by Mara

Summary: When Scott loses a bet to Jean, she comes up with a…unique way for
him to pay up.

The sun was almost directly above the mansion and there wasn’t a cloud in the
sky. Under most circumstances, this would please Scott, but today he’d been
hoping for a violent hurricane. A monsoon. Maybe a tornado?

A light breeze drifted through the shrubbery, carrying the scent of azaleas.
Scott groaned and tried to step backward.

Jean patted Scott on the cheek as she herded him out the front door. “Look at it
this way: If you’re lucky, maybe Magneto will attack on the way there.”

“I *wish*,” he muttered, scowling at her as she leaned her head back and
laughed.

Ororo came down the stairs at a jog. “I could accompany you, if you need help.”

“Oh no.” Jean shook her head firmly, waving her back. “No way. He lost the bet
fair and square and he’s not wriggling out of this.” Ororo shrugged and turned
down the hall toward the kitchen, unsuccessfully hiding a smile.

Birds chirped in the trees, as if they were also laughing at him and Scott
decided the entire universe hated him. “If I’d known,” he said, almost pleading,
“that Jubilee and Angelo were *capable* of behaving themselves in class for an
entire week, I would never have agreed to the bet in the first place.”

“You’re a pessimist,” Jean said, crossing her arms.

“A realist.” Scott corrected her as he checked his pockets.

Heaving a sigh, Jean watched him. “The keys are already in the ignition. Your
driver’s license is in your wallet in your right pocket. The car is waiting and
you have to go now.”

Scott wavered. He could beg. Maybe if he offered back rubs for a month? To spend
less time working on the jet? Anything else?

Her smile beatific, Jean pointed toward the Ford Explorer sitting in the drive.
“Go.”

Scott manfully suppressed a whimper. “Ave, Caesar, morituri te salutamus.”
Turning, he trudged down the walk toward his doom.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Scott. You’re not actually going to *die*.” She closed
the front door with a resounding thud, which echoed in the courtyard.

Really, Scott thought, there was only one thing that would make this moment even
worse. He thanked whatever deity might be listening that Logan was still off on
his quest, then looked around hastily, lest the universe teleport him back in
time to witness this humiliation.

“C’mon, Mr. Summers,” Jubilee called, leaning out the window of the SUV, “it’s
almost 12 o’clock! The mall closes in nine hours and we’ve got a lot of shopping
to do.”

Scott rubbed his temples and got into the driver’s seat, glancing around to make
sure nobody was missing. No, there were Jubilee, Rogue, Kitty, Betsy, Monet, and
Paige, all lined up in their seats looking like cats with their eyes on a
particularly tasty fish.

Jean opened the door and leaned back out. “Oh, and try and look interested,
would you, Scott?”

Scott decided he hated his life.

* * * * *

Very few people knew that besides his unusual visual skills, Scott also had the
more common ability of passive absolute pitch: He could identify and name
individual notes or groups of notes. It was useless, he’d found, since he
couldn’t *produce* those notes on command, just recognize them–an extension of
his excellent memory.

All of which made for a great party trick and an absolute hatred of mall music,
which always seemed to be transposed to a different key or played at a
nonstandard pitch.

It gave him a headache every single time.

Scott paused at the door, glaring through the glass with loathing at the milling
hordes. Jubilee took his left hand and Paige his right.

“It’s okay, Mr. Summers,” Paige said in what was meant to be a kind tone, but
came out sounding like a parent trying to convince a child that shots weren’t
really that bad. “It’s just one day at the mall,” she said, “how bad can it be?”

“You’re kidding, right?” he asked as they led him through the doors.

“Okay,” Jubilee said, taking point. “We agreed we’d hit Hot Topic first, right?”

Monet sighed. “If you insist. However, I find the store quite wearying.”

Scott realized he was in the odd position of agreeing with Monet about
something. Proving that *anything* was possible at least once.

“I promise we’ll take you and Betsy someplace appropriately snooty before the
day is over,” Kitty said with a grin.

Betsy and Monet both sighed.

“As long as I get to go to Old Navy for pants,” Rogue said.

“Yes yes,” Jubilee said. “Let’s go. We’ve got important shopping to do, ladies.”

Scott followed in their wake as the strangely assorted gaggle of girls swept
semi-majestically down the corridor. He winced as the public address system
blared out a hideous instrumental version of “Stairway to Heaven.”

* * * * *

The procession came to a stop in front of something that looked like a
nightclub. “This is Hot Topic?” Scott said, his voice faint. “Are you sure–”

But the girls were already in the store and Scott dashed in, odd
lights winking off…was that a collar? A chain?

If he lived through this day, Scott decided, he was going to *kill* Jean for not
warning him that there was something that looked like an *S&M dungeon* in the
local mall.

There were *corsets* over there and satin things…and…

His students were happily congregated on the other side of the store looking at
jewelry and t-shirts. Monet and Betsy were laughing at Jubilee as she waved her
hands at a rack of t-shirts, and he decided to let them sort that out
themselves.

Paige’s mouth was pinched in mild disapproval and Scott went to stand with her.
“Not your favorite store?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t know what my momma would think of it.”

“Paige, c’mere,” Rogue called. “I need you to look at these earrings.”

Scott hid a grin as Paige forgot her misgivings and dashed over to inspect the
apparently vitally important accessory. Then he resolutely turned his back on
the wall of terrifying unmentionables and concentrated on keeping Kitty away
from clothing that bared too much of her skin.

* * * * *

Fortunately for Scott’s nerves, Hot Topic was the most terrifying store they
visited. Victoria’s Secret ran a close second, but fortunately, when they got
*there*, the girls strictly ordered him to stand outside the entrance with the
fathers, boyfriends, and husbands.

Scott was irresistibly reminded of a doctor’s office, with a corner full of men
avoiding each other’s eyes and trying not to blush. Leaning against a fake
pillar, he was briefly glad that he couldn’t see colors, as the overwhelming
amount of pink would otherwise be sickening.

Although the pink couldn’t possibly be as bad as the fact that the music coming
from overhead had moved on to AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell.” Scott wondered if it
would really be a problem if he punctured his eardrums to survive the day.

It seemed to be days before his giggling students emerged from the store, but
his watch claimed it was only 20 minutes. He frowned at them, trying to decide
if he was supposed to ask anything. Certainly he didn’t want to *see* what
they’d bought. He squirmed at the thought. No, his responsibilities as the man
in loco parentis definitely didn’t extend to supervising the purchases of
unmentionables.

Jubilee grinned at him and the blush he’d been fighting promptly emerged. He
glared at her and she grabbed Kitty’s arm. “C’mon,” she said, “let’s go get
coffee!”

Scott sensibly dove out of the way as six girls made a run for Starbucks.
Fighting Magneto was one thing, but getting between teenage girls and a chai
latte was suicidal.

* * * * *

Betsy and Monet finally gained control of the outing and the group moved on into
the more expensive niches of the mall. Scott raised an eyebrow as he caught a
glimpse of the price tags in Lord & Taylor, and most of the girls were obviously
restricting themselves to window-shopping here.

Betsy, however, made a beeline for a complicated piece of black fabric that
seemed to have straps or…something. Monet tilted her head this way and that as
Betsy held it up in front of her, then started to mutter arcane incantations
concerning accessories and silk and…Scott walked over to where Paige was
pointing to a flowery dress that looked like nasty wallpaper.

“I’m telling you, my gramma had a housecoat that looked just like that,” she
said, covering her mouth to stifle the giggles.

