"It's Been Awhile" (R)

[Calico]

Archived at Fanfiction.net as "Broken", I've changed the name because I didn't want to get it confused with The NewCatwoman's story. The new name is from the Staind song, which I really like and if I had a soundtrack for this story it would be the first track.

Summary: This is a what-if fic that deals with Bruce Wayne during the years between hanging up the mantle and current Batman Beyond time. It opens a few years after the opening scene in 'Rebirth'. Twenty years is an awful long time for him to knock around that old house alone, so I pondered what would happen if he had a chance meeting and became interested in a woman. Will things still turn out the same? Will he be happy or is he destined to be a bitter old man? It's mostly in pre-BB time, but assumes all BB continuity, and I anticipate at least one chapter in BB time. It's a drama/romance, but not (I think) too sappy; there's enough turmoil and angst to go around.

Disclaimer: Batman/Bruce Wayne, et al belong to DC Comics and WB. I borrow with love.

Rating: 'R' for language and sexual situations.


<<<<<<>>>>>>

And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand.
When everything's made to be broken,
I just want you to know who I am.
Iris - The GooGoo Dolls

<<<<<<>>>>>>

Chapter 1 - Car Trouble

Gotham City, 2024

A very agitated woman stood next to a run down car of a faded green color, it’s rear left tire flat. The rusty 1999 Honda had seen its best days long before the woman had purchased it, but for the most part it ran well and got her where she wanted to go. Except for today. Had she known the tire was about to blow she would have taken the bus, or spent her last twenty dollars on a cab, but of course hindsight is said to be twenty-twenty. At the moment she was dressed in her best suit, tapping her sensible half-inch heeled shoe, and glancing at her watch to see her precious time draining away.

Her interview was scheduled in fifteen minutes and the large corporate headquarters were a scant four blocks away. Having been in Gotham for a little over a month without finding a job, she was desperate and was seriously considering hoofing it the remainder of the distance and letting the car deal with itself. Of course she had managed to coast into a “No Parking” zone and was almost guaranteed a ticket, if not a tow. She blew a huff of breath up to blow an errant strand of hair from her eyes. In a fit of pique caused by the indecision she delivered an angered blow with her foot to the Honda’s fender causing her more pain than the ancient vehicle.

“Need a hand?” The deep masculine voice came from behind her and she yelped as she spun around to face the speaker. The first thing that came to mind on laying her eyes on him was ‘Wow.’ Tall and broad he seemed to fill up the entire sidewalk, blue eyes that accentuated a strong brow and a sensuous mouth above a firm, square jaw, but then she noticed his salt and pepper hair that was a lot more salt than pepper.

“Thanks, but it’s just a flat. One of these days I’m going to have to learn how to fix them myself.” The last part was muttered to herself, but he picked up on it easily enough.

“Maybe your husband should teach you how.”

“Uh, not married. Anymore. I’ll be fine. Thanks.” She smiled just to prove to him how fine she would be, hoping he’d get the hint. He didn’t.

“The tire obviously isn’t going to change itself. Why don’t you open your trunk so I can get out the spare.”

She blinked a few times and looked at her watch, finally sighing in exasperation. The tire did have to be changed eventually. “Sure, okay, whatever,” she said and went to the rear of the vehicle to unlock it.

He easily lifted the spare out and laid it against the car then returned for the jack. Twenty minutes later he was replacing it into the trunk and laying the useless tire atop. With a slam he turned to face her. “You’ll need to get that repaired soon. Your spare won’t last very long, but it’ll get you where you need to go.”

She checked her watch, knowing already what it would say. “’Fraid not. I needed to be there five minutes ago.” Realizing she’d actually spoken the words out loud she cringed and said, “Sorry. I mean thank you, that was very kind.”

With narrowed eyes he asked, “Where are you supposed to be?”

She waved him away. “Nothing important. Just a job interview. I’m sure something else’ll come along.”

“Where was the interview,” he asked conversationally.

“Wayne Enterprises, in their billing department.”

He smiled and she once again found her heart beat a little irregular. “I happen to know a few people there. How about I call and get you a new interview?”

“Really that’s not necessary. You’ve done too much already. I don’t want to bother you further.”

“It’s not a bother, I’d really like to help.” He could see her wavering. “Please?”

She closed her eyes tightly for a moment and shook her head. Looking back at him with a tight smile she said, “Sure, I guess it couldn’t hurt. Thanks. Again.”

“Since you don’t have any immediate plans, perhaps you could accompany me to lunch, and I can call from there?”

Her entire posture stiffened and any hint of a smile fell from her face. “Um, listen, Mr. ah…” she motioned with her hand, indicating she wanted his name.

“Bruce, you can call me Bruce.”

“Right. Listen Bruce, let’s just forget this. I actually do have a few things I can be doing.”

“I’d really appreciate the company.” She took a deep breath, prepared to be firm in her refusal, when her stomach growled noisily. Her resolve completely shattered, she bowed her head and let the giggles come freely. Low-blood sugar tended to make one dizzy. “Shall we?” He held an arm out to her.

“My car. It’s in a tow-away zone. I can’t afford to get it out of hock.”

He nodded and reached into his pocket pulling out a small white business card and a pen. After scratching a few words on the back of the card, he placed it under the windshield wiper. “Now, any other obstacles?”

She just rolled her eyes and smiled.

<<<<<<>>>>>>

He took her to a restaurant around the block that he had frequented for several years in the days that he had actually managed to make it in to work. Having just come from signing over his life’s work to Derek Powers, Bruce Wayne was not in a good mood, but the sight of the frustrated young woman had actually given him something to take his mind off of losing control of his company.

Glancing to his right at the lady in question he took in her physical appearance. Shoulder length brown hair hung in soft curls and held out of her face by a headband. Her eyes were green, but he had noticed as she got more upset they seemed to darken to almost brown. The dove gray suit was nice, but he suspected second-hand. Her age, he estimated to be late twenties to early thirties. And she was hiding something. The detective in him couldn’t help but want to get to the bottom of the mystery she posed.

Entering the restaurant, Bruce nodded to the maitre de who smiled back brilliantly. “It’s been far too long, sir. Your usual table?” He led the two people to a secluded area in the back and handed them menus. “Your server will be along shortly. Enjoy your meal.” With a slight bow, he moved off.

Bruce eyed the young lady over the menu. She frowned at her own for a moment and then closed it, setting it on the table in front of her. “Problem?” he asked.

“No. No problem. I’ll just have a salad.”

“Watching your figure?” he asked dryly.

“I happen to like salads. And as a matter of fact I hear this place has a fantastic salad.”

“It’s really okay for you to order anything you want. It’s on me.”

She smiled and nodded. “Salad.”

The waiter arrived and Bruce gave him their orders. When the waiter had departed, Bruce turned back to her. “Do you think it’s too presumptuous to ask your name? Especially since you already know mine.”

Her head cocked to one side. “My name’s Mardi. Mardi Purcell.”

“Mardi?”

“It’s French for Tuesday.”

“I know. Unusual for a name.”

“Well, my folks were kind of unusual. Family legend says I was conceived on Mardi Gras.”

“And your middle name…?” he asked out of a perverse curiosity.

With an impish grin, she replied, “Grace.”

He nodded in appreciation of the play on words. “So are you close to your parents?”

She gave a slight shrug. “They were part of the second wave of hippies in the nineties. After I was born, they joined the Peace Corps and traveled around Asia and Africa trying to make a better world. I lived with my grandmother. I was supposed to join them when I was old enough.”

“What happened?” he asked.

She had taken a piece of bread from the basket in the middle of the table and started pulling at it, popping a bite into her mouth. She chewed for a second, and then swallowed. “My mother contracted malaria. They were so far into the jungle medical treatment wasn’t readily available.” Another bite, chew, swallow. She wasn’t even looking at him anymore, just scanning the room and looking around at the other patrons. “Her fever spiked and she died. Dad came back and did the best he could for me. My grandmother died when I was in junior high school so it was just the two of us. I know he missed my mother terribly though.”

“Do you still see him?”

The waiter brought their meals and she picked up her fork lifting a piece of lettuce to see what was underneath. “Artichokes? Who puts artichokes in a salad?” With a shrug she moved the offending pieces to the edge of the plate. “My father?” she asked once they had begun to eat. “A few years back he started forgetting things, really important things. Alzheimer’s you know.” Her eyes darted up to his in fear that she had somehow offended him. “I finally had to put him into a home. I go to visit a few times a year, not that it does any good. He doesn’t know me from the nursing staff anymore.”

“There are drugs that will help.”

He shook her head, slowly finishing a bite of her food. “Drugs that have been tested on animals. He’s very much against that. In one of his last lucid moments he made me promise never to allow the doctors to give him anything.”

“And you have no other family?”

She frowned at him, but said, “No.”

“What about your husband?”

Her fork made a clattering noise as it fell from her fingers onto the plate. Bruce noted he was not mistaken before; her eyes immediately darkened from a lovely shade of green to a deep brown as she said, in a voice like crushed glass, “What about him?”

“You mentioned you were married. What happened?”

“I don’t see that as any of your business.” She pulled the napkin from her lap and dabbed her mouth with it, as an unconscious gesture to compose herself. Then the tension seemed to seep out of her pores. “It’s nothing really. He died in a car accident.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” he said with sincerity.

“Don’t be. It was over eight years ago. We’d been married less than a year. I hardly think about it anymore.” She stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to use the ladies’ room.”

Bruce watched her as she walked towards the front of the restaurant, noting with objective pleasure the slight sway of her hips as she walked. He was half expecting her to leave the building altogether, but saw with a surprised relief that instead of turning left towards the exit, she went right, to the rest rooms. The waiter, seeing their meal finished, brought over the check, and Bruce took out his wallet, handing the young man a credit card. He asked for a telephone, which was obtained right away.

Punching in the numbers from memory, he asked to speak with the Director of Personnel. When the call was answered, he said, “Joe, this is Bruce Wayne.”

“Mr. Wayne! What a pleasant surprise. It’s been far too long. I was sorry to hear you were stepping down.”

“It was time. You can’t be in control forever you know.”

“Perhaps, but you will be missed.”

“Thank you. I was wondering if I could ask a favor of you?”

“Anything. Name it.”

“There was a young lady who had an interview today, in the billing department?”

There was a sound of shuffling papers. “There were a few. Do you know her name?”

“Purcell.”

“Ah, yes. Never showed up, I’m afraid.”

“Well, that’s the reason I’m calling. You see, it was my fault she couldn’t make it. I’d consider it a personal favor if you could offer her another chance.”

“No problem, though there looks to be a few other strong candidates.”

“I’m not asking for any special consideration, just let her try.” Bruce saw Mardi weaving her way around the tables and quickly concluded his conversation as she sat down. He smiled at her. “How does tomorrow at eleven sound?”

She blinked at him. “The job? You did it?” He nodded and the smile she gave showed a face that was incredibly beautiful, if somehow weighted down by worry, presumably involving money.

The waiter returned with Bruce’s credit card and receipt, which he signed with an impatient hand, adding a generous tip. Seeing it, the waiter said, “Thank you Mr. Wayne. We hope to see you again,” and turned to leave.

“Wayne!” she shrieked, loud enough so that the young man jumped a little before moving on. “Your name is Bruce Wayne? As in Wayne Enterprises? What kind of game are you playing? Oh you don’t just know somebody – you own the whole damned company!”

“Not anymore,” he simply said.

“Not anymore what?”

“I no longer own the company. Derek Powers has succeeded in buying up enough shares of Wayne Enterprises stock to take over. When I met you this morning I was coming back from handing the keys over, so to speak.” He leaned forward. “I didn’t get you the job. You’ll have to do that for yourself. Do you think you’re up to it?”

She bit her lower lip in uncertainty and embarrassment. “I don’t know,” she said softly.

“Well you’d better be. I pride myself on being a good judge of character. I’d rather not be proved wrong on this point.” He stood from his chair and straightened his suit jacket. “I’ll walk you back to your car.”

They walked the block and a half in silence. She was visibly relieved to see the vehicle was still on the street. She turned to him. “Thank you. For everything.”

“It was my pleasure. Good luck on your interview.” He continued up the street and Mardi watched his departure with an odd mixture of relief and anxiety.

She turned to her car and saw the small white rectangle under the windshield wiper. Gingerly she reached out and released it. On the front side of the expensive cardstock in embossed letters read “Bruce Wayne, CEO, Wayne Enterprises.” She flipped it over and saw in distinct cursive handwriting, “Please send any fines directly to me.” He had included an address and telephone number, and signed his name at the bottom. She shook her head and shoved the card into her handbag before getting into the car and driving home.

<<<<<<>>>>>>

[Calico]

Monday morning, Mardi arrived to work thirty minutes early for orientation, and then was shown to her cubicle by the office manager, Mrs. Dupre. A dozen desks, three groups of four and separated by partitions filled the area. Mardi politely nodded to her cellmates before sitting down. There was already a stack of paperwork for her to begin organizing and cataloguing.

The morning drifted by in a haze of numbers as she oriented herself to the filing system. At quarter past eleven she leaned back in her chair to stretch her arms and back. She was a little startled to here her name called out. She peered over the partition to see a deliveryman standing at the front of the room holding an enormous bouquet of flowers. Mrs. Dupre motioned impatiently for her to come forward.

With a sense of dread she walked to the front and greeted the man, signing the delivery order and taking possession of the flowers. She felt a dozen pairs of eyes on her as she returned to the desk with her new acquisition. She took a few moments to admire the flowers after setting the heavy crystal vase down. It was an exquisite arrangement: lilies, orchids, carnations, peonies, daisies. Colorful and very expensive. At the very top was a single purple rose. She wasn’t sure what purple signified, but her relief was overwhelming that it wasn’t red.

“You’re a lucky gal,” a voice came from behind her. She turned to see the entire department had converged on her to gain witness of the present. “Your husband?”

“I’m not married,” she replied absently.

“Boyfriend?” another asked.

She simply shook her head. Whoever had ordered them had put a lot of thought and expense into the gift. How could things get so screwy so fast?

“Well, aren’t you at least going to read the card,” the no-nonsense voice of Mrs. Dupre rose over the heads of the other girls.

With an imperceptible tremor in her hands, she reached over and plucked the small white envelope from the plastic three-pronged holder. She slipped a finger under the flap and removed the card. In contrast to the floral print, firm, distinct handwriting read, “Congratulations on the job. I’m an excellent judge of character.” Mardi felt faint.

<<<<<<>>>>>>

“What on earth are you complaining about? A man sends me flowers, I’m grinnin’ ear to ear for a month. What’s the problem?”

Mardi, who had her head stuck in the refrigerator looking for something edible for supper, turned to her roommate. “The problem is this guy’s more than a little creepy.”

“Creepy? He fixed your car, bought you lunch, and made it possible for you to get a job. If that’s creepy I’ll take it any day.”

“Jesse, you’re not looking at the big picture. I don’t even know this guy. He’s rich and he’s older. What does he want with me?”

“I think you’re making mountains out of molehills. So he sent you some flowers. It probably took him all of five minutes to make a phone call and have them delivered. You’re reading too much into it.”

Mardi took some leftover pizza out and sniffed it. Having passed the test she put it into the microwave and pressed a button. “He picked them out himself.” She walked to her purse and pulled out the business card then reached in to pluck the card out of the flowers. She set them side-by-side on the counter. “See. Same handwriting. He went out of his way to pick these out and fill out the damn card.”

The other woman, tall, muscular, and dark-skinned with cropped hair, grinned at her. “Well you got me beat there. So what? C’mon Mardi, have a little fun here. You’ve got an admirer.”

“Have you seen this guy Jess? He’s older than dirt.”

“Some women find older men attractive; distinguished and experienced.”

“Decrepit and senile’s more like it.”

“ ‘Me thinks the lady doth protest too much,’” Jesse teased.

“Get your Harvard-educated ass out of my way before I kick it,” Mardi muttered as she reached around behind the other woman for a plate. Jesse had been born in the inner streets of Gotham, but through a well-earned scholarship sponsored by the Wayne Foundation had been able to attend the Ivy League college, earning a double major in English Literature and education. She had returned to become a teacher in the very neighborhood she’d grown up in, accepting a fraction of the salary she deserved. As a result Mardi had answered an ad to share the two-bedroom apartment and the woman had immediately invited her to move in that same day, saving her from spending the night in her car her first night in town. In the six weeks that they’d lived together, Mardi felt she’d made the best friend of her entire life. It would make it all the more painful when the time came to move on. Although she had hoped to stay in Gotham for a while, perhaps getting lost among the millions of other desperate souls.

Jesse patted her on the shoulder. “Honey, since you’ve been here I haven’t seen you so much as have coffee with a guy. So what if he’s a little long in the tooth. It might be fun. What’s the harm?”

“I’m not looking for fun, and I don’t think he even knows the meaning of the word.”

“Your loss, but you still need to say thank you.” Mardi looked up, having just taken a bite from the slice of pizza. Jesse removed the telephone from its place on the kitchen wall. “I’ve been told some people still write thank you notes, but I think a phone call would be more personal.” Mardi was vigorously shaking her head as the phone was thrust into her hand. “Do it,” Jesse commanded as she walked out of the kitchen and into her own room.

Mardi set the phone down on the counter and stared at it suspiciously as she finished her meal. Chewing on the last bite of crust she reached across the counter and slid the business card over. If anything could be said about her, it was not that she was impolite.

Dialing the unlisted number, she held the phone to her ear and listened to the distant ringing, praying he had business elsewhere. He answered on the fifth ring with a gruff, “Wayne Manor.”

“Mr. Wayne? Uh, this is Mardi Purcell. We met last week. Had lunch?”

“Yes, I remember you.” Mardi closed her eyes. Why did his voice have to sound so damn sexy?

“Right. Well, anyway, I just wanted to call and say thank you. For the flowers. I got them today. At work.” Silently she bashed her head against the wall.

“The flowers? Did you like them?”

“They’re beautiful, but way too extravagant. You really didn’t have to.”

“No I didn’t. But I wanted to.” Mardi felt her blood pressure rise.

“Mr. Wayne, are you trying to pursue me?”

“Should I be?”

“This isn’t a joke! I’m serious.”

“I assure you, I never joke.”

