by Mara

Summary: When Wraith is away, the guards of Weapon X will play.

by Mara

Summary: Hey, even House has his off days, right?

Author’s Chapter Notes:

This is a birthday present for DebC. It’s a suggested title I gave to
her, but I’m borrowing it back

“I can’t believe it,” Cuddy said, leaning back in her chair, trying to keep her
jaw from dropping.

“It’s true,” Wilson said, grinning madly.

“You’re not just saying this to make me feel better?”

“Would I do that?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, you’re right.” Wilson shrugged. “But I’m telling the absolute unvarnished
truth.”

“Wow.”

“House not only made it through the case without pissing anyone off, the patient
and his family have sent a thank you for his care.”

“Unbelievable.” Cuddy paused. “Wait, what’s the catch?”

Wilson’s lips twitched. “Well…”

“Tell me.”

“The patient and the family don’t speak a word of English. Everything was done
through a translator.”

Cuddy took a deep breath. “You had me worried there for a minute.”

* * * * *

Cuddy generally kept ahead of her paperwork. In the back of her mind, she felt
as if letting her desk get too crowded meant that she was out of control–and
control was more important than just about anything else.

So woe betide the person who kept her from clearing her desk when it started to
pile up. Staff at Princeton-Plainsboro learned early on that when the Dean of
Medicine was tearing through piles of folders, the only reasons to interrupt her
were fire, flood, famine, or plague.

Which was why Cuddy couldn’t understand why a shame-faced Chase was spinning a
patently false tale about needing her help with something. Halfway through the
story, she stopped listening because it had House’s fingerprints all over it.

She considered sending Chase away with a lecture about not letting House send
him off to find a left-handed board stretcher, but as Chase’s sorry tale wound
to a close, she decided it was time for a break anyway.

While she was out of her office, several *actual* crises occurred, which made
her forget the original distraction entirely.

To Cuddy’s surprise, when she returned to her office, the pile of folders had
been greatly reduced, and her eyebrows went up in surprise. Could it be that
some of her department heads had actually taken responsibility for things?
Miracles did happen, she decided.

She never did look at the neat stack of folders in her secretary’s outbox, each
with House’s scrawled notes telling the doctors in question how to fix their
problems.

House did look entirely too pleased with himself for a week, but she chalked
that up to getting laid and didn’t ask.

* * * * *

The vase sat on her desk looking entirely harmless, but Cuddy frowned at it
anyway. There was a *reason* she kept her birthday a closely guarded secret, and
her family and friends knew to send everything birthday-related to her home.

So who in the world would send her a gigantic bouquet of flowers today of all
days?

She stepped closer and realized that not only were they flowers, they were her
favorite roses, an obscure variety called Fire and Ice. Even her *father* could
never remember to get her those.

Taking a deep breath, she searched the bouquet for a card, but found nothing.
There wasn’t even a note as to whom they’d been ordered from.

With a scowl, she stepped back. Who knew that–

A memory surfaced and Cuddy blinked. No. Absolutely not.

True, House had been present when Max had given her those flowers. And she might
very well have said they were her favorites. But he…

He wouldn’t…

He’d been so scornful of Max and caused such a scene that she’d blotted out the
memory. So he couldn’t…

Cuddy sat down heavily in her chair. Absolutely not. House must have…told
Wilson about the flowers.

Right.

* * * * *

As they continued down the hallway, Cuddy pointed toward an open doorway. “And
over here–”

“Did that man just say what I thought he said?” Leslie Arminh, the prospective
head of Radiology asked, craning her head around to watch House walk away.

Cuddy rolled the conversation back in her head. Oh. That. “Yes, he did. Don’t
pay him any mind. Dr. House is, ah, not one of our more conventional staff
members.”

“Oh. I see.”

“No, you really don’t.” Cuddy suppressed a sigh. “But he’s a really good doctor,
believe me. One of the best.”

“And when he says things like that…?”

“The best thing to do is ignore him. I know I do.”

* * * * *

Under the warm covers, Cuddy felt content and sleepy, obscurely comforted by the
way House’s fingers softly traced the path of her circulatory system.
Surprisingly, he’d managed to avoid saying anything annoying the entire time,
keeping his mouth busy with…better pastimes.

It had been a long road that got them to this point, but she couldn’t find it in
herself to regret it.

He grinned. “So, not half bad in the sack, huh?”

“Don’t push it, buster,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

When he laughed, she tackled him with a kiss bold enough that he forgot what he
was doing.

Yep, Cuddy thought, as she straddled him, there was *one* thing always
guaranteed to shut House up. And it was remarkably pleasant to boot.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: “You’re not welcome here, Sinead,” Henry said, his voice all vampire. “Leave now.”

Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.
–Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet (1923)
Mike was loosening his tie, enjoying the excellent air conditioning in Henry’s building, when the woman appeared in the middle of the room.

“What the–” Mike said, jumping to his feet and staring at the beautiful dark-haired woman, who looked entirely amused by his reaction.

From Henry’s worktable, there came a low growl, and in an instant, Henry stood between Mike and the woman. “You’re not welcome here, Sinead,” Henry said, his voice all vampire. “Leave now.”

“Oh lover, we had such good times. Can’t we talk about it?” Her words were pleading, but her tone was anything but, containing arrogance strong enough to match Henry at his most royal.

“Out.”

“Well, you can’t say I didn’t give you a chance.” Sinead smiled and waved a hand at Henry, who stiffened like he’d hit a live wire.

“Henry?” Mike said.

Sinead crooked a hand. “Come here.”

For an instant he didn’t move, then he was by her side, entwined with her.

“Henry!”

But Henry didn’t seem to hear Mike, nuzzling Sinead’s neck with abandon. She sighed in pleasure, waving a hand at Mike as he took a step forward, and he found himself thrown against the front door.

“You may leave,” she said.

Pulling himself to his feet, Mike tried to step forward, but ran up against an invisible barrier.

“I said you may leave,” she said. “But this is your last chance.”

“This isn’t over,” Mike said, backing up to the door and opening it. As he stepped into the hallway, the door slammed shut behind him. “Fuck,” he said with great feeling, snatching his cell out of his pocket.

“Answer your phone,” he muttered as he jogged toward the steps, dialing Vicki’s cell.

* * * * *

Fortunately she did, and it only took a few sentences of explanation before she sucked in a breath. “This is bad. I’m on my way. Don’t do *anything* until I get there.”

“Vic–”

“Just wait there and make sure she doesn’t leave with him.”

The ten minutes pacing back and forth in front of the building were some of the longest of Mike’s life, up there with the time Vicki accidentally shot him. When she finally jumped out of the cab, the look on her face didn’t make him feel any better.

“What the hell’s going on?”

“Let’s go. I don’t want to give that bitch one second longer with Henry than I have to.”

“Agreed.” Mike patted his hip, wishing desperately for his gun.

When they reached the penthouse door, both of them reached for a key ring, but Mike waved Vicki ahead. She slid the key in and the door literally spat it back out, nearly impaling both of them in the process.

“Oookay,” she said, turning to look at the key embedded a good inch into the opposite wall. “That’s unusual.”

“Kick it in?”

“Kick it in.”

It took Mike a few solid hits, but at this point they weren’t exactly going for subtlety anyway. Mike thanked heaven for shoddy workmanship as the door finally burst open with a resounding crash.

“Very impressive.” Sinead clapped her hands from her seat on the couch, where Henry lay across her lap. “I can see why he kept you around. I’m almost tempted to keep you for myself.”

“Hands off, Sinead,” Vicki said. “They’re mine.”

“No. *He’s* yours. Henry is mine, just as he was before.”

“Henry,” Mike said. “What’s going on?”

But Henry didn’t seem to notice them, just lay there looking half-asleep as Sinead stroked his hair.

“Henry? You need to fight this.” Vicki had that frenetic edge in her voice that meant she was worried.

Henry’s hand twitched once when Vicki spoke, but Sinead just smiled at them and Henry stopped moving.

“What’s going on? What did you do to him?” Mike asked. That got another hand twitch from Henry but nothing more.

“He’s mine. I told you. And I won’t tell you again. Now leave.”

Mike was about to say ‘Not without Henry’ when, to his shock, Vicki started backing away. “You just better hold on tight, because if you lose your grip on him…he’ll rip your throat out.”

Sinead’s smile dimmed just bit, but came back soon. “Soon enough he’ll understand that what I’m doing is for the best. You put him in great danger, but I’ll protect him.”

Vicki took Mike’s arm. “But…” he began.

The look she gave him said that he had to trust her. So he did, and they left Henry behind. As they passed through the doorway, the door repaired itself. Mike swallowed the shame of leaving twice.

“Damn,” Vicki said, smacking her hand on a wall. “He should be fighting it. We need to regroup.”

Mike wanted to argue, but Vicki knew the situation and he didn’t. Both of them cast concerned glances behind them as they headed toward the stairs.

“Who the hell is this Sinead woman?” Mike demanded.

“His ex,” Vicki said, face tight with anger. “She’s always been into magic. Black magic from what he said. And for whatever reason, she’s decided that breaking up is too hard to do.” She paused and they pushed through the doors onto the street.

Mike led the way to his car. “He broke up with her, I assume.”

“Yeah.” A deep breath and she went on. “She used magic to compel him before. The time I met her, it was the Magnus O’Connor case, remember?”

“I doubt I’d forget a case that involved a woman using her dead son’s spirit to commit murder.” Mike opened the car doors and they slid in. “Where to?”

“My office. Coreen’s on her way. I called her from the cab on my way here.”

“So, Sinead…”

“She magicked Henry somehow. He wouldn’t tell me specifics. I know she tried to keep him with her, but he managed to break the compulsion to come help me.”

“It looked to me like she had him locked up pretty tight.”

“She’s definitely gotten more powerful. And that worries me.”

“Me too,” Mike said.

* * * * *

Mike was thankful for their police background, because it enabled them to provide Coreen with a concise report of what had happened, despite their agitation.

As Vicki finished her description of the scene in Henry’s apartment, Mike paced back and forth, trying to think of something they could have done differently.

Coreen’s eyes were wide. “Wow.”

“Yeah, wow,” Vicki said. “The question is, what do we do now?”

“Did she look different?” Coreen asked, pulling the keyboard closer. “Any tattoos like yours? Aura of power? Was she wearing any jewelry? What did she–”

“Wait.” Vicki held up a hand and closed her eyes. “She had something around her neck.”

Mike closed his eyes as well and brought the scene up in his mind. “Leather cord.”

“Oooh, animal product,” Coreen said, “that’s a possible.”

“It was gold.” Vicki said. “Well, gold-ish, at least.”

“Gilded,” Mike said. “The shape…I can’t describe it. Vic, can you draw it? You were always better at that than me.”

Vicki grabbed the paper Coreen handed her and started to sketch. “Damn it,” she muttered. “I’m not the artist around here.”

Mike put a hand on her back as he looked over her shoulder. “A little rounder at the bottom,” he said.

They wrangled for a few minutes until they had a shape that looked like what they remembered and then Vicki handed it to Coreen.

“Okay, I’ll see what I can find. But go away and think about whether there was anything else about her. I don’t want you two looming over my shoulder.” She waved a hand at Vicki’s office.

Sighing, Mike took Vicki into her office and they shut the door. She sank down into one of the visitor chairs and Mike sat down next to her, dragging his chair up close.

“What if we don’t get him back?” she asked.

“We will.” Mike slumped in his chair, tapping fingers on Vicki’s desk.

“Sinead’s powerful.”

“But we’re smart and stubborn and pissed as hell. Oh and sneaky. Sneaky beats powerful any day.”

She huffed out a laugh. “I hate to admit it, but I can’t imagine life without him now.”

Mike breathed in and out a few times. “Neither can I.”

“Never thought I’d hear you say that, you know. I mean, even now.”

“He’s a pain in the ass. Not to mention neck.”

“Yup.”

“But he’s *our* pain in the ass.”

“Sinead’s going to regret this,” Vicki said quietly.

“You bet.”

* * * * *

“Okay,” Coreen said an hour later when she called them into the outer office. “I think I know what she’s got.”

“What is it?”

“It’s Egyptian magic.”

Vicki groaned. “Again? I hate Egyptian magic.”

“Sorry. It looks like a wooden ib, or heart, amulet, one of the most potent of Egyptian amulets. The heart was considered the most essential organ because they believed it was the center of intelligence, feelings, and actions, as well as where memories were stored.” Coreen brought up a website showing a picture that looked almost exactly like what Sinead wore.

“That’s it,” Mike said.

“Okay, so what, we destroy this thing and we get Henry back?” Vicki was almost bouncing in place.

Coreen gave them both a nervous look.

“What? Out with it,” Vicki said.

“It’s not quite that easy.”

“Why not?” Mike asked.

“The power isn’t really in the amulet. I mean, yeah, some of it is, because she’s focusing through the amulet and that’s what’s made her look more powerful, but the power is still in her mind. Even if you destroy it, she’d probably still be too dangerous. You need to break her hold over Henry first.”

“Well, how do we do that?” Vicki demanded.

Coreen fiddled with her hair, avoiding their eyes.

“I swear, if you don’t tell us right now, I’m going to–”

“Whoa!” Mike grabbed Vicki’s shoulder.

Coreen took a deep breath and said very quickly, “The two of you need to break her hold on Henry with your love for him.”

Mike stopped breathing for a long moment as they both stared at Coreen. “I’m going to pretend,” he said slowly, “I didn’t just hear you say that.”

“I’m sorry,” Coreen said, “but I can’t think of another way to put it. You said that he responded when each of you spoke to him, so I think that even though you’re not magic-users, if *both* of you can focus your feelings through similar amulets, you should have enough power to reach him. Egyptian amulets were made to be used by everyone, after all.”

“Our feelings,” Vicki said, rather ominously.