Kitty nodded. “Mine too. Maybe it’s back in fashion.”

“Kitty,” Jubilee said, peering at the dress, “that pattern was *never* in
fashion.”

Scott jumped when someone sniffed. Reminding himself it might be a bit of a
giveaway to hit someone with his beams, he lowered his hand from his glasses and
looked at the woman behind him.

From the bun resting atop her head, to the glasses attached to a chain around
her neck, to the severe dark-colored suit, she was the very image of a
librarian, if hell had a chief librarian. Her tag insisted that she was the
floor manager in the store.

Jubes and the woman eyed each other warily and Scott wondered if he was going to
have to break up a fight.

“Is there a problem?” the manager said, her lips missing a sneer by a hair.

Scott opened his mouth but Rogue beat him to it. “No, ma’am, no problem. We’re
just looking at the clothing.”

“Perhaps,” the manager said, “if you don’t enjoy the clothing we sell, you might
move on to somewhere more suitable to your tastes.” She flicked a glance over
Paige’s denim and t-shirt, Jubilee’s yellow jacket, and Rogue’s enveloping
scarf. “Might I suggest the Wal-Mart down the street?”

Scott’s jaw dropped and there was a frozen moment where he didn’t know what
everyone was going to do.

“Pardon me,” Monet’s smooth and cultured voice said as she strode over. “Do you
work here?”

The manager smiled approvingly at Monet, whose long legs were encased in skin-
tight pants and her upper body draped in a maroon sweater. “Yes, I do. Can I
help you?”

Betsy came up beside Monet and smiled brightly. “Yes, you can.”

“You see,” Monet went on, “we were just about to spend hundreds of dollars in
your store, buying the latest fashions.”

“But then you insulted our friends,” Betsy said, still smiling. “So I think
we’ll go spend our money at Nordstrom instead.”

Monet gestured imperiously at Scott and the others. “Come along, everyone. We’ll
go to Nordstrom and then you must test the new Vera Wang fragrance at Sephora.”

She and Betsy swept toward the entrance in unison, looking very grownup and
graceful.

“Vera Wang?” Scott said, trailing after them. “I thought she did clothing?”

“Oh no,” Kitty said. “Don’t get M started please, or we’ll *never* shut her up.”

Behind him, Scott glimpsed the saleslady still standing where they’d left her,
jaw drooping and glasses sliding slowly down her nose.

Take *that*, he thought.

* * * * *

Old Navy was a relief, Scott decided, two hours later. It looked respectable. It
didn’t overwhelm his eyes with weird lights and reflections. It didn’t stink of
perfume and makeup and lotions. And the salespeople left you alone, which was
nice.

Most of the clothing was relatively harmless and the colors weren’t eye-
searingly awful. Scott took a deep breath and thought perhaps, just perhaps, he
might make it through the day.

Jubilee dithered over a rack full of cropped shirts, and Scott went over to try
and help. He figured it was simple self-preservation: If he helped her pick one,
it might not give him a heart attack when she wore it, and perhaps they could
leave the mall sometime this decade.

He glanced around and saw Paige and Kitty in the back of the store by a sale
rack of the odd skinny pants they’d seen everywhere, Monet hovering
(figuratively, not literally) by the door, and Rogue had her head bent over a
nearby pile of scarves, with Betsy looking on.

“I just don’t know if this color works on me,” Jubilee said. “What do you–oh,
never mind.” She popped her gum and waved at Rogue.

Behind his glasses, Scott rolled his eyes. He could never decide if she said
things like that on purpose, to needle him, or if she really kept forgetting
about the side effects of wearing red glasses. It was always hard to tell with
Jubilee.

There were several male voices a few racks away, and part of his brain paused to
listen to what they were saying.

“Dude, the one with the blonde hair is totally hottest,” one said. “I bet she’s
never done it. I could be her first.”

“No way,” another voice said, “the black chick is hotter. I’d totally do her.”

“What do you think the scarf is hiding?” a third voice said.

Jubilee was still talking to Rogue about the shirts, so she didn’t even notice
Scott sliding away and circling around the young men who were talking. All three
had the backwards baseball cap and baggy jeans look of boys trying to look like
gangsters, which wouldn’t have endeared them to Scott under *any* circumstances,
but especially not when they were leering at his students.

Not being battle-trained, they didn’t notice Scott until he stood directly
behind them. “You know,” he said, watching them jump with surprise, “any one of
those young ladies you’re eyeing could kick your ass with one hand tied behind
her back. And I wouldn’t need either hand.”

His voice grew lower as he spoke, and even the apparent leader–a particularly
repellant specimen in need of a bath–stepped back, nearly tripping over a
wheeled cart.

“In fact,” Scott continued, crossing his arms and flexing his biceps, “I would
recommend that you go somewhere else to ogle, because if you so much as stand
next to one of these ladies, I will return you to your parents minus at least
one portion of your body.”

Eyes wide, the boys stumbled away, tripping over each other in their haste to
get away from the crazy man, nearly knocking over piles of sweaters and vests.

A slow smile grew on Scott’s face. Now *that* was fun.

Betsy pushed through a rack of denim jackets and stomped up to him, scowling.
“You ruined it.”

“What?”

“I was just about to–”

“Wait!” Scott put up a hand to stop her. “Whatever you were about to say, I’m
sure it’s against school rules, so don’t tell me.”

She put her hands on her hips and waited.

“Unless…” He weakened. “Did it involve them seeing spiders?”

Betsy grinned. “Tarantulas. Big hairy ones.”

“I didn’t hear that,” he said with a firm nod. “Let’s go. I’m tired of this
store.”

Betsy grinned and efficiently rounded up her classmates to make their purchases.

Scott found himself smiling. His kids really *could* take care of themselves,
couldn’t they? And they took care of each other, which was even better.

* * * * *

Scott lost count of the stores they visited throughout the afternoon and early
evening, although he vaguely remembered something about eagles and an endless
array of stores selling music and…something about a debate over the coolness
of opaque stockings worn with shorts. That couldn’t be right, could it?

Hands laden with bags, Scott was about to elbow his way through the doors when
he stopped and tilted his head. The public address system was playing “I Will
Survive.”

With a chuckle, Scott followed his students into the parking lot.

“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Rogue asked as they stepped off the curb, and
she smiled at him from under her white streak of hair.

Scott slowed his walk to consider the question. Really, it hadn’t been all that
bad. They were good kids, even if he would never understand their music, their
dress sense, or many of their preoccupations. And it was sort of nice to get to
know them better. “No, it wasn’t so bad,” he agreed. “But you should still take
Jean or Ororo next time.”

Rogue laughed. “So…what are you going to do to get Dr. Grey back for this?”

Hands full, Scott couldn’t put a hand over his heart, but he projected sincerity
with all his might. “I lost the bet fairly, Rogue. I wouldn’t try and get
revenge.”

“Mm-hmm.” She paused, narrowing her eyes. “So, what are you going to do?”

Shrugging, he looked skyward for a moment. “I don’t know. Logan’s still got my
motorcycle. Maybe for my birthday, I’ll take her motorcycle shopping with Bobby
and Peter and Angelo.”

“Ooooh.” Jubilee turned around and stared at him. “That’s cold.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Scott said with a straight face.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: Mike does handyman therapy. Vicki and Henry wonder if he needs the old-fashioned kind. Sequel to “Heal But By Degrees.”