“Well in that case consider this a polite, but firm…”

“I don’t think we should discuss this over the phone. I have to attend a benefit gathering at the Botanical Society this Saturday evening to view the blooming of a very rare flower. I expect it to be incredibly boring, and could use some company.”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about. I don’t really think it would be a good idea.” She drummed her fingers on the counter. “And I imagine you would have plenty of high-society types that would be more your style.”

“True, but I was hoping for some intelligent conversation for a change.”

“Well that shows what you know. I’m really a high-school dropout who can barely write her own name. You’ll have to look elsewhere.”

“Dropout?” The question hung in the air. “I have it on good authority that you not only graduated high school, but with honors, missing valedictorian by less than half a point. You did drop out of college a semester shy of earning your bachelors in business management, which happened around the time you placed your father in the group home.”

Mardi barely choked out a reply. “How did you…? You are some kind of psycho stalker, aren’t you?”

“I simply like to be kept informed of the people around me. Don’t worry, I mean you no harm.”

“Sure that’s what they all say. Right before they scalp you.” She could almost hear him smiling, not because of what she said was particularly funny, but because he knew she wasn’t really that angry. Mardi reached up and rubbed her temple.

What’s the matter, dear? He seems nice enough. Mardi’s head shot up. The voice of her grandmother sounded so real she involuntarily looked over her shoulder. Assured she had not been visited by a ghost, she responded to the mental query.

He’s like 100 years old.

Oh, stop being so melodramatic. Besides age isn’t anything but a number. You’re only as old as you feel. Mardi mentally rolled her eyes at her grandmother’s perky optimism. Even after all these years it had left an indelible mark on her psyche.

He’s just not my type, she attempted again.

Then why are you so frightened? Is it you think he may be the one to make you finally forgive yourself? You can lie to yourself, Mardi Grace, but you’ll never be able to fool me.

Mardi frowned. Idly she glanced at her bedroom. Mentally she estimated how long it would take her to pack a few essentials and hit the road, waving goodbye to Gotham City and her eccentric billionaires for good.

She was so engrossed in the inner debate, when the real live voice at the other end of the phone line asked, “Are you still there?” she jumped and almost cried out.
“Of course I’m still here,” she said testily, embarrassed at being caught daydreaming. “Where else would I be?”

“That’s a relief,” he said in smooth deep tones. “I was afraid something had happened to you.” She could almost imagine a genuine concern in his voice.

Something has. “I was just thinking. This Saturday, huh? Well, as fate would have it, I happen to be free. And I guess I owe you one, or several, I don’t know.”

“Good. Shall I pick you up around six? We could have dinner before hand.”

“No! You don’t need to pick me up. I’ll just meet you there.”

“It really is no trouble…”

“I said I’ll meet you,” she replied firmly.

“Very well. We’ll meet at six in front of the Gotham Botanical Society. You can choose where we eat this time if you’d like.”

“Super.” She felt like crawling out of her skin. This was like skydiving without a parachute.

“One last thing. This will be a formal event. Men in black tie, women in evening dress. Will you have any trouble…?”

“What do you think I am, some bag lady? I’ve got it covered.”

“Till Saturday then.”

“Bye.”

The line went dead in her hand and Mardi fervently wished she could do the last ten minutes over. There was a shriek to her left and she saw Jesse come out of her room, where she’d apparently been eavesdropping. “Alright! I knew you could do it!” She came over and gave Mardi’s shoulder a big squeeze.

Mardi nodded, feeling slightly nauseous. “There’s just one problem.” Jesse cocked her head in question. “I’ve got to find a formal evening dress.”

“I think I’ve got just the thing.”

<<<<<<>>>>>>

[Calico]

Bruce hung up the phone and frowned at it. He hadn’t really expected her to accept. He hadn’t even expected her to call.

He picked up a sheaf of papers on the desk before him. A few phone calls had netted him with enough information about her to make him seriously question her motives. She had held fourteen jobs in the last eight years. All of her former employers proclaimed that she was hard working, considerate, and indispensable. In almost every case she had left with little or no notice, often citing ‘family emergency’ as her reason for leaving. Even so, every employer promised she would be hired back with no qualms. He suspected she was running away from something or someone.
After quitting college she had taken a job at an accounting firm, where she worked for almost five years, until she married one of the CPAs named Darren Shelbey. Seven months later he was dead.

Bruce pulled out the copy of the accident report and the death certificate that had been faxed to him. The coroner’s report stated death due to a severed spinal cord at the second vertebrae, findings consistent with the reported trauma caused by the two-person motor vehicle accident. According to the statement of the police officer who first arrived at the scene, there was no evidence of driver error. The driver was listed as Mardi Purcell Shelbey. It was less than a month after the funeral that she had left the town she was born in, grew up in, and married in, and as far as he could tell, she had never been back.

He sat back with a sigh and listened to the silence of the old house. He almost expected Alfred to come through the door with a tray of tea. But he was gone. The emptiness of the house never bothered him in the course of his duties, but he was discovering that retirement was boring as hell.

Shaking himself out of the reverie, he reached for the phone and dialed a number. He waited – three rings, four – and then the call was answered. “Major Crimes Unit. Lt. Gordon speaking.”

“Barbara. How are you?”

“Bruce,” the voice said after a moment. “It’s been a while. How are you doing?”

“I’m as well as can be expected. I’d like you to do something for me.”

“What?” she asked, caution clearly in her voice.

“I need you to check for a police record.”

“Why?”

“Just to set my mind at ease.”

“Who is it?”

“The name is Mardi Purcell.” He spelled both names and gave her date of birth and social security number.

“Who is she?” Barbara asked, but he could her the clicking of her computer keyboard in the background.

“No one important.”

“Then why do you care if she has a record,” Barbara retorted sharply. “Is there something you’re not telling me? I know the last few years have been hard for you, but I may not be there next time if you do something foolish.”

He sighed. “She’s just somebody I’ve meet. It’s personal.” He sat back and listened to the distant noises of Gotham PD’s finest at work. Though their relationship had been strained at its best since she left both Batman and Bruce Wayne, he considered her a very special person. After his final outing as the Batman, trying to save Bunny Vreeland, when the suit had become more of a burden than an asset, when he’d had to turn to a gun for self-protection as his body protested against his will, he’d somehow managed to return to the cave, chest tight and breath short. Barbara was the one person he could call. She came and helped him out of the suit and upstairs where she stayed with him, holding his hand, as they waited for the ambulance. When he came home from the hospital he closed up the batcave for good. The time had come for the Dark Knight to retire. But what was he if he wasn’t Batman?

“I’ve got something,” she said.

He leaned forward. “What?”

“When she was 21 she was arrested for shoplifting. Apparently she was rushing a college sorority and that was one of the prerequisites. All charges were dropped.”

“That’s it?”

“Disappointed? Yes that’s it. Listen, I heard the news about Powers. I’m very sorry.”

“Don’t be, it was bound to happen sooner or later. He’s been gunning for Wayne Enterprises for years.”

“You’re taking care of yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t stay cooped up in that house, Bruce. It’s not healthy.”

“As a matter of fact I have something going on this weekend.”

“Good. While I have you on the phone, there’s something I’d like to tell you. I wanted you to be the first to know.” Her voice was hesitant.

“I’m listening.”

“Sam has asked me to marry him.” Sam Young, the up and comer in the District Attorney’s office, who Barbara had been seeing for the last year. “Bruce? Did you hear me?”

“I’m very happy for you,” he said.

“There’s more. Since my dad, well, you know, since he’s gone, I was hoping that maybe you would consider walking me down the isle. If it’s too uncomfortable for you, I’ll understand.”

Bruce closed his eyes. He wasn’t certain he’d even want to attend the event, much less give the bride away. It wasn’t that he had any lingering feelings towards Barbara, but no man liked to see a former lover marry someone else; it was a matter of pride. Clark and Lois’ wedding had been bad enough, and Clark even had the gall to ask him to be best man. This was almost too much for anyone to bear. “I’d be honored Barbara. When’s the date?”

“Oh it won’t be for a year or two. It’ll take that long for us both to rearrange our schedules so we can have a proper honeymoon.

“I’m worried about you,” she said suddenly.

“Why?”

“I’m afraid…Oh never mind. Just promise me you’ll stay out of trouble.”

“Of course.”

“Stay in touch.”

He hung up the phone, realizing the evening had come, leaving him in darkness. He sat alone at his desk in the night that he was most comfortable with, the tick of the grandfather clock keeping time with his own heartbeats. After a while he feel asleep.

<<<<<<>>>>>>

She was waiting on the steps of the Botanical Society building as he walked up the street. She was wearing a full-length burgundy strapless dress made out of some iridescent material that brightened and darkened as she moved in the waning evening light. Two inch black velvet heels adorned her feet and she wore a matching black velvet wrap to protect her exposed shoulders from the evening chill. Her hair was styled expertly, sculpted around her face. He thought she was wearing makeup, but not so much that it did no more than accentuate her features. A teardrop diamond pendant hung around her throat with matching diamonds dangling from her ears.

He paused twenty feet away and simply observed her as she nervously eyed the flow of pedestrian traffic before her. Her eyes darted to and fro taking in every face that passed. Looking for him, or on alert for someone else, some threat? It didn’t take long for her to finally spot him. He closed the distance to join her.

“Hi,” she said first.

“Hello,” he replied. “You look stunning.”

“You really think so?” she asked anxiously. “This is my roommate’s dress. She wore it as a bride’s maid in her sister’s wedding.” She reached up to grab the upper bodice edge and gave it a firm shake. “Unfortunately she fills it out much better than I do.”

“I think you fill it out perfectly,” he replied quietly, hoping she didn’t notice the catch in his breath.

Grinning up at him, she said, “Thanks. And you’re not looking half bad yourself. Something about men in tuxedos is terribly sexy.” As soon as the words left her mouth she blushed fiercely.

Choosing to avoid replying, and therefore save a portion of her dignity, he said instead, “Where would you like to eat? There is a restaurant over by…”

“Right there,” she interrupted him pointing to the end of the block.

Following the direction of her finger he could see no eating establishment in view. The Botanical Society’s building and its accompanying gardens took up the entire block. All he could see was a silver cart with an umbrella standing on the corner.

“A hot dog stand?”

“Sure, my treat. Are you up for it, or has too much champagne and caviar spoiled your palate to life’s basic pleasures?”

“A hot dog is one of life’s basic pleasures?” he asked skeptically.

“You bet. Let’s go.” She took off down the steps and up the sidewalk. Warily he followed.

The vendor was in the process of taking down his stand for the evening as they walked up. “Are we too late?” she asked and Bruce willed the man to say yes.

“I got a couple left,” the vendor replied.

“Great. Two please. Catsup, mustard, and relish.” She turned to Bruce. “We’ll start you off easy. Next time you can move onto the harder stuff, like chili.”

The vendor reached into his steamer and removed the last two hot dogs, adding the condiments as requested. “That’ll be eight dollars.”

Mardi reached into her bag and pulled out a ten. “Keep the change.” She took one dog and handed the other to Bruce. They drifted away from the cart. She took a huge bite of hers while he eyed his suspiciously. Dick and Tim had both eaten hot dogs on a regular basis, but Bruce had never found any desire to try them.

“What’s the matter? Give it a try.” She went for a second bite and he could see a glob of the toppings hang precariously from the end. She was an expert, though, and contorted her body at the last minute so it dropped harmlessly to the ground.

Throwing caution to the wind he shoved one end into his mouth. He savored the warm, saltiness of the meat mixed with the sweet and tangy contrast of the condiments, then swallowed. For the first time in his life, Bruce Wayne discovered he liked hot dogs.

Mardi watched in awe as he finished the entire thing in three more bites. After he swallowed the last she asked, “Well?”

“Not bad,” he replied noncommittally.

She reached up with a napkin and wiped his chin. It was an automatic and innocent gesture, yet it sent a jolt of electricity through his entire body. “You’ve got a spot of mustard,” she explained softly.

They threw their trash into a nearby receptacle and by silent consent began to walk down the sidewalk that ran along the perimeter of the gardens.

“Were you ever married?” she asked after they’d fallen into step.

“No, but I was engaged once.”

“What happened?”

“Things just didn’t work out.”

“And you never met anyone else you wanted to share your life with?”

He paused before answering. “There were several. In the end my work always took priority. I just couldn’t have it both ways.”

“So you’re all alone because you were a workaholic. Was it worth it? Any regrets?”

“It’s really not all that important.”

She shrugged, letting the topic drop. After a few moments she asked hesitantly, “How old are you?”

“How old are you?” he retorted, even though he knew the answer already.

“I asked first.”

“58.”

“35.” She inhaled deeply, and then said, “That’s almost 25 years difference.”

“I know.”

They had come to the end of the block and rounded the corner automatically. Bruce realized they were now at the back of the gardens. The street that lay on their right was little more than a service alley used for deliveries with very little traffic. It was dark and isolated. He frowned, his instincts crying out with foreboding. He was about to suggest they turn around when a figure immerged from the shadows in front of them. A young man, hair unkempt, clothes dirty and rumpled, holding a knife in one hand approached them.

Bruce heard Mardi gasp in surprise and he attempted to pull her behind him. “No way,” the kid said. “Give me your wallet. And I’ll be taking your jewelry too,” he said motioning to Mardi’s neck.

Her hand flew up to cover the necklace. “My father gave me these.”

“So you’d die to keep them?” The mugger leaned forward, reaching out with the knife to illustrate his threat was not idle.

The man was so focused on intimidating Mardi that Bruce easily reached out and grabbed the wrist that held the knife. He gave a hard twist. The sound of bone snapping was heard only seconds before the thief cried out in agony. Bruce released the hand and watched the man crumple to the ground, the knife clattering harmlessly away. “You broke my hand,” he screeched, tears of pain running down his dirty cheeks.

Bruce bent down towards him and said, “Consider yourself lucky. I’d find another line of work if I were you.”

He turned and grasped Mardi by the upper arm, leading her back the way they had come. He was angry and exhilarated at the same time.

“You broke his hand!” she exclaimed.

“Yes.”

“But how? How on earth did you do that?”

“I was just lucky.”

She stopped, leaving him no option but to stop as well unless he wanted to drag her down the street by her arm. “Lucky? I think you can do better than that.”

“It’s not important.”

“One of these days you’re going to have to tell me what things are important.” Her brows knit together and she reached up to pry his fingers away from her arm. He could see the red marks they had left and realized in his determination to get her to safety he had hurt her. By morning the marks would more than likely be black and blue.

Instead of being angry, she gently took his hand in her own and began walking again.

<<<<<<>>>>>>

As they passed under the great arched doorway of the Botanical Society, with it’s sculpted vines and blossoms, Mardi slipped her hand out of Bruce’s grasp surreptitiously. She didn’t think it would be appropriate to show such a public display of affection, and she was fairly sure he would agree. It was simply a matter of being the first to do it; pride goeth before a fall, Jesse would probably quote to her.

Less than an hour had passed since she saw him overtly watching her from a distance, and her emotions were in turmoil. She still couldn’t believe she’d actually been bold enough to wipe the spot on his chin. It had been such an intimate moment; his eyes boring into her had caused a flush of pleasant warmth. Unconsciously she soothed the sore spot on her arm. The ease with which he’d disarmed the mugger, the dark edge that seemed to settle in his voice, even the way he had looked at her when she questioned him – Mardi was certain there was a Bruce Wayne deep inside that few people got to see, perhaps dangerous. Unfortunately that didn’t dispel the feelings that were growing inside her.

Yet now as she quietly walked among the crème de la crème of Gotham society, she saw something else. His shoulders, still broad and well defined beneath the tailored tuxedo jacket, seemed slightly more rounded; his voice gained a lighter tone; and his face became more animated in conversation than she had ever seen. This was a public persona if she’d ever seen one. Drifting closer to him, she had to wonder to herself, which one is real?

He was speaking to a short dowager with silver hair and an excessive amount of jewelry, nodding and smiling at everything the lady had to say. Mardi was finding it increasingly difficult to keep her eyes off of him; she couldn’t recall ever being so attracted to anyone in her life. As she took a sip of her wine, he looked up and beckoned for her to join them.

Holding his hand out, he said, “Mrs. Filmen, I’d like to introduce you to my date for this evening. Mardi Purcell. Mardi, this is Estella Filmen, chairwoman for the Society.”

“How do you do?” Mardi asked demurely with a smile.

“I’m marvelous, my dear. This handsome gentleman has just promised that the Wayne Foundation will match all the proceeds from tonight’s gala. That will more than cover the cost of renovating the balsa exhibit you know we were so desperate for.

“Bruce, I just wanted to tell you how well you look. How long has it been since your heart attack? Almost three years isn’t it? I’m so glad you’re taking better care of yourself.

“Oh my there’s Phillipa Durham. I must say hello. Will you excuse me please?” Estella strode of if a swish of silks and lace.

Aghast, Mardi turned to Bruce, who was still wearing an incongruous grin. “You had a heart attack?”

The grin faded to a slightly amused and much more natural looking smirk. “A few years ago. I’m fine now.”

Unconvinced, she continued. “Oh my God! You changed my tire that day. And I made you eat a hot dog! All that fat and processed meat. God, what was I thinking?”

He put a hand on her shoulder. “I said I was fine. Don’t worry, you won’t kill me.”

She knew he had said it in jest, but she felt the blood drain from her face all the same. Her ears rang with the words, and she lost the feeling in her hands, the wine glass slipped unheeded on to the floor. The crash caused many heads to turn their way, and she thought this might just be the time she’d discover what it felt like to faint. A server came out of nowhere to clean up the spilled wine and shattered glass. Bruce’s arm went around her waist and he hurried her away from the murmuring crowd, leading her up a staircase to an unused upper level terrace that looked down onto the main floor. It was darker up there, all the spotlights focusing on the floor below.

Mardi moved to the terrace’s rail and sat against it, affording herself a view of the festivities. Servers bearing trays of hors d’oeuvres or champagne weaved their way through a sea of overdressed, bejeweled men and women, all awaiting the bloom of a single flower.

She sensed Bruce’s movements in the shadows as he came closer. “I’m fine,” she said. He was silent. He was close, so close she could almost feel the heat radiating from his body, but she didn’t look up from the party scene. Swallowing a lump in her throat, she said, “I killed my husband.”

“I doubt that,” he said mildly.