“I’m not blind.” Coreen sighed. “I see how you three look at each other. Besides, why else was Mike there without you? And may I say, I’m very glad to see that you all finally came to your senses and–”

“Coreen. Focus.”

“Right. Anyway, if you can get through to Henry, he might be able to break the spell however he did it before.”

“Might?” Mike asked.

“It’s the best I can do.” Coreen shrugged. “It’s that or place a help wanted ad looking for another witch who’s willing to fight her.”

“I don’t think more black magic is what we need.” Vicki sighed. “What do we do?”

“Let me run out and get you guys some amulets.” Grabbing her purse, Coreen headed for the door. “You guys, uh, think about your feelings.”

Vicki leaned against the desk.

“Our feelings?” Mike asked, hating the whine in his voice.

“There’s really no way for this to end well, is there?”

Mike sat down in a chair and shook his head. “Hell, I don’t even know exactly what my feelings for him *are*.”

“Join the club.” She banged her fists against the desk edge. “Why couldn’t this be a simple case of ‘go in and beat the crap out of her’? *That* I could get behind.”

“I could always shoot her,” Mike said hopefully.

“You want to take a gun into the room with a witch who nearly killed us with a key?” Vicki stared at him. “Are you insane?”

“Good point.” Mike closed his eyes. “So, instead we get to think about our feelings.”

There was a pause. “Where did you say your gun was?”

*****

Eventually, Mike went back to pacing, but it was warm enough in the office that he finally had to give that up. He wiped at a bead of sweat and sat down across the room from Vicki, telling himself it was now or never. “Vic…”

“What?” She turned, obviously startled out of her thoughts.

“I wanted to say that…I can’t imagine life without you either. And if anything happens to you, I’m not sure Henry will forgive me.”

“No!” She pointed a finger. “Don’t go there. Don’t tell me I need to stay behind. I don’t run away. You know that. Besides, Coreen says this needs both of us.”

“She’s guessing. We don’t know for sure.”

“You’re going to argue with the woman who saved our asses with silver bullets?”

Mike shrugged. “I had to try.”

Vicki relaxed, leaning against the desk. “It just pisses me off when you guys try to protect me.”

“I know.” He looked at her small frame and thought about how helpless she looked splayed across Henry’s bed, and how capable she looked while kicking supernatural ass. She was stubborn, cranky, incapable of compromise, a mass of contradictions, and damn, he wanted to wrap her up in cotton wool to keep her safe.

She crossed her arms, brows lowered in suspicion. “What?”

“Nothing.” He was up and across the room before she could react, pulling her into a kiss. She tensed for a second, before relaxing against him, putting her hands behind his neck.

She tasted like soda and pizza, he thought as her tongue licked at his. He locked his arms, squeezing until she poked his shoulder with a finger. “Ow,” she said as he loosened his grip.

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” She kissed him gently on the lips.

“No, I’m not,” he agreed.

She pulled back and let go. “I think,” she said slowly, “that we should go home when Coreen gets back. Go home separately, I mean.”

He waited.

“If we’re going to do this, I need,” she waved a hand at the space between them, “I need some time alone. To think.”

He nodded as Coreen burst through the door in a flurry of excitement. Yeah, he needed some time to think too.

* * * * *

Back home an hour later, Mike sat in his beat-up recliner, staring at the small piece of painted wood in his hand, hanging off a ratty piece of leather cord. This was utterly bizarre. He was holding an Egyptian amulet that he was going to use to free his vampire lover from a witch.

Every time he thought his life couldn’t get more insane…it did.

Okay, Coreen said he needed to focus on Henry. Leaning his head back, Mike closed his eyes and remembered Henry’s expression as he suggested they share Vicki.

He remembered Henry tortured and starved, kneeling on a filthy floor.

He remembered Henry forgiving him.

He remembered Henry describing the pain of being whipped.

He remembered Henry, burgundy shirt half-unbuttoned and a grin on his face as he pulled Vicki into a long kiss.

He remembered Henry arguing over paint colors.

He remembered Henry arching up from the bed in ecstasy, whispering their names.

He remembered Henry teaching Vicki sword-fighting.

He remembered waking up in the deepest night to find Henry watching him sleep.

Mike opened his eyes. “Sinead, watch out. We’re coming for you.”

In his hand, the amulet throbbed once, like a beating heart.

* * * * *

As the sun set, they rendezvoused outside the apartment building. Vicki was so worried that she went right into Mike’s arms without even looking to see if anyone was watching. He held her tight, trying to remember when *this* was all he’d ever wanted.

After a long moment, Coreen coughed and they jumped apart. “Okay,” Coreen said, rubbing her hands together, “don’t hesitate, because that will give her a chance to consolidate her hold on Henry.”

“Coreen…” Vicki paused. “If we don’t come out or call you, get out of town, okay? She’s not exactly a forgive and forget kind of girl. She may try and come for you too.”

“Way to be optimistic.” She waved a hand. “Go get ‘em.”

Mike managed a smile. “Thanks.”

“Hey, it’s what I get paid a measly salary to do, right?”

“Right,” Vicki said.

As they walked toward the front door, Mike said, “Are we sure they’re still there?”

“Well, the doorman says they haven’t left and Henry’s car is still here.”

“But if she magicked herself in, couldn’t she just magic out again?” Mike asked as they headed into the building, managing a friendly smile for the doorman as they went up in the elevator.

“Maybe, but she’s gotta be using a lot of power to hold onto Henry. Besides, this is the safest place for Henry to spend the day.”

“So you’re saying you have no idea.”

“Yeah.” Vicki shrugged as the elevator doors opened at Henry’s floor.

The amulet was damp in his clenched fist, feeling like a very small piece of armor against a very big gun. They stepped into the hallway, striding toward Henry’s door.

On Coreen’s advice, Vicki placed the amulet against the door as she put the key in the lock, and sure enough, the door swung open. In an instant, they were inside.

The living room was empty, so they kept going into the bedroom, instinctively standing to either side of the doors first, which was good, because the doors flew open on their own, and a blast of heat passed through them.

Vicki put up three fingers and on one, they came through the doors fast and low. “Time’s up, Sinead,” Vicki said, standing up and clutching her own amulet. “Henry, you need to concentrate on us.”

Sinead lay on the bed, entwined in a nightgown, sheets, and Henry, the very picture of happy abandon. Tipping her head back, she laughed, the kind of laugh Mike might have found attractive under other circumstances. Now it made him see red.

“Get out,” he said, clutching the amulet until it felt as if it were embedded in his palm.

“I don’t think so,” she said, lifting Henry’s chin up for a kiss. “I don’t know what got you through my wards, but neither of you is witch enough to defeat me.”

Mike couldn’t resist. “Oh you’re a witch? And here I thought you were just a bitch.”

Sinead waved a hand at him. Mike took a step backward, feeling a tide of power wash over him, but the amulet in his palm warmed and pulsed as it had in his apartment and he stayed up.

Eyes narrowing, she examined him. “Interesting. But not enough.”

“Henry!” Vicki called. “We need you. Talk to me. Focus on me.” Her knuckles were white with tension.

This time Henry’s head turned slightly in her direction and Sinead looked alarmed. She stared at Henry and he turned back to her. “Don’t listen to them,” she said. “They don’t love you the way I do. And I know you love me.”

“She’s lying,” Vicki said. “You told me how you feel about her and her use of magic. She’s controlling you, but you’re strong.”

Henry half sat up, head turning as if he was searching for something.

“Henry!” Vicki called him. “We’re here. We came for you.”

Sinead put a hand to her amulet and Henry lay back down. She smiled a vicious smile at Vicki. “I told you he’s mine.”

Vicki took a deep breath. “I love you, Henry. I’ve loved you all along, but I didn’t want to admit it because I was scared.”

Henry sat up and looked in Vicki’s direction, expression vague and confused. “Vicki?” he said.

Sinead glared and waved her hand at Vicki, who staggered back a few feet, then at Henry, who put his hands to his head with a growl. “You can’t win,” Sinead said. “I’m stronger than you.”

Vicki swayed on her feet and Mike took a deep breath, stepping forward to stand beside her. “But you’re not stronger than both of us,” Mike said. “Henry, listen to me.”

Henry rolled out of the bed, still clutching his head. “Mike?”

“I’m here. We’re both here. Concentrate on us. Fight her.” The amulet was so warm it almost burned his hand, but Mike held on.

Henry stood and took several steps toward them, but when Sinead pointed at him, he jerked back as if she’d pulled a leash. She knelt on the bed, pulling him back on an imaginary string.

“No!” Mike reached out for him with the hand holding the amulet. “Damn it, I love you, okay? I love you, you royal bastard. Don’t you dare give up. We need you.”

Henry’s eyes slowly came into focus and Sinead whimpered, trying to pull him further. But he stood in place, looking at Mike and Vicki.

“Don’t leave us,” Mike said. “Please.”

“Please,” Vicki echoed. She reached out and took Mike’s hand and that contact seemed to galvanize Henry, who stood tall, his eyes darkening as he turned to face Sinead.

“You,” he said, voice as dark as his eyes. “All your magic will not protect you from me now.”

Sinead cowered against the pillows, doing her best to look helpless. “It was all for you. I didn’t want you to get hurt doing *their* business.”

Henry loomed. “Their business is mine because I wish it that way. You could never understand caring about someone like that.”

“But I love you!”

“No.” Henry shook his head. “You don’t.”

He reached out, grabbing her by the throat and squeezing, and Vicki and Mike rushed the bed, each grabbing an arm. “Wait!”

Henry growled as they tugged on him and for a long moment they’d reached an impasse, until he dropped the unconscious and barely-breathing Sinead back on the bed.

As they tried to pull him backward, Mike could feel Henry’s full strength, and Mike knew that the only thing holding Henry back was his desire to not hurt *them*. “Don’t do it,” Mike said quietly, trying not to further provoke Henry.

Henry vibrated with tension. “Some people,” he said, “deserve to die.”

“She’s not worth it,” Vicki said, pulling on Henry’s arm. “Can’t you…do something about her?”

“That’s what I’m *trying* to do,” Henry said.

“Something less permanent, that we don’t have to explain to Homicide,” Mike said.

Henry’s jaw was clenched as he stared at Sinead. “She’s evil.”

“I understand,” Mike said.

Henry glanced at him. “I don’t think you do.” As Sinead began to stir, he pulled his arms out of their grip.

When Vicki started to grab him again, Mike stopped her. They watched as Henry grabbed Sinead’s jaw and turned her to face him. Her eyes fluttered open and went wide with fear as she tried to struggle.

“Don’t move,” Henry said.

She stilled.

“You have no more magical ability than the average person. You couldn’t light a candle with your magic.”

Sinead repeated the words.

“You are afraid of the dark because you know that there are things more terrible than you lurking in it.”

Sinead repeated that.

“Go away and never find me again or I will kill you.” He lifted her off the bed, dropping her on the floor with a crash.

In a daze, Sinead crawled out of the room. They were silent, watching the doorway until they saw her stagger out the front door.

When Mike turned back, Henry stood stock still, still as only a vampire can manage, looking formal despite his barely-dressed state. “Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate your assistance. I need to be alone now.”

Mike and Vicki exchanged glances. He waved at her. “Thanks,” she mouthed at him.

He shrugged.

Vicki stomped up to Henry and punched him on the arm. Hard.

Startled, he stared at her. “What…?”

“We’re not going anywhere, idiot. We didn’t go through that embarrassing exercise in order to abandon you. Do you know how few people I’d be willing to do that for?”

Henry continued to stare.

Vicki rolled her eyes. “I’d have left my *mom* in an evil witch’s clutches rather than say that stuff, okay? I’d only do that for you and Sparky over there.” She waved at Mike.

Mike was about to sit on the bed when he changed his mind and stripped the sheets off. “Thanks, I’m touched,” he said over his shoulder.

“You should be.” Pausing, she stepped in front of Henry. “You went to a lot of trouble to get us in your bed, so don’t think you’ll get rid of us that easily.”

Henry’s voice wavered. “I…am not proud of what happened.”

Tilting her head, Vicki examined Henry. “It wasn’t your fault,” she said softly. “She took advantage of you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Mike tossed the sheets in a pile and turned quickly, Vicki’s tone catching his attention. She’d always been quick on the uptake concerning victims. “She’s right,” Mike said, his voice no louder than Vicki’s. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know that.” His chin came up.

“No, you don’t. Not in your gut, you don’t. Maybe you’re afraid you secretly wanted this, or that you should have tried harder to get away.”

“Don’t presume to tell me how I feel,” Henry said, hands clenching into fists.

Mike looked him in the eye. “You’re not angry at me. You’re angry at Sinead.”

“Well,” Vicki said, “he’s probably angry we didn’t let him kill her. But that’s different.”

Henry transferred his glare to her, but she was equally unmoved.

“Leave,” he said with a growl. “This is your last warning.”

Mike came closer. “We’re not leaving,” he said. “We wouldn’t leave someone we love at a time like this.” He was proud that he didn’t stumble at all over the word.

There was a long pause and Henry slid slowly to his knees, holding onto Vicki. Mike knelt beside them, reaching out a hesitant hand, and Henry grabbed it, pulling Mike against him.

They wrapped their arms around Henry as he shook. “It’s over,” Mike said.

“We beat her,” Vicki said.

Henry whispered. “She was too strong.”

“Not too strong for the three of us.”

Henry’s grip was tight enough to be painful, but they didn’t complain, kneeling in their awkward positions and holding onto him as he buried his face between them.

“You know,” Henry said eventually, lifting his head, “there aren’t many people I’m willing to look weak in front of.”

“Really?” Vicki said, playing along.

His laugh was a shadow of normal, but it was genuine. “In fact, the list is composed of you and Sparky.”

“Hey!” Mike said. “This Sparky thing needs to stop now.”

“Would it be better if we called you Snookums?” Vicki asked, hiding her grin against Henry’s shoulder.

