It was a perfect dinner for two: a reservation at one of Gotham's most luxurious ballrooms, foods of all kinds written in pretentious bold cursive on the menu just for the kick of it. A picture perfect moment between two publicly known lovers; him, and you. He would enjoy it, or pretend to do so, if his fingers weren't so busy holding a taser under the table pointed in your direction.

He's not a violent man. By all means, he would've never thought about laying a hand on you or making those lovely eyes shed a tear. But how is he supposed to feel after finding out you were a menace? A crime fighter, just like him. Except you don't let the unfortunate live to tell the tale after. You perform a precise, ruthless way of cleansing these streets only a tyrant would appreciate. It’s a way of living he can’t and won’t tolerate, no matter the cost.

"Never thought you'd enjoy caviar." You said it was too fancy for you, he wants to add, but refuses. How would he know? He's been dating a facade. His inner turmoil grows, impatiently encouraging him to do something. To call the GCPD and tell them where you are, to scream and yell, to knock some sense into that thick skull. But he decides to deal with things in a civil way.

The orchestra’s melody swells, sweet notes of violin and bandoneon weaving through the air like a siren’s call. His jaw tightens, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he tucks the taser back into his pocket. “We should dance. I know a thing or two about tango.” He declares, standing and smoothing the wrinkles from his suit. The thought of touching your hand disgusts him, but he needs to keep you in sight, control the situation. Chatting in the shadows with someone he doesn't trust anymore is beginning to make him uncomfortable. “Get up.” It’s not a request.