“Remember I told you he died in a car accident? Well I was driving. The police said it wasn’t my fault, but they weren’t there. They don’t know.” A hand gently gripped her shoulder. “We were fighting, you see. It seemed like all we ever did was fight. We were newlyweds and I can’t remember a single day that didn’t end badly.” She paused for a breath, licking her lips. “He was in a foul mood, and I was trying my best to ignore him. I just wanted to get home. Then he said something, I don’t remember exactly what anymore, but it was one of those stupid things he said to get me going. He couldn’t stand having an argument without me. It made me so mad I took my eyes off of the road, I looked at him to tell him,” she dropped her head and looked at her hands, “To tell him what an ******* he was.

“When I looked back at the road, there was a little girl. She had chased a ball from her yard. She was so close there was no time to brake, and I just turned the wheel as hard as I could. I missed her, but we careened into the side of a garbage truck, you know the ones as big as tanks. The impact was so hard I think I blacked out for a second. He was killed instantly. I broke my leg in two places. I couldn’t walk for a month.”

“And you ran away as soon as you could?”

For the first time she looked up at him. “I had to. Don’t you see? Almost from the moment I said ‘I do’ I wanted to divorce him. But I couldn’t stand the idea that I’d failed at marriage. I’d always looked down on people who couldn’t be bothered to make their marriages work, I didn’t want to be the same type of failure. And all of a sudden I’m the grieving widow, able to go on with my life? It was the answer to my prayers and it just wasn’t fair. I have these dreams sometimes, where I’m trapped in the car with him. I can tell he’s dead from the way his head is hanging limply, but somehow he manages to look up at me and says so sweetly, ‘I hope you’re happy now Mardi. You’re free.’”

“So you keep moving, never staying in one place for very long, just in case you might actually find some of that happiness you don’t think you deserve anymore? Would he want you to keep punishing yourself over this?”

“This isn’t about him, not at all. It’s only about me.”

He was standing in front of her now, staring down with inscrutable eyes. His hand came up and he gently pushed his fingers into her hair, cupping the back of her head. Her scalp tingled and she shivered as he leaned in closer, finally laying his lips against hers. She stiffened for a fraction of a second as he started to kiss her, and then allowed herself to relax. She had one bright flash of thought – He’s old enough to be my father – before wrapping her arms around his neck and completely let her mind go blank, allowing the heat of passion course through her veins.

The shadows of the balcony hid them from the bustling activity below, but it could not shelter them from the sounds of applause and muted cheering that suddenly rose up. They drew apart and looked down as the entire group surrounded the endangered plant that had been the entire reason for the gathering. Mardi swallowed, her heart pounded in her chest. “I guess we missed the big event.”

“I didn’t miss anything.” He bent and kissed her again, though it did not resume with the same heat as before. Pulling away from her, but not releasing the hold on her head, he said bluntly, “Come home with me tonight.”

She licked her lips. In a husky, almost desperate voice, she said, “Only as long as we understand each other. There’s a - a tension that needs to be relieved, but nothing beyond that. Tonight is what it is. Agreed?”

Instead of answering he took her hand and led her back down to the main floor. Escaping, however, was easier said than done. No less than a dozen people wanted to shake hands with Bruce and offer their sincere thanks for his charitable efforts. He smiled, nodded, and made his excuses for early departure where possible. Flying low on the radar, Mardi hovered at the outer edge and watched him slowly make his way towards her. With a mind of its own, her body responded to every movement he made, every facial expression. It seemed either supreme torture, or exquisite foreplay. Finally they were able to collect their things and make their way out. On the still busy sidewalk he looked at her and asked, “Where are you parked?”

“I took a cab.”

Wordlessly he placed a hand on the small of her back and led her to his car.

In what seemed like hours, they arrived at Wayne Manor. Bruce unlocked the front door and allowed her to enter first. A small lamp was lit at the end of the entranceway, but the rest of the house sat in murky dark. As he removed her wrap she remarked, “Don’t you have a butler, or something?”

“I did up until ten years ago. He died.”

“Why didn’t you hire someone to replace him?”

“No one could replace Alfred,” he replied mournfully.

“I see,” she said, although she really couldn’t understand. “So you live in this gloomy museum all by yourself now?”

A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. “Most people call it ‘stately’.”

She stepped forward and drew her fingertips slowly down the lapels of his jacket. Leaning forward conspiratorially, she whispered, “Most people are trying to kiss your ass.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist and began kissing her again, as she slid her hands beneath the jacket to feel the hard muscles of his chest. He pulled her close and started to nuzzle her neck. She cleared her throat. “What do you call this part of the house we’re standing in?”

“The grand foyer,” he responded against the soft skin of her throat.

“Well as grand as it is, I don’t think it’s really appropriate for what’s going to happen in about five minutes.” With a bemused look he turned and brought her up to the master bedroom. A sudden attack of nerves caused Mardi to start questioning what they were doing. He was sitting on the bed, the silver moon made the whole room glow. Standing before him, she combed her fingers through his hair. “It’s been a long time; there hasn’t been anyone since my husband died.”

“It’s been considerably longer for me,” he replied shortly.

“Why? Why now? Why me?” Her heart pounded erratically and her tongue seemed to have swollen to twice its normal size.

He looked at her with narrowed eyes. “Retirement has not been as satisfying as they lead you to believe.”

“Maybe you need to take up a hobby, like stamp collecting. Think about your heart; this might not be such a good idea…oh my…” He placed soft kisses along the top of her breasts, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their path.

His hands reached around and she heard the small ripping sound of the zipper being lowered. “Shut up,” he said gruffly. And she did. There were moans, sighs, and one brief cry, but she didn’t say another word for the rest of the night.

<<<<<<>>>>>>

[Calico]

I only smile in the dark
My only comfort is the night gone black
I didn't accidentally tell you that
I'm only happy when it rains
You'll get the message by the time I'm through
When I complain about me and you
I'm only happy when it rains

Pour your misery down...pour your misery down
Pour your misery down on me...pour your misery down

Only Happy When It Rains, Garbage

<<<<<<>>>>>>


The midmorning sun streamed through the open drapes causing her to moan in protest and roll into the pillow face first, a futile effort to reclaim the dream she’d been having. For once it hadn’t been about her dead husband, but a pleasant afternoon picnic with her father under a great oak tree, with sandwiches her grandmother had made. But the damage was done and the dream faded back into her subconscious. She rolled back over and opened her eyes. The room was completely unfamiliar, the massive bed felt strange beneath her, and she was alone. Moving slightly, the silk sheets whispered against bare skin.

As the cobwebs of sleep were dispelled, memories took their place. Her skin felt flushed as she remembered the previous evening’s events. In the seventeen years since losing her virginity on the eve of her high school graduation, she had never experienced anything like it. He was single-minded and intensely diligent in his efforts to the point where she was not even certain he’d been aware of his surroundings.

She peered over the edge of the bed to see Jesse’s dress a crumpled heap on the floor. Have to get it dry-cleaned now. She balked at having to wear the garment again, it would be garish in the daylight, but figured it would be preferable to the alternative. Flipping back the bed covers and swinging her legs over the side, she happened to notice a stack of clothes at the foot of the bed. Not believing it to be a coincidence, she pulled the pile towards her. On top was a sweatshirt with “Gotham State University” printed on the front. Underneath was a matching pair of sweatpants. She placed the shirt to her nose. It smelled clean, but stale, as if it had been in storage for a long time. They were much larger than she, but the pants had a drawstring she could tie to keep them from falling down around her ankles. Mardi dressed quickly, and then availed herself of the master bathroom’s facilities to wash her face and put her hair in some semblance of order.

She paused at the bottom of the stairs, trying to get her bearings from the night before and wondering where Bruce might have gone. Poking her head into the dining room she saw him sitting out on an adjoining deck, accessed through a pair of French doors. He saw her and motioned for her to join him. The patio set was wrought iron painted white with a glass tabletop and floral patterned cushions. “Help yourself,” he said, motioning to the array of breakfast items spread out before him.

She took a piece of toast after sitting and spread a dollop of orange marmalade across it. She accepted a cup of tea that he offered from a delicate china teapot, adding sugar and milk to it. After a few moments of silence she asked casually, “Have you been up long?”

“No. I’m not really a morning person. Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah. I must have been sleeping like the dead, I didn’t even hear you get up.”

“I’m used to being quiet.”

“I guess I should thank you for the clothes. Are they yours?”

“No.”

“Will the owner be expecting them back?”

“No.”

“You’re a real chatterbox this morning.” He didn’t answer and she looked over at the manicured lawn. He must have a service come regularly to maintain it, she thought. “How about giving me the ten cent tour before I go. Maybe it will look more stately in the daylight.”

He took her around the estate and back into the house, allowing her to admire some of the artwork he had kept on display, although more and more of the rooms were being closed off, furniture covered with protective sheets, since one person had no use for so much.

Passing through the parlor she looked up to a large portrait hanging above the fireplace. A man and a woman stared down, smiling like a royal couple benevolently surveying their kingdom. “Who are they?” she asked.

“My parents.”

“The look nice.”

“They were.”

“What happened to them?”

He was quiet for so long she thought he must not have heard her. Then as she was about to repeat the question he said, “They were murdered by a two-bit thief right in front of me. I was eight years old.”

She turned to him. “That’s so tragic. I’m so sorry. You must have been traumatized.”

“I survived. It was the defining moment of my life.”

“How so?” He stared at her. “How did it define your life?” His face was stone, she couldn’t read anything from it, but really what did it matter? With a sigh of resignation she said, “I’ll just go grab my things and call a cab.” She turned and headed towards the parlor door.

“You’re angry.” It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even an accusation. It was more of an expectation.

She whirled back around with a smile devoid of happiness. “If I was any other woman then I probably would be; you’ve barely spoken to me this morning. But I’m not really bothered by it. We agreed last night would be what it was. And maybe if I’d been any other woman I’d be a little upset that I confided my most painful secret to you at great personal expense and what do I get in return?

“Yet I am not other women. You can feel free to remain in your realm, alone by your own choosing, alone perhaps because of a tragic loss at a young age, or maybe because you’re just not a nice person. That loneliness is for you and you alone to keep close. Let it continue to define you.

“I do have to wonder what about me drew you out. I doubt it was my charming smile or witty repartee. You sensed something in me. I think deep down inside you’re simply a broken little boy looking for someone as broken as he is.”

The silence that followed settled around them like a ton of bricks. She dropped her eyes to the floor and resumed her exit from the room.

“I’ll drive you home.”

“That’s not necessary. You’ve done more than enough already.”

Stiffly she walked from the room. Despite her assertion to the contrary, she was angry. And the reasons for her anger greatly disturbed her. Being with him last night had felt so right. All he’d have to do is ask you to stay and you would, in a heartbeat, the small voice in the back of her mind taunted. No! she cried out to herself. I can’t want that, because he won’t, and wanting what I can’t have will be all that much worse.

She made it as far as the third step up to the second floor when an arm wrapped around her waist and hoisted her backwards. She yelped as her feet briefly left the ground, and then came to a jarring stop against his massive chest. He spun her around and held her firmly with one hand on each hip. Having nowhere else to go, her hands settled gently on his forearms. Please, oh please, she thought desperately. Please ask me to stay.

“You always have to have the last word don’t you?” She nodded dumbly. “I said I’ll drive you home and that’s what I’m going to do.”

“If you insist,” she replied tightly.

“I do. I’ll wait here for you.” He released her. She went back into the master bedroom to collect her belongings.

The dress was tucked under her arm and she hugged it like a talisman as she rejoined him. There was no conversation during the drive other than the few monosyllabic directions she gave him to her apartment building. He found a parking spot on the opposite side of the litter-strewn street and pulled to a stop. Critically he surveyed the gray and run-down buildings, the dirty sidewalks, and the tired residents who regarded him with equal parts skepticism and distaste.

“Thanks for the lift,” Mardi said quietly as she opened the door. “Keep in touch,” she finished ironically.

Ignoring the obvious sarcasm he joined her on the street. “I’ll escort you to your door.”

She briefly considered protesting, pointing out that in the twenty-first century women were capable of moving from point A to point B with little or no assistance, but gave up at the mere sight of his jaw so set and determined. Slowly but surely she was learning this was not a man for whom ‘no’ was an acceptable answer. “Whatever,” she called over to him as she crossed the street, barely avoiding a speeding car. He caught up with her as she entered the front door. In the corner of the vestibule was a homeless man who acknowledged her by name, to which she responded with a nod and a smile.

“The elevator’s broken. I’m on the fifteenth floor.”

As they topped the fifteenth floor landing she found herself slightly winded and was momentarily concerned that he may have pushed himself too far, but looking back he wasn’t even fazed by the exercise. What on earth must he have done to cause a heart attack?, she thought to herself. They walked the long hallway to her door, which was the last one on the left side. The walls were thin and snatches of conversation could be heard coming from the neighboring apartments.

“Well, this is it.”

“I don’t like you living here. It’s not safe.”

“It’s affordable and luckily for both of us you have no say in the matter.”

He looked at her intently. “I could arrange for you to…”

“No!” she stopped him with a raised finger. “Never.”

“I didn’t mean any offense.”

She nodded and held out her hand in what, she hoped, was a gracious gesture. “Goodbye Bruce,” she whispered.

Instead of taking it, he cupped his hand behind her neck and bent down to deliver a kiss on her forehead. It was simple and elegant and tender. He released her and took a step back, face as impassive as before. “You know how to reach me, if you need anything.” Then he was gone.

Mardi retrieved her house key from her bag and let herself into the apartment. Jesse, who was reading on the couch, leaped to her feet with a cry. “Where on earth have you been? I almost called the cops when you didn’t come home last night.”

Mardi leaned back wearily against the door. “Why didn’t you?”

“’Cause I figured you got lucky,” Jesse replied with a smile.

“So I could be dead in a gutter and no one would be looking for me because you assumed I was screwing some guy I just met?” It came out a lot harsher than she intended and felt immediately remorseful when she saw the look on her friend’s face. She walked forward and plopped down on the couch, defeated and deflated. “I’m sorry.”

Jesse sat next to her, draping her arm along the back. “Well, where were you?”

“I spent the night with him,” Mardi replied miserably.

“Was it that bad? Sometimes when men get to a certain age things just don’t work right anymore.”

Mardi looked up. “Oh that was fine. Better than fine, spectacular even.”

Jesse squealed and gave her a quick hug. “That’s great! So when are you going to see him again?”

“I’m not.” She stood up and unfolded the dress. “I’ll get this cleaned for you. Thanks for letting me borrow it.” She moved off towards her bedroom.

“Why not?” Mardi turned. “Why aren’t you going to see him again?”

“Jesse, do you know what they call women who go after rich, older men? It’s not pretty.”

“Who cares what other people think? Do whatever makes you happy.”

“That just won’t happen. He couldn’t possibly make me happy.” She reached for the doorknob and turned it.

“You just plan on being alone and miserable for the rest of your life? Why is it so hard to believe he could be the one to make you happy?”

Stepping into the room she replied quietly, “Because he’s just as miserable as I am.”

As she closed the door behind her she heard Jesse yell out, “Misery loves company!”

<<<<<<>>>>>>

[Calico]

What would be true?
Sometimes I see your face,
The stars seem to lose their place
Why must I think of you?
Why must I?
Why should I?
Why should I cry for you?
Why would you want me to?
And what would it mean to say,
That, "I loved you in my fashion"?
Why Should I Cry For You?, Sting

<<<<<<>>>>>>

He was walking on the treadmill in the small exercise room he’d created off of the kitchen. There was no use for the training equipment downstairs anymore, which would probably kill him if he attempted to use it now. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing, he thought sourly, watching a small blue bird land in the giant maple tree just outside the window.

Walking. He was walking at a very firm, but sedate pace. Once he could have run at twice that speed for hours. Now he had to walk. But it kept him occupied and fit. Bruce Wayne would not let himself fall into laziness just because there was nothing else to do. The whole of his future spread out before him, a void of nothingness. Just how long could he reasonably expect to live? “You’re as strong as a horse Wayne,” the doctor had said. “I’ve seen men twenty years younger and not in as good shape. You just keep an eye on that heart, moderate exercise and proper diet, and you’ll live to a ripe old age yet.”

A ripe old age? Impatiently he pressed the off button and the conveyer belt halted beneath his feet. Wiping a hand across his forehead, he frowned. Didn’t even work up a sweat. Time. Time had turned into his greatest foe. Of all the malignant, ruthless, deadly, and utterly insane opponents he’d come up against as the Bat, it was time that was going to kill him. Time and his own damn heart.

“Damn,” he muttered, slipping on a pair of sparing gloves. He was in a fowl mood. Had been since Sunday evening. Maybe not having other people underfoot anymore was a good thing. He could wander from room to room and vent his temper without so much as a raised eyebrow. Then again, anger wasn’t good for the heart, was it?

A large, stuffed canvas bag hung from the ceiling. He swung at it and landed a solid punch, the bag swayed slightly on its chain. A couple more jabs, then an uppercut. The topmost link in the chain squeaked melodically on the eyebolt in contrast to the dull thuds of the punches.

She’d left. They all did eventually. Of course he did nothing to encourage her to stay. He closed his eyes and gave the bag a solid smack that he felt deep in his chest. After all this time it shouldn’t matter anymore. He’d made his proverbial bed, and he was content to lie in it, alone, for the rest of his days. What was it she said? “A broken little boy.” Bam, bam! The bag swung even harder. She’d known him for twenty-four hours and she was psychoanalyzing him. Ridiculous. Then why the hell did it bother him so much? Because it was so familiar.

Fifteen years ago, there’d been a break-in at an upscale jewelry shop and a sapphire necklace with a perfect oblong flaw in its center, giving it the name ‘cat’s eye’, had been stolen. It was completely obvious who the culprit had been, and Batman had spent the better part of the evening chasing her. She would let him get close and then slip away with a wink and a laugh. For hours they hopped building to building, swinging along the urban jungle in a dark parody of the Edgar Rice Burroughs character. It was a slow crime night and Batgirl was patrolling, so he was able to devote himself to the pursuit entirely. And let’s be honest, it was not entirely unpleasant. Then she stopped, waited for him atop the Greater Gotham Fidelity Building, just standing there, an easy smile on her face and a hand held out with the necklace dangling from one dainty cat claw.