“Only if I get to call you both my Pookie Bears.”

“Mmm, I don’t think so,” Henry said. “No more Sparky, then.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Royal bastard, though? That’s the first time I’ve ever heard that used as an endearment. Maybe I should have that put on a t-shirt.”

“God, I hate you *so* much.”

“I love you too.” This time, Henry’s laugh was almost normal. “Both of you.”

* * * * *

A few days later, Mike rolled over in bed, groggy, and noticed that the shutters were down, so dawn had to be close. Blinking bleary eyes, he saw that Vicki was still asleep curled up against Henry, but Henry was wide awake and watching him.

Suppressing a yawn, Mike said, “Everything okay?”

Henry nodded.

“Good.” Mike gave in to the yawn, then lay there watching Henry and Vicki through half-closed eyes and considering what he’d *thought* his life would be like.

“Yes?” Henry said eventually.

“Hmm?”

“You seemed to have something on your mind.”

“Not really.” Mike reached out and traced the area around Henry’s heart. It was unscarred now, but Mike would never forget the sun-shaped wound.

Henry captured his hand. “What’s bothering you?”

“I was just wondering…” He paused, looking for the right words. “What do you get out of this?”

“Besides food and sex?” Henry asked with a small grin.

“Yes, besides food and sex, smartass.” Mike shook his head. “I mean, we’re nobody special, a cop and a PI. You’re…” He trailed off.

“The wealthy bastard son of a king?”

“Among other things. So why us?”

Henry looked down at Vicki and then back at him. “Only a few have known who and what I really am. In that select group, Monsignor Mendoza tried to kill me, and Sinead tried to cage me. In you and Vicki, I have not one but *two* people who know my secrets and are still willing to risk their short and fragile lives in order to protect me.”

Mike was silent.

Henry smiled. “In almost five centuries of life, I’ve never received a gift so valuable.”

–end–

by Mara

Summary: “To be Batman, I must be in control. And I knew–as certainly as I’ve ever known anything–how to find that control again.”

CONTINUITY: I think it might be safest to say this is an AU.

SPOILERS: Hmm. Just for last year’s issues of Gotham Knights, I think.

NOTES: Batman demanded I write this. I swear. Thanks to Xandri and Illmantrim
for encouraging words that kept this from becoming drawerfic. Special gigantic
thanks to Penknife and Ozchick for their amazing betas of multiple drafts, which
prevented this from becoming a “Very Special Episode.” And, of course, thanks to
Avi for putting up with me while I obsessed over this. A lot.
DEDICATION: For those who suffer, with my hope that one day they will be free.

* * * * *

“Pain hardens, and great pain hardens greatly, whatever the comforters say, and
suffering does not ennoble, though it may occasionally lend a certain rigid
dignity of manner to the suffering frame.”

– author A.S. Byatt

To the rest of the city, it was another ordinary night in Gotham: attempted
rapes, muggers in custody, foiled break-ins, a husband stopped in the act of
beating his wife…

But I’ll never forget that night.

I crouched atop the bank complex’s tallest tower, listening to Robin narrate our
latest capture to Oracle, surveying the shifting city, my domain.

For an instant, the view blurred and I imagined us, decades later, sitting in
that same spot and doing the same things. How many thugs had I put in jail
during my career as Batman? How many drug dealers, pimps, murderers? And I
hadn’t even made a dent.

I put psychopathic killers in Arkham and they escaped like clockwork to commit
the same crimes. They were as locked into their patterns as I was.

I swung off my perch, heading down into the city on a wave of sadness. Could I
ever make Gotham safe? Robin–surprised in the middle of telling his story–
followed, and we headed north, where I was certain we’d find some crime to stop.

No, I’ll never forget that night: A familiar feeling returned, one I’d thought
gone forever. It began in my gut, a tension that wouldn’t be denied, that made
my punches a little harder, my moves a little more reckless. Robin saw it, of
course. After all, I’d trained him to notice everything.

Just this once, I wished he hadn’t learned so well. This…this was something I
didn’t want him to see, something I had to deal with myself.

As dawn approached, a jewel thief made the mistake of turning to fight me
instead of running or surrendering. Obviously not a local. Normally, I’d have
blocked his punch and tied him up. But…

I kicked his side, barely pulling back in time to keep from smashing his kidney
to paste. The pained sound he made when he slammed into the brick behind him
only made me angrier.

I stood over him, burning with the need to hit him again.

“Please don’t hurt me,” he whispered and I felt no pity for this criminal who’d
dared to work in my city. I could reach out and–

“Batman?” Robin called over the comm. “I’ve got the second perp. What’s your
sitch?”

The sound of his voice snapped me out of my reverie. My god, what was I doing? I
tied up the whimpering thief, doing my best not to look at him.

The rest of the night went by in a blur. I automatically fought, catalogued
threats, directed the team, but in my heart I knew there was only one solution
to the rising tide that threatened to smother me.

Once the patrol ended, it took Robin a subjective eternity to change and leave
for home, time I spent pretending to type. But my mind was focused on the far
corner of the Cave, my fingers itchy and my breathing shallow. I was so focused,
I barely managed to nod goodnight to Robin before I was on my way.

Moving swiftly, I stripped off the suit, tossing it aside as I reached for the
cabinet–that well-stocked cabinet, the one Alfred checks at least once a day,
replacing bandages, antibiotics, forceps, and…scalpels.

I didn’t want to do it. I never wanted to be there again.

But to be Batman, I must be in control. And I knew–as certainly as I’ve ever
known anything–how to find that control again.

The scalpel was sterilized, gleaming in the best lighting found in the Cave. I
rested the blade on the skin of my left arm just below the elbow, then with a
steady hand I cut a shallow slice.

The relief focused my wandering mind, drawing out the tension from inside to
stream down my arm in thin dribbles of scarlet.

My pulse slowed, my breathing eased, my muscles relaxed. I watched the sluggish
trail of blood, another in a long series of wounds incurred by Batman. I bowed
my head and concentrated on the feeling until I knew I was in control again.
Then I bound the wound, cleaned and sterilized the scalpel, and replaced it in
the cabinet.

Now that I was thinking clearly, I returned to my work, determined to get
something done before I had to sleep.

* * * * *

It took two weeks that first time, weeks in which Robin kept an eye on me, but
relaxed when I seemed normal to him. My focus was back, my moves precise, and
that was good.

Days and nights flowed as they always did, meetings at Waynetech as Bruce Wayne,
genial to one and all, out on the streets as Batman, fighting Gotham’s slow
slide into chaos.

It was two weeks. Exactly.

I was proud. I was strong. I was in control. A child died in my arms.

She couldn’t have been more than five, a tiny thing, born into poverty, living
in a household of dealers, junkies, and thieves. Her curly brown hair was filthy
with accumulated dirt and blood–her blood, streaming from wounds inflicted by
someone in that room.

Oracle summoned an ambulance for the girl, but before the sirens drew close
enough to hear, her breathing hitched and failed.

I began CPR immediately, desperately, but to no avail. Her chest rose and fell
as I blew air into her lungs, but through compressions and breaths, there was no
sign I was keeping her heart pumping. The paramedics I could hear nearing our
location would try this as well, but I knew it wouldn’t work–they would be too
late.

I laid her back on the carpet beside the dead roaches, taking care not to jostle
her more than necessary. When I stood, Robin said, “Oh no.”

I could hear Oracle saying something in my ear, but I didn’t care, stalking
toward the criminals–the scum–we’d captured. I’m not certain what I intended,
but before I reached them, Robin stood between us, face stern behind the mask.

I could have smacked him aside. I think I almost did, but something about the
way he believed he could stop me, well, it worked. I realized I was losing
control again.

The pain came back. The need.

I cut the evening’s patrol short and nobody questioned it. By the time Robin and
I were in the car on our way back, Nightwing was on the line, checking to see
how I was. Obviously, Oracle was concerned, since she’d contacted him on his own
patrol.

“Batman, I’m sorry to hear about the kid.”

I concentrated on my driving, ignoring the worried glances from Robin.

“Are you okay?” Nightwing asked finally.

“Fine.” Stupid question. Who taught him to ask stupid questions?

“Ah. Well, it’s good you’re taking the rest of the night off.” Obviously, Oracle
was coaching him.

“Batman out.”

Nobody questioned my desire to be alone. Robin had me drop him off at the
Clocktower and Alfred only spent a few minutes fussing over me.

It was nearly unbearable, but it would have taken longer if I wasn’t so used to
forcing them away, and if they weren’t so used to obeying. Everyone probably
assumed I planned a few hours of pounding exercise.

My rage was all-consuming, although I wasn’t certain if I was angrier with the
child’s parents or with myself for not saving her.

Just one more time. Just one more cut. I placed the scalpel an inch below the
nearly-healed slice and almost screamed when I made the cut. Not because it
hurt–I’m accustomed to worse injuries–but because the relief was so huge, like
lancing an infected wound.

It only took two weeks for me to find the rhythm, the justifications, the
excuses. Even though it had been two decades, I remembered and I relearned.

Turns out creating Batman wasn’t quite the permanent solution I thought it was.

* * * * *

The first time I cut myself, I was in the middle of puberty–a wealthy orphan
with no purpose and nearly boundless anger. I don’t know where the idea came
from, but I remember that I was upset and angry and ready to go on a rampage,
and I slashed at my hand with a straight razor.

I was shocked by the blood. That first time, I stared at the cut for a long
time, trying to figure out what had happened–why I felt better, calmer.
Eventually, I decided not to question what worked.

Wayne Manor was filled with unused rooms and abandoned storerooms; it was easy
for me to hide. The knives I kept behind statues, in closets, under window
seats. I moved them any time I thought there was a danger of Alfred finding
them.

Coming home, knowing another day had passed without my parents, another day I
had wasted in the futile dance of a wealthy Gotham teen, I would slip into one
of the back passages of the mansion, running until I found the right room.

Sometimes I did it slowly, intent on every twinge as the blade parted the skin,
forcing myself to feel it–letting the pain tell me I was alive. Other times I
was wild, slashing deeply in a swift move, venting my rage, my helplessness.

When I wasn’t home, I scratched, gouging at myself like an animal. Sitting in
the car one afternoon, I stared through the passing scenery, Alfred oblivious as
I picked the side of my head until it bled.

Another time I crouched in the bathroom at some fancy charity ball, shirt
unbuttoned while I clawed at my chest to keep from crying or screaming. I
couldn’t face the milling crowds–mindless and intent only on their own affairs,
without that comfort.

It was tae kwon do that ended all of that. There was a brief fad among the rich
and bored that year to take classes in self-defense, in case of kidnapping
attempts.

To his eternal regret, Alfred thought this was “a splendid idea, Master Bruce”
and a better use of my time than moping or extra studying. I believe he thought
I needed more social activities.

I was unenthusiastic about the idea at first, as I had no interest in watching
my posturing peers strut around a mat pretending to be Bruce Lee.

Three weeks into class, sensei used me to demonstrate several moves and I had my
first experience fighting someone who knew what he was doing. Although I was
thrown almost instantly, the experience was exhilarating. I bounced up off the
mat, eager to try again.

Sensei was impressed by how quickly I learned, how I asked for extra lessons. He
saw my drive, my determination, but not how I craved the punishment, the
discipline.

Something had finally caught my interest and the idea that became Batman was
born.

I had a purpose, a goal, a mission.

* * * * *

Somewhere along the line, the mission stopped being enough.

This time, I started out able to go for weeks between cuts. Robin was still
concerned, but I never gave him reason to think it was anything but normal Bat
angst. He’s good at ferreting out secrets, but I was sure I was better at
keeping them.

I would feel normal, but then something would happen, some failure, some loss,
some reminder, and the pain would build up again. And I would know I had to do
something soon.

One particularly frustrating evening began with a futile chase after the Joker
before we finally lost his trail on the East Side. I prowled the area for an
hour before Robin convinced me to find other prey.

I was hoping to find a nice, uncomplicated mugging, maybe some B&E, something to
make me feel the night hadn’t been a waste.

Instead we found two women laid out on the sidewalk.

We knew they were women from their clothing, or what was left of it. Without
that clue…I couldn’t have been certain.

The killer had left them displayed like trophies, as if proud of the
accomplishment. I actually choked when I first saw them. There was…they had
been tortured. Extensively.

Robin and I split up, calling for immediate backup and the police. The perp, I
thought, had better hope the cops found him first.

There it was again: murderous rage. I had to calm down. I had to do something or
I’d be no better than the people I chased. This was an emergency, there was no
time.

I crouched behind a dumpster–Robin three alleys away–clutching a batarang. I
stared at the edge, guaranteed to stay sharp through almost anything.

Robin was getting closer and I gritted my teeth, slashing the batarang through
the Kevlar on my left arm, stifling the hiss of relief by biting my gauntlet.

My pulse slowed, but I stared at the blood dripping to the ground, uncertain how
I would explain it. This had to be a one-time event and I had to restrict my
activities to the Cave, where I was in control.

After all, as long as I was in control, everything was fine. Right?

It was so easy for me to hide. Bruce Wayne always wears long-sleeved shirts and
suits and Batman’s suit covers a multitude of sins. I’ve always needed to cover
up my injuries, and this was another in a long line of lies. Except this time I
was hiding from everyone, including those who were normally in my confidence.

Even Alfred didn’t suspect anything, although occasionally he looked curious
when he glimpsed the edge of a bandage he hadn’t applied. But it wasn’t unknown
for Robin to patch me up in the field.

As long as nobody compared notes, I could continue as long as I needed. And I
needed. I needed it so badly.

Each slice through an arm or leg was a temporary relief. Not a rush, like
fighting, but soothing. Nobody understands that. They only think of pain, they
don’t see how the small pain can make the larger pain go away. But it does, damn
it, it does.