Author’s Chapter Notes:

This is *so* Cereta’s fault, since part of the idea was hers. Someday I’ll learn not to read Grading Hell Theater when I’m supposed to be working. ::sigh::

Continuity: Some indeterminate time after my fic “Heal But By Degrees.”

There was something deeply satisfying about spackling small holes in drywall, Mike thought as he carefully scraped away the excess. Nodding, he decided it was as flat as it was going to get without sanding, and moved on to a dent he’d noticed a few feet away, one that looked like it could also be solved with spackle.

Matching the paint would require some work, but he was sure it was doable. He was fairly sure he could find a beige paint just a bit darker and lighten it to the right color.

When the holes were spackled, he could move on to that drip in the sink, the kind of task that was too small to ever get a repairman in to fix. Mike hoped he had a seat wrench somewhere in his car, since he was sure Henry didn’t have one anywhere in the penthouse.

It was nice to do something that wasn’t life or death for once, Mike mused, pulling a little more spackle out of the can and inspecting it to make sure it wasn’t drying too quickly. Nice to have a tangible result too.

Mike sighed, wishing he could do something about that mitred molding that should have been coped, but that would have required a lot of time and tools that would wake up Vicki, sleeping in the bedroom. And he didn’t want to do that. If she woke up, she’d just ask–

“What are you doing?” Henry asked over his shoulder.

Mike sighed, annoyed he hadn’t even heard the front door open. “What does it look like?”

“It looks,” Henry said slowly, tilting his head to examine the wall, “as if you’re doing something that I pay the building maintenance fund many thousands of dollars to deal with.”

“Well, they haven’t dealt with it. Besides, building maintenance guys never do this kind of thing right. It’d be a crime to let them ruin these walls.”

“Then you can arrest them,” Henry said, plucking the can of spackle out of his hand. “Meanwhile–”

“Hey!” Mike grabbed the spackle back. “Working here. I don’t interrupt you when you’re drawing, so don’t interrupt me.”

“You’re…” Henry shook his head. “Fine. I’ll work and you can continue the menial chores.”

Mike glared at him as he walked away, then sighed. “Did you…?”

Henry slowed, but didn’t turn. “I’ve fed, yes.”

“Okay.” Mike turned back to the wall and took a steadying breath so he didn’t gouge the wall further in his attempts to create a flat surface.

Henry’s silence was full of meaning, but Mike chose to ignore it, and after a few minutes, he heard the tiny scratches of Henry hard at work at the table.

The silence eventually became relaxed again and they worked like that for half an hour, Mike scraping and filling and hand-sanding the high spots until he was satisfied that the walls were perfect again.

Finally he sat on the floor and looked at the walls, with their neat circles of white amid the beige, and felt a deep satisfaction. He realized that the scratching of Henry’s pen had stopped and glanced over his shoulder to find Henry looking at him. “What?”

“You really enjoyed that.”

Mike shrugged. “I used to do things like this for my mom after my dad died, but then she moved into assisted living.” He finished cleaning off the putty knife and put it down on the paper towels he’d been using to wipe up excess spackle.

Henry still watched him. “Fascinating,” he said. “This isn’t a side of you I’ve seen before.”

“What side?” Mike hadn’t meant to sound so combative.

Henry smirked. “Nesting. It’s rather cute.”

Standing, Mike put the spackle and putty knife by the door. “Forget it. I can’t talk to you when you’re in this mood.”

“That’s what I was going to say.” Henry leaned back in his seat.

“Children.” Vicki sighed from the doorway to the bedroom. “I can’t leave you two alone for a minute before you start bickering.”

“We’re not bickering!” Mike and Henry said at the same time.

“Uh-huh.” She yawned, rolling her neck until it cracked. “Henry, go back to work. The answering machine message from your editor sounded like he was coming for you with a stake. Mike, c’mere.”

“Hey!” Henry said.

“To talk,” Vicki said firmly.

Mike dragged his feet until he realized he *was* acting like a child, and he followed Vicki into the bedroom. She shut the door with a pointed glance at Henry that said, ‘I know you *can* listen, but don’t.’

Sinking down on the bed, Mike waited, staring down at the blue-gray sheets.

“So, what’s up? And don’t give me a smartass answer, or I’ll leave you to the tender mercies of the sarcastic vampire.”

“I’m fine.”

“Right.” Crossing her arms, Vicki leaned against the door. “Try that one on someone who wasn’t your partner for years. This,” she pointed at the door behind her, “is what you do when you’re freaked. You look jumpy enough to run, but since I think we’ve established that Henry and I won’t let you do that, why don’t we talk instead?”

“Vic…” He waved a helpless hand.

“Yeah yeah, you’re a guy, whatever. Let’s just assume we’ve already had that discussion and now you tell me what’s bugging you.” She pushed away from the door and sat down next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder.

Automatically, Mike put an arm around her, relishing his ability to do it without her tensing up.

“What’s got you freaked?”

“I…” Words and thoughts that he’d been suppressing all evening churned in his mind. “It’s everything.”

Her sigh ghosted across his neck. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Jesus Christ, I don’t know. It’s like, one day I was a homicide cop trying to catch a killer and missing my old partner and now…” He looked helplessly around the room, with its large bed, soft sheets, and mood lighting.

“At least you’re still a cop.” The words were quiet and spoken into his shoulder, but he still heard them.

Mike squeezed her tight, then let go so he could look her in the eyes. “I don’t know if I can handle this.”

Her jaw clenched. “Mike–”

“How am I supposed to deal with this life? I’m just an ordinary guy. It’s not like I have a precedent. ‘Oh I know, it’s just like Mr. and Mrs. Johnson and their vampire lover, who lived down the street when I was growing up.’”

Vicki snickered.

“It’s not funny.”

She sobered. “I know, but I couldn’t help it.”

“It’s just…you’re asking me to deal with a lot here. First there’s the matter of the woman I love hanging out with a vampire. Oh, and by the way, we’d like you to join us in bed. But you know, every couple of days he’s going to go off and neck–if you’ll excuse the pun–with someone else in a club.”

Vicki was totally serious as she looked up at him. “I love you too.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, that’s not how I meant to say that.”

“I know.” She patted his arm. “But getting back to the point…are you telling me you’re jealous because Henry is getting blood someplace else?”

He threw his hands in the air. “I don’t know. I told you I have no idea how to deal with this.”

“He may use sexual attraction, but he’s only sleeping with us.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” It was the same tone she’d used when he asked if she was sure Henry wasn’t killing women.

“Okay, but…”

“But what?”

“I have no idea.” He stared down at his hands, picking at a bit of spackle on his thumb. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t know what I want.”

Vicki took his hand and tugged him forward until she could kiss him gently on the mouth. “Let us know when you figure that out.”

And she stood and left the bedroom. Mike wanted to call out after her, but he didn’t know what to say, so instead he watched her close the door behind her.

Then he put his head in his hands and waited for the shaking to stop.

* * * * *

Mike lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling for a while, trying to decide what to do. He did need to get some sleep at some point, if he wasn’t going to fall asleep at his desk. Maybe he should just head back to his apartment for the rest of the night.

Of course, Henry would probably point out that he was taking the coward’s way out of this. But to hell with that…Henry could get whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it. And he had Vicki.

With a groan, Mike sat up, but before he could get off the bed, the doors opened and Vicki and Henry came to sit on either side of him. “Going somewhere?” Henry asked.

“I was–”

“Don’t tease him,” Vicki said, leaning across to swat Henry on the chest. “Mike, didn’t I just say we weren’t going to let you run? Why doesn’t anyone listen to me?”