He paused as he landed and regarded her skeptically. “Catwoman,” he said, wary for a trap. While Selina Kyle played solo, she was not averse to teaming up with others if it suited her needs.

“Go on Batman,” she purred. “Take it.” He didn’t take a step, and she sighed in resignation. “What’s the matter Bats? Afraid of a little pussy?”

“Are you turning yourself in Selina?” he asked, attempting menacing while her whip swayed casually from her free hand.

“No, Batman. I just wanted to give you a little something to remember me by, and to say farewell. I’m leaving Gotham. Tonight.”

“Leaving? Where to?”

Something flickered across the beautiful thief’s face, a longing perhaps. “Batman, if I honestly thought you’d follow me, I’d tell you in a second, but frankly I don’t feel like putting myself through years of wondering, ‘Is today the day he’s going to show up?’, but knowing good and well you won’t.” She licked her ruby lips and rolled her head in a stretch. “It’s been fun, Bats, but I don’t think you’re capable, even if you’re willing, of taking it to the next level. Did mommy not hold you enough as a baby?” She shrugged a shoulder. “Whatever the reason, you’re stuck in the play yard where the little boys punch the little girls as their only display of affection. Outside you may be all grown up, but inside you’re still a baby bat. Pity,” she drawled. She flicked her finger and the necklace sailed through the air towards him in a slow arc. He reached up and grabbed it in an instant, and at the same time she leapt over the other side of the building.

There was absolutely no sign of her as he leaned over the edge. He spent the rest of the night trying to track her, starting with her apartment, which was completely empty. He could find no evidence of where she’d gone or how she’d even left Gotham. She had utterly vanished. In the months and years to come he would find no record of Selina Kyle or any crime fitting Catwoman’s MO in any of the hundreds of databases he had access to.

The storeowner later received a large, anonymous, payment for the necklace, which was stored in a box at the bottom of his closet.

But that night, still reeling from Catwoman’s less than flattering comments, he’d entered the Batcave to find Barbara sitting at the computer console, filing her reports for the evening. She had turned to him and smiled a greeting. To this day Bruce couldn’t say completely what caused him to do it, and he would certainly regret it much later. Removing the cowl, he had silently walked over to her, pulled her into his arms, and started kissing her. Barbara had been momentarily stunned by unexpected display, but gave in nonetheless. He could only speculate as to why, but he was reasonably certain she was still hurting over Dick’s departure.

The affair lasted until she finally decided that fighting crime was better off done on the side of the law. She wanted to follow in her father’s footsteps. She wanted a normal life. There were surprisingly few words, angry or otherwise when she left. Alfred had wished her well and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before departing for the kitchen. They had stood there, in his study, looking at each other, and she confided to him, “I’m afraid of what’s going to happen to you, now that you’re all alone.”

“I started out alone. I’ll manage.”

Then she was gone. And he had felt nothing but a guilty relief.

But that was the past. He finished up with the punching bag, feeling the workout in his hands, and shoulders, and chest. He was breathing hard and his knuckles were sore, but that didn’t seem to alleviate the problem. After a shower and a change of clothes he went into his study. On the blotter, in a perfect circle, was a diamond necklace, and in the center lay two earrings. He’d found them Monday and they had been sitting here every since. He was undecided about what to do with them. He knew he had to return them, but how? A messenger would be too impersonal, yet he didn’t want to invade her privacy by showing up at her doorstep either.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered and swept the jewelry off of the desk impatiently.


<<<<<<>>>>>>

“Mardi? Mardi! Are you deaf!”

She looked up to see her cube-mate leaning over the partition. “What?”

“They’ve been paging you down to the lobby for fifteen minutes.” The blonde, whose name was Gerty, narrowed her eyes. “Hey, are you feeling okay? You’ve been spacey all week, and you really don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine, I just haven’t been getting a lot of sleep. The lobby? What would they want with me down there?”

“I wouldn’t know, but can you please get down there so they stop calling your name?” Gerty huffed and sat back down to her desk.

She pushed herself away from the desk, the invoice before her had been sitting there for over an hour. Spacey? That wasn’t the half of it. If she didn’t get her butt in gear she’d be out of a job for sure.

Nodding to Mrs. Dupre, she walked over to the elevator bank and depressed the down arrow. Soon the light ding informed her the car was waiting and the doors opened. She entered and selected the lobby. Slowly she descended thirty-five floors. As usual her mind was wandering elsewhere, and when the doors opened she walked forward automatically. “Excuse me!” a large voice boomed before her, and she looked up in time to see the man she was about to run into stare down at her venomously.

“Sorry,” she muttered, going around the man. He and another man boarded the elevator car.

As the doors closed, she heard him say, “Send a note to personnel, I want a more stringent hiring policy. No more of these mental slackers.” Mardi turned and got one last glance at the man. He seemed familiar. Then it hit her, the large photograph she passed under everyday – CEO of Wayne-Powers, Derek Powers. Just great, she thought, piss off the boss why don’t you.

Mardi walked up to the reception kiosk, and asked the young woman, “I’m Mardi Purcell, and I believe I was paged to come down here?”

A small device sat in the receptionist’s ear, with a thin wire curling down in front of her mouth. It was into this she spoke. “Wayne-Powers, can you hold please. Wayne-Powers, how may I direct your call? One moment I’ll transfer you. Thank you for holding. No, he’s not available, but I’ll put you through to his secretary. Wayne-Powers, how may I direct your call? No, we don’t do that. No sir, you’ll have to call your plumber. Good day. Wayne-Powers, how may I direct your call?….” Mardi tapped the desk in front of the girl, and without a pause in her speech she pointed behind Mardi.

Mardi opened her mouth to ask a question when the receptionist pointed again, more emphatically, and raised her eyebrows in punctuation. With a sigh she turned and the sigh died on her lips.

He stood thirty feet away surrounded by fern plants, arms crossed over his chest, just watching her. Her feet moved her forward until she stood before him.

“Hi,” she said uncertainly. “What are you doing here?”

He reached into an inside jacket pocket and removed the diamonds. “You left these on the bed table.”

“Oh wow,” she said in relief. “I was afraid I’d never see them again. Thank you.”

“You could have called,” he pointed out.

Right, she thought. Calling about lost jewelry is the oldest trick in the book. Out loud she responded, “Yeah, I guess I should have. But you really didn’t have to bring them yourself.”

“It was no trouble. I needed an excuse to get out of the house anyway. Boredom’s going to drive me crazy.”

“Maybe you should get a dog. Or even a goldfish. I hear they’re hours of entertainment.” She smirked at him.

He ignored her attempt at levity and said somberly, “I was afraid you’d left town already.”

She hitched a shoulder indifferently. “Well I’ve got this great job, and I like my roommate an awful lot. Plus Gotham’s really an interesting place to live. Did you know that there was a guy who used to dress up in a crazy bat costume and helped the police catch criminals?”

“Batman?” he said casually. “I’ve heard something about him.”

“Where do people like that come from?”

He was saved from answering as a group of businessmen and –women entered the lobby and walked past, speaking in hurried but hushed tones. When the group was gone they looked back at each other. “Have dinner with me tonight,” he said.

She swallowed hard. There was zero chance of it being strictly dinner; she knew this because at the moment she felt as if she’d implode if he so much as touched her. “We had an agreement.”

“I didn’t agree to anything,” he pointed out.

She opened her mouth in disbelief, and then said, “Qui tacet, consentaire videtur.”

His lips twitched in a smile. “Silence is consent. Impressive.”

“I had a semester of business law. But I’m serious. What will people say?”

“They’ll simply assume I’m up to my old tricks,” he replied dryly.

She let that comment pass without question, but filed it away for future consideration. Instead she asked, “And what about my reputation?”

“I wasn’t aware you were going to stay in town long enough to gain a reputation.”

“That was dirty,” she replied quietly.

“I play dirty sometimes. I’ll be waiting at the same restaurant we had lunch in, at six o’clock this evening. If you come, we’ll take it from there. If you don’t, then I wish you all the best.” He turned and walked out the door, leaving her fairly shaking with emotion.

On her way back to the elevators, the receptionist yelled out, in a rare break from phone calls, “Nice rocks.”

Mardi looked up at her. “What?”

“The jewelry. Your man’s got good taste. I’m surprised you still bother to work. Won’t he set you up?”

“These were a graduation present from my father. He was just returning them to me,” Mardi replied with a bad taste in her mouth.

“Oh, whatever.” Her eyes shifted as another call came in. “Wayne-Powers, how may I direct your call?…”

Mardi stuffed the jewelry into her blazer pocket and continued back up to her desk, feeling a distinct and powerful impulse to hurl herself out the nearest window.

<<<<<<>>>>>>

[Calico]

Roses have thorns and shining waters mud
And cancer lurks deep in the sweetest bud
Clouds and eclipses stain the moon and the sun
And history reeks of the wrongs we have done
After today, consider me gone

I've spent too many years at war with myself
The doctor has told me it's no good for my health
To search for perfection is all very well
But to look for heaven is to live here in hell

After today, consider me gone

Consider Me Gone, Sting

<<<<<<>>>>>>

She checked her watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. 5:40. She had less than twenty minutes to decide whether to go forward or continue to run away.

The decision was made all the more complicated by the news article that was currently viewed on the computer monitor. Most of the overhead lights were extinguished with the departure of the last of her co-workers shortly after the end of the workday at five. She’d stayed behind, now sitting alone in the soft glow of the screen and utilized Wayne-Powers’ resources to seek out a little information about the man waiting to have dinner with her. Just dinner, she reminded herself.

The search engine had collected literally thousands of news bites mentioning the name Bruce Wayne. She’d narrowed down the search by eliminating strictly financial news, but she was still daunted by the shear volume written about him, though the frequency had tapered off in the last decade.

There were accounts of his charitable contributions, his new yachts, his golf game, even discussions about the cut of his suit, but without a doubt the greatest interest seemed to be his social life. And an active social life it was. Picture upon picture of women – blondes, brunettes, redheads – draped on his arm arriving at this event or leaving that one. They all shared one important common denominator: they were glamorous, gorgeous, and dazzling beyond imagination. These were women from affluent families and rich gene pools. In comparison Mardi felt pale and dowdy, a lump of coal to their gleaming diamonds.

She’d waded through dozens of reports when she’d finally found the one she’d been staring at for a solid ten minutes. Bruce Wayne Escorts Van Stratton Twins To Brinkstone Gala. In full color he smiled into the camera flanked on each side by identical blondes dressed in form-fitting gowns, one gold and one silver. According to the society gossip Bruce could not possibly choose between the two lovely girls, whose names were Buffy and Muffy, and had conceded to bring them both, which the twins were more than happy to oblige. However, once inside the party, Bruce was reported as not only being unable to tell the two apart, but constantly referred to them as Bitsy and Misty. To add injury to insult, Bruce apparently disappeared for several hours, his whereabouts unaccounted for, though the reporter speculated that he was quite possibly passing time with Selina Kyle, the notorious and beautiful sometime cat burglar, whom he’d been seen in the company of on several previous occasions. By the time he had reappeared, suspiciously mussed, the twins had promptly dumped their drinks over his head and fled the scene with a pair of sympathetic bachelors.

She could not tear her eyes away from the picture. This could not be the same man. The hair was a rich black, the face a little more lean, but the eyes, so blue and direct, were the same and the body, built as if for an Olympic god, was unmistakable. The smile and the easy posture, both seemed alien to the serious and rigid person she thought she knew, although, she reminded herself, she’d seen that smile once before in a not dissimilar situation.

She huffed. Workaholic, my ass, she thought. He was too busy to settle down all right; too busy hopping from woman to woman. The man of character she had believed him to be turned out to actually be a philandering, self-centered reprobate. How could she have misjudged him so badly?

A squeak caught her attention and she peered around the edge of her partitioned wall. The night janitor was making his rounds, collecting trash in a large wheeled bin. She sighed and checked her watch again. 5:45. Five blocks to the restaurant.

“Oh, I didn’t know there’d be anyone around.” She turned to see the janitor standing behind her.

“I won’t be long.”

“Take your time. But it’s about suppertime. You should go get yourself a bite to eat.”

“Yeah,” she said wearily. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone at six.”

“A date?”

“I suppose it would be,” she replied distractedly. The Van Stratton twins looked on from the past, smiling at her like a pair of Barbie dolls.

“Don’t you want to go?”

“Hmm?” She looked up. The janitor was still standing there.

“You don’t seem too interested in your date. Don’t you like the guy?”

“Like? Yeah, I like him. Too much probably.”

“And he must like you, if he asked you out, I mean.”

“Sure, you could say that.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

<<<<<<>>>>>>

She was almost five minutes late. He saw her brush past the maitre d’, who gave a shout of protest, and stride defiantly across the main floor towards his semi-private table. Her face was flushed, beads of sweat dotted her forehead causing her hair to curl into damp ringlets, and she was audibly huffing for breath as she flung herself into the chair across from him. Her arrival was a spectacle viewed by many of the restaurant’s patrons, but at least she’d arrived.

A nod to the maitre d’ sent him back to his post and another brought the waiter, who set plates before them. “I took the liberty of ordering ahead of time,” he explained to her.

“A salad?” she asked breathily, looking down at her own plate.

“I wasn’t sure what else you’d like. You can have something else…”

“I run five blocks to get here, I’m not eating a lousy salad. Take this back,” she pushed the plate at the waiter. “Bring me a porterhouse steak, couple inches thick. Well-done. And don’t forget the baked potato.”

“Yes ma’am.”

As he turned away she called out, “Wait, I’m starving, you’d better make it medium rare.” He nodded. “Wait! That’ll still take too long. Just tell them to sear it on each side and we’ll call it even.”

“Very well ma’am,” the waiter replied nonplussed. Bruce handed him his own plate with instructions to have it brought back when hers was ready. “Yes, sir,” he replied and carried the two plates back to the kitchen.

When Bruce looked back at her, Mardi was gulping down her glass of water, two rivulets trailing down from the corners of her mouth. When the glass was emptied, she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and then gestured to his side of the table. “You going to drink that?”

“Help yourself,” he replied and handed her the glass. “Why were you running?”

She downed half the water and placed the glass on the table, licking the corner of her mouth. “I was late getting out. Busy doing research.”

“I wasn’t aware doing research was part of your job.”

“It’s not. I wasn’t working. I was doing research on you, Mr. Wayne.” Bruce sat, his face totally neutral, waiting for the inevitable. If he’d had any illusions that having not been born in Gotham she wouldn’t have any preconceived notions about him and he could somehow make a clean start, they were immediately dashed. The bachelor life of Bruce Wayne was the stuff of legends and it was an unavoidable fact that she’d eventually learn all about it.

She was looking at him, hoping for a reaction, but getting none, so she continued. “They say a picture’s worth a thousand words, but I think that’s a gross underestimation. I don’t suppose the names Buffy and Muffy Van Stratton ring a bell. No? I’m not really surprised. They’re just a drop in the bucket. One report postulated that you’d dated more than half the eligible female population of Gotham at one point.” Her voice had risen, became more strident as she’d spoken, and a few diners were surreptitiously glancing towards the table. “A different woman every night practically. You were quite the Don Juan. I don’t know how you even had time to run a company.” She paused and looked at him expectantly. “Aren’t going to say anything in your own defense? Are you going to just sit there and let me believe all these things I read about you? Tell me that it isn’t what it looks like or an alien death ray was controlling you. Anything, just don’t let me feel like I’m the latest in a long line of bimbos.”

He calmly replied, “Would some excuse change the way you feel?”

Giving the question serious consideration, she replied slowly, “No. It wouldn’t.” Then she lowered her head to stare at her hands clasped together in her lap.

Bruce felt an overwhelmingly defeated. It was more than the fact that she was the first woman to interest him in over a decade. She did not have the curvaceous charm of Selina, or the exotic sultriness of Talia, or even the fiery innocence of Barbara; she lacked Lois’ drive or Andrea’s rage; she wasn’t a criminal, the daughter of a demonic megalomaniac, or anything else beyond the ordinary; she had no magical tendencies or supernatural abilities. She was not interested in financial gain or world domination. She was the first truly normal woman he hadn’t needed to pretend to be something he was not. She saw him, not as the air-headed, rich playboy, not even as the unyielding, dark Bat, but as the person he truly was.

And he had hurt her, not by what he was, but by what he wasn’t. How could he explain to her that what she had read about was nothing more than an airbrushed version of himself, a cartoon caricature to deflect any prying eyes from the more dangerous truth?

Now he saw that she was crying. Her head bobbed slowly, her shoulders hitched in sobs. He groaned inwardly. Nothing was worse than a woman crying, except a woman crying because of something he had done. What comfort could he offer, what condolences?

The sobbing became more audible as she raised her head. He saw her eyes were tinged with moisture, her cheeks were more flushed than before and her mouth was stretched into a…huge smile? What he had mistaken for weeping was actually choked laughter, growing stronger by the moment, from soft giggles to full-blown chuckles. She reached up and wiped a stray tear that squeezed from her eyes, mouth open in helpless hilarity. “B-buffy and M-muffy?” she burst out between gasps of breath. “What the hell were you thinking? I’ve seen more intelligent pairs of pants.” The last sent her into an uncontrollable fit the likes he had only seen in victims of the Joker’s poison. One hand slammed the table while the other held her stomach, her head thrown back as the laughter shook her. She gasped for breath and seemed to take herself under control, subsiding into weak giggles as the waiter returned with their food.

He set the plates before them, eyeing Mardi much as a rabbit would eye a fox, and then turned to Bruce. “Is there anything else I can get you, sir?”

“A straightjacket for my friend?” Bruce suggested mildly, sending Mardi into further peals of laughter.

The waiter looked aghast at the request, face pale. “Sir?”

“Never mind,” Bruce dismissed him. “That will be all.” Gratefully the waiter made himself scarce. “Are you going to be alright?”

She nodded vigorously, taking deep, cleansing breaths, and a sip of water to compose herself. Finally she looked up at him, a grin spread on her face. “Well I know one thing for certain.”

“What’s that?”

“Your taste in women has improved immensely.” She took up her fork and knife and dove voraciously into her meal.

“That it has,” he quietly agreed.

They ate quietly for a while, and then she placed her utensils on her plate, clasping her hands in front of her. “I said some pretty terrible things to you, back at your house, that I need to apologize for,” she started quietly.

