-1Title: Wolves and Bats.
Author: Lady Yueh
Fandom: Doctor Who/Batman
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not my property and no infringement is intended.
Character(s): Rose Tyler. Bruce Wayne
Date: December 6
Author's Notes: For my Advent Calender, a bit of holiday crossover.

A light touch makes him visibly acknowledge the presence of the woman whose approach he has long since sensed.

"Dance?" the blonde offers her hand.

He weighs the option of being trapped on the dance floor with an unknown variable or continuing to deflect the blatant advances of Alicia du Verre.

It is the way that the woman had offered that makes him agree. Nonchalant and not desperate. There had been others who had tried to play the disaffected and indifferent card in order to catch his attention but he would rather that approach than the clinging vine impression.

"Certainly. Excuse me, Alicia," he smiles charmingly to soften the blow and takes the woman's arm, ignores the glared daggers aimed at his dancing partner

"How are you enjoying your trip, Miss Tyler?" he questions as he leads her into a waltz.

She seems mildly surprised. "Didn' know I rated the interest of Bruce Wayne," she drawls cheekily.

He chuckles. "It's my business to know things like this."

She's a contradiction. Her dancing is flawless but her accent points to lower class. Something her tutors couldn't instill within her?

"S'alright," she answers. "Gotham is interesting. Scary as hell but I can respect that."

He smiles at her description. "From what I hear, London isn't much better these days."

"But tha's my city," her smirk is dangerous. "I can handle myself there. Don't exactly know the secrets of your city do I?"

Before an awkward silence can descend he falls back on the flirtatious nature of Bruce Wayne

"Excuse my forward manner but what prompted you to ask me to dance?" he question with s slightly suggestive tone.

She laughs, loudly. "You mean, why 'm I not throwin' myself at you like some tart?"

He doesn't react to her crass manner; he's heard worse.

She grins. "Well, it's Christmas Eve and you looked like a guy in distress needin' a bit of help. S' my good deed for the year. My mum will probably go spare when she hears I danced with the Bruce Wayne," she rolls her eyes with wry humor but suddenly turns serious. "You remind me of a lost friend," she confesses as her gaze caresses his face, seeing someone else. "Lost him on Christmas Eve too."

"I'm sorry," he spouts the useless platitude.

She shakes off the melancholy and offers him a tremulous smile.

"Just the eyes," she begins, "You have almost the same shade of colour and there's that intensity under that charm you show the world."

Impressed by her perspicacity he prompts her to continue with an arched eyebrow.

"Plus, you're kinda pretty," she teases. "He was too."

He laughs. "I don't think I've ever been called pretty."

She shakes her head and grins mischievously. "Though, I have to say tha' I'm a bit disappointed. Reports of your playboy qualities were very much exaggerated."

"Really?" he drawls, pulling her a bit closer.

"Really," she confirms as she continues dancing, unaffected. "Jack would've already given me shameless compliments and suggested a number of scandalous things by now."

"Sounds like a scoundrel," he comments.

"Oh, he was," she confides. "The best kind."

The song ends.

"Happy Christmas, Mr. Wayne." She brushes a chaste kiss across his cheek.

"Merry Christmas, Miss Tyler," he murmurs as she leaves the dance floor.