“What?” Henry and Mike responded instantly. Mike grinned at Henry before he remembered that he was supposed to be freaking out.

Henry sobered as well, looking Mike in the eye. “I’m sorry I didn’t thank you for your care of my home. That was inexcusably rude. As Vicki pointed out to me. At length.”

“That’s okay.” Mike shrugged. “I just…needed something to do, and fixing things always helps me.”

“Helps you what?” Henry asked, sounding honestly curious.

“Relax.” Mike avoided his eyes.

After a moment, Henry spoke slowly. “You were worrying about me.”

Mike shrugged again, feeling utterly ridiculous.

Vicki leaned against his shoulder. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I didn’t see it. You *weren’t* worrying that he was feeding on someone else.”

“Well, maybe a little,” Mike mumbled, feeling something beyond ridiculous that he didn’t have a word for.

Henry let out a breath. “Worrying about my safety is rather romantic of you. I think I’ll choose to be flattered rather than offended that you’ve forgotten what I am.”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten at all.” Mike looked up, not turning at Vicki’s intake of breath. “How could I?”

Henry nodded, watching him. “I see.” And he actually did seem to understand, which was unexpected.

Vicki turned her head back and forth, looking at both of them, obviously hoping for an explanation. “Okay…”

Mike looked for words to explain it to her. “I need…to feel needed.”

She tensed up. “This better not be some macho thing where you want me to be a helpless female.”

Henry twitched and Mike’s thought processes came to a sputtering halt as he tried to imagine Vicki as a helpless female. “Uh, no. That’s definitely not what I meant.” Shaking his head, he tried to remember what he was going to say. “I mean that I need to feel like I’ve got a purpose here. In this…” he waved his hand, “whatever we have.”

“Some people might say relationship,” Henry said.

“Is that what this is?” Mike looked him in the eye.

“I don’t know. Several hundred years of practice hasn’t made this kind of thing any less confusing.” Henry held his gaze.

“Great. That’s encouraging,” Vicki said with a sigh, swatting both of them. “Now, if you’re done with the staring contest, can we go back to the part where you’ve figured out that it’s okay to deal with a little uncertainty while having really great sex?”

Mike’s brain was well and truly derailed and Henry was in no better shape, if the way he was breathing against Mike’s neck was any indication. Taking a deep breath, Mike marshaled his scattered mind. “I can’t help worrying. That’s who I am.”

“We know,” Henry said softly.

“And this is still weird.”

“Mm-hmm,” Vicki said, running her hand under his shirt.

“We can’t solve *everything* with sex, you know.” Mike did his best to not gasp as Henry’s hand moved down his stomach.

“Of course not,” Henry said, pushing Mike back on the bed.

* * * * *

Tempting as it was to stay in bed, where everything was simpler, Mike and Vicki both had to work, and they left shortly after dawn, when Henry slept. Vicki gave Mike a kiss on the cheek as he dropped her off at her office. “We’re good?” she asked.

“We’re good.” He stifled a yawn. “Take care.”

“See you tonight?”

“Depends on work,” he said with a shrug. “I’ll let you know.”

In fact, both he and Vicki were hit by cases that kept them almost continuously busy, and it was 72 hours before Mike found himself parking a few blocks from Henry’s building again.

The sun had set a few hours before, and Mike was tired, sore from chasing a suspect through back alleys, and ready to relax.

When he opened the door, Henry had a light pointed directly at one wall. He turned. “There you are. Come take a look.” He held up a small pile of paper.

Grinning, Mike held up a matching stack of paint samples. “I should have known you wouldn’t let me pick a color by myself.”

“Are you kidding?” Henry flicked a card at him. “A Neanderthal like you? This is a job for a real artist.”

“Really?” Mike looked around the room. “Too bad we don’t have one of those to help us.”

“Funny.”

“Hey, good thing Home Hardware has late hours. Wouldn’t want you turning into dust for the sake of paint matching.”

“Well, I’m just glad they have all the colors laid out on a rack, because what if you’d had to *read* something?” Henry grinned.

Mike made a face at him, pulling a chair up close to the wall. “Hey, blood boy, just start picking a color.”

When Vicki came in an hour later, the floor was littered with shades of beige, and the two of them were waving paint chips at each other.

“Forget it,” Henry said, “by the time you’ve added enough cream to it, you might as well start with Antiquity.”

“Are you kidding? Sconce Gold is the only way to go. It’s too easy to go too far with the Antiquity and then you’ve got a wasted tin of paint.”

“You know,” she said, standing between them, “this is getting old pretty fast.”

“This is important,” Mike said, shaking his head. “Do it wrong and you ruin the wall.”

Vicki shook her head. “The lights are so dim that nobody will ever notice the difference. Besides, these days it’s usually only us.”

“That’s not the point,” Mike said, waving a paint chip at Vicki. “It’s a matter of principle.”

She turned to Henry. “What about you? Are you insane also?”

“You just don’t understand.”

Sighing, Vicki flopped down onto the couch. “Fine. I’ll just…sit here while you argue about paint.”

“Great,” Mike said absently, staring at the chip in his hand. “Hey!” He looked up. “I just realized something that will make this easier.”

“Hmm?” Henry asked.

“We don’t need to worry about how the touchup paint color looks in sunlight.” Mike grinned, ducking the hail of sofa cushions and paint chips.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: “I could just rip a door off its hinges.”

Story Notes:

A bit of silliness to cheer up Dragonsinger

by Mara

Summary: Kaylee and Zoe deal with a life change with their usual aplomb. The rest of Serenity’s crew…doesn’t.

tory Notes:

by Mara

Summary: Bruce Wayne encounters Captain Jack Harkness at a fundraiser.

NOTES: So not that long ago, I said that “my” comic!Bruce was straight, except
when it comes to Clark. Well, it turns out that he’s willing to make one other
exception. Who knew? Written for Sarkastic’s ‘Captain Jack Sexes Everyone In
Every Fandom Ever’ Challenge, as well as Fanfic 100 #35, Sixth Sense and
Psych_30 #14, Fixation.

Chandeliers twinkled and the beautiful people mingled, as the Wayne Foundation
began its annual fundraiser to benefit Gotham General Hospital.

As always, Bruce resented the need to take time off the streets to play this
part, but he played it dutifully.

Tim–who’d lost the coin toss with Dick–fiddled with his tie at Bruce’s side.
“Three hours?” he asked under his breath as they paused in the doorway to survey
the crowd.

“For a good cause,” Bruce replied as people began to notice them. “Andrea, so
good to see you,” he said, pasting on a smile. “Have you met Tim yet?”

It was automatic after all these years–he made small talk, pushed his peers to
write bigger checks, and flirted a little, but not so much he might actually
*encourage* someone.

While half his mind played the part of a gracious and wealthy host, the other
half chewed away at a long-term plan to upgrade the Cave’s security. He’d been
working on new sensors when Alfred forced him to get dressed for the event.

“So *you’re* the infamous Bruce Wayne,” a man said behind him, his tone
somewhere just past amused.

“Excuse me?” Bruce asked, turning.

“Pardon me,” the man said, flashing a million-dollar smile, “that was rude. My
name is Jack, Captain Jack Harkness.” He held out his hand and Bruce shook it
automatically, catching his breath for no reason he could explain.

“So, what brings you here this evening?” Bruce asked. The other man’s face was
so…perfect, it reminded him a little of Clark. “Do you do business in Gotham?”

Jack threw his head back and laughed. “I’m just passing through, actually.”