“You weren’t exactly wrong.”

She looked at him curiously, and then continued. “Nonetheless, it wasn’t my place. But I need to be brutally honest about one thing. I don’t believe a relationship between us has any chance for success. There’s the difference in age as well as class.” She shook her head.

“Class?” he asked, slightly amused.

“Yeah, class. You know, like you live in a great big mansion that even has its own name and I’m two paychecks away from living in my car.”

“And?” he prompted.

“And nothing. I just wanted to get that out in the open so that when this thing blows up in our faces I can have a big I-told-you-so. In the meantime, I suggest we get out of here before I come to my senses and realize I have gone completely insane.”

He wasted little time on inner debate. Turning, he raised a finger. “Check please!”

<<<<<<>>>>>>

[Panther]

Wow. Simply amazing. You have compltly gotten inside the head and life of Bruce Wayne and taken us on a wicked awesome, detail-filled tour. Honestly, you should charge admission, it's that great.

I think what really appeals is how wonderfully you've tackled an area previoulsy untouched; that space between Batman and Batman Beyond. I want to use the word 'ordinary' to describe this time, and yet even when Bruce gets the chance to just be, well, himself (whoever that is) he still can't help /comparing/, which gives everthing that much of an extra twist.

Welcome to the Fanfic board Calico!

[Calico]

Wow, Panther, what a glowing review! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I'm so glad you're enjoying it. And thanks for the welcome; I know I'm in excellent company . Now on to chapter 7...


<<<<<<>>>>>>

And I don't understand
by the touch of your hand
I would be the one to fall

I miss the little things
oh I miss everything

It doesn't mean much...

Sweet Surrender...

Sweet Surrender...

Sweet Surrender, Sarah McLachlan

<<<<<<>>>>>>

She awoke the next morning to find him sitting next to her on the bed, already dressed. “Hey,” she said sleepily.

“Good morning,” he replied.

“What time is it,” she asked suddenly, noting the sun was already high above the horizon.

“Ten minutes past nine.”

“Good lord,” she moaned. “I’m supposed to be at work right now.”

They stared at each other for a second until he responded. “Maybe you should call in sick?”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah I guess I could do that.” She regarded him for a moment. “Will that other guy be here today?” she asked quietly.

“What other guy?”

“The one that doesn’t like me very much and can’t wait for me to leave.”

He reached a hand up to smooth her hair away from her forehead. “No. He won’t be around again, I promise.”

“Good.” She smiled. “I’d really love a shower.”

“Make yourself at home,” he said indicating the bathroom door. “There’s a bathrobe hanging on the door you can wear.”

“Is it yours?” she questioned.

He nodded. “I’ll be down in the kitchen when you’re done.” He stood up and left the room.

She sat up in bed and reached for the phone on the table. She dialed Mrs. Dupre’s number and explained that she just couldn’t drag herself out of bed this morning. The office manager responded that Mardi had been looking rather sickly the last week, offered her well wishes, and told her they’d see her on Monday. Mardi was grinning as she hung up the phone then went into the bathroom to shower. When she was finished she put on the robe, taking a moment to smell it. Aftershave, soap, and something else that was distinctly him. She smiled absently at the memories the smells invoked.

Downstairs, in the kitchen, she found him standing at the counter, a waffle iron on the counter to his right. “Handsome, rich, and he cooks. Doesn’t get much better than this, does it?” she called out to him.

He turned towards her, a bowl under his left arm, the right mixing batter with a whisk. With a half smile he responded, “It’s not much. There’s a pre-made powder mixture you can buy and add milk, eggs, and shortening to. Not very difficult.”

She walked over to where he was working and hoisted herself up onto the counter to watch him work. “Bisquick,” she replied in awe, nodding to the yellow box standing to his left. “Magical stuff, or so I’ve heard.”

“Do you cook?” he asked as he carefully measured a portion of the batter and poured it onto the preheated iron, and then closing the lid.

She gave a bark of laughter. “Cook? My best dish is take-out; I can order a mean moo goo gai pan.” She sighed. “It’s a wonder that my father and I didn’t starve to death after Grandma died. If it couldn’t be boiled or nuked we didn’t eat it. As a matter of fact it was my poor showing in Home Ec that brought my grade point average down. Damn Ms. Simms and her soufflé final.” She held up a fist in mock consternation.

He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. “Cooking is like a science. Measure the proper ingredients, mix in the correct proportions, and heat. Sit back and watch the reactions. Sometimes the experiments work, and sometimes they don’t.”

He turned back to the waffle iron and opened the lid, revealing the golden brown creation. Using a fork, he popped it onto a plate and presented it to her. “Amazing,” she breathed, looking at the plate from all angles. Setting it aside she said suddenly, “I want to know everything there is to know about you.” She grabbed his arm to pull him in front of her, wrapping her legs around him.

“Everything?” he asked, his brows furrowed slightly in worry.

“Sure. Unless you’ve got some secret too terrible to tell me. What could be more terrible than Muffy and Buffy?” she asked, with astonishment.

His face seemed to relax and he shook his head. “No, there’s nothing worse than Muffy and Buffy.”

“Good.” She hooked a hand behind his neck and brought his lips down to a kiss. He gently pulled away, much to her chagrin.

“Your breakfast is getting cold,” he chided her.

“Yeah, but I’m just getting warmed up,” she said and reached for him again. He looked at her with a raised eyebrow, shaking his head, and then went back to his task, pouring a second serving into the waffle iron. “C’mon,” she complained, slipping off of the counter and grabbing her plate. She walked over to the kitchen table where melted butter and syrup were sitting in delicate china serving bowls. “Sex is the one thing we’ve got going for this relationship. Don’t start holding out on me.” She sat down and cut a bite off the waffle. “Oh this is heaven,” she whispered.

“You don’t believe that do you?”

“What? Name one thing besides a mutual attraction that we have in common.” He started to open his mouth and she cut him off. “And don’t bring up the tragic loss thing. That’s even worse to base a relationship on than sex.”

He sat down with his own plate. “Maybe once we’ve learned about each other we’ll discover something after all.”

“Hmm,” she replied unconvinced as she ate her meal. When they were finished, she gathered up the plates. “I may not be able to cook, but I can at least clean up.” She loaded the industrial size dishwasher with all of the breakfast dishes, as he sat quietly watching her. “So tell me, what happened after your parents died?” she asked as she sat back down, placing her elbow on the table and cupping her chin.

He didn’t seem the least disconcerted over the abrupt change of topic, but looked thoughtful for a moment. “The state wanted to put me into foster care, but I refused. With the help of a colleague of my father’s, Alfred became my legal guardian, and I was able to stay here, in my family’s home.” His quiet voice belied any emotions, but his eyes were alive with them.

“Alfred was your butler, right?” she asked softly. He nodded. “Must have been a pretty lonely childhood. Where’d you go to school?”

“I attended a private academy for a few years. In my early teens I left Gotham and traveled abroad, throughout Europe and Asia, for about twelve years.”

“A grand tour? Pretty exciting. You must have had a good time if you were over there for so long.”

“It was educational,” he replied deadpan.

“Educational?” It suddenly dawned on her. “You’ve always been like this haven’t you?”

“Like what?” he asked.

“So completely wound up in yourself, like you have this huge Atlas complex – the whole world’s on your shoulders. What I don’t get is those reports of you as a party-hearty ladies’ man. What’s that all about? I mean I saw the pictures, but it just didn’t seem like the real you.”

“People don’t ask questions when they think they already know the answers.”

“What questions?”

“It’s not imp…”

“Important,” she finished for him testily. “I think I’ve heard this tune before. Listen, I’m not your therapist. I’ve got too much going on in my own head to give a **** about your hang-ups. I get that there are things you don’t want to talk about and I’ll respect that – to a point. I could leave right now and, even though it would be harder to do than last time, I could say goodbye and actually mean it. But I’m warning you that given too much longer I’m going to be emotionally invested. That’s what I’ve been avoiding all this time, so if I’m going to let myself take that step, the least you could do is meet me halfway. If that’s too much to ask, then…”

“You told me so?” he spoke with a graveled voice.

She sighed. “I hate being right all the time.”

He took hold of her hand and rubbed a thumb across the knuckles. “Just give it time,” he said. “I’ve closed off a part of my past that I’d like to stay closed. Bare with me on the rest.”

She squinted her eyes. “You’re never going to be warm and fuzzy are you?”

“No.”

“Perfect. I hate warm and fuzzy. Just be honest with me, okay?”

“I’ll promise never to lie more than I have to.”

<<<<<<>>>>>>

Later, they retired to the library. He started a fire at her request, even though it was still late summer. She chose a book from his vast shelves, a rare first edition of ‘Jane Eyre’. Holding the book up for his inspection, she said, “One of my favorites. The classic but tragic tale of a young, naïve girl who falls for a brooding older man with a dark past.” She paused for a moment’s thought, and then said suspiciously, “You don’t have an insane wife locked in your attic do you?” He couldn’t help a small laugh as he shook his head. “Well that’s a relief.”

She threw some pillows on the floor in front of the fireplace and settled down in them to enjoy her book. She was still wearing the bathrobe and it slipped down her thigh as she crossed one slender leg over the other. He relaxed in a comfortable chair with a book of true crime stories.

After a quarter of an hour, when he realized he hadn’t turned a page, he put the book down in his lap. He cleared his throat, and said, “Why don’t you finish school and get your degree?”

Without looking up from the book, she replied, “Why?”

“You would improve your job marketability, increase your income, you could find something with a future.”

This time she did set the book aside and looked over at him. “Something a bit more permanent, maybe?”

“That too. Are you planning on being rootless for the rest of your life?”

“Rootless?” she echoed, and then crawled over to kneel in front of him, placing her hands on his knees. “You’re really worried I’m going to take off aren’t you?”

“It had crossed my mind.”

She took a deep breath and licked her lips, then said lightly, “Well I could take a few night classes. It’s only a semester, it wouldn’t take too long. Would that make you happy?”

He reached over and brushed her hair away from her face. “Yes.” He stood up and motioned for her to stand as well. “There’s one more thing that’s been on my mind,” he said in a serious voice. “I’m concerned about the neighborhood you’re living in.” She rolled her eyes and tried to turn away, but he caught her arm and made her look at him. “Would you be able to defend yourself if attacked?”

“You’ve got to be kidding. I’m in no danger there. You, on the other hand, would be prime pickings. They know I don’t have anything.”

“I’m serious, Mardi. Gotham is a very tough place to live in. Things happen, people get hurt. How would you defend yourself if you were attacked?”

“I’d probably scream my head off, okay?” It happened quicker than she could have ever imagined. One minute they were facing each other, and the next he was holding her arm at an unnatural angle behind her back, his hand over her mouth.

He lowered her head and whispered into her ear, “Now what are you going to do?”

“Mmmm. Mmmmm. Mmmmm!” she cried out beneath his hand, trying to work out of his grasp, to no avail. He let her go as quickly as he’d grabbed her. She whirled around and stared at him in astonishment. “What the hell was that!?”

“It’ll be that quick when it happens. You need to learn to take care of yourself. I could show you some techniques.”

“You?” she said dubiously.

“Yes. I studied martial arts while I was in Asia.”

“What, like karate?”

“Among others.”

“So what belt did you earn?”

“Seventh degree black belt.”

“Get out!” She regarded him for a moment and then shrugged. “Well in that case, why not? It might be fun.” She followed him into the workout room, where he gave her a set of sweats to change into, before disappearing to change his own clothes. He returned wearing a white gi, with a black belt tied around his waist. Mardi whistled, he frowned, and the afternoon took a turn for the worse.

<<<<<<>>>>>>

“Oof.” Mardi hit the mat for the tenth time, this time she didn’t make any immediate effort to get back up. “God,” she moaned. “You know, I’m not going to be able to move tomorrow.” She managed to roll onto one side and push herself up.

“You’ve got to focus,” he said harshly, completely devoid of any signs of sympathy. “You’ve got to gain control.”

“Focus has got nothing to do with it,” she replied sharply, massaging her lower back. “You outweigh me by at least a hundred pounds.” All her good humor had vanished and she was feeling annoyed with his tutorial style, which seemed like a cross between Attila the Hun and Darth Vader.

“That’s irrelevant. Once you gain control of the situation you will be able to use your opponent’s size and weight to your advantage. Let’s try it again.” His voice was hard and unyielding.

She stood her ground. Physically she’d always been in good shape. Star of her school’s volleyball team, and a passable basketball player, she’d always been fit, and still maintained a modest exercise routine to stay that way. But at this moment she felt pummeled and beaten and tired, and he was asking for more. “Remind me again why we’re doing this.”

“So you can defend yourself against an attack. So you won’t be hurt,” he replied impatiently.

“Seems to me the only one hurting me is you.” She met his gaze defiantly and was not pleased by what she saw. His eyes, which she normally found to be so sexy, were now cold and hard. She moved to a side table and took a swallow from a water bottle, looking at his reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall before her. Fear tingled at the base of her spine. “Why are you doing this?” she quietly asked the reflection.

“I told you…” he started, flexing one fist at his side.

She shook her head and turned to face him. “This isn’t normal behavior. Who are you?” He didn’t answer, and that small voice in the back of her mind cried out, You don’t want to know! The fear was strong, it was the same driving force that had made her virtually put her life on hold for the last eight years, but there was something else deeper down inside – stubbornness. It was this stubbornness that had caused her to break an arm and a leg, and almost her neck, when little Bobby Miller had emphatically told her no girl could ever climb to the top of Old Man Sykes’ oak tree. It was what kept her in a failed marriage long after she should have thrown in the towel. It kept her going in the rough years when all she wanted to do was lie down and go to sleep forever.

She walked up to him and asked again, “Who are you?” in a stronger voice, but he still didn’t respond, only looking at her with those eyes that seemed to come from a different world. “WHO ARE YOU!” she screamed into his face, the fear and tension lacing each word, and did something she’d never done in her entire life. Her hand drew back and she sent it flying towards his face, only it never hit its mark. He caught it easily, his eyes never leaving her face, not even so much as flinching. His grip was strong, but not too strong – she vividly remembered the man in the alley crying and holding his arm.

“I don’t know anymore,” he finally replied as if coming out of a trance. “I just don’t know.” At this moment the tears spilled from her eyes. He released her hand, which she let it drop helplessly to her side, and then reached out to clasp her head with both hands, his thumbs wiping the moisture from her cheeks. “I’m sorry I hurt you. For a moment I forgot you weren’t….That I wasn’t….”

“Who? You weren’t what? I don’t understand.”

He let go and turned away from her. “This was a bad idea. I’m sorry.”

She swallowed, and came around to face him. “The idea was good, but the execution was poor.” A feeling of deep sympathy for the pain she saw in his face overwhelmed her. Forcing a smile, she continued, “I’d like to be able to kick some ass, and if you think you can leave the drill sergeant routine at the door, I’d like you to teach me. Maybe I could actually take you someday.”

“Not likely,” he replied.

“You think you’re invulnerable against me?” she asked playfully. He shrugged, but smiled. “We’ll see about that.” She placed a hand on his shoulder and reached up, grabbing his earlobe between her lips. After only several seconds he circled her waist with his arms and made a small sigh in his throat. She pushed him away with a sly smile. “See, everybody has at least one weakness. Even Superman has kryptonite, right?” His eyes narrowed, and he turned away from her while muttering incoherently. “Hey, what was that?” she said, grabbing his shoulder.

Looking her in the eye he said clearly, “Superman’s a pussy.”

She stifled a giggle, and said with a serious face, “Oh yeah, I’m sure you could take him.”

<<<<<<>>>>>>

[Calico]

...But You Can't Take The Bat Out Of The Man


Never made it as a wise man
I couldn't cut it as a poor man stealin'
Tired of livin' like a blind man
I'm sick of sight without a sense of feeling

This is how you remind me
This is how you remind me of what I really am

How You Remind Me, Nickelback

<<<<<<>>>>>>

Three Days Till Christmas, 2024

It was a bitter cold late December day. Last minute Christmas shoppers paraded through the streets bundled up in coats and scarves and mittens while searching for the perfect gifts. Bruce and Mardi walked side by side in comfortable silence, a few packages carried in festive bags. Between the two of them they only had a handful of people to shop for, and were utilizing the time to spend together since the next few days were expected to be hectic and mostly spent apart. Mardi was scheduled to fly out of Gotham airport in two days to visit her father for Christmas, though she’d offered to stay with him instead, which he politely refused. It was more important, he had said to her, that she spent the holiday with her father while she still had the chance.

Mardi stopped in front of a storefront and peered into the showcase window at a display of dresses. Standing next to her Bruce peered around at the bustling activity. A car pulling to a screeching halt in front of the bank across the street immediately captured his attention. Four young men were inside, all wearing ski caps and dark glasses. Three of the men immerged and Bruce noted as the one closest to him turned, his overcoat slipped open to reveal a gun slung over his shoulder. The three men entered the bank as the fourth stayed behind the wheel of the still running car.

He turned to Mardi and said, “Why don’t you go inside and pick out a nice dress. It’ll be my Christmas present to you.”

She peered up at him suspiciously. “Haven’t you already gotten me a present?” she remarked.

“An early birthday present then.” She pressed her lips together in annoyance. They had just celebrated her 36th birthday a month before. “Get a pair of shoes while you’re at it. I have to run an errand. Don’t leave until I get back.”

“But Bruce, I don’t need a new dress…” she started to argue, but it was cut off as he bent down and kissed her firmly and thoroughly on the mouth. When he released her, she looked up at him with a lazy smile and said, “One of these days, Mr. Wayne, that’s not going to work for you anymore, then what will you do?”

“I won’t be long.” He made sure she was completely inside the store before backtracking halfway up the block and cutting across the busy street. He came up on the car from the rear on the driver’s side and rapped on the window. “Got the time?” he mumbled as the window started to lower.

“Get lost jack…ugh!” A quick, solid punch to the face rendered the man unconscious. Bruce pushed him back so that his head rolled onto the seat’s headrest, giving the illusion that he was simply napping. For good measure Bruce reached in and removed the keys from the ignition and tossed them into a sewer drain.

