't give to have her know that he was holding her like this. What he wouldn't give to have her like him holding her like this; holding her so close that there was nothing between them but the night. But Oswald, despite his rise in Gotham society, had a feeling that all his dreams were just that, and that the chances of them being this close ever again were probably a million to one. For what would a goddess like this, want with him.

Opening the door, Oswald gently placed his dancer on her sofa. The soft, pillowy seats of the settee enveloping her as she sunk into the cushions. He knew that he should leave straight away. She was in her own home now, away from the streets and anyone else that may wish to do her any harm, but he couldn't help himself, just being able to be this close to her, was something that he couldn't pass up.

Slowly he pushed a few stray hairs back behind her ears. What he wouldn't give to see her eyes, he could only imagine how beautiful they were. How kind and gentle her glances would be; but as she murmured softly, Oswald knew that that was his cue to leave. Sure, that he would torture himself for the rest of the night, for his cowardice, when it came to this woman.

"Please don't go." her hoarse voice called out, as Oswald's hand reached for the doorknob. Penguin cursing himself for staying too long.

"Please." She croaked out again. A smile pulling at the corners of her lips as the seemingly slight man hesitantly turned to face her. His glorious eyes sparkling softly, as he stared at her.

"Please stay."