Which was a little odd, since this evening’s event wasn’t cheap and it was
invitation-only. Bruce’s smile didn’t change. “It’s very nice to meet you
nonetheless.” And I’ll keep an eye on you, he didn’t say.

* * * * *

It turned out to be unnecessary for Bruce to look for Jack Harkness, because
even when he *wasn’t* looking for the other man, he seemed to be everywhere.
Jack was always nearby and whenever Bruce turned in his direction, Jack was
always looking at him.

After an hour, Bruce was nearly vibrating with annoyance. He made his way toward
Tim, rescuing him from a gaggle of girls trying to make time with the new Wayne
heir. He smoothly removed Tim from the situation, steering him toward a quiet
corner.

“Cover me,” he muttered, tapping the tiny comm in his ear. Tim looked
attentively at Bruce. “Oracle,” Bruce said.

“Yes, oh wise one. Tell me you haven’t seen the Joker, because I *know* he’s
locked up in Arkham.”

Bruce ignored her, knowing she was half glad to be skipping the party and half
wishing she could dance. “I need a check on one of the guests,” Bruce said.
“Captain Jack Harkness. I don’t know what he’s captain of, but he’s in his late
30s.”

“What did he do?”

“Nothing. There’s just…something strange.”

“Your spidey-sense is tingling. Got it. Okay, I’ll get back to you in a few
minutes.”

Bruce sighed. Tim nodded. “Is Harkness the guy who’s been following you? I’ve
had my eye on him too, but nobody seems to know who he is.”

“I will when Oracle is through.” And Bruce strode back into the fray.

* * * * *

It was almost 20 minutes before Oracle’s voice was in his ear. “Cough once if
you’re there.”

Bruce coughed, smiling apologetically at the senator who was telling an
incredibly dull story about a fishing trip.

“To my surprise, B, you’ve actually provided a challenge on this rather boring
night, because I can’t seem to find your Captain Jack.”

Bruce’s chest was tight with the tension of not asking Oracle any questions.

“The closest I’ve got is a Captain Jack Harkness who was an American volunteer
in the Royal Air Force during World War II. But unless your guy is a lot older
than he looks, that can’t be him. There’s a Captain James Harkness who runs a
fishing boat in Seattle and a Captain Jeremy Harkner in the Army, but that’s it,
unless you think his name is really Adam or Morris. And before you ask, I’ve
looked *everywhere*. I’ve checked every country that has captains, every name
that gets the nickname of Jack, every source I know. Either the name’s fake or
this guy doesn’t exist.”

Bruce turned his head slowly to the right. Jack was laughing with Commissioner
Gordon, but he immediately looked directly at Bruce…and winked.

That was it. Bruce cut the senator off mid-anecdote. “So sorry,” he said, “but I
see someone I *must* speak with before he leaves.”

Striding toward Jack, Bruce expected him to look at least a little nervous, but
Jack just smiled broadly at him as Bruce grabbed his arm. “Pardon me,
Commissioner,” Jack said, “but I think I’m being summoned.”

“Of course,” Jim said, looking confused as Jack was dragged away.

“Just can’t wait to get me alone, hmm?” Jack murmured as Bruce pulled him onto a
balcony and shut the door behind them.

Bruce turned and stood in front of the door. “Who *are* you and what do you
want?” His voice was somewhere between Bruce and Batman.

A slow and lascivious smile grew on Jack’s face. “What do I want? Oh, that’s
easy.”

Taking a step forward, he moved into Bruce’s personal space, slid his arms
around Bruce’s neck and kissed him.

It was as much an invasion as a kiss, first a tentative peck, then a quick brush
of tongue across Bruce’s lips, finally a full-scale attack.

Bruce was so surprised, he opened his mouth to argue, which Jack took as an
invitation, chuckling against Bruce’s lips and licking his tongue. The jolt
through Bruce’s stomach was something he hadn’t felt in a long while and he
gasped for breath. Jack dove in, taking advantage of the opportunity, and Bruce
automatically put his arms around Jack.

When the door hit Bruce’s back, he was even more surprised, but his body gladly
voted to keep kissing.

How long they stood there, Bruce never knew, but it seemed like hours of
leisure, nipping at lips and tongues, tasting champagne and chocolate and
raspberries.

Finally, Jack pulled back, face flushed and still more handsome.

Bruce swallowed, trying to catch his breath. “What…?”

Leaning forward, Jack whispered in his ear. “I always wanted to kiss Batman.
Thank you.”

Jack took a step backward. “I wish I could stay.” Before Bruce could grab him,
he touched something in his pocket and vanished.

Bruce was reaching for his comm when a signal came in. “Whoa!” Oracle shouted.
“We’ve got a UFO boosting into space out of Gotham. Small, but damn fast. I have
*no* idea where it’s been hiding.”

“Let it go.”

Alarms and buzzers were sounding in Oracle’s headquarters, but her voice went
silent for a few seconds. “*What* did you just say? Were you talking to me?”

“Tell the League, the Air Force, whoever needs to know, to let it go.” Bruce
wiped his lips and concentrated on slowing his heartrate.

“Can I ask why?” From the sounds, she was doing as he’d asked.

“The UFO…is no danger to us.”

“How do you know?”

Bruce straightened his tuxedo and grinned up at the night sky. “Let’s just say I
have a feeling.”

–end–

by Mara

Summary: Why in the world is Kon avoiding Tim?

Tim stared at the teenager backing away from him. “Uh, Kon? Is something wrong?”

Kon swallowed several times and bumped into the door. “I’ve just gotta
go…uh…shine the Tower’s aerials.” With a burst of superspeed, he opened the
door and took off. “See ya!” he hollered over his shoulder.

Tim frowned. That, he thought with remarkable restraint, was odd.

* * * * *

Fortunately the Tower was quiet and most of the team was conducting routine
maintenance. (Nobody asked Tim what he was doing. He had them well trained.)

The life of a Teen Titan being what it was, Tim first set out to eliminate the
most obvious possibilities:

Tim pulled up feeds from all the cameras and watched Kon’s interactions with the
team since his arrival that morning.

“Whoa,” Kon said to Cassie, “it is *so* not my turn to patrol the East Side. I
did it last week and it’s boring. I’m going to do the Alcatraz flyover, ’cause
it’s my turn.”

That took care of Kon losing his memory.

Two hours later, first patrols done, Kon proceeded to lose at Vice City to Bart
for the 85th consecutive time. Okay, Tim thought, so Kon probably hadn’t been
switched into someone else’s body. *Nobody* else could lose that game so badly,
even playing against Bart.

As the feeds ran in the background, Tim went deep into the sensor logs, cross-
referencing with the Towers sophisticated anti-intruder systems. Everything he
could access said that Kon was the same half-Kryptonian clone he’d always been.
Even the brainwave sensors showed his patterns to be the same. There was no
evidence of any alien (that is, non-Kryptonian or human) influence.

* * * * *

Obvious possibilities resolved, Tim heaved a deep breath and went on to a more
difficult portion of the plan: talking to his teammates.

Bart was most likely to know what was going on, so Tim tracked him down in the
basement, where he was rearranging the storeroom into some kind of pattern that
would probably only make sense to him.

“Hi, Robin!” Bart dashed by. “What’s up? Did you read that the Pres–”

“Bart!” Tim held up a hand and the speedster skidded to a stop in front of him.
“Have you noticed anything odd about Kon lately?”

“You mean the way he’s avoiding you and jumping at every loud noise?” Bart
dashed off and shifted a pile of rocket launchers to the other side of the room.