Looking both ways to make sure no one witnessed the scene, he moved hastily up to the bank’s doorway. Through the double glass doors he could see one of the three men standing in the vestibule in such a way that he could both guard the entrance and monitor the activity inside the bank at the same time. Bruce flipped up the collar of his cashmere coat in an attempt to shield his face from view, and walked to the door, tapping to draw the guard’s attention. The man turned and hollered through the glass, “Closed. Come back later.” Bruce cupped a hand behind his ear and shrugged, keeping his head bent down slightly. Perturbed, the man turned the thumb lock and opened the door slightly. “I said we’re closed…” The sentence was cut off as Bruce reached in and grabbed his lapels, slamming his face into the glass. He slid slowly down to the floor leaving a Rorschach trail of blood and spittle.

Surreptitiously Bruce stepped over the prone body and pulled the door shut behind him, throwing the lock back into place. A gun, which the crook had hidden behind his back, lay on the floor. Bruce picked it up and pulled out the clip, slipping it into his coat pocket and dropping the empty weapon at his feet. Then he reached down and removed the knit cap from the man’s head, placing it on his own. He pulled it down over his hair as far as it would go. The reflective sunglasses followed, the left lens cracked from the blow.

Looking through a second set of double glass doors, Bruce could see thirteen customers and employees laying face down with their hands over their heads along the right side of the large room. A man with a gun in his hand slowly patrolled the area between the hostages and the central service counter, where he leaned over for a better view to the back. As he was doing this, Bruce slipped inside. A young girl of about three, who was lying next to her mother, looked up with wide eyes. He raised one hand and laid a finger across his lips. The girl quickly turned her head and buried it into her mother’s side.

Bruce slipped to the left using a courtesy counter for cover. He was pondering how he was going to take out the last two thieves without some sort of weapon when he spotted a shiny black shoe laying next to the table. Connected to the shoe was a leg that disappeared along the side of the table. Bruce crawled over and saw the dead body of the bank’s security guard with a bloody hole in his chest. His lips pressed together for a moment in anger, and then he looked down at the guard’s belt. On one side was his sidearm, still holstered. The robbers had caught him off-guard, shooting first to gain control of the situation. On the other side, settled into its own loop was what the police referred to as a peacekeeper, or a blackjack. He managed to slide the long black stick out as silently as possible, and peered around the corner.

The man was leaning against the counter again and called out, “What’s taking so damn long? Get on with it!”

A voice yelled back, “Hold your horses Hank! She’s going as fast as she can!”

Hank grimaced and turned to pace back in the other direction. His back was directly towards Bruce and he knew the time was right. Bending slightly at the waist, he took several long strides and swung the stick in a long arc, smashing it into the back of Hank’s knees. With an aborted cry of shock and pain, the man flew backwards, landing hard. Bruce grabbed the gun and used the side of his hand to smash into the man’s nose, knocking him out in one blow.

“All right! Let’s get this show on the road,” the voice from the back called out. Bruce crouched just below the edge of the countertop. “Hank?” he heard, the voice located immediately above him. “What the hell…?” In his concern for his companion, he leaned forward to get a closer look. As soon as Bruce saw him appear over the edge, he reached up and grabbed his coat, yanking him completely over and onto his back, side-by-side with his compatriot. Shortly he was out cold as well.

He laid both weapons on the service counter and looked at the young teller who had been assisting in collecting the money out of the vault, now staring at him with wide eyes. “I think you can call the police now,” he said in a low voice. She just nodded.

As he moved towards the door, the young girl leapt up and ran over to him. He looked down at her and she spoke. “Are you a good guy?” He nodded and she hugged his knees briefly before rejoining her mother, who, along with the rest of the hostages, was coming slowly to her feet. He pushed through the first set of doors, stripped off the hat and glasses, dropping them onto the still form of the look-out, and then let himself out the exit, straightening his jacket as he walked.

Several doors down, he entered a jewelry store. A few words with the shopkeeper got him exactly what he needed. The purchase was made in less than ten minutes, and he was back on the street with two boxes deep in his pocket, one long and slender, and one small and square. By the time he’d crossed the street and walked back to the dress shop, sirens could be heard approaching. Through the large glass window he saw Mardi in deep contemplation of two dresses being held by a sales clerk. He pushed open the door and silently walked up behind her. “I like the blue one,” he spoke into her ear. She jumped and turned towards him.

“Oh, you scared me! I was thinking about the blue one too.” She looked over his shoulder and asked, “What’s going on out there?”

He glanced back to see several police cars and an ambulance. “Looks like something happened at the bank,” he replied casually.

“Where was your errand?” she asked.

With a smile, he replied, “It’s a surprise.”

<<<<<<>>>>>>

“Wayne,” he spoke into the telephone. He was sitting at his desk in the study finishing up paperwork for the Wayne Foundation’s yearly Christmas donations when the phone rang.

“Busy day?” the acerbic voice spoke from the other end.

The corner of his mouth twitched as he said, “Merry Christmas to you too, Barbara.”

“Cut the crap, Bruce. There was an attempted bank robbery on the south side today. A man walked into the middle of it and took out the perpetrators in almost military-like precision. All witnesses describe the mystery man as having a large build and being very well dressed, though he wore a cap and glasses to hide his face and hair.”

“And of course I’m the only man in Gotham who fits that description,” he replied dryly.

“No, but you’re the only one who used to be Batman.” They were both quiet for several moments. “This can’t continue Bruce. I won’t allow it.”

“Barbara…”

“You’re a danger to yourself and to others. Don’t ever forget that.”

“I never do.”

“Good. I expect I’ll never have to make this call again.” The phone buzzed in his hand after she hung up and he replaced the receiver solemnly.

“Who was that?” He looked up to see Mardi standing in the doorway. Her coat was folded over her arm and her bag slung on her shoulder.

“Nobody. A wrong number. Where are you going?”

“I told you last week I was helping Jesse with the school’s holiday pageant tomorrow. It’ll be an early day, so I’m going home for the night. My flight’s first thing the following morning. I won’t be back before I leave.”

He nodded, vaguely remembering the conversation. “Come over here. I have your surprise.” She hesitated, before moving across the room to stand next to his chair. “Give me your left hand.” She frowned, but complied. He held it in one of his own while the other pulled open the top drawer of his desk. “I think when two people are in a relationship, a certain amount of commitment should be expected.” Her eyes were wide and her cheeks went pale. She tried to take her hand back, but he held it tightly. “A commitment to being at a place at the agreed upon time for starters…” he said, finally pulling out the long box he’d purchased that day. Opening it he removed a delicate white-gold watch with diamond chips edging the face. She let out a long sigh of relief. “And the only way to do that is if you have a proper sense of time. You’ve been consistently tardy to every date we’ve had. This is unacceptable for someone rising up the corporate ladder. I hope this will help you keep better track of your appointments.”

He fixed the clasp around her wrist and she said with a smile, “A watch. This is your big surprise? You had me scared there for a moment. It’s beautiful, though. I love it.”

Not letting go of her hand, he rubbed his thumb along her bare third finger while looking directly into her eyes. “You’re not disappointed?”

The smile faded. “Not at all,” she replied firmly.

“And if it had been something else, with a question involved…your answer would be…?”

She finally managed to pull her hand free. “No. My answer would be no.”

“You won’t even consider the possibility?”

“Never. I’m leaving now.” She turned and walked stiffly towards the door.

“Why not?”

“I don’t need to spell it out for you. I won’t even waste my breath on it.”

“Pretend I’m a doddering old fool and explain it to me.”

“I’m not going to be anybody’s trophy wife, is that clear enough for you?”

“It wouldn’t be that way.”

“Tell me how it would be then.”

He leaned forward on the desk. “Why don’t you tell me the real reason for your refusal.”

“I told you already…”

“No! This is about your husband, isn’t it? You did not kill him Mardi. You can’t be expected to carry that weight around with you for the rest of your life.”

“You couldn’t possibly understand,” she whispered.

“I understand a lot better than you could imagine.”

“You can? Can you understand that at the moment I learned he was dead I felt no grief or sadness or horror? That instead I felt the most incredible sense of relief, like a huge weight had been lifted? How can you even consider marrying someone so terribly heartless?” She turned and fled. He heard her footsteps as she ran and the thud of the front door being slammed shut behind her.

<<<<<<>>>>>>

Swarms of costumed children ran to and fro. They represented all ethnic backgrounds and religions, coming together to celebrate the most festive time of year. Christmas, Hanukah, Kwanzaa, Winter Solstice, and more had a place in the massive production.

“Emmaline, Bryce! Stop that running! Come here and listen to me. Go get into your costumes. Do you remember your lines?” Jesse spoke to a particular pair of rambunctious tots.

“Yes Miss Crenshaw,” the two young children said earnestly.

“Good. Now go on. We’re gonna be starting any time.” The kids hurried off in a more orderly fashion.

Mardi, who was sewing on a pair of antlers onto a small hat for a would-be reindeer, looked up and said, “You should get yourself one of those, Jess. You’re a natural with them.”

“I take care of fifty kids a day Mardi. That’s what being a teacher’s all about.”

“Yeah, but you should have one of your own. You’d be a terrific mother.”

“Maybe, but I’m missing a very important component.” Mardi just stared at her. “A husband?” Jesse chuckled.

Mardi grimaced. “This is the modern age. A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.”

“Hold up. This coming from my roommate, who I might as well be living with a ghost for as much as you’ve been there in the last six months. Something happen between you and Prince Charming? You have a fight?”

Mardi shrugged and bit the thread she was working on to cut it. “Not a fight per se. He brought up the ‘M’ word,” she said shyly.

“He proposed! That’s great! Isn’t it?” She looked at Mardi suspiciously.

“No he didn’t actually propose. It was more of a hypothetical question to see what I would say.”

“And…?”

“And I told him no.”

“Why on God’s green earth would you do something like that?”

“Besides all the practical reasons? I guess…I’m not sure…it’s just that,” she bit her lower lip. “I don’t know if he’ll ever love me as much as I love him,” she finished in a small voice.

“Honey, why would he ask you to marry him if he didn’t love you?” Jesse asked. “Wait a second. He has told you that he loves you hasn’t he?” Mardi shook her head slowly. “Have you told him?”

“No,” she barely whispered.

“You’re a strange pair alright. My advice: follow your heart and stop listening to that little voice in your head. It’s only going to get you into trouble.”

<<<<<<>>>>>>

She let herself in with the spare key he’d given to her. After the extremely long day she was exhausted and should be in bed sleeping if she ever hoped to make her flight on time in the morning, but this was an errand she could not allow herself to put off. It was late, and all the lights were off, so she assumed he’d already gone to bed. Steeling herself against the self-doubt she entered the large house and started up the stairs, trying to walk as softly as possible, but still managing to hit several small creeks on the treads.

At the master bedroom door she took a calming breath and grasped the knob. The room was dark as she pushed the door inward. She had barely taken one step in when a strong hand grabbed her arm, flinging her around until she found herself slammed into the wall face first, a heavy weight bearing into her back. She was too paralyzed with fear to speak and had to fight for breath.

“What do you want?” a dark voice spoke into her ear. It sounded like Bruce, but not quite. Her heart thudded in her ears and her legs felt liquid.

“B-bruce?” she managed to choke out. Abruptly the weight was removed from her back and light flooded the room as the switch next to the door was flipped on. Her eyes closed tightly to the blinding pain. She felt herself spun around.

“Mardi? What the hell are you doing here? I could have hurt you!” He seemed angry but as he turned her around he gently gripped her shoulders. “Are you all right?” He asked more calmly.

She blinked as the light burned into her eyes, trying to focus on his face. “I’m fine, just a little shaken up. I had to come back to see you tonight, I’m sorry I just burst in. I used the key you gave me.” Weakly she held it up for his inspection. “I couldn’t leave things the way we did. I had to tell you…” She paused trying to find both the courage and the words.

“Tell me what?”

“I had to tell you that I’m in love with you. Madly, deeply, irreparably. I think I have been since I saw you staring at me on the street corner looking so handsome in your tuxedo. It scares me beyond all reason to feel like this. You even scare me sometimes. But what frightens me above all else is that some day you’re not going to be around anymore and I’ll have to live without you. It’s just not fair,” she finished in a hoarse whisper. His eyes went wide for a second, and then he pulled her towards him, circling his arms around her and cupping her head with one hand. His lips brushed her hair. She knew that she never wanted to be anywhere else in the whole world more than in his arms. He was shirtless, sleeping only in a pair of pajama bottoms. Her breath stirred the snowy hair on his chest as she said, “But I’m still not going to marry you.” Her voice was muffled in his firm embrace.

“I have plenty of time to convince you otherwise,” he quietly assured her. She attempted to shake her head no. She was so afraid – afraid to be with him, afraid to lose him, but most importantly right now she was afraid of being accused of using him for his wealth and influence, as if it were impossible to love this wonderfully intelligent, sexy, amazing man.

<<<<<<>>>>>>


A/N: Well that's it so far. Chapter 9 is partially done, partially still floating around in my brain. Should I work on getting it out? Any comments, criticisms, suggestions? Anyone? Anyone?

[Panther]

Need you even ask? By all means keep writing! I love this story!

I loved the title of part 7. Quite intriging. What i think I really like about this story is the fact Mardi leads to a slight outsider POV, meaning the most innocnet remark ie "even Superman has kryptonite" leaves the audience laughing at the fact they know more than a character. I can't decide what was funnier - Bruce's remark or Mardi's retort.

Looking her in the eye he said clearly, “Superman’s a pussy.”

She stifled a giggle, and said with a serious face, “Oh yeah, I’m sure you could take him.”

ROTFL!

Obviously it points to the fact there could be major fights later on, considering how much she doesn't know, but at the moment I'm content to just sit back and enjoy the show - which is why you have to keep going!

I have a thoery where this could all elad up IF the story decides to stay within BB continuity - I hope I'm wrong - but I relly want to see. I really hope he can convince her to at least consider marraige. I think he definitly deserves at elast some happiness. But, if he doesn't tell her about his past... Well, I saw how that scenerio played out in The Scarlet Pimpernel, and ...well, I'm just babbling now.

Just please keep writing!

[The Guitar Slayer]

I heartily second the motion. Great story, Calico.

P.S. My mind's been reduced to mush after the third marking period, but I am reading most everybody's stuff. Good work to all. Hopefully, when summer rolls around, I can do some stuff too.

[Littonian]

Wow! What a great story! Your character 'Mardi' is wonderful. A perfect counterpart for Bruce. I too loved the "Supermans a pussy" remark. Please write more soon. I'm dying to find out where this is going.

[Calico]

Panther, Guitar Slayer, Littonian - thanks for the encouragement guys! I'm really glad you're enjoying it. Writing from an 'outside' point of view is so much fun. And Panther, you've got some excellent insights, but my lips are sealed.

Ok, now on to the never-before-seen, fresh-off-the-press chapter 9!

<<<<<<>>>>>>

Spring, 2026

“Are you busy?” the soft voice called to him from the hall.

He grunted in reply without looking up from the mounds of papers on his desk. He’d somehow been roped into hosting Barbara and Sam’s wedding since they were both extremely busy in their respective careers – Sam recently elected to the position of district attorney, and Barbara leading the field as the possible replacement for the soon-to-be retiring Commissioner of Police. One evening, a week earlier, while he and Mardi were having dinner with the couple, Barbara had been lamenting over her lack of spare time and all of the tedious details wrapped up in even the simplest of weddings, not to mention the decision still remained as to where the event would even take place. Mardi, in a moment of shear cosmic absurdity brought on by too much wine, had piped up and volunteered his time and home. Several methods of slow, painful torture crossed his mind after she’d finished speaking, but the look of hope and relief on Barb’s face had clinched the deal. “Of course,” he’d said cordially. “It’ll be my wedding gift to you.” He knew the former Batgirl was secretly laughing inside at his new role of wedding planner.

Now he was knee-deep in florists, caterers, photographers, and invitations, though he drew the line at outfitting the wedding party; the bride and groom were on their own in that respect. For about the millionth time he wished Alfred were still around, but he was the Batman who had defeated worse odds than this.

The instigator behind his current grievous situation glided across the study floor and stood to the left of his desk trying to gain his attention. He could feel her presence though he couldn’t see it, since he still refused to so much as raise his head to acknowledge her.

“I know you’re still sore with me,” she started, “but I was hoping I could get your assistance on a matter of grave importance.” He pursed his lips together in annoyance and laid down his Cross pen. Turning towards her, he folded his arms across his chest in a regal manner, and looked up. It was with the strongest self-control learned from the greatest eastern masters that he managed to keep the look of cool indifference on his face. She posed before him a vision in a silk, midnight blue peignoir with black lace edging the entire garment. The V of the bodice dipped down to a dangerous level and a slit ran up the right thigh, stopping a few meager inches below her waistline. It clung to her curves and accentuated every positive feature of her lithe form. “I picked this up after work today. The clerk at the shop says it’s guaranteed to drive any man wild. So, do I need to get my money back or not?” She lifted her arms, and everything shifted provocatively.

Using ancient calming techniques he regarded her thoughtfully. With a slight nod he said, “This will take some serious study. Turn around.” She grinned sheepishly, and then slowly rotated to the left. When her back was to him he commanded her to stop. Reaching out he placed a hand on each hip and pulled her backwards until she gently sank into his lap. “All the senses must be tested,” he whispered into her ear, drawing his nose down her throat to smell her sweet fragrance, stopping at her shoulder where he planted a small kiss on the bare skin beside the negligee’s strap. His hands ran smooth, slow paths down, then up her thighs, and then around her abdomen, sliding up to cup a breast in each palm.

Her breath hitched and she said thickly, “I don’t know about you, but I’m sure getting my money’s worth.”

He drew her legs across his lap and she draped her arms behind his neck, leaning into a kiss. They were lost in each other for what could have been days, but was more likely several long minutes, hands searching, tongues tasting, and skin feeding on skin.

The hot passion was unceremoniously cooled as a harsh voice cried out, “Oh good God!” It was both angry and horrified and captured their attention immediately. “It’s worse than Barb said. You have finally lost it!”

“Dick,” Bruce whispered, almost unable to believe his own eyes. The other man’s features had softened with age and his black hair was streaked with gray, but he was still solidly built with an aggressive stance enhanced by the venomous look he wore on his face. He made a dismissive gesture with his hand and walked out of the room. “Dick!” Bruce finally managed to find his voice. He stood up quickly and set Mardi brusquely onto her feet. “Stay here,” he ordered and headed after his son. “Dick! Wait!” he commanded.