* * * * *

Despite what people think, it’s nothing like when Jason died and I recklessly
put myself in harm’s way, acting and reacting without thought.

Nobody sees how different that was. I *wanted* to die after Jason did. My guilt
was so strong that only my own death at the hands of some villain could wipe out
the pain. I didn’t want to cope, because that would mean living.

Somehow, they brought me back; *Tim* brought me back by reminding me why I
needed to live. And we regained the status quo: Batman and Robin making the
streets safe for the average citizen. Or something like that.

Why now? I don’t know. Maybe it was just one thing too many: Being accused of
murder, realizing that even the people who know me best weren’t sure I was
innocent, the investigation into Jason’s death, Alfred’s near-death.

All of these things could be the straw that broke the Batman’s back. No, we’ve
already done that, haven’t we? And I came back from that, too.

When does it become too much for any one man to bear?

* * * * *

Months went by. The scars were starting to pile up, my arms and legs lined with
rows of pale and plastic tissue. Some were short and tidy, others looked like
I’d hacked myself with a machete. They hadn’t healed cleanly, despite my careful
bandaging, because I scratched at them sometimes too.

I hid the scars well, although Robin gave me occasional odd looks and I began to
worry he might catch me. The thought of the uproar that would ensue was almost
enough to make me reach for the scalpel.

I never expected…I didn’t think about what would happen when I got a call from
the JLA.

They only call me for emergencies, so I don’t head to the Watchtower expecting a
walk in the park. But we were on our way to the outer reaches of the solar
system before I’d even gotten a briefing.

I was along to solve the mystery of an abandoned spaceship and its strange
contents, both hurtling toward Earth. When those contents proved to be gigantic
furry creatures in stasis, which awoke and attacked us, we all jumped to the
obvious conclusion.

After all, it often seems the universe is populated solely by beings who wish to
invade Earth.

I fought my way to the control center, engaged in hand-to-hand combat in narrow
passageways; the ship had to be turned away. Perhaps if Lantern had been
there…but he wasn’t.

The creatures were ungodly strong and even the powers of my colleagues were
barely holding back the attacks as I struggled with the ship’s computer. If the
creatures had had any sense of coordination, we’d have been lost through sheer
numbers.

I could hear shouting through my comm, but I blocked it out, forcing myself to
concentrate on the screen in front of me.

“On the left!” Wonder Woman called, her voice sounding strained.

If the orange circles represented conduits…

Flash yelled, “They’re here!”

Push this to make the power flow there…

“No!” J’onn said.

That was it! It was working; I could knock out the power to the ship, disable
it. That would give us enough time to figure out a better solution while the
crew fixed the ship.

**Stop!** J’onn called in our minds.

“What?” I said aloud. “The engines are going to blow. We need–”

An alarm screeched and blue lights flashed in the floor panels.

J’onn sounded frantic. “They’re children, Batman. Their minds are hard to read,
but I’ve managed to get through and they’re definitely children.”

Flash appeared in front of me and before I could react, he’d carried me to the
Javelin.

“We must stop whatever you’ve done,” J’onn said, slipping up through the floor.
“They can’t fix this. They only fought us because they were frightened.”

“I can’t stop it,” I said as Superman and Wonder Woman arrived, slamming the
hatch closed behind them. We stared at each other for a long moment, listening
to the alarm blaring.

Superman recovered first. “Then we’d better go find someone to fix it.”

“But we can’t…” Wonder Woman made an abortive move back to the alien ship.

J’onn held her arm. “In their minds, we’re invaders. They’re too frightened to
let us help. We must leave and find another way.”

Most of the ride back to Earth was spent transmitting all the data I’d
accumulated, tracking down the materials and manpower to fix what I’d done.

I felt my colleagues’ eyes on me as I worked. I shamelessly used the cover of my
costume and the fear I knew I inspired to keep them all away. Even Superman
couldn’t bring himself to bother me, so strongly was I projecting ‘leave me
alone.’

There was no time to get back to the Cave. If I didn’t do something, I was going
to explode long before I reached the transporter and got past the reception
committee waiting at home to be certain I was okay.

I would *not* lose control. I would not lash out at my teammates or those
waiting for me on Earth. I tried deep breathing, but every time I closed my eyes
I saw the creatures, the children of a distant race, those I’d nearly killed by
acting without sufficient knowledge.

I imagined their panicked cries as the power systems drained. Bile gathered in
my throat, acrid, burning, and not nearly enough pain to soothe me. There was
nothing more I could do. I’d done quite enough harm for one day.

Wonder Woman tried to say something when we reached the Watchtower, but I
brushed past, stifling the urge to hit her and wipe off the pity I saw. Flash
whispered something and they let me go.

I strode to my quarters, where I keep a first aid kit for times when I want to
avoid the infirmary. Even that didn’t seem unusual to anyone. It’s amazing how
years of habits can add up.

It was…odd. Despite my occasional efforts, the rooms remained distressingly
bright and, even with their size and light, being in outer space made me feel
trapped in a way the Cave never had.

I hesitated, but the pull–the feeling I was going to explode–was too strong. I
left my cowl on, but stripped my gloves and the top half of the suit to get to
my right arm. The waiting was killing me and I put up the strongest mental
shield I could conjure.

A long slice, exquisite pain, and I fell to my knees, almost crying out. It was
so intense, I forgot where I was.

Which was why I was so surprised to hear J’onn’s voice. “Batman!”

How the–

Nobody, not even J’onn, should be able to sneak up on me. All my senses scanned
the area, checking for other intruders. Nobody. But J’onn…

I found my voice. “Go away.” I had a hand over the most recent cut, but I knew
it wasn’t covering all the scars. I had to get away.

“But you–”

“I’m fine. I’ll bandage this and go home.”

J’onn’s hand covered mine before I could move. “No.” I had seen him in a great
many situations, but rarely had he sounded so uncompromising.

“Go. Away.” I refused to struggle–it was undignified–but I wanted him off me,
away from me. This was not his concern.

“Yes, it is. It is my concern if one of my friends is hurt.”

“Get out of my mind!” I jumped to my feet, forgetting my determination not to
struggle. J’onn let me go, his expression sad as I backed away.

“Bruce–”

“I’m Batman here, you know that.”

J’onn looked lost. You wouldn’t think he could still be surprised after so many
years as a telepath on Earth; perhaps it was just that it was me. “I’m sorry. I
wasn’t trying to read you, but you are projecting. Strongly. It was…I was
worried.”

He took a step toward me and I backed away, running through every exercise I
knew to block telepaths. J’onn winced, so it was obviously working.

“There is nothing to worry about.” It’s almost amusing that I could say that as
blood dripped between my fingers onto the metal floor, splashing like a leaky
faucet.

“Do not lie to me,” J’onn said.

“I’m not.”

“You’re bleeding and I could feel your pain from three floors away. That was not
only a lie, it was a clumsy lie.”

I couldn’t think. I needed to do something and he was standing there insulting
me. “I neither need nor want your help.” It was a struggle to keep my voice low,
harder than usual to keep from shouting my irritation.

“Another clumsy lie. That worries me more than the blood.”

I glared at him. “How many times must I tell you to leave me alone?”

“Until I believe you will not hurt yourself when I leave.”

“You have no idea what I’m doing.”

“But I know you need my help, even if you do not want it.” He morphed into the
shape of John Jones. “Would it be easier to talk to me in this form?”

I turned away, moving to the table with the first aid kit. There was a whisper
of sound behind me, but J’onn stopped when I picked up a bandage and went to
wash off my arm. My breathing was erratic, echoing in my ears.

I held my arm under the running water, turning the water as hot as it could go.
J’onn made a strange noise, but he didn’t try to stop me, so I ignored him,
concentrating on the water, on how it burned. It wasn’t as good as the cutting,
but it worked, and my customary focus returned.

When I felt able to face the world, I turned off the water and bound my arm.

Still not looking at J’onn, I put the suit back on, not even wincing as it
placed pressure on my new cut and the reddened skin around it. When I was fully
armored, I raised my eyes to meet his, which were once again alien.

“Do *not* attempt to restrain me, or you will regret it.”

Even J’onn can be cowed temporarily by the Batman and he bowed his head. I left
the room and transported back to Earth. And if I felt a deliberate brush across
my mind when I reappeared in the Cave, well, there was nothing more to be done
then.

Alfred and Robin were waiting, with Nightwing, Huntress, and Oracle on the line,
all eager to hear about the JLA’s latest mission. I think they were disappointed
by the brevity of my report, but I needed time to think, time to decide what to
do about J’onn.

I knew him too well to believe that he would keep silent forever simply because
I demanded it. But exactly what he would choose to do, that was more difficult
to discern. In some ways, J’onn is more human than I, and in others, so alien I
couldn’t understand him in a lifetime of trying.

* * * * *

J’onn did nothing.

That was almost worse than any action I could imagine, because it left me
waiting and planning. And wondering. A part of me wondered what he was up to,
another wondered why he hadn’t already taken action. A small voice asked if
perhaps he didn’t care, but I stifled that as irrelevant.

A week went by with no reaction from anyone. No Nightwing showing up on my
doorstep, no Superman looking earnest and concerned, not even unusually worried
stares from Robin.

Foolishly, I relaxed and resumed my routine. By this point, I was cutting myself
at least once a week, and one early morning found me in the Cave,
remembering…many things.

Head bowed, I held the scalpel over my thigh, below the tidy rolled hem of my
sweats, panting breaths making it hard to hold the small object steady as I
leaned against the wall. Just as the blade touched my leg, I sensed the presence
I’d been waiting for. Whirling, I found J’onn hovering behind me, his face
blank.

I found I was holding the scalpel between us, and I’d automatically dropped into
a fighting stance. “What do you want? Are you here to stop me?”

“No. I am here to witness.”

That surprised me enough to break through the haze over my mind. “What?”

“I’ve been doing research. I do not believe I can or should stop you. But I do
not wish you to be alone, either.”

I took a step back, my mind awhirl. The pain was still beating at me from behind
the shield of Batman, demanding an outlet, but the habits of a lifetime warred
with it.

“Get out of my home,” I snarled.

J’onn didn’t deign to respond. He knew that so long as he remained in his
intangible state, there was very little I could do to him. Of course, there was
always the chance that I might take one of those other options, one of the ways
I knew to incapacitate a telepath or a Martian, but I wasn’t that far gone. Yet.

I stood in unfamiliar indecision–he could follow anywhere I might go, no
material would stop him, and he was equally as stubborn as I. Sitting in midair
like a green Buddha, J’onn made no move to influence me.

Inside my mind, I screamed. J’onn knew damn well the thing I hated most was
others witnessing my weakness; he was wrong if he thought that would stop me. I
reminded myself that when you can make your weakness a strength, you will always
win.

I stood tall, my expression undoubtedly at its stoniest. “If you want to watch,
then watch.”

I didn’t bother to turn away, switching the scalpel over to the left hand,
bracing my right hand on the wall and slicing with the left. I held J’onn’s gaze
and he didn’t move, just watched me.

As I felt the warmth flow down my leg, the screaming in my mind subsided. I
wondered if J’onn heard it, since I couldn’t be sure of my ability to block. My
pulse slowed and I went to apply a bandage to my leg, refusing to limp as I
walked.

When I was done, I looked up at J’onn, who didn’t appear to have moved.

“Well, are you satisfied?” My voice and mind were quieter.

“No. Are you?” Now he held *my* gaze. I was fairly certain he wasn’t reading my
mind, but I concentrated on blankness.

“I’m fine.”

“You are far from fine.” J’onn hesitated. “Please, Bruce, the pain, let me–”

“Quiet!”

He closed his eyes for a moment. “You are hurting yourself.”

I crossed my arms and glared. That was a statement so obvious as to be unworthy
of a response. I wanted to walk away, but was certain he would follow until he’d
finished whatever he wanted to say.

“Bruce, I am concerned.”

“There is nothing wrong.”

“That you appear to believe this means that I have missed far too many warning
signs. We *all* have. We’ve grown too accustomed to allowing you your secrecy.
We have failed you and I am sorry.”

I was almost incoherent with the hatred that welled up. “Sorry? You…how dare
you…Stay out of my mind!”

J’onn sighed, sounding almost human. “I will leave now. Please try to think
about what I’ve said.”

He stretched and slipped through the ceiling of the Cave, leaving me alone with
uncomfortable thoughts and worse memories.

* * * * *

J’onn didn’t appear every time I cut myself. Even *he* couldn’t possibly monitor
me all the time, I suppose. I hated the idea that he was waiting, watching for
an emotional spike that must have been a beacon fire to a telepath of his
capacity.

But he came often enough. It was the same each time: He’d watch, try to talk to
me, not try to stop me. I wondered when he would finally give up and tell one of
the others, how they would react.

I began to obsess over it.

* * * * *

Another midnight in Gotham, another grimy alley and abandoned warehouse, another
set of clues leading me to a mass murderer.

This time, it was a trap. An obvious trap, so obvious Robin tried to convince me
not to go, his voice cracking as he argued with me. I couldn’t be bothered to
listen to his arguments, and he followed me in.

The click of a detonator is unmistakable to anyone who has heard it before.
Instinctively, we both dove out of the way, but not fast enough.

Everything was on fire, shrapnel falling in flaming sheets; I crouched over
Robin, using my cape to shield us. Oracle shouted in my ear, but I was too busy
staring at Robin unconscious, burned, bleeding.

Blood streamed onto his shoulder and it took long moments for me to realize it
came from me, until I could hardly hold my cape over us. I could hear Nightwing
yelling on the line, but the words couldn’t beat back the encroaching darkness.

Then the pain was gone and I let go.

* * * * *

Of the following week, I remember very little. Leslie says that’s for the best.
They had to tie my arms to the bed, because whenever I got them free, I tore at
the bandages, scratched my skin, and tried to reopen the closed wounds.