“Uh, yes. That’s what I mean.”

“No idea.” Bart grinned. “Maybe he’s just having a bad day. I read this book
called–”

“Is he avoiding anyone else?”

Bart paused for a millisecond or so to consider. “Nope.”

“So you have no idea what I might have done?” Tim found it paid to be very
precise with Bart.

“No idea. But I’m sure whatever it was will blow over. Maybe it’s a Kryptonian
thing. After all, we don’t know that much about Kryptonian biology or culture.”

“Thanks.” Tim kept his scowl internal. It wasn’t Bart’s fault he’d opened up a
whole new area of possibilities, each one more difficult to test than the last.

It was possible Kory might know something, as she was a great deal more
perceptive than most gave her credit for. Unfortunately, she’d left early that
morning to liase with the Outsiders and wasn’t available for anything less than
an emergency.

It was unlikely Kon had confided anything in Beast Boy or Wonder Girl, since
both made Kon nervous for different reasons. Raven probably knew what was wrong,
but she might not tell him if she considered it private, and besides, she scared
the bejeezus out of him.

Tim paced the confines of his room, considering his options. His relations with
Cyborg were strictly professional (by his own choice) and he hated to break that
rule.

In some ways, Cyborg reminded him of Dick, although Cyborg kept his need to make
the team a family much better hidden. Tim didn’t particularly want to feed that
delusion, but he also didn’t relish having Superboy avoid him forever.

He shied away from the thought, but he didn’t have so many friends that he could
afford to lose one.

* * * * *

Cyborg had three sensors plugged into the main console when Tim finally ventured
out to find him.

Tim coughed politely.

“Yes, Robin?” Cyborg asked, retracting two of the sensors.

“I was wondering if you might know what’s bothering Superboy. I’m concerned that
if we have to go into the field under these conditions, our operational
efficiency will be too low.”

Cyborg didn’t respond for a moment and Tim gave him a sharp look. “Hmm,” Cyborg
finally said.

Tim tilted his head. He was trained by Batman–he could outwait *anyone*.

Cyborg’s lips twitched and he was almost certainly laughing at him. “I do have a
suggestion, but I hate to mention it.”

“What is it?”

Cyborg waited a beat. “You could just *ask* him.”

Tim flailed for an explanation of why that was absolutely absurd. “He’s avoiding
me,” he finally said.

Cyborg snorted and turned back to the console. “The network won’t clean itself.”

Tim wanted to stomp out of the room but he went to his quarters quietly instead,
pacing for another half an hour before he went to an auxiliary control room and
jiggered the sensors to find Kon.

* * * * *

Kon was in the gym, which was perfect, since it had a lock for when workouts
might be dangerous to bystanders.

Slipping in while Kon was on his second set of pullups, Tim activated the lock
and stepped into Kon’s view.

Kon’s hands slipped on the bars and he dropped off, floating in mid-air with an
odd expression. “Uh, hi. I’ll just go and let you–”

“Kon.” Tim was getting exasperated. He’d wasted a large portion of his day and
he was getting tired of it. “What is the *matter* with you?” He’d intended a
much more subtle approach, but lost tempers and subtlety never go together.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kon said, floating to the ground and
backing away.

Tim took a one-step running start and tackled Kon to the ground, sitting on his
legs to keep him still. “Don’t even think about it,” he said as he felt Kon’s TK
kick in.

Kon’s face was absolutely white. “This is a really bad idea.”

Tim shook his head, not letting go. “Why?”

“I’m sure Batman’s got you bugged,” Kon blurted out. After the words were out,
he stopped fighting and closed his eyes.

Slowly, Tim drew back, letting go of Kon’s arms and sliding onto the mat next to
him. Kon slung an arm over his face, but Tim could see his cheeks burning.
“Batman,” Tim said after a while, “does occasionally use tracers with his
associates.”

“No, I mean bugs. You know, listening in,” Kon mumbled.

“Absolutely not.” Tim was still perplexed. “I wouldn’t allow it. I regularly
sweep my uniform and equipment for all kinds of listening equipment that might
have been planted by various people.”

“Really?” Kon took the arm off his eyes.

“Really. I also sweep the Tower and…uh…” Tim felt his own face flush, “all
of your uniforms and equipment as well.”

Kon considered this, then sat up. “Oh.”

“Then you can tell me what this was all about?”

Kon went red again. “Well, I…uh…Batman, he said he’d been listening.”

Tim growled under his breath. “I can’t believe he’d really say so–” He stopped,
frowning. “So what if he *was* listening? What would he have heard?”

“Nothing!” Kon didn’t look him directly in the eyes. “There’s nothing for him to
have heard. I mean, we’re friends and…” He trailed off and looked around the
room with an expression that clearly said ‘Where’s an alien invasion when you
need one?’

Tim waited for his brain to stop imitating a supernova. Then he counted to ten
in English, Spanish, Greek, Arabic, and Chinese. He tacked on Japanese as an
afterthought. “Am I to understand,” he asked with exquisite care, “that Batman
in some way implied that we might be more than friends?”

“Sort of?” Kon looked in vain for that invasion.

Tim leaned forward. “What–exactly–did Batman say?”

Kon opened his mouth but nothing came out.

Tim used his best glare, the one he saved for special occasions and making Bart
stand absolutely still. “Tell me what he said or I will make you regret it.”

Kon opened and closed his mouth a few times, then the words came out in a rush.
“He said that if I ever touched you he’d castrate me and he’d know ’cause he was
listening.”

Tim blinked. He stared at Kon–Superboy–a teenager with the potential power to
level a city block with the touch of one finger, cowering in fear of Bruce.
Tim’s lips twitched and he tried to still them but it was too late.

Laughing aloud, he fell back on the padded floor. “You,” he said, pointing,
“you’re avoiding me because Batman thinks you’re hot for me? That’s hilarious!”

–Ending #1–

Kon stood up and paced away. “It wasn’t funny when he was looming over me like
the dad from hell. I kept waiting for flames to shoot out of his eyes.”

Tim snickered. “I think I’m the one who needs to worry about that, not you.
Superman’s got the heat vision, not Batman.”

Crossing his arms, Kon turned and scowled. “It’s not funny!”

“Yeah, I think it is.” Tim finally managed to stop laughing, although it took
some effort. “Kon, you made me waste the entire *day* over this. You owe me.”

Kon was trying to keep up the scowl, but he couldn’t manage it. “Owe you what?”

“I’ll think of something.” Tim put out a hand and Kon grabbed it, pulling him
up. “Meanwhile, let’s go get something to eat. And you can think of something to
bribe me with so I won’t tell Cassie.”

Kon’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t!”

Tim waited a beat. “No, I wouldn’t.” He grinned. “But you sure are gullible.”

“Tiiiiim!”

–the end?–

–Ending #2–

Too fast for the unaided human eye, Kon was crouched over him. Tim sucked in a
breath, all laughter gone.

“Funny, huh?” Kon asked, dipping his face so they were almost nose-to-nose.

“Uh…”

There was a look in Kon’s eyes that Tim had never seen before. “I don’t think
it’s funny at all.”

And then Kon’s lips were on Tim’s and Kon’s tongue was in his mouth and he
wasn’t sure where to put his hands, so he put them on Kon’s hips and he was so
warm and–

Kon pulled away. “Not so funny now, huh?”

Tim swallowed twice before he found his voice. “No, not really.”

Resting his forehead on Tim’s, Kon took a few deep breaths. “I didn’t actually
mean to do that.”