Dick finally halted a few feet from the front door and turned to glower at him. “You! You of all people I would never have believed to fall for some cheap whore!” he yelled at Bruce, his voice echoing throughout the large manor.

“Watch your language,” Bruce spoke in a low, controlled voice, but as usual his emotions were in turmoil in regards to this man who once upon a time had been a small boy that had admired and revered him.

“Why? I’m sure she’s got her hand on your wallet while the other one’s wrapped around your…”

“Richard!” he bellowed, which only caused the younger man to smirk. “Who do you think you are coming into my home after all this time, uninvited and unannounced, and start slandering a person you’ve never met?”

“I thought I was your son!” Dick replied with surprising force.

“So did I!”

The two men glared at each other until Dick finally cut his eyes away first. “When Barb told me you had a girlfriend I got suspicious. I mean, you? There had to be something more going on.”

Bruce nodded. “Why don’t you come in and we’ll sit down and talk about it.”

“You? Talk?” Dick replied flippantly.

“You’d be surprised at what I’m up to these days,” Bruce commented ironically. Dick followed Bruce back into the study, where Mardi still stood behind the desk, arms crossed in an attempt to cover her only barely dressed form. She was frowning, but moved to Bruce’s side when he held his hand out to her. “Mardi, this is Richard Grayson, my adopted son. Dick, this is Mardi Purcell…”

“The cheap whore,” she cut in caustically, eyeing Dick with obvious disdain. “Congratulations, you’ve caught me red-handed. After all there isn’t one redeemable quality about him that any self-respecting woman would be interested in, is there? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you two to talk alone. I’ve got to be at work early tomorrow.” She slipped between them and headed towards the stairs.

Dick watched as Bruce stared after her in an almost longing manner. Only one other time did he see his mentor react to a woman like this, and she turned out to be a plant. For some reason he didn’t think that was the case this time. “You’re in love with her aren’t you?” he asked in awe. “Are you going to marry her?”

“I’ve been trying to convince her to for over a year now. I was starting to make some headway, but thanks to you I’m probably back to square one.”

Dick raised his eyebrows. “She won’t marry you?” He paused for a minute. “She has a job?” Bruce nodded and Dick suddenly felt like an ass.

“Have a seat. Would you like something to drink?”

“Yeah, I think that would be a good idea.” Bruce moved over to the side bar and poured two brandies. He carried the snifters over to Dick who was sitting in the large comfortable chair in front of his desk. Dick thanked him and took a small sip. “What does she do?” he asked conversationally.

“She’s an account manager at Wayne-Powers.” Dick gave him a knowing look. “I have nothing to do with the company anymore. Her work there is totally her own. I suspect she’ll be a division head in a couple of years. I’d like her to find something else, but she enjoys it too much and I don’t have the heart to ask her to give it up.”

“You really have changed since you stopped being Ba…” He bit off the rest as Bruce held a hand up in the old signal for silence they’d used while patrolling the streets, the long ago training coming to the forefront of his mind. Bruce set down his glass and walked over to close the double doors of the study. “She doesn’t know you were Batman, does she?” Dick asked when he came back and sat down.

“No. And I’d like to keep it that way if you don’t mind.” Dick sighed and drained his glass, unsure where to go from here. Bruce started by asking, “So you’ve been in contact with Barbara?”

He nodded and then said, “Yeah, for a while now. She even asked me to come to the wedding. Can you believe that?” There was a small laugh, but then he was reminded of what caused the rift to begin with and looked at Bruce darkly. “I wanted to kill you when I found out what you’d done. I was angry with her too, but you…God she was my life Bruce how could you?”

The older man sat in silence for a moment. “You were the one who left her,” he finally pointed out.

“No! I left you, not her. She should have come with me.”

“You should have asked her. Or maybe you didn’t because you knew what the answer would be.”

“She wouldn’t have chosen you over me, never!”

“She wouldn’t have chosen Bruce over you, but she would have chosen Batman. She knew where her duties lay.” Dick huffed and threw his head back. “Dick,” Bruce said softly. “I never meant it to happen. I never wanted to hurt you, either of you, in that way.”

“Did you love her?”

“Of course. She’s the daughter of one of my dearest friends, she fought along side of me for years, she saved my life. But she never loved me. It was always you.”

Dick closed his eyes, trying to process the information, the bitter hatred in his heart not wanting to let go, but he tried anyway. “Why did we have to wait twenty years to do this?” he asked tiredly.

“Because some people can be hardheaded and foolish.” Dick raised an eyebrow but stayed wisely silent. “Are you coming to the wedding?”

Dick shrugged. “It’s just too weird, know what I mean?”

“Yes. Yes I do.” Bruce sipped his own brandy. “How’s the family?”

Dick looked skeptically. “Like you haven’t been keeping tabs? Cheryl divorced me three years ago. She’s got full custody of the kids.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing for you to be sorry about. She just didn’t want to be a cop’s wife anymore, not to mention all the night work. She married a butcher last fall. I get steaks every time I go visit the kids. Is Tim coming?” he asked.

“No,” Bruce replied sadly. “It’s better for him, he says, if he stays away from here.” From me, his eyes said.

Dick looked at Bruce. “Babs told me about your little adventure last Christmas. Getting back into the swing of things?”

“It was nothing really.”

“Going to put the suit back on?”

“I can’t. It takes too much out of me physically. I could end up getting someone else hurt or killed.” He raised his glass. “To the death of Batman.”

“You’re really through? I never thought I’d see the day when you’d hang up the cape.”

“Me either Dick.”

Dick looked thoughtfully into his glass for a moment, then looked up with a grin. “You know if you marry her she’ll be like my step-mother.” Bruce stared at him blankly. “She’s younger than me,” he explained.

“Get over it,” Bruce replied tersely.

<<<<<<>>>>>>

She was lying on her side, facing the wall when he slipped under the sheets next to her. It didn’t take the world’s greatest detective to figure out she was still angry. “I’m sorry,” he said out loud into the darkness.

“Why? Because you didn’t raise him with better manners?” She rolled over and her eyes flashed in the moonlight.

“Dick’s concern was genuine, if misplaced, however he has a short temper and has a bad habit of saying whatever’s on his mind. Not unlike another little hot-head that I’m particularly fond of.” He tapped her nose with a finger.

“Yes but if he thinks that way, what do you expect the rest of the city thinks?” she cried.

“Let me make one thing perfectly clear, I don’t give a damn what the rest of the city, or even the world for that matter, thinks. They don’t know you, and they don’t even really know me. Most of them are probably more interested that I’ve been with the same woman for longer than a week. If they believe you’re using me they probably feel I’m simply getting my comeuppance.”

She sighed, “But…”

“No,” he replied firmly. “No ‘buts’. I know you, and I trust you. That’s all that matters. I won’t listen to any more about this.”

She bit her lower lip and lowered her eyes for a moment. Then she looked back up at him. “Fine,” she agreed reluctantly. “But I’m not really a hot-head, am I?”

He trailed a finger softly down her cheek. “You are very passionate, about everything, you speak your mind, and you always fight the good fight. I can’t begrudge you that. As a matter of fact, that’s what attracted me to you.” His hand slid down her shoulder and beneath the sheets, settling on her still silk-clad waist. “I do believe we started something earlier that needs to be finished.” Before she could reply he sunk his fingertips into her delicate flesh, eliciting the desired reaction. She squealed and tried to pull away from his touch.

“Don’t do that!” she shrieked between giggles as his hand found other tender areas quicker than she could defend against the brutal onslaught. Before long she was gasping for breath and begging for his mercy.

<<<<<<>>>>>>

The following morning Mardi’s alarm clock sounded at precisely six am. She quickly turned it off and made her way to the bathroom with an increasing sense of urgency. She managed to close the door behind her and barely made it to the toilet before expelling the meager contents of her stomach, followed by several dry heaves.

Once the convulsions had passed she stood before the mirror and wiped her face with a cool cloth, wondering what she could have possible eaten that would have made her so violently ill.

<<<<<<>>>>>>

[Panther]

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sick. In the morning. What could possibly casue that? Gee, let me think.

What an awesome twist in the tale! I honestly never saw that one coming. 'Scuse me while I go revise my theories on what's to come.

The scary thing is this development could mean either great happiness or great tragedy, it hangs in the balance now. It's up to you.

Is writing the ultimate power trip or what?

later,

[Calico]

Hey Panther - It could just have been some bad sushi And, yes, the power is intoxicating. Bwahahah!! Ahem, now on with the story:

<<<<<<<>>>>>>

Three people sat around the end of the long Wayne dining table, Bruce at the head, Mardi and Dick on either side of him, eyeing each other like a pair of boxers awaiting the starting bell for round one of the championship bout. It had been three days since their unfortunate introduction and the animosity had not slackened. Bruce felt a little quality time between the two most important people in his life was called for if he hoped to have a meaningful future with either one.

The dinner laid out before them was as simple as it was inedible. Mardi had actually attempted cooking it on her own, from the leathery pot roast to the mashed potatoes that weren’t all that lumpy to the almost gravy-like substance that had at least a cup too much salt to the vegetable dish that had started out as green beans but was now unidentifiable mush. All three diners seemed to be making a concerted effort not to notice.

Bruce remained wisely silent, hoping that one or the other would make the first overture, throwing meaningful looks at Dick. Finally getting the hint, Dick cleared his throat. Mardi looked at him expectantly. “I guess I need to apologize for the things I said the other night. I didn’t mean anything personal by it.”

“Sure,” she said. “And I’m sorry I called you a sanctimonious ass.”

Dick looked perplexed. “You never said that to me.”

“Oh. In that case, you are a sanctimonious ass.” She resumed eating, oblivious to his sputtering.

Dick looked at Bruce, who was intensely interested in a watercolor landscape painting hanging on the wall to his left. Fighting the urge to kick him under the table, Dick looked back at Mardi, who was now staring at him with the utmost contempt. “Okay, let’s call that even and start over,” he offered.

“Whatever,” she replied flatly.

“Good,” he said brightly. “So Bruce tells me you work at Wayne-Powers. That must be kind of weird, huh?”

“How so?”

“I was just thinking if everybody knows that you’re shack…er, I mean living with one of the owners…”

“My living arrangements are nobody’s business but my own.” Her voice dripped with icy calm.

“Uh oh, I’ve gone and offended you again, haven’t I?”

“What a surprise,” she drawled. “Of course, what more is there to expect from a grown man who has the maturity of a twelve year old?”

Bruce was now studiously inspecting the carpet. Dick realized he was completely on his own for this showdown. And he feared he was woefully outgunned. They could sling insults back and forth, but what would that accomplish, he wondered. He’d already made the first move towards reconciliation with Bruce, and this seemed to be the final test.

“Okay, that’s it! We’ve got to call a truce,” he finally said with exasperation. Pointing to his father he said, almost pleading, “For him at least?”

Bruce finally looked at him, a hint of pride in his blue eyes. Then he looked at Mardi with a raised eyebrow. “Well?”

She stood up, tossing her napkin down. “We have apple pie for dessert,” she said and disappeared into the kitchen.

Dick gave Bruce a desperate look. “What, is she trying to kill me? You couldn’t find someone who at least can cook?”

Bruce shrugged. “She has other talents.” He gave his son a knowing smile.

“Oh, I did not need to hear that!”

“Hear what?” Mardi questioned as she came back through the door carrying a tray.

“I was telling Dick that although cooking isn’t your forte, you have some other remarkable skills.”

“Really? Did you tell him about that thing I do with my feet?”

“Please don’t,” Dick moaned.

“Is your mind constantly in the gutter? I simply can write my name with my toes.”

“Why would you want to do that?” he asked in utter confusion.

“I never said it was a useful ability,” she shrugged, and started dishing out slices of the pie. “And for your information, I did not make this; I picked it up at a bakery.”

“Thank God!” Dick exclaimed with relief, digging into his piece. Mardi looked at Bruce, and Bruce looked at Mardi, and she burst out laughing. Dick looked up and swallowed the bite in his mouth. “Does this mean everything’s okay?”

She stopped laughing long enough to shake her head and say, “No.” But she was still smiling.

<<<<<<>>>>>>

She was out on the veranda, leaning against the railing, gazing out at the starry night, after leaving the men to talk in the study. He watched her through the glass door for a moment before softly opening it and joining her against the rail. She was cradling a mug between her hands and took a sip before looking up at him.

“Hey,” he said softly. “What’s that?”

She shrugged. “Just some hot tea. I was hoping it would settle my stomach. I think something I ate disagreed with me.”

He flashed one of his patented grins. “Join the club.”

Her face darkened for one brief second and then relaxed into a large smile. “I’ve come to terms with the fact that I won’t be gracing the cover of Haute Cuisine Monthly.” He could see how she managed to capture Bruce’s heart. She was feisty and clever, able to sling vicious barbs and still maintain a self-effacing humor, with a touch of bawdy temptress thrown in for good measure; it would be enough to keep even the most jaded man on his toes. And she was unquestionably attractive in a simple sort of way. Dick thought that given different circumstances he may well have fallen for her himself.

They stood in silence for a while, before Dick gathered enough courage to launch into his reason for coming out. “Despite my initial reservations, I wanted you to know I think you might actually do him some good. Take it from someone who knows, he’s not famous for making commitments, he’s always been, well…”

“Don’t worry, I know all about his past exploits.”

“You do? He said you didn’t know he was…”

“Fast and loose with his affections? There used to be a different woman every night. Sometimes two. It doesn’t take a psychiatrist to figure out what that was all about. Orphaned at a young age, just trying to replace his parents with whatever girl was handy.”

“Oh that past,” he said, backpedaling. “Sure that’s exactly what I meant. The whole playboy routine. Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “So anyway why won’t you marry him then?”

“I’ve been married before. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“I know I sounded harsh before, but if it makes any difference I know you’re not after his money.”

“And how do you figure that?”

“I’m a police detective; it’s my job to read people,” he said good-naturedly.

“But I could be the world’s greatest actress. After all what better way to throw you off the scent than to refuse the one thing I wanted.”

“Sure, but there’s one flaw in your reasoning. He trusts you.”

“So?”

“So, Bruce Wayne may be a lot of things, but gullible is not one of them. Believe me, he knew everything there is to know about you twelve hours after you met him. I guarantee that if you were trying to pull the wool over his eyes, he’d know and you’d be out on your ear.” She just shook her head and looked out over the grounds effectively dismissing the subject. He decided not to pursue the matter. Instead he gently elbowed her and asked, “So any chance you and I will ever be friends?”

“Hard to say. You didn’t make a very good first impression,” she replied airily.

“I can accept that. Just don’t expect me to call you ‘Mom’,” he teased.

Turning, she placed a hand on her hip. “If you do you won’t live long enough to say it a second time,” she promised.

“Agreed,” he said with a laugh. “Hey, the night’s still young, you up for a little fun?”

“What?” she asked suspiciously.

“Have you ever been to a karaoke bar?”

“Singing in public? No.”

“Perfect. First-timers are the best. Tim and I used to do it all the time. It’s a blast.”

“Who’s Tim?”

“Uh, just another one of Bruce’s strays. He used to collect them back in the day.” She started to ask another question, so he said quickly, “Maybe we can even get old grim and grumpy to accompany us.”

<<<<<<>>>>>

“Dear lord, her singing is just as bad as her cooking,” Dick complained. On stage Mardi was putting every effort into a song, even though she was terribly off-key.

I keep on fallin' iiiinnn
And out of love with yooouuu

“Tell me again what we’re doing here,” Bruce asked as his finger drummed the table.

“Family bonding,” Dick replied with a pained look on his face as he watched the performance.

“I mean what am I doing here?”

Dick shot him a look. “Barb told me you’re busting your back getting their wedding together, so I figured you could use some time to relax.”

“This is relaxing?”

Oh oh oh I never felt this waaaay
How do you give me so much plea-sure
And cause me so much paaiaiaiin

“Dogs must be falling down dead outside,” Dick quipped. “Hey what are you going to sing?”

“I’m not singing,” Bruce replied darkly.

“Spoilsport,” Dick complained as he flagged down a waitress to get a song list. “Look at all these oldies. Hmmm,” he perused the list. “Oh, look at this. Another Superman song. Ever wonder why they never wrote a song about you?” he said slyly. Bruce ignored him. “You know what, I think this might work. Listen, ‘I’m just a man, in a pointy black mask’,” he sung.

Bruce shot daggers from his eyes. “That’s enough,” he spoke through clenched teeth. Dick got up and asked the waitress for a pen and paper.

Mardi’s performance was winding down on stage.

I'm fallin' in and out of love with you
I never loved someone the way that I love you

Mercifully the song ended. A few onlookers removed their hands from their ears and gave a half-hearted attempt at applause. Oblivious, Mardi hopped down and walked over to the table, sliding into the chair next to Bruce. “Oh, that was fun,” she gasped with a huge grin on her face.

Bruce leaned forward and whispered, “Don’t ever do that again.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because you sucked,” Dick responded without looking up from the paper he was furiously writing on.

“Well I’d like to see you do better,” she told Bruce.

“No,” he replied.

“Why not?”

“My family can trace its heritage to Scottish royalty. The Wayne’s do not sing karaoke.”

“That’s a crock of BS!” Dick exclaimed. To Mardi he said, “He can do anything as long as he’s prepared for it. His biggest fear is of failure. Or being embarrassed. Or being embarrassed by failure. Anyway, everything’s got to be perfect for Mr. Control-freak. I mean when I was a kid and we…”

“Dick, that’s enough,” Bruce scowled.

“Whatever. I’m done.” He got up and spoke to the waitress, who nodded and went to load the machine. Dick proceeded to take the stage.

“Mr. Control-freak?” Mardi asked.

“Let it go,” he warned.

Into the microphone Dick was beginning his own introduction. “There have been numerous songs about The Man Of Steel, Superman. Don’t get me wrong, Big Blue is certainly song-worthy, but why haven’t there been any for Gotham’s own hero, the Batman?” A few cheers rose through the crowd and Bruce groaned inaudibly, putting his head in his hand. Dick continued. “So I have borrowed one of Supes’ tunes and rewrote some of the lyrics. This is dedicated to the Dark Knight, may he rest in peace.”

As the music was being queued, Mardi leaned over and asked, “Do you really think Batman’s dead?”