All that work to keep my secret, but now Leslie knew and the others guessed.
Batman might have many scars, but no one with half a brain could miss the rows
of scars I’d accumulated. I know J’onn spoke to everyone, although they’ve never
revealed what he said.

Apparently J’onn arrived as Batgirl and Spoiler made it to the scene of the
explosion; he transported us both to the clinic, and never left. He took charge
of the situation, Leslie tells me, like the leader he is, making all kinds of
arrangements and acting as everyone’s confidante. He told the JLA he was on
extended personal leave and had Nightwing make my excuses while I was
unconscious. It says something about the JLA (and me) that nobody then or since
has questioned those excuses.

Waking up was difficult, as much of my mind found unconsciousness more congenial
than facing what had happened. But I could only avoid it for so long.

Years of habit left my eyes closed while my other senses tried to figure out the
situation, and years of injuries meant that I recognized the sounds and smells
and textures of Leslie’s clinic almost immediately. Then there was the almost-
tangible presence of J’onn. My eyes flew open as everything came back to me.

“J’onn. Tim…how is Tim?” I pulled at the straps restraining my arms.

J’onn was hovering by the window, but came to free my arms. “He is well. His
injuries healed much faster than yours, probably because he is younger and his
system was under less strain.”

I closed my eyes, fought back tears.

“His greatest fear is that you will forbid him from acting as Robin. As you did
to Dick.”

A few tears leaked out despite my best efforts. I couldn’t deny my first thought
had been just that–protect Tim by pushing him away. In this case, there was
even more justification, since I hadn’t considered his safety as I led him into
a trap. Hell, when was the last time I *had* considered his safety?

“He also said you would blame yourself,” J’onn said. “Although he is not yet
aware of the…full extent of the problem, he is a very perceptive young man.”

That got my attention. “What…how much…do they know?”

J’onn’s form rippled, which I recognized as uneasiness. “They know enough for
the moment. They’ve known something was wrong for months, although the secrecy
and stubbornness you seem to breed in your associates prevented them from
confronting you.”

His words hit like a steamroller. “They’ve known…”

“Yes, Bruce. They’ve been covering for you, cleaning up things you left undone.”

I wanted to call him a liar.

“Problems they would ordinarily have brought to you, they’ve solved on their
own. Dick has been putting in extra hours to help Tim. Cassandra is even showing
some signs of the strain.”

“My god. How could I not see?”

J’onn pushed on. “They were uncertain what was wrong, but their instinct was to
protect you.”

My lips moved, but I didn’t even know what I could say. How many ways had I
failed them?

“Tim does not blame you for his injuries,” J’onn said as I tried to calm my
reeling brain.

“He should.” He knew it was a trap. Even if I had decided to go in, I should
have made him wait outside, but I was so wrapped up in myself, it didn’t even
occur to me. I could have gotten him killed, I nearly did.

“You made a mistake.”

“I don’t get to make mistakes.”

J’onn sank into the chair beside my bed, angling it to face me. “Perhaps that is
where your problems begin.”

I turned my head away and tried not to listen, helped out by a pounding
headache.

“I had hoped that I could reach you, help you, before anyone else was hurt,”
J’onn said. “If there is blame to be placed, you may as easily place it on me.”

“I put Tim in danger.”

“Tim chose to follow you.”

“We shouldn’t have been there at all.”

“Perhaps. But the fact remains that I knew there might be a problem, yet I did
not take action.”

I closed my eyes, despairing. What would I do now? What was there for me other
than Batman?

“Bruce?”

Ignoring him, I felt the urge. My fingers twitched. Without a knife, I wanted to
scratch.

“Bruce!” J’onn grabbed my arms and pinned them to the bed. I was so weak, I
couldn’t break his hold or use any of the thousand martial arts moves I knew for
such situations. “Bruce, listen to me.” His voice echoed through the roaring in
my head. “You can survive this, but you must want to. You must want to stop
hurting yourself.”

How could I? I’d stopped before, but that wasn’t through any effort of my own.

“You can. You will. Focus.”

There was pain and memory and guilt. The screams of everyone who’d died while I
was busy elsewhere.

“Focus!” J’onn sounded desperate, he sounded afraid. Afraid for me? “Focus on my
voice. Let me all the way into your mind.”

No! No, I couldn’t let him see–

“There is nothing in your mind that can shock me. Please let me help you. Trust
me.”

And I did. I had trusted J’onn for years, from the earliest incarnation of the
Justice League up through the present. For once, those years of habit worked in
my favor, and I let him in, his mental presence a familiar beacon in the
blizzard of my brain.

Images flashed by, almost too fast to see, a catalogue of failures, lives lost.
Jason called my name, my parents died for the thousandth time, the Joker laughed
as he gassed a roomful of innocent people. I saw Dick’s angry face as he left
the mansion, every woman I’d treated shabbily in the guise of the playboy,
countless anonymous victims I couldn’t save from Ra’s and Bane and the Riddler
and Ivy…

J’onn’s hand was on my shoulder, keeping me from being drawn into the maelstrom.
“This is what haunts you,” he said, “and you will have to face these things and
defeat them. But not today.”

He stood before me, and stretched out his arms. I could see light streaming from
him, filling the space between me and the memories, pushing everything else
back. The pain receded and I could feel my body gasping for breath.

“This is only temporary,” he said. “But it will hold for the moment.”

When my eyes opened again, I felt as if I’d gone weeks without sleep. J’onn
stepped back, looking weary. “Rest,” he said. “There will be time to talk
later.”

My eyes slipped closed, my last thought a fervent wish for dreamless sleep.

* * * * *

The next time I awoke, the sun was down and the only light in the room came from
a bedside lamp. It glowed on the features of Cassandra, who was curled up in the
chair, peering at a book.

She looked up at me and nodded. I didn’t know what to say, so I took my usual
tactic of saying nothing. She studied me, hopped off the chair, and disappeared
out the door. I closed my eyes again, only opening them at the sound of
footsteps.

J’onn strode in, disguised as John Jones, and shut the door behind him before
shifting to his more familiar form. “Cassandra said you were awake and looking
much better.”

“Did she?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Well, she said ‘Better.’ The rest was tone.”

“Ha.” I felt drained, empty, as my head dropped back against the pillow.

“Bruce? We must speak of this.”

I stared at the ceiling, counting cracks. “What is there to say?”

“I thought we might talk of your recovery.”

I looked at J’onn, then turned to stare at the dark window that reflected back
the lamplight and my gaunt face. “Recovery. That’s funny. Do you know how I
dealt with the Joker, the Scarecrow, and the other Arkham inmates all these
years?”

I heard the scraping of the chair. “How?” J’onn asked.

“By believing there was one fundamental difference between them and me: They
were crazy and I was sane. Now even that’s gone.”

“You’re not insane.”

I didn’t answer, just looked at my arms. It felt strange to see them bare, to
know that anyone who walked in could see them. I resisted the urge to pull up
the thin blanket.

“You’re not insane,” he said again.

“Then what am I?”

“Human, Bruce, very human. We forget that, but you are a human being who has
seen too much and needs help.”

I shook my head.

“There is no shame in needing help. You are not the first person to make
mistakes. Nor are you the first to be too stubborn to ask for help. But you are
my friend and I will help you anyway.”

“How?” It was a challenge, not a question.

“As I said before–you will face the memories that haunt you. Your actions are a
side effect of the emotional trauma.”

Snorting, I crossed my arms, refusing to wince at the pull on my healing chest
and back. “Psychoanalysis? I’d have expected better from you than ‘Tell me about
your mother.’”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not the one who thinks my problems can be solved by lying on a couch and
describing my dreams.”

“Bruce, I can only help you if you listen.”

I swallowed, feeling trapped between two unappealing options.

J’onn watched me struggle for a long moment. “Why do you injure yourself?”

My mouth opened, but no sound emerged. My brain felt sluggish. “I…I have to,
to be certain I don’t hurt others.”

“How might you hurt others?”

“Losing control. When I lose control, things happen. People get hurt.”

“That is true.”

“What?” I’d expected a denial.

“It’s true that if you lost control, people would get hurt. But that doesn’t
happen.”

“Because I keep it from happening by doing this!” I held out my arms, voice
thick with anger at his obtuseness.

Staring into my eyes, J’onn didn’t look at my arms. “No. Because you are too
strong. Batman does not kill. You’ve held to that through circumstances that
might have driven any of us past the point of control. You may be using this as
a crutch now, but you are capable of taking that strain on your own. You have.
And you will again.”

I shook my head, made speechless by the faith in those words.

“I know you, Bruce. You feared what I would see in your mind would make me hate
you. What I saw was what I expected to see: a man pushed beyond human endurance.
Or Martian endurance, for that matter. You blame yourself for things you tried
to stop, things you couldn’t have stopped.”

“I have to stop them. It’s my responsibility.”

J’onn ignored that. “Shall we begin?”

“Now?” My stomach curled into a knot.

“I see no advantage to you in waiting. This will be a long process.”

“I…”

J’onn placed his hand on my forehead and we fell into my mind.

I gasped as we landed in a typical Gotham alley, filthy concrete, a few rats–
and a cowering jewel thief. “Please don’t hurt me,” he said, staring up at me,
eyes wide like a panicked horse.

I took an involuntary step back, my stomach aching, breath caught in my throat.
“I remember this.”

“Yes,” J’onn agreed behind me. “What happened?”

“I was going to hit him. I wanted to pound him into the ground.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Because Robin called me.”

J’onn came to stand beside me. “No, because you chose not to. You see this
moment as weakness, I see it as an example of your strength.”

I shook my head, backing away. J’onn stood beside me and with a flash of light
we were someplace else.

A hot desert wind blew across my face, scattering the splintered remains of a
building. In the center of the destruction lay a small broken figure. I sank to
my knees, the strength knocked out of me. “Jason?”

J’onn knelt beside me. “You didn’t fail him, you know.”

A tear streaked down my cheek and my stomach heaved.

“Tell me, Bruce. Why are we here?”

“How the hell should I know? You brought me here.”

“No.” J’onn’s voice was gentle. “We’re following your thoughts, not mine.”

“Then let’s go. I’ve seen this often enough.”

“Bruce–”

I jumped to my feet. “What do you want me to say? Fine, I hate myself for
letting Jason die. Is that it? Can we leave now?”

The sirens of the approaching police grew louder. Soon, I knew, they’d pull up
and find Jason, his mother, and me. I would pay them off and take Jason home.

“You blame yourself for Jason’s impetuous nature?”

“He should never have been Robin.”

“But he wasn’t killed as Robin, was he? He was looking for his mother. You
couldn’t have known what would happen.”

I stared at Jason’s broken body. “I couldn’t protect him.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

Our surroundings flashed again, and we were back in Gotham. It took a second,
but I recognized the street, the moment in time.

“Bane!”

“He nearly killed you. Where is he now?”

“The east. Somewhere.” I watched the villain I remembered, pumped full of that
drug, stalking me.

“When you recovered, you could have killed him for what he did to you, to
Gotham.”

“No.” I shook my head, unable to look away.

“Instead you helped him recover from his addiction, find out about his family.”

I relived the fight, the moments leading up to that sickening crack of my–

“Bruce.” The scene froze and J’onn stood in front of me. “You are fundamentally
a good man. You’ve helped many people and there is much more for you to do. You
know that. But to help them, you must stop this self-destructive behavior.”

“I can’t. I don’t know how.”

“You do. Will you abandon those you’ve sworn to protect?”

“No!”

“That is what you have done.” As J’onn spoke, the street scene faded into a
blur.

“I need this. I need the release.”

“No, you’re stronger than that.” J’onn sounded so sure, I wished I had that same
certainty. “What do you want?” he asked.

“I…to make Gotham safe. Keep the world safe.”

“What do you want?” he asked again, patient, apparently ready to keep asking.

“For things to be the way they were,” I whispered.

“I don’t know if you can have that. But perhaps it can be better.”

“How?”

“Trust me. Together we will help you find that control. Shall we continue?”

I took a deep breath and watched the Gotham street fade into the Watchtower.

Time seemed endless as we wandered through the corridors of my mind. It’s not a
pretty place. Finally, an image started to appear and flickered into restful
pale blue walls.

“What happened?” I asked.

“It was time to rest,” he said.

I realized I was sitting in a comfortable leather chair, J’onn across from me in
a high-backed chair that looked like his seat at the Watchtower table–although
they hadn’t been there moments before. I leaned my head against the back of the
chair, feeling wrung out, exhausted. It felt like I’d spent a week gathering up
Arkham escapees.

“Now that you’ve begun the process of facing the things you’ve seen, we must
discuss what you will do when we leave here.”

I closed my eyes, not sure how to respond.

“Your problems will not be solved in one day.”

“I know that.”

“There are substitutions,” he said, “things you can do when you feel the urge to
injure yourself. Eventually, you will no longer need those either. All of this
is contingent, however, on your desire to change. Everything we have done this
evening will be for naught if you don’t have the determination to succeed.”

We were in my mind. J’onn could have easily found the answer for himself, but he
chose to wait for me to find it myself.

I thought about everything that had happened, from that first night until Tim
and I were injured. I believed I was in control, but in actuality I had left my
team, my family, in danger. With the perspective J’onn had helped me find, I
realized what I’d been doing was irrational, dangerous.

This was unacceptable, all of it.

“I want to change, J’onn. I *will* change.”

He smiled. “Yes, you will.”

“Thank you.” The words were wholly inadequate, but considering where we were, I
felt certain he knew how heartfelt they were.

“You are most welcome, my friend.”

* * * * *

Over the weeks of my physical rehabilitation, J’onn and I confronted the things
that had been torturing me. He was right, of course, and I gained a measure of
the control I’d been seeking. It was torturous, especially since I’m not by
nature an introspective person, nor do I like to think about my emotions. I
don’t even like to admit to *having* them, most of the time.

But gradually it worked.