Tim’s hands tightened on Kon’s waist. “What?”

“Wait!” Kon lifted his head. “I mean…I didn’t mean I didn’t *want* to do that,
just that I didn’t think *you* wanted to do that, which was why–”

Tim shut him up the only way he could: Grabbing Kon’s head, he pulled him down
for another long kiss.

When they finally stopped kissing, Tim asked, “Are you still worried about
Batman?”

“Bat who?” Kon grinned at him.

“Glad to hear it.” Tim grinned back. “So you won’t mind if I mention this to
him?”

“What?” Kon actually lifted two feet in the air, hovering above him.

Tim sat up and pointed a finger. “Gotcha!”

Dropping to the floor, Kon put his head in his hands. “I’m so doomed,” he said.

“Probably,” Tim said. “But in the meantime, come here.”

Kon shrugged. “Well, at least it’ll be a hell of a way to go.” And with that he
pounced back atop Tim.

–the end?–

Final author’s note: This fic was originally inspired by Brown_Betty’s “Eight
Simple Rules for Dating my Teenage Ward Sidekick Partner: or Dude you sound like
a NAMBLA member,” which can be found here: http://brown-
betty.livejournal.com/212699.html. Go and read! Tell her how hilarious it is!

Devotion
By Robert Frost

The heart can think of no devotion
Greater than being shore to the ocean-
Holding the curve of one position,
Counting an endless repetition.

by Mara

Summary: Batman does *not* celebrate New Year’s Eve. But Superman does.

“Master Bruce…” Alfred sounded like he was at his wit’s end when Clark
strolled down the steps into the Cave, which was as damp and uncomfortable as
ever.

“Alfred, as I have said for the past hour, I am not going to waste New Year’s
Eve at some ball when there will be the usual crime going on. I’ll send a check
to whatever charity it is, but that’s it.” Bruce hadn’t moved from his position
standing at the main computer or even looked up. “What are you doing here,
Clark?”

Clark shrugged. He’d given up trying to figure out Bruce’s tricks years
previously. “I’m attending the ball tonight and Alfred pointed out I could
change here and ride with you.”

Bruce whirled, face taut and white. “I’ve got a possible serial killer out
there, plus the usual madness and you expect me to be Bruce Wayne?”

Clark smiled at Alfred and the older man sighed as he trudged up the stairs.
When Clark heard the clock door snick shut, he turned to look at Bruce, genial
smile firmly in place.

Bruce glared, every dangerous inch of him poised for battle.

Clark leaned against a cabinet he knew held spare uniforms, hands tucked in his
pockets, and continued to smile, projecting genial with all his might.

Bruce glared harder, crossing his arms. “I’m not going.”

“Okay,” Clark said with a shrug, smile undimmed.

Bruce opened his mouth to argue, then shut it when he realized Clark wasn’t
arguing. His eyes narrowed. “What are you up to?”

Clark widened his smile a trifle. “Nothing, Bruce. I’m just standing here.”

Bruce looked suspicious. “Right. I’ll just…go back to work then.” He waited a
beat, but when Clark didn’t move, Bruce sat back down at the computer.

It wasn’t entirely a ruse, Clark thought as he watched Bruce’s quicksilver
thoughts shuffle and reshuffle evidence, data, and theories on the giant
screens. There was something intensely sexy about watching Bruce work and
usually he couldn’t pay as much attention as he’d like. After all, it wouldn’t
do for Superman to be caught mooning over Batman like a teenage girl with a
crush.

It took almost exactly as long as he’d predicted–after half an hour, Bruce
started to slow in his work, clicking on the wrong portion of the screen and
developing a twitch in one shoulder.

Suppressing a grin, Clark waited.

Bruce’s hands slowed, then stopped. After a full two minutes staring at the
screen, he turned the chair around. “What are you doing?”

“I’m watching you work. What does it look like?” Clark raised his eyebrows in a
parody of innocence he knew would make Bruce fume.

“Clark.”

The low growl was exactly the sign he’d been looking for, and Clark gave up his
relaxed pose. Stalking forward, he grabbed Bruce’s shoulders and pulled him up
and forward into a searing kiss. Bruce struggled for a second, but finally
relaxed into the kiss, grabbing Clark’s shirt and pulling him closer.

When Clark let go, Bruce’s breathing was fast and his pulse sounded like a
jackhammer to superhearing.

Clark smiled at him again, but his time allowed the Man of Steel to show
through. “It is New Year’s Eve. I would like to attend this charity ball with
you and on the stroke of midnight kiss you so hard you forget your name.”

Swallowing, Bruce appeared speechless–possibly the first time that had ever
occurred in Clark’s presence. Maybe the first time *ever*.

“Does this plan meet with your approval?” Clark asked.

Bruce closed his eyes, then opened them again. “Patrol–”

“Will be done by some of the many operatives you have on tap. And if that’s not
sufficient, I will make several speed circuits over the city throughout the
course of the evening to ensure all is quiet.”

Bruce started to say something and Clark took the opportunity to kiss him again-
-a kiss full of tongue and heat and strength and promise.

This time when they broke off, Bruce glared at him. “I won’t make a habit of
this.”

“Of course not,” Clark said.

“And when you do your overflights, you’ll stay out of range of eyes and
cameras.”

“Naturally.”

Bruce glared. “But you should know I’m only agreeing to this because otherwise
you and Alfred will hound me for hours and waste the whole day.”

“Of course.” Clark smiled, ever gracious in victory.

“Are you smirking?”

Clark put a hand to his chest. “Does Superman smirk?”

“No, but Clark does.”

“What can I say?” Clark shrugged. “I’m a man of many talents.”

Bruce grinned. “And if I have to go to this ridiculous ball, you’re going to
demonstrate every one of those talents to me later to make up for it.” And he
turned back to the computer.

Clark blinked. For some reason, he suddenly felt as if he’d been
outmaneuvered…

–end

by Mara

Summary: Tim reveals a secret to someone special.

This was originally written for Merfilly’s Remembering the Departed Day Challenge, although it was finished too late to participate. Also for Psych_30 #6, Inferiority Complex, and Fanfic100 #10, Years.

CONTINUITY: Set about five years from current continuity, but…slightly AU, apparently.

Zoanne’s tiny apartment’s living room was its usual cheerful self, with a rainbow of throw pillows tossed in a corner for her to lean on while she worked on her laptop, and sun shining through the picture window that had convinced her to rent the place.

Tim had always felt happy there, but now he wondered if he’d ever see it again.

“I don’t know what to say,” Zoanne said, shifting hesitantly on her feet, looking at the colorful outfit in Tim’s hands.

Tim sat very still, perched on the edge of a chair. “I’ve been putting off the job of telling you, but it was time.”

Zoanne sat down very suddenly on the couch. “You’re not joking.”

Tim didn’t respond.

“You’re really Robin? Vigilante superhero etc. and so on?”

He nodded.

“You’ve been doing this the whole time we’ve been dating.”

Since it wasn’t a question, he just looked at her.

“Oh god, that’s why you didn’t want to move in with me. I thought…”

“I know.”

She gaped at him for a moment. “It explains so much. I mean, LaShawna’s been telling me for years to dump you because you’re so unreliable. But why did you tell me now?”

“Because I got tired of lying.” Tim stared down at the flame-resistant armored pile in his arms. “And I…I want…well, I didn’t want you to find out accidentally.” Closing his eyes, Tim conjured up the image of his dad. “Or for someone else to tell you.” Now he could see Steph in her Spoiler suit.