“Absolutely,” Bruce replied. “We should be leaving now.” He tried to stand up as the first few notes of the song came out of the speakers.

“Hey!” she exclaimed. “I remember this song. It was one of my favorites as a kid. I want to hear.” Bruce glared at her, but sat down.

Dick started singing in a clear baritone voice:

I can’t stand to fight
It’s not some great feat
I’m just out to rid
The evil from the street

I’m more than a bat…I’m more than a man
More than some darkened face, always with a plan
It’s not easy to be me

Wish that I could cry
Fall upon my knees
Find a way to hide
From all these painful memories

It may sound absurd…but it’s still the truth
Even Heroes have the right to brood
I may be disturbed…but wouldn’t you be
Even Heroes have the right to grieve
It’s not easy to be me

Up, up here…away from everything
It’s all right…You can all sleep sound tonight
I’m not crazy…or anything…

I can’t even fly
But I found other means
Men weren’t meant to swing
Like monkeys in the trees

I’m only a man in a pointy black mask
Battling every night on these lonely streets
Only a man in a pointy black mask
Hiding from the dark things inside of me

It’s not easy to be me.

The song faded to an end. There was one brief moment of silence before the entire room exploded in cheers and claps and whistles. Dick sketched an exaggerated bow and leapt off the stage, executing a perfect forward flip, causing even louder praise. He was grinning ear to ear as he strolled confidently to the table. He brought a hand up and touched his fingertips to his forehead in a mock salute to Bruce, who for once seemed at a complete loss for words.

Mardi leapt up clapping enthusiastically, and gave him a big hug before he sat down. “That was great!” she gushed.

“Thanks,” he grinned taking a swig of his beer. “Whaddya think?” he asked Bruce.

Bruce just stood up, motioning for Mardi to do the same. As she was putting on her coat he looked at Dick and nodded once.

<<<<<<>>>>>>

They were getting ready for bed. She stood from her dressing table, rubbing lotion into her hands and arms. As she moved towards the bed, Bruce stepped out from the bathroom and caught her around the waist, pulling her close and nuzzled her throat just beneath her jaw line, where he knew she was most sensitive.

“Mmmm,” she sighed, but managed to push him away. “Not tonight, I’m sorry. I have the most vicious headache, and I’m simply too exhausted to do anything but fall into bed. Probably put a little too much effort into my big debut tonight,” she gave him a small smile.

“Are feeling alright?” he asked, mildly concerned. “You didn’t eat much tonight.”

“Can you blame me?” she poked him gently in the chest, but he didn’t play along.

“Maybe you should see a doctor.”

“Maybe I just need a good night’s sleep. It’s simply been a very stressful couple of days. They’re performing an audit on all the departments at work, which always means the whole company goes nuclear, plus meeting your son hasn’t been exactly conducive to a healthy state of mind.”

“Don’t think you can use this as an excuse to miss the wedding this Saturday,” he warned her. She had already made it known that she didn’t feel comfortable with the idea. She made a face at him. “I mean it. You will be there, at my side, the entire time.”

“Yes, sir!” She saluted him with full military precision. “Shall I be in street-walker attire, or modestly virginal?”

His eyes narrowed, and he gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s Barbara’s day, you were the one who suggested it be here, and I expect you to behave. This is not about you.”

She nodded. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little nervous about meeting all those people.”

“Most of them will be from the police and DA’s office, and their own families. No one you should be concerned with.” He dropped his hand and moved over to the bed, sliding between the sheets. She joined him from the other side, turning off the bedside lamp.

Snuggling close, she whispered sleepily, “Was my singing that bad?”

He replied, “I’ve heard cat fights with more melody.”

<<<<<<>>>>>>

A/N: Fallin' belongs to the very talented Alicia Keys.

Superman (It's Not Easy Being Me) belongs to Five For Fighting, although the rewrite, unfortunately, is mine.

[The Guitar Slayer]

Two things:

1. Uh oh.

2. Anybody want to record the Batman song? We have the Superman Song, the Aquaman Song....

Great work, Calico

[Panther]

“My family can trace its heritage to Scottish royalty. The Wayne’s do not sing karaoke.”

Thank gawd! Mardi was bad enough!

You do relaize that when ever I heat FFF's song I'm goona be thinking iof your lyrics? An hysterical paradoy, I couldn't stop giggling. However, it does seem that Dick is going out of his way to try and steer Mardi in the direction of the ... how shall I put it? Truth? Past? (Batcave? )


And BTW - bad sushi my foot!

[Calico]

Thanks for the kind words Guitar Slayer and Panther! I've never been good at song writing/poetry. And if anyone has the capability and inclination, they are free to use it (ha ha!). Just send me a copy.

It's taken me a little longer to post the next part because I'm working ahead a bit and I wanted everything to be perfect. Of course it isn't, but it's as close to perfect as it's going to be considering I've reread it so much the words stopped making sense! The next couple of parts should be pretty interesting (I hope!)

<<<<<<>>>>>>

The entire manor buzzed with activity. Workers were setting up the chairs beneath a large canopy on the back lawn, the florist had delivered five dozen white lilies to be artfully arranged about the yard and house, and the caterer had completely overtaken the kitchen. It was to one of the waiters that Bruce was speaking when Mardi marched up to him, still in her dressing gown, her hair a wet mop, and her face drawn and strained. “We have to talk,” she announced loudly as he was in mid-sentence. He finished explaining to the young man where to locate the champagne and which vintages were acceptable. He barely glanced at her as he was completing the instructions, and by the time the waiter walked away she was positively livid.

“Well?” he asked finally turning to look at her.

“Here?” she cried. “We can’t talk here!”

“Mardi,” he started patiently, “I have fifty people arriving within the hour, and I don’t have time for games.” He was worried though. Her face was gaunt and pale and she had seemed overly tired and irritable the last few days. He wondered if she had indeed come down with something.

She grabbed his hand and led him upstairs to the bedroom. After closing the door she quickly went into the bathroom and returned with a small white stick. “Look!” she exclaimed holding it out towards him. On the tapered end of the stick was a small sunken area. Inside was a faint pink plus sign.

He looked up at her. “And this is supposed to be…?”

“It’s a pregnancy test, you dolt!” she shouted pointing at the stick. “That means positive, as in I am positively pregnant!” Her eyes were large and so dark it looked like the pupils had completely dilated. Emotion caused her voice to rise to shrewish levels, and her entire body trembled.

He looked from the stick thrust out like a weapon to her face, which clearly registered her agitated state, and chose possibly the worst question to ask. “Are you sure?”

“Am I sure? Of course I’m sure! I’ve only been puking my guts out for the last week and a half. Besides, this is the third test I’ve taken. They all said the same thing.”

“How did this happen?” came the second worst question. “I thought you were…?”

“I was!” She turned from him and started pacing back and forth. “But not everything is a hundred percent effective…especially when you forget two days in a row.” She stopped pacing and slapped herself on the forehead. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

Bruce allowed himself a small smile before going to her and laying a finger under her chin, forcing her to look at him. “It’s all right,” he assured her in what he hoped to be a soothing voice.

“No, it’s not! I’m almost 40 years old – I can’t be having children now! And you. You’re already a grandfather. This is ridiculous,” she spat.

“It’s not that ridiculous. There’s nothing we won’t be able to give this child and I don’t believe it will be any worse off for having parents who are a little older.” He drew a thumb across her cheekbone tenderly. “Once we’re married I’m sure things won’t seem quite so catastrophic.”

He saw the explosion shadowed in her face a mere second before the verbal diatribe was launched. “Married?! Who said anything about married? This isn’t the nineteenth century – a woman with child does not need to marry simply to protect her precious honor! And for your information I don’t know if I want to be a mother. I’ve never felt the urge to reproduce. I’m not certain I would even be a good mother.”

“What are you going to do then, give it up? Or worse? Could you do that Mardi? Could you kill it?”

Her face fell. “I-I don’t know,” she replied quietly.

“Then you seriously need to think about it.” She looked up at him with a lost expression that was as endearing as it was heart wrenching. He wanted to take her into his arms and make everything all right. Instead he walked out the door.

<<<<<<>>>>>>

He had just finished giving directions to the photographer when he saw her descend the staircase in a soft pink dress, hair held back with pearl combs, and a thin string of pearls around her neck. She had applied makeup, but the shadows under her eyes were still visible. He nodded to the man and slapped him on the shoulder, then moved to meet her, which was fortuitous since she stumbled on the last step and would have fallen face first onto the floor if he hadn’t caught her in his arms. With a blush that only enhanced the paleness of her face, she steadied herself within his grasp. “Sorry,” she mumbled and tried to push his hands away. “Got a little dizzy there.”

“When was the last time you ate something and kept it down,” he frowned at her.

She shrugged. “I lost track.”

“Come with me,” he instructed and took her into the kitchen, sitting her down at the table. The counters were cluttered with warming trays, plates and utensils, and other miscellany the caterer was preparing for the reception buffet. He opened several cupboards and removed a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a banana. Grabbing a knife from the pile of utensils waiting to be set out, he took the supplies to the table. The peanut butter he spread across two slices of bread and added thin pieces of banana before pressing them together. She grimaced at him as he cut the sandwich diagonally and placed it on a small plate before her.

“You’re kidding right?” she said, looking at the concoction skeptically. “You don’t actually expect me to eat this.”

“It’s protein and potassium, which you are sorely lacking right now,” he explained going to the refrigerator and pouring a glass of milk, which he set next to the still untouched sandwich. “Plus it’s very bland. It should stay down easier. Go on,” he encouraged.

“So you’re a doctor now,” she said with mild sarcasm.

“My father was a doctor. But mostly it’s just common sense.”

“Oh,” she replied softly. Gingerly she picked up one of the halves and took a small bite from the corner. She chewed thoughtfully, and then swallowed, chasing it with a swig of milk. “Hey, that’s not bad,” she commented then finished the rest of the half.

“Better?” he asked when she had finished.

“Yeah, much. Thanks,” she whispered, leaning towards him. She placed a hand against his cheek and kissed him. “What would I do without you?” she asked softly in his ear.

They both turned when a voice called out, “Hello?” Barbara was standing at the outside door, a garment bag slung over her shoulder and a scarf tied around head. “I just spent two hours getting my hair and nails done. Am I interrupting anything?” she asked seeing them at the table.

“Not at all,” Mardi replied. She stood up and cleaned up the mess on the table. “How are you feeling?”

“Excited. Hi,” she said to Bruce.

With a smile he stood up and greeted her with a hug. “People will be arriving soon. You’d better go finish getting ready.”

“Yes, I know,” she said. “Have you heard from Sam?”

Bruce nodded. “He had to stop by the office, but should be here in time.”

“Need some help getting dressed?” Mardi asked.

“Love it,” Barbara smiled slinging an arm around her shoulder. Bruce watched the two women disappear out of the kitchen and thought for once he knew what it meant to feel contented.

<<<<<<>>>>>>

Later he would recognize all the signs for what they were, realizing he’d let himself start to lose that edge that had kept him alive for so many years. But he finally recognized something was truly wrong when a waiter bent over to pick up a dropped napkin and, as his jacket slid up his back, Bruce saw a pistol sticking out of the back waistband of his trousers. From then on he was in full Bat mode.

The ceremony had gone like clockwork, with the slight setback that Sam was almost fifteen minutes late, having to clear up a small problem at the office. But he was waiting at the altar with a look of pure happiness as Barbara walked down the isle in her cream-colored pantsuit. The vows were spoken, the rings exchanged, and the minister pronounced them man and wife in less than twenty minutes.

Afterwards, the newlyweds and their guests moved into the house for the modest celebration. The festivities were confined to the rarely used ballroom, decorated with lilies and other flowers, waiters mingling with trays of hors d’oeurves and champagne. Dinner was scheduled to be served buffet-style later in the afternoon. Light classical music was being piped in through the inter-room sound system. A long table beneath a bank of windows displayed the three-tiered wedding cake.

Barbara was standing with a small smile on her face as she admired the delicate edging of the cake when Bruce walked up to her. She looked at him. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “Everything is wonderful. Thank you so much for doing this.”

“You’re welcome,” he said warmly and bent to kiss her on the cheek. They both turned to look out on the guests clustered into small groups and talking quietly.

Barbara gestured to Mardi who was talking to Sam in the opposite corner. “So I hear congratulations are in order,” she murmured to him.

“She told you?”

“Yes.” She took a sip of her champagne. With a wry smile she said, “Try and do it right this time, okay?” Someone across the room waved to her and she responded, leaving Bruce alone as she joined them. It was at that time, as he was surveying the party that he began to sense something was amiss. The waiters seemed to be making eye contact and communicating with various nods, winks, and other signals, which in and of itself was not unusual, but he also realized that he hadn’t seen any of these men before. There was no sign of the young man who he’s spoken to about the champagne this morning, and he hadn’t seen the caterer in hours.

That was when Sam’s mother dropped her plate of appetizers. She and her husband bent down to clean it up just as the waiter appeared at their side to help. As soon as he saw the gun he felt his whole body tense. The mess was cleaned up and the party resumed as normal – for everyone else.

His eyes immediately sought out Mardi. Whatever happened, he wanted her out of the way. Once she was safe, he would pull Barbara aside. Smiling to several of the guests as he walked casually across the room, he sidled up to Mardi and placed a hand between her shoulder blades. To Sam he said, “I hate to interrupt, but I really need to borrow her for a moment.”

“Certainly,” Sam replied. “I believe I’ve left my wife alone for too long as it is.” When he was gone, Bruce took her by the hand and pulled her out of the room.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “You’re hurting my hand Bruce.”

“I’m sorry,” he said in a perfunctory manner, but his eyes were scanning the area, and his ears alert for all sounds. For lack of a better place he led her to the kitchen, poking his head through the swinging door before entering to make sure it was empty. Seeing there was no one inside, he pulled her after him. To the left was another door, which he opened and thrust her through, ignoring her cries of protest. Inside was the spacious butler’s pantry filled with shelves of cans, jars, and sacks of food plus a multitude of cleaning supplies. He flipped on the overhead light and faced her. “Stay here.”

“Are you out of your mind?” she asked incredulously.

“No,” he responded seriously. “You need to wait here until I come back for you.”

“But…” she began to argue when the gunfire interrupted her thought. It was followed by several screams. “What on earth?” she gasped looking towards the door.

“Mardi,” she shook her lightly to gain her full attention. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” she whispered, eyes wide.

“Then wait here and you'll be safe.” Giving her a brief kiss, he insisted, “I’ll be back for you.” He turned to leave, then paused at the door. “If someone else finds you before I come back, tell them I was tired and went to lie down.”

She made a face. “Like anyone will believe that.”

“Convince them,” he replied urgently then stepped outside and closed the door behind him. He realized this was going to raise some serious questions he’d rather not answer, but there were more important things to worry about now.

He moved to go back through the door into the dining room when it suddenly opened inward. One of the waiters, apparently performing a sweep of the house, pushed through with his weapon drawn. Bruce reacted quickly, using the element of surprise to his advantage, by grabbing the gun with his left hand, turning his body away and pulling the man forward as he smashed his right elbow into his face. The unfortunate fellow crumpled to the floor before he knew what had happened with a severely crushed nose. He dragged the lifeless body into a far corner, trussing it up with several dishrags and tossed a tablecloth over it for camouflage.

That chore finished, he revised his decision to retrace his steps through the house, opting for some covert outdoors surveillance. Exiting out the side kitchen door, he made his way quietly along the perimeter of the mansion, towards the large block of windows that looked in on the ballroom. He had just arrived when a small crunching sound alerted him to a presence behind. He turned and pulled his punch mere inches from impacting onto Dick’s face. “I thought I taught you to be quieter than that,” he groused.

“I knew it was you. I wanted to give you enough warning. Don’t need you having another heart attack.” He came up along side Bruce and both of them peered inside. All of the guests were rounded up and stood in the far corner, hands clasped behind their heads. Three gunmen stood guard over them.

“Looks like we got at least five of them,” Dick remarked.

“How do you know that?”

“Because I found five semi-naked, unconscious bodies in the catering truck back there.”

Bruce nodded. “Make that four then; I took one out in the kitchen.”

“That’s my old man,” Dick smirked.

“What are you doing here anyway?” Bruce asked him.

“I just came for the show. You know I’m a sucker for happy endings, even when it’s not my own. Anyway after the ceremony I was heading back down to the road to get my car when I saw these guys acting suspiciously around the truck. Once they left I checked it out. I was on my way inside when I heard the gunfire, so I tried the old cave entrance back there,” he pointed over his shoulder, “but you’ve apparently sealed them all off.” Bruce nodded absently. “So you got a plan?” Dick asked.

“Yeah. Take down all the bad guys,” he replied dryly.

“Ha ha.” Dick glanced into the room. “So where’s your girlfriend?”

“Safe,” Bruce replied.

“Uh, you might want to rephrase that. Look.” He pointed to the door. A fourth man entered grasping Mardi by the elbow, hauling her forward so swiftly she fell to her knees before a sandy-haired man with a prominent scar underneath his right eye and a perpetual scowl on his face.

Bruce watched the exchange between the scarred man and Mardi. He asked her a question, which she answered, precisely as she should, then he gestured towards the one that brought her in, who then nodded in response and left the room. The scarred man said something so distinctly to Mardi even someone unable to lip-read would have understood before placing the muzzle of his gun against her head.

“Let’s go.” He grabbed Dick’s arm and propelled him forward. “We don’t have much time.”

<<<<<<>>>>>>

[The Guitar Slayer]

Arg! Cliffhangers!

If you're taking this where I think you're are taking this, you might have a riot on this thread....

But if you only have Bruce and Dick suit up, I'll be thrilled to death.

[Kali]

A couple of things:

1) Pikachu is cute!

2) I love those three songs: The FFF Supes song, Alicia Keys' Fallin', and the Nickelback song. Nice parody of the Supes song. I do wish that more people would do Batman songs.

3) I loved the reunion stuff between Bruce and Dick. And the conflicting tensions between Mardi and Dick. And the Karoake (sic?) stuff.

4) Pikachu is cute!

5) Mardi is preggers! And currently a hostage! Uh-oh. This doesn't bode so well for our favorite brooding dark knight and his lady fair. Darned cliff-hangers!

6) Pikachu is.... well, you get the idea. I have this thing for adorable little anime critters.