At the beginning of this process, I had to talk to the family, which ranks among
the hardest things I’ve ever done.

I felt I owed Alfred the first conversation.

“Master Bruce, are you awake?” I’d heard his footsteps long before he spoke, but
a cowardly part of me kept my eyes closed.

I swallowed and opened my eyes. “Yes, Alfred. I just…has J’onn explained
what’s been happening?”

“Yes, he’s been most helpful.” He had on his best blank ‘I’m just a servant’
face, which meant I was in real trouble.

“I’m sorry,” I said, unable to find any way to ease into what I had to say. “I’m
sorry I frightened you.”

His blank face faded as I spoke. I’ll never forget the pain that replaced it, or
the feeling that I’d failed the man who raised me.

* * * * *

Tim didn’t look me in the eye when he slid into the room. We’d barely had a
moment to talk since the explosion, mutually avoiding having this conversation.

It didn’t help that I was still struggling with my guilt over putting him in
danger. That was bound to make us completely ineffective as a crime-fighting
team if we didn’t deal with it.

“I think we need to talk,” I said when he came into the room.

He and I winced together at the cliché, but he sat in the chair beside my bed.
My lap was full of printed reports, catching me up on everything that had
happened while I was unconscious.

Unable to look directly at Tim, I stared down at Oracle’s summary of new mob
activity in prostitution, the words wavering.

“What’s up?” he asked when I didn’t say anything.

“I…I get the feeling you’re still angry with me. For not listening to you.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tim stare up at the ceiling, blinking a few
times. “That’s not it.”

I turned to face him. “Then what’s wrong?”

He crossed his arms and looked at me, the piercing stare he learned from me (or
possibly Alfred) firmly in place. “I want to know why you didn’t tell me
anything. If I’m your partner…”

God, that hadn’t even occurred to me. Just another failure on my part. “You are,
Tim, you are. I thought this was something I needed to handle on my own.”

“You were ashamed.”

That’s the problem with training your partners so well, you can’t control where
they turn their intelligence. “Yes.”

His stare softened and for a moment he looked his age. “I was worried about you.
You were acting so weird and we didn’t know what was wrong. I thought
maybe…there was something I wasn’t doing.”

“No, absolutely not. There’s nothing you could have done differently.” I put
every iota of certainty I could muster into those words. He had to understand…

I saw a flash of relief before he was staring at me again, aged well beyond his
years. “No more secrets.”

I inclined my head. “No more secrets. Partner.”

* * * * *

As difficult as that conversation was, facing Dick was a thousand times worse.

“Dick…” I trailed off when he turned away. His shoulders shook as he leaned
against the windowsill and I realized he was crying. “Dick, I’m so sorry.”

I could hear him swallow several times and he shuddered once all over before
turning to face me again. “Why’d you do this to yourself? Why the hell didn’t
you talk to me?”

Before I could answer, he began cursing, starting in English, moving on to
French, and finishing in Russian. All I could do was wait for him to stop.

“But you don’t talk to anyone, do you, Bruce?” He shook his head, jaw tight.

I hung my head, unable to argue with his assessment.

“That’s got to change,” he said. “If you do this to us again, I swear I’ll kill
you myself.”

* * * * *

Arms crossed, Barbara glared at me. “I’m disappointed in you. I knew you liked
to keep secrets, but how could you…” She broke off, lips tight with
disapproval.

I wanted to say something about her own self-hatred since she’d been shot by the
Joker, but discretion won out. “It’s complicated, Barbara.”

“That’s what you always say, just after you’ve nearly destroyed Dick.”

Unsurprising, I suppose, that she should mainly be focused on him. “I’ve already
talked to him.”

“I know.” Her glare softened a bit. “And we accept your apology. I just don’t
understand how you could…damage yourself on purpose.”

Both of us glanced involuntarily at her wheelchair.

* * * * *

Cassandra patted my arm with a sad smile, sitting in the chair next to my bed,
her lotus position an obvious suggestion that we meditate together. I think she
understands the self-loathing better than anyone–even Barbara–and she wasn’t
hurt by my silence like the others.

After we’d breathed together for an hour or so, she patted my arm again.
“Tomorrow?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

She nodded at me and was gone.

It was nice to have someone not demanding my attention. Much as I love the
others, they can take more energy than I have to give at the best of times.

But they all stood by me, even if they didn’t understand. I’m not sure I had
ever realized how much of a family we are until those days, until I saw them
support each other just as they supported me.

I swear I will do my best from now on to be the man, the hero, they believe I
am.

* * * * *

I wish I could close with “And they all lived happily ever after” but I’d be
lying. We’d all be happier if I could claim some miracle cure, but if there is
one, I haven’t found it.

I can’t take the drugs for my depression. Leslie is upset by that decision, but
accepting–I think she hopes I’ll change my mind. It seems to me that taking
drugs would be an acknowledgment of defeat, and I’m not ready to do that.
Besides, it’s too dangerous for me to take mood- and chemistry-altering drugs.

J’onn says I’m wrong about the drugs, too. I talk to him pretty regularly and I
know that he keeps an eye on me. I don’t trust that many people, especially with
secrets like this, but J’onn is…well, J’onn. And it’s not as if I can visit
any random psychologist.

I still think about cutting myself, find my fingers twitching, the pain building
in my chest. J’onn and Leslie say that will fade with time, as it did before,
especially since I’m trying to stop this time. Sometimes I even believe them.

I’ve learned other ways to get through the bad times, but I’m an expert on scars
and I know that I’ll bear many of these newest ones for the rest of my life,
constant reminders of what I’ve done.

The most important thing, though, is that Batman is back on the streets of
Gotham, terrorizing the criminal element. Robin and the others are by my side,
Oracle on the line keeping tabs, and Nightwing a call away.

I even call Dick sometimes, just to talk, especially when things are bad. He’s
forgiven me. Mostly.

Whether I’ve forgiven myself is another question.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: School sucks even if you’re *not* a superhero, but if you’re a Teen Titan, it rises to new levels of suckitude. Good thing Tim’s around to make Kon feel better.

CONTINUITY: You’re kidding, right?

NOTES: This story was written for Zeelee, because she made a wish. The title
comes from a quote by HL Mencken: “School days, I believe, are the unhappiest in
the whole span of human existence. They are full of dull, unintelligible tasks,
new and unpleasant ordinances, brutal violations of common sense and common
decency.”

* * * * *

Tim blinked as Kon flung himself backward melodramatically onto Tim’s bed at
Titans Tower, upsetting a pile of papers and books, which made an attempt to
cascade onto the floor.

Tim grabbed the pile before it could escape, shifting it all to the relative
safety of his desk. “Something wrong?”

“Everything. Everything is wrong.” Kon threw an arm across his eyes and groaned.

“Well, Darkseid isn’t invading the Earth, so I’d say we’re one up right there.”

Kon lifted up his arm far enough to glare. “Aren’t *you* a ray of sunshine
today.”

“Well, you *did* say–”

“Don’t be so literal.”

Tim leaned against the headboard. “Then be more specific.”

“Urg.” Kon toed off his sneakers and swung his legs against the side of the bed.
“It’s Smallville.”

Tim waited.

“It’s school!” Kon scrambled further onto the bed so he could sit up. “I can’t
stand it. It’s awful.”

“What’s awful? And don’t say everything.”

“It starts so *early* for one thing. And half the time I’m short on sleep
because I’m off, you know, saving the world or helping little old ladies across
the street, but I still have to be on time.”

Tim nodded his sympathy. “My dad used to wonder why I had my alarm clock set so
loud.”

Kon looked away, his face reddening. “Right. Alarm.”

Tim crossed his arms and waited some more.

“The Kents, uh, they’ve started taking the cost of alarm clocks out of my
allowance.”

“Because?”

The words came out in a rush. “Because I keep frying them with my heat vision.”

“Oh.” Tim manfully swallowed his laughter.

“It was an accident,” Kon wailed. “All five times.”

“Five times. Right. Maybe Bart, Cassie, or I could call and wake you up if you
let us know what time.”

“Might be a good idea,” Kon mumbled. “But school is still dumb. It’s all
pointless stuff I’m not going to need. I don’t know why Superman is so insistent
I have to do this. Just ’cause he did…”

Tim leaned on his knees and considered his despondent friend. “I think it has to
do with socialization.”

Kon blinked.

“Or to put it another way, learning how to play well with others. Superman and
the others worry that we won’t know how to talk to or work with anyone who isn’t
part of the cape and tights crowd.”

Kon blinked again. “Oh. Why don’t they just say that?”

“I don’t know that it’s a conscious decision for them. Well, it probably is for
Batman, but he doesn’t think he needs to explain it to me.” The last came out
with a little more bitterness than he’d intended and Kon rested a hand on his
ankle.

“You okay, man?”

Tim almost squirmed, uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the person who
understood him best. “Yeah. Anyway, we’re not talking about me.”

Kon didn’t look entirely convinced, scooting over to lean against the wall so
his legs lay across Tim’s feet. Tim ignored that, asking, “So, what else about
school?”

“People keep talking about college and stuff and what am I supposed to say? ‘I
was planning to skip college and see if maybe the Outsiders would take me
instead.’ Kinda kills the whole secret identity thing.”

“I can see how it would.”

“And if they’re not talking about college, then they’re talking about drinking
or something.” He smacked his head against the wall behind him and Tim was
thankful the walls were reinforced. “Even if I had time, I don’t think I can
*get* drunk!”

Tim couldn’t completely suppress his grin, but fortunately Kon wasn’t looking.
He was making good points, though. “It’s hard to listen to people who have no
idea of the darkness that’s out there.”

“Yeah. I mean, I know I’m not the most serious guy in the universe…but it’s
hard to sit around and talk about football all the time, you know?”

“Mmm.”

“How do you do it?”

Tim blinked at him. “I never talk about football.”

“No, I mean, keep the secret identity and act like a normal teenager and do your
homework before you go on patrol.”

“I don’t know,” Tim said slowly. “I just do.” He shrugged.

Kon looked at him, but obviously decided to leave that alone. Then he remembered
his own woes and banged his head against the wall again. “And I just can’t seem
to get everything done. There’s always some paper I have to write at the last
minute or homework or reading. I try, but it’s just too hard to care about
Hamlet’s decisiveness when there’s…” At a loss for words, he waved at the
Tower around them.

“I know it’s tough,” Tim said, “but some thing really are relevant. I mean,
Shakespeare’s grasp of human psychology–”

“Yeah, but you’re into that psychological stuff.” Kon stared up at the ceiling.
“I’m just the muscle. Dumb muscle.”

Tim leaned over far enough to smack Kon’s shoulder. “You know that’s a load of
crap.”

“I do?”

Kon shifted his gaze from the ceiling and Tim caught his breath. “If you don’t
know it, then you should.” Tim switched to Robin’s tones, figuring that would
catch Kon’s attention. “Do you think your only value to the team is strength?”

“Yes.” It wasn’t much above a murmur, but it was enough.

“Do you think Cyborg would want you as a Titan if he thought you were just dumb
muscle? Do you think *I* would want you as a teammate?” Or anything else, he
didn’t say.

“No.” That was even softer, but lip-reading was easy when you were this close.
Although Tim wasn’t sure when they’d gotten this close and it hadn’t been his
intention to get distracted from their conversation by the fact that Kon was in
his bed and nobody would look for them–

“Mmph,” Tim said, losing track of his thoughts with Kon’s tongue in his mouth.

Without breaking contact, Kon crawled between Tim’s legs, deepening the kiss.

“Mmph,” Tim said again, somewhat more emphatically, putting a hand on Kon’s
chest and pushing.

Kon settled back until he was kneeling.

“*That’s* not why I want you on the team either,” Tim said, regulating his
breathing.

Kon leaned his arms on Tim’s knees, a warm and solid presence. “Say I believe
you–”

“Believe me.”

“Say I believe you. How does that help? I still can’t handle school. No matter
what I do, I can’t catch up.”

Tim wished he had a better answer. “Well, you *are* here rather than finishing
your trig homework.”

Fiddling with the fabric of Tim’s pants, Kon looked down. “I don’t know, even
when I know I should be doing homework, it’s so hard to focus. I wait until the
last minute and then there’s not enough time.”

Tim frowned at the top of Kon’s head. “I think part of the problem is
intelligences.”

Kon’s head shot up, eyes wide and mouth tight. His hands tightened painfully on
Tim’s knees. “I *said* I was dumb.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Tim shook his head. “There’s this theory about
kinds of intelligence. Like some people are really good at learning by reading.”

“Like you.”

“Others learn best by listening to lectures. Some people need more tactile,
hands-on learning, like experiments and real-life applications.”

“Oh.” Kon’s face relaxed and he loosened his death grip. “You mean, like how I
do really well in science and stuff where I get to take things apart?”

“Exactly like that. Book learning just isn’t your forte. Doesn’t make you dumb.
But schools aren’t set up to handle multiple intelligences.”

“Huh.”

“This doesn’t mean you don’t have to try, though. Just because you’re better at
one kind of learning doesn’t mean you can’t learn from the others. Maybe you’ll
never be a great student, but I know you can get through school.”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Jerk.”

“Overachiever.”

Tim opened his mouth to respond, but Kon was kissing him again before he got a
word out, pushing him against the wooden headboard with his whole body. Giving
up, Tim wrapped his legs around Kon, pulling him even closer. Somehow breathing
wasn’t that important at times like this, he thought, twitching as Kon pressed
down on him.

Kon pulled back, then attacked his neck. Tim gasped as a warm, wet tongue made
its way in a circle just above the collar of his t-shirt, but he took the
opportunity to run his hands up and down the planes of Kon’s back.

Nuzzling at the top of Kon’s head, Tim enjoyed the tickle of the short hairs,
then drew him back up for another breath-stealing kiss. “Whoa, slow down,” he
said between kisses. “We’ve got all night.”

Kon pushed up Tim’s shirt. “Yeah, but what if there’s an emergency? I’m not
taking any chances.” One hand slid up Tim’s chest, the other dipping under the
waistband of his pants.

“Ah.” Tim bit Kon’s shoulder to keep from yelling. “Very wise,” he managed
before giving up entirely on words.

* * * * *

“Do you know the worst part about school?” Kon murmured between small kisses
some sweaty time later.

“Mmm.” Tim struggled to bring his brain back to their previous conversation.
“What’s the worst part?”

“You’re not there,” Kon said, nuzzling against him.

Tim swallowed an unexpected lump in his throat. “Oh.”

“But I guess it’s only for a little while longer.” Yawning, Kon rested his head
on Tim’s chest, eyes slipping closed. “I can handle that.”

Tim stroked his hair. “We can handle anything,” he whispered.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: Lady Shiva came to town and who knows what she did there…

CONTINUITY/SPOILERS: Post-War Games but Pre-Infinite Absurd Crises
NOTES: I’m remixing Petra’s story “Diverting Attention”. I’ve used a couple of pieces of dialogue and description directly from her story.

I couldn’t decide what to do, so I did two remixes. Please read my other
version, The Aftermath Remix, first, for the proper effect.

* * * * *

The well-lit practice area seemed entirely normal: Mats, towels, a sink, higher
ceilings than you might expect underneath the subway. There weren’t any visible
signs of having fallen down a rabbit hole, so Tim wondered how he’d missed the
transition to Wonderland.

Tim was tempted to say “Off with her head!” but he was certain neither of his
companions would get the joke and it could lead to…unpleasantness if they took
him seriously.

“Let me get this straight,” he said slowly to Lady Shiva. “You’re not here to
kill us.”

“No.” Her eyes were filled with amusement.

“Or even to fight us.”

“Not precisely.”

Cass shifted position slightly and Tim recognized her impatience, but it was
important to him that they make this very clear. “You’re here to teach us.”

“Yes.”

“And somehow this involves kissing.”

Shiva’s smile was lazy and made him shiver with…something.

“And, uh…”

“The fact that you cannot even say the word ‘sex’ means that I am right.”

Tim wanted to rub his eyes, but he wasn’t entirely sure that things wouldn’t get
weirder. “I…this is insane. Cass, this is insane!” He turned to her, hoping
for help, but instead got a smile as she moved closer. “Cass! She kissed you!
This doesn’t strike you as a little strange?”

Shiva circled around them and Tim tried to keep an eye on both of the women.
“You do not wish to help Batgirl with her education?”

Tim stared at her. “Uh…I…is that a trick question?”

“No, little bird, it is not. She is vulnerable so long as she does know how to
deal with this. Your mentor will only teach you so much.”

Tim flinched. “Okay, now that’s an image I never needed. Thanks. I’ll be
scrubbing my brain out for weeks.”

Shiva threw her head back and laughed. “You’re still afraid of me.”

“I’m wary of you. Definitely wary.” Tim backed away as Cass put her hands on his
shoulders. “I mentioned the part where this is insane, right?” He opened his
mouth to keep arguing and she covered it, kissing him firmly. “Mmmph!”

Then he doubled over in pain as Shiva kicked his ribs. Cass stepped back,
frowning at both of them. “Distracting,” she said.

“That is the point, girl. You should not be distracted by this, but it is
unfamiliar. Come, continue to learn.”

Tim tried to ignore how nice it felt when Cass kissed him, but she kept
squirming. When she pushed him down to the mat, he tried to protest again, but
he didn’t want to distract her further from deflecting Shiva’s blows. He
strongly suspected she was hitting a great deal harder now.

“This isn’t right.”

Shiva sighed, loudly and deliberately, to draw his attention. “Little bird, if
you do not use every weapon available to you, then you are not truly fighting.”

“Sex isn’t a weapon,” he yelped over Cass’ shoulder.

Shiva laughed at his indignation. “Perhaps you should spar with the Black
Canary, if you believe that so strongly. What else are her stockings for?
Perhaps you should speak with the young man who wore your colors with his legs
bare.”

Tim felt himself flush. No way on Earth was Dick ever hearing about this. Ever.
Not if the world came to an end immediately afterward, because the man would
still manage to tease him, even if he had to find him in the afterworld
to do it.

“Ah, Batgirl, let me up, please.” He forcibly repressed a whine as her hand
dipped into his tights.

Never taking her eyes off him, Cass deflected two kicks from Shiva. “Later,” she
said with a nod. She turned to Shiva, leaping to her feet. “This lesson is
over.”

“I thought the teacher decides that,” Shiva said, as they exchanged a flurry of
kicks and punches.

“I have,” Cass said.

Tim sprang to his feet, diving out of their way, knowing they were fighting out
of his league.

Shiva rolled to the other side of the mat, settling into a prepared stance. “You
were not the teacher here.”

“No?” Cass’ smile wasn’t pleasant.

Tim started to grin as Shiva actually faltered at what she saw in Cass’ eyes.
“Batgirl?” he said quietly.

Cass didn’t look at him. “Go,” she said to Shiva.

Shiva didn’t move, and Cass attacked. Tim’s eyes widened as he realized that
Cass had been holding back before. “Holy…” He ducked as a staff went flying
over his head. Shiva was forced back further and further.

“Go,” Cass said again. “When you have more to teach, I will find you.”

And Shiva fled. Tim blinked. And blinked again. And wondered when the
White Rabbit would show up. Then he winced when he realized that he should be
more worried about the Black Bat who would probably be here any moment.

How in the world were they going to explain this? Tim groaned and put his
head in his hands.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: Lady Shiva came to town and who knows what she did there…

CONTINUITY/SPOILERS: Post-War Games but Pre-Infinite Absurd Crises.

NOTES: I’m remixing Petra’s story “Diverting Attention”. I highly recommend you read
this version first, then Petra’s original, then my other remix.

Diverting Attention (The Aftermath Remix)

The Batmobile skidded around a corner and Batman gritted his teeth as he kept it
on the road. “Oracle? Update!”

“Damn it, if I knew anything more, I’d have told you already,” she growled in
his ear. “They’ve always refused to let me bug their practice room and I haven’t
managed to sneak anything in. All I know is that Shiva is there and they’re not
answering me.”

Gritting his teeth, he drove even faster toward Blüdhaven, unwilling to consider
what might happen if he arrived too late. He could only hope that Shiva was in
the mood to play rather than be direct.

When the Batmobile skidded to a halt, Batman leaped out and was down the
abandoned subway tunnel faster than he ever remembered running before, cursing
the day he’d sent Robin and Batgirl to this town that had nearly killed
Nightwing.

As he ran, he debated two approaches: sneaking up and trying to learn what was
going on, and bursting in on the assumption that whatever was going on was bad.
He decided on the latter just in time to come rolling through the short
entrance, batarang in hand.

Batgirl and Robin, automatically braced for attack, relaxed when they saw who it
was.

They were alive.

And functioning.

And they hadn’t responded to either his or Oracle’s frantic hails for something
like 20 minutes. He was going to kill them both. “They’re alive, Oracle,”
he said.

“What happ–”

“I’ll let you know when I know. Batman out.” He scowled at them.
“Report,” he said through gritted teeth, putting the unneeded batarangs away.

Tim…stared down at the ground and slumped against a wall. That was so unusual
as to be unheard of. Even when Tim chose to lie, he always stood straight and
looked you in the eye. Always.

Cass, on the other hand, looked oddly triumphant. Which, he supposed, wasn’t
unjustified if she’d somehow beaten Lady Shiva.

As he scowled even harder, Batman’s conscious mind registered what his
unconscious had already noted: Their costumes were subtly disarranged, in ways
that would make him scowl in disapproval under other circumstances. Masks and
gloves were dropped haphazardly, and Tim’s staff lay by the wall. Both were
flushed and sweating, although the room was cold.

Cass smiled at him, obviously seeing his confusion in his stance. “Shiva is
gone,” she said. “Will not return.”

He looked at Tim, who finally looked up, expressionless. “I concur,” was all he
said.

“Good,” Bruce said, stripping off his own cowl. “Today is not the day I want to
fight her.” But I would, to protect either of you, he didn’t say. “Why was she
here?”

Tim looked at Cass, scrubbing at his mouth in what looked like an unconscious
gesture. She was smiling until she turned to look at Tim, then she froze,
surprised by something she saw.

Bruce stayed very still, intently watching as Cass took a step forward. Both of
them saw Tim flinch. He made himself stay put, but Cass stopped. “Tim?” she
asked.

He closed his eyes. “Not now. I can’t.”

“Had to do it.”

“Cass…”

“She would have pushed. Needed to show her. Teach her.”

Teach her what? Bruce wondered, but he didn’t want to remind them of his
presence.

Tim looked bleak and uncomfortable. “Not that way. You can’t just…use me like
that.”

“Use?” Cass tilted her head. “But we’re a team.” She looked at Bruce. “Right?”

“That’s not the point.” Tim swallowed.

“What happened?” Bruce asked, more gently than he’d intended. They hadn’t been
in a fight, but obviously much more had happened than it appeared on the
surface.

Cass’ chin went up. “Shiva came to teach. I learn quickly. Taught her. She left.
Told her to stay out of this city.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce saw Tim’s hands clenching and releasing. He
paused, searching for the right question. “What did she teach?”

Cass pursed her lips, looking for the right words. “Play-fight. Distraction.
Bodies.”

Tim huffed out a breath. “Sex,” he said, turning away.

Iron control kept Bruce from hitting something. “I…see. And what did she
learn?”

Cass looked him in the eye. “She learned I am dangerous. She cannot hurt me. She
may not hurt my team, my family.”

Bruce closed his eyes for an instant. “Tim?”

The boy’s arms were crossed and he still faced the wall. Slowly turning, he
tried to relax his stance, with mixed results. Cass’ face fell as she looked at
him, and Bruce almost asked what she saw. “I’m okay. I guess,” Tim said. “It’s
just…I didn’t stop it, even when I should have.”

Cass was beside him in an instant, too fast for even Tim to move away. “Not you.
Me. I didn’t know. Didn’t realize. Learned now. I’m sorry.”

Tim studied her face for a long moment before nodding. “I know. I wish, well,
that’s not how you should have learned.”

“You learned with Steph. I waited.”

Tim’s face flushed and he put his hands over his eyes. “Cass!”

Bruce hid an entirely inappropriate smile. “I knew.”

“Oh god,” Tim said quietly, putting his hands down with a determined expression.
“Cass, can we please have the rest of this conversation later? Without him?” He
pointed at Bruce.

Bruce felt his own face flushing, but he refused to apologize. He waited as Tim
and Cass stared at each other, trying to read the body language.

Tim was moving a great deal more than he usually did and couldn’t keep from an
occasional shudder. He’d crossed and uncrossed his arms a dozen times since
Bruce arrived, and Bruce diagnosed some shame and a great deal of embarrassment.
Definitely some anger, although it was hard to tell how much of the anger was
for Cass, for her actions (whatever they were), and how much for Lady Shiva.

Unsurprisingly, Cass was harder to read, but her abortive movements to touch
Tim…Bruce wondered if he was reading that correctly. Along with “I waited,”
well, perhaps Oracle might know.

Cass drooped, then nodded to Tim, although what precisely she was agreeing to,
Bruce wasn’t sure. Tim looked relieved, though.

“Can you tell me if Shiva hurt you?” Bruce asked bluntly, certain he was running
out of time to get answers.

“Indirectly, yes.” Tim shuddered again, a movement so small most people would
never have seen it. “But I did learn something,” he glanced at Cass, “and I
think Lady Shiva learned a great deal more.”

–end–

Final author’s note: My idea in this remix was that I was less interested in
what happened between Tim and Cass and Shiva, and more interested in why
Cass and Tim would do certain things.

One reason I’ve done another remix is that I’m a little concerned that this is
more of a sequel than a remix! So, to make sure I meet the requirements of the
challenge, after you’ve read Petra’s story, go on and read “Diverting Attention
(The Why Me? Remix)”.

by Mara

Summary: Ever since the night they kissed, Bruce has kept an ear out for word of Captain Jack Harkness.

Story Notes:

This is a sequel to my fic “Part of Life’s Fascination.” It is for Psych_30 #26, Obsession and Fanfic100 #79, When? Thanks go to PurpleAllison for the betaread and catching a rather amusing mistake

In the DCU, this takes place no particular time. For TW, it takes place in a season 2 in which a certain office scene in “Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang” didn’t take place. ::coughs::

“Yo, Bats.”

“What is it, Oracle?” Bruce glanced up at the screen, where she was visible typing intently on a keyboard.

“These Torchwood folks keep an ace hacker on hand. She’s really very good.”

“Better than you?”

“Bite your tongue.”

“And how do you know it’s a woman?”

“Hmmph. Do I ask *you* how you know that the Flash is about to do something stupid? No, I do not.”

Bruce coughed into his hand. “Sorry.”

“She’s really good, but I think I’m going to be in soon. Just to give you a heads-up that I’m pretty sure they’re on to me.”

“Excuse me?” He stared at her, finally noticing her face was somewhat red.

“I said she was good.”

“Yes, I–” Shaking his head, Bruce reached for the cowl. “Never mind. Can we talk to them?”

Barbara stared at him. “Then why didn’t you just ask me to call them? I’m pretty sure I’ve got a phone number here.”

Bruce didn’t have an answer, so he didn’t respond.

She muttered something that he chose not to hear, then looked puzzled at something on the screen. “Huh, that’s never happened before.”

“What?”

“Their computer ace just sent me an IM and said hi.”

“Uh…”

Barbara waved a hand at him. “I’ll get back to you when I’ve got someone for you to talk to.”

And Bruce was left looking at a blank screen. He sighed heavily and turned back to his work.