When he opened his eyes, Zoanne stared at him for a long moment and then slid off the couch to kneel in front of his chair. “Are you okay?”

He conjured up half a smile. “Isn’t that my line?”

“Well, I probably look stunned, but you look like someone kicked your puppy.” She reached out for him, her hand hovering over the Robin suit before she rested her hand atop his. “Tell me, Tim.”

“It’s kind of complicated.”

“More complicated than you secretly being a superhero? Give me a break!” She chuckled, a low sound that never failed to warm his heart.

“Well…” he paused. Why was this more difficult than revealing his secret identity? “I was thinking about my dad and Steph.”

Zoanne’s forehead wrinkled. “Uh…what about them?”

“They died…” Tim paused, his throat tight.

The hand that wasn’t holding his hand shot to her mouth. “Oh lord. They died because of this.” She pointed at the fabric pooled on his lap.

Tim swallowed. “Yes. My dad, well, someone was going after our families. But Steph…she died because…because she was Robin.”

Zoanne stared at him unblinking for a moment. “You’re–” She cut herself off. “Of course you’re not joking.” She let go of his hand and sat back abruptly on the floor. “Your ex was also a superhero.”

Nodding once, Tim said, “She made herself into a hero named Spoiler first. Later, my dad found out accidentally that I was Robin and he freaked out, forced me to retire for a while, and she took over as Robin.”

“But you went back. What about Steph?”

“I went back during the gang wars. Batman needed me. Gotham needed me. Steph was kidnapped by Black Mask. When she died…I wasn’t there.” It was an effort to get each sentence out.

Zoanne was silent and Tim waited as patiently as he could, knowing how much there was to take in.

An odd expression crept over her face.

“What?”

“I…god, this is embarrassing.”

“No, I’m sure it isn’t.”

“I’m jealous of Steph.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Jealous? She’s–”

“Dead, I know. But I, I hate that I think like this, but I’m sitting here wondering how I’m supposed to compete with a dead, martyred superhero ex-girlfriend. I’m just me. Straight-A student, but I could never…I’m not strong like that.”

Sliding onto the floor, Tim took both her hands and looked her in the eye. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’d be surprised what you can do if it’s necessary. But that’s beside the point. You’re not in any kind of competition with Steph.”

“She was a superhero. I’m an engineering major.” She groaned. “God, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be making this all about me.”

“It’s okay.” Tim stroked her hands. “She wasn’t perfect, believe me. She had her flaws.”

“Did you love her?” Zoanne asked.

Tim thought about it. He remembered her smile, her laugh, the relatively short time they had together. “I don’t know,” he said. “We were young. A lot of things happened. Maybe I did love her, or I would have. But she died and then my dad died and then my best friend.”

“You mean Conner? You’ve only mentioned him a few times.”

“Yeah. Everything happened at once and the universe nearly ended. I think to stay sane I had to repress a lot. That’s why I haven’t talked about them much over the years.”

Zoanne tilted her head, giving him an odd look. “Did Conner have anything to do with the universe nearly ending?”

“Not exactly,” Tim said. “It was kind of, uh, him from another universe. It was all really complicated.”

“Right.” She visibly put that aside for another day. “This is all so weird.”

“I know.” Tim took a breath. “But can you…will you…” He couldn’t find the words.

Zoanne reached out and brushed his hair out of his eyes. “What is it, honey?”

“I probably shouldn’t ask this right now, but…” he swallowed sharply, “will you marry me?”

Her jaw dropped.

“I mean, I’ll understand if you need time to think, or if you’re worried about being hurt or–”

Zoanne jumped forward and threw her arms around him, kissing him to shut him up. “You’re an idiot,” she said, catching her breath a minute later.

Tim caught her face in his hands, staring into her eyes. “You could die, Zoanne. Just for knowing me.”

“I know, Tim. But I don’t care. Hell, I’m proud of you.”

His breath caught in his chest.

“And I’ll bet Steph was too.” Zoanne ducked her head and kissed his nose. “Proud enough to cover for you as Robin.”

“Oh.” Tim stared. “I never thought of it that way. Just that she took my place.”

“Men.” Zoanne rolled her eyes. “Now can we do that proposal thing again? I want to answer properly.”

Tim grinned at her. “Marry me?”

“You know it!”

Their kiss was long and passionate.

From their invisible perch on the end of the couch, Steph and Kon slapped each other on the back and opened a bottle of champagne. Behind them, Janet Drake put her arms around her husband and wept, while Jack Drake couldn’t stop smiling.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: Who’s in Roy’s apartment?

Roy sighed as he came into the apartment. It was going to be a boring evening, with Lian off at a sleepover and Tim off doing something Bat-related. Roy was almost ready for a supervillain attack, just to avoid being alone.

All of which meant he was immediately alert when he heard a sound from the kitchen. A quick glance at the alarm system showed that it was happily purring away–whoever was here was either a better hacker than the combination of him, Tim, and Dick, or else…

“Roy?” Tim’s voice was muffled.

Roy muttered a curse as his adrenaline level went back to normal. “Yeah. I thought you were in Gotham tonight.” He couldn’t figure out where Tim was until he walked around the center island and found the lower half of his body sticking out from under the sink.

“GCPD found the evidence to bust the crooks,” Tim said, head still underneath the counter.

“Uh-huh,” Roy said, barely listening as he looked from Tim’s bare feet up his muscular calves to where his khaki shorts were pulled tight against his thighs.

“Are you listening?” Tim asked, tilting his head around the bulk of the malfunctioning disposal he was probably trying to fix.

“Not really,” Roy admitted.

Tim frowned. “What’s up?”

Roy knelt beside him, slowly running his hands up Tim’s legs. “Funny you should ask that…”

* * * * *

Roy ended up fixing the disposal himself over the weekend, but it was *well* worth it.

by Mara

Summary: Brainiac 5 is pretty sure he’s imagining things.

Commentfic written for Kayim’s DCU Kissing Meme.

Brainiac 5 wondered if this was what a hallucination felt like. His relentlessly logical mind had never been prone to flights of fantasy, but as his human compatriots would be the first to point out…there was a first time for everything. Yes, this was obviously a hallucination brought on by too much work and a less than nutritious diet. He was going to have to–

“Brainy?” Lyle said, swallowing with a very loud sound. “Did I offend you? I didn’t mean–”

Brainiac waved a dismissive hand. “I could hardly be offended by something emanating from my own mind. Think nothing of it. When I wake up, it will be forgotten.”

Lyle froze, staring at him, eyes very wide. “You think this is a dream?”

“Obviously.” Brainiac frowned, wondering why Lyle in his mind was being stupid, when he certainly was no such thing.

A slow grin spread across Lyle’s face. “In that case…I’ll take that kiss.”

“Wh–” His exclamation was cut off by Lyle’s lunge across the meter separating them, knocking them both to the floor.

“That’s better,” Lyle said, taking Brainiac’s head in his hands.

“What are you–”

This time he was cut off by Lyle’s face descending until their lips were locked. Brainiac wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to be doing, but apparently his body knew quite well, as he found himself opening his mouth and allowing Lyle’s tongue entry.

Some hazy time later, Lyle pulled back. “Still think it’s a dream?”

Brainiac felt his eyes cross slightly. “I have no idea.”

“That’s a first.” Lyle leaned forward again. “I supposed we’d better keep testing.”

“That would be…logical,” Brainiac said, grabbing Lyle and pulling him all the way down.