* * * * *

It was half an hour before Barbara reappeared on the screen. “Ready?” she asked without any preamble.

“What have you been doing?” he asked, with a bit of a growl.

“Talking to Tosh.”

“Tosh?”

“Toshiko Sato. Torchwood’s computer ace. You wouldn’t believe how many similar problems we’ve got.”

“I’m sure.” Bruce rubbed his forehead through the cowl.

“Gimme a second and I’ll get her on the line to you.”

Bruce waited, then the screen cleared, showing a lovely Asian woman, frowning anxiously. “Batman?” she said, in the tone of someone who was, for example, staring at an urban legend.

“Ms. Sato, I need to speak to Captain Jack Harkness.” He was anxious to speak to Harkness alone, when he didn’t need to be Batman.

“He hasn’t…done anything wrong, has he?” she asked hesitantly.

Bruce pursed his lips. “Not that I *know* of.”

“Oh good.” She gave a smile that lit up her face, then turned away. “Jack! Batman wants to talk to you.”

Bruce couldn’t decide whether he wanted to grin at the muffled sounds he heard behind the woman or whether he was utterly aghast at how this Torchwood bunch worked.

Several other faces peered at the screen from behind Sato, looking curious and completely unafraid. Bruce decided to go with aghast, just as Jack Harkness stepped into view.

Harkness grinned that same grin that had unsettled Bruce a year previously. “Well, *hello*, tall, dark, and most likely handsome.”

Bruce scowled harder, fighting the blush that threatened to spread up from his chest and grateful for the cowl covering part of his face. “Captain Harkness. We meet again.”

Harkness’ eyebrows shot up. “Again? I’m fairly sure I would remember meeting you. Believe me, I clearly remember seeing Wonder Woman and I was at the back of a very large room.”

Bruce was taken aback. Of all the things he’d expected when he found Harkness again, this wasn’t even on the list. “We met in Gotham. Last spring, at a Memorial Day fundraiser.”

Harkness glanced off-screen in response to something mumbled at him. “No, Owen, I was not sneaking off to go to a party while you were up to your elbows in Weevil guts.” He turned back to Bruce. “I’m sorry, but I’ve never been to Gotham City. And at the end of last May, well, all of us remember exactly where I was then. I’m fairly sure all of Cardiff remembers.”

“But–”

“No, really, my entire team was busy. I don’t think I left for more than a few hours the entire end of the month. Trust me, they’d have noticed.” Although his expression didn’t change, Harkness sounded worried. “You’re sure it was me.”

“Absolutely.” There couldn’t possibly be two men who looked and sounded like *that* and went by the name Captain Jack Harkness.

For just an instant, Harkness chewed on his lip. “There is a possibility. Look, can we talk privately?” There was an uproar from behind him, and he turned away from the screen. His face was hidden, but his stance was very tense, maybe angry. “Not this again. Do you trust me or not?”

Batman couldn’t make out most of the words, but he heard a woman say “…not about trust, Jack, it’s…”

“Do. You. Trust. Me.”

Silence. “Fine,” a Welsh accent said. “Have your secrets, sir.”

“Ianto…” Harkness’ shoulders slumped a tiny amount, before he turned back. “Let me switch this to my office.” He held Batman’s eyes as he called, “And Tosh, no fair peeking. You know I’ll know.”

* * * * *

In a few moments, the screen shifted to what was presumably Harkness’ office. He looked…tired, Bruce thought, trying to get a good look at the desk or shelves. “Batman,” Harkness said, looking into the camera. “I need you to tell me about when we met.”

Bruce frowned. “I think I’m going to need an explanation first. The details are…complicated. They include some information that I believed you already had.”

Harkness leaned back in his seat, huffing out a laugh. “When is my life *not* complicated?” He seemed to be studying what he could see on his screen. “Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I used to do some traveling in time.”

Bruce waited.

“Right, I guess that’s not going to phase *you*. Well, the organization I worked for at the time wasn’t the most trustworthy. They…took two years of my memory.”

Bruce felt the blood drain out of his face and his fists clenched, looking for something or someone to hit. “Took?” he choked out.

Harkness nodded, his face that variety of still that tended to mean strong emotion in men. “I suspect that I might have met you during that period.”

For a long moment, Bruce looked at the man on the screen. He wanted to trust him because…he didn’t know why he wanted to trust him. And that scared the shit out of him.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said, voice feeling scratchy. “If you don’t know my secrets, I don’t think I can reveal them to you. You…if it helps, you didn’t do anything wrong. It was…personal.”

It took a physical wrench to make himself lean forward and cut off the connection. And the look on Harkness’ face, the naked pain in the instant before the picture cut off…that was even worse.

Bruce ripped the cowl back off his head and put his head in his hands.

“Fuck,” he said, voice echoing in the empty Cave.

* * * * *

Bruce ruthlessly threw himself back into work, ignoring all questions or comments from any of his family. Keeping his mind from considering what he’d done was another matter, but as it happened, he’d had a *lot* of practice at ignoring uncomfortable thoughts.

Alfred only made one attempt to discuss the matter, but when Bruce actually *yelled* at him, Alfred chose to retreat with a sniff that managed to include disdain, annoyance, and a message that if he expected fresh chocolate chip cookies any time in the next *decade*, an apology might be in order.

Head banging slowly against the back of his chair, Bruce ran through curses in a dozen different languages.

* * * * *

A week later, Bruce was hunched over the keyboard, back early from patrol. Nightwing, Robin, and Batgirl had the city under control for the night, and Oracle had some intriguing new leads on Intergang’s latest inroads into Gotham.

Caught in the middle of a thought, it took Bruce a moment to recognize what the particular set of alarms ringing through the Cave meant. When the meaning penetrated his mind, however, his head shot up and he slapped the button that would alert Alfred and Oracle and place the Cave into lockdown as soon as Alfred was down the stairs.

Someone was trying to get through the security set up around Wayne Manor.

Knowing Alfred wouldn’t tarry, Bruce turned immediately to figuring out what was going on. What he found alarmed him: Whoever was trying to get in was good–they’d found and disarmed every single piece of Bruce Wayne’s excellent security system without triggering any alarms. They’d even–Bruce scowled–disarmed over half of *Batman’s* security precautions, and they’d come close to getting through the rest.

Every single camera and bug had been completely disabled or looped. Bruce cursed under his breath and Oracle chimed in. “Who the hell is this?” she asked. “Who would be attacking Bruce Wayne? Well, except Ra’s, and he never bothers to be sneaky.”

“We’ll know in a minute, I hope.” Bruce cursed again, but finally got some of the cameras working again. “Got it.” He copied the signal to Oracle.

His eyes flickered through the various camera images, finally finding the one with two hunched over figures scuttling through. “Huh,” Bruce said, feeling his adrenaline level ratchet down. Oracle was right and it wasn’t Ra’s with a few hundred ninjas, so that was a good thing. “Alert the others to stay on patrol,” he said, trying to get a good look at the faces on the two figures.

“You sure?”

“If I can’t handle two ordinary-looking humans by myself, there’s always Alfred.”

“My frying pan is always at your service,” Alfred said from behind him.

Laughing, Oracle said, “I’ll leave you to it, then. Just remember, whoever they are, they’ve got *damn* good tech. Call if you need me.”

“Mmm.”

“You’re welcome.”

Based on the camera view that was currently watching them, they were planning to approach the south veranda, presumably heading for the very steady-looking trellis. Standing, Bruce hit the button to end the lockdown of the Cave, and started to shed the suit.

“Master Bruce?”

“I think I’m going to try handling this as Bruce Wayne. Stay here.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?” Bruce stopped in his tracks.

“Bruce Wayne would certainly bring his butler along to confront these intruders.” Alfred’s look said that arguing would be a waste of time. “I thought I would bring the shotgun.”

Throwing his hands in the air, Bruce gave up. “Come along, then.”

*****

They reached the south veranda just ahead of the two intruders and Bruce waved Alfred over to the other side of the broad glass doors that were actually bullet-resistant polycarbonate thermoplastic.

A count of three, then Bruce flung open the door and turned on floodlights directly into the faces of the intruders.

The two men automatically flung their arms across their eyes.

“Oh hell,” said Captain Jack Harkness. “We’re screwed.”

“Ever the optimist,” said a muffled Welsh voice that Bruce recognized as the one Harkness had called Ianto. Oracle had come up with the name Ianto Jones for him.

“I think screwed is fairly accurate considering that I’ve caught you trespassing on my property,” Bruce said, caught between amusement and irritation.

“We have you covered,” Alfred said. “I’ll thank you to drop your weapons now.”

Through blinking and teary eyes, Harkness looked like he was going to lie about having a weapon, but instead he chose to very slowly and carefully pull a Webley from under his coat and drop it on the ground from between two fingers. Moving even more slowly, he pulled a weapon Bruce didn’t recognize and dropped it next to the Webley.

The other man pulled a similar unidentified weapon and dropped it on the ground, giving Harkness an annoyed look. “I said we should just call him,” Jones said, in a tone rather reminiscent of Alfred.

“But where’s the fun in that?”

“Fun.” Jones squinted into the light. “He thinks this is fun. Do you see what I have to deal with?”

Bruce was glad he was on the other side of the lights, because he found himself struggling not to smile. Forcing the smile down, he said, “Step forward away from the weapons. Hands up.”

The way they moved together showed they’d worked together for quite a while, Bruce decided, stepping forward after he’d dialed the lights down to something a little more tolerable. “Now you can tell me who you are and what the hell you’re doing here. You have five minutes to convince me not to call the cops.”

Harkness rubbed his eyes once, then looked at Bruce. “I know who you are.”

“I should hope so. I doubt you thought you were trying to break into Lex Luthor’s house.”

Jones’ lips twitched. “He’s got you there, Jack.”

“Not helping.”

“Do I ever?”

Harkness mock-glared at him.

“Hey!” Bruce said. “You’re down to four minutes.”

“Fine. You’re Bruce Wayne, also known as Batman. Happy now?”

He’d seen it coming a mile away (literally) and yet it was still a struggle not to jump. “Not particularly. Why in the world would you think that I’m Batman? Okay, we both live in Gotham City, but I’m pretty sure the guy who pumps gas at the corner of Markham and 23rd lives here too, and I doubt he’s Robin.”

Harkness grinned at him. “If you want to play games, I’m *very* good at games.”

I’m sure you are, Bruce absolutely didn’t say. “I don’t particularly. It’s late, I’m tired, and I’m still waiting to be convinced why I shouldn’t either shoot you or call the police. I give very generously to their charity every year, you know.”

“Nice to know you can get me arrested on two continents,” Jones said.

“Look, I’m still a bit jetlagged,” Harkness said, ignoring the quip. “If you want to stand around and argue about whether you’re Batman, that’s fine, but I think it would make things a hell of a lot easier if you could just admit that we’re right and we can all sit down somewhere more comfortable.”

It was a bizarre moment of déjà vu, Bruce thought, staring at Harkness’ too-handsome face. A split second in which to decide whether to trust him with the secret he’d spent so many years protecting. And…instinct said to do it. Hell, instinct said he should have done it a week previously.

“Alfred, put the rifle down. I think we could all use some coffee.”

Alfred shot him one unreadable glance, put the rifle down, and marched across the room, the line of his back saying there would be hell to pay later. Sighing, Bruce turned on the lights inside the room and waved the two men in.

Harkness strolled in, as comfortable as if he’d been invited for a late lunch and a game of tennis. Jones wasn’t quite as cool as he was pretending, Bruce decided, but he was taking his cues from Harkness.

Waving them at chairs, Bruce sat down in the seat nearest the rifle. Harkness smiled briefly, not missing the significance, and shed his coat, which he tossed carelessly onto the arm of the couch. He sat down, crossing his legs and looked relaxed. Jones perched next to him.

“Bruce Wayne, aka Batman,” Harkness said, “this is Ianto Jones. He’s indispensable to Torchwood operations.”

“Which is why you brought *me* to America and left Owen in charge.”

Harkness shrugged. “Would *you* bring Owen if you had a choice?”

Crossing his arms, Bruce cleared his throat. “If we could get back to the reason you’re here? And how you learned one of the most closely guarded secrets in the world?”

“Sorry,” Harkness said, looking entirely unrepentant. “It actually wasn’t all that difficult. Well, it wasn’t that difficult for Tosh. I suppose others might find it a bit of a challenge. She said something about correlating flights from Gotham City with appearances by Batman, plus a few dozen other variables.”

“She’s really quite dangerous with a few good databases,” Jones offered.

“I can tell.”

“I can’t believe nobody else has tried that. Mind you, I was surprised to find that *you* topped our list, but I never argue with the data.”

“Actually, that’s not true, sir,” Jones said. “You *always* argue with the data.” He smirked as both Harkness and Bruce glared at him.

“In *any* case,” Bruce said pointedly, “I am left with the question of what to do with you. I don’t exactly enjoy having trespassers who know my secret.”

Alfred chose that moment (and Bruce was sure it *was* a choice) to re-enter the room with a tray in hand. Distributing coffee and cookies gave everyone a few moments to regroup and somehow made the entire thing a bit more civilized.

Jones smiled up at Alfred. “Thank you, I do appreciate a man who knows how to make a proper cup of coffee.”

Alfred smiled back, and Bruce blinked. For some reason, Alfred was taking a liking to the younger man. Interesting. Perhaps…

“Alfred, maybe you’d like to take Mr. Jones on a bit of a tour of the…public parts of the mansion?”

The look Alfred gave him was even *more* unreadable, which was an impressive feat, but he said, “Of course, sir.”

Jones glanced at Harkness, but stood when he received a small nod in return. “I’d be delighted. Perhaps you could give me some tips. I seem to have a great deal of difficulty keeping my team organized, what with the constant alien invasions and such. I suspect you have some experience with that.”

“Indeed I do.”

The two men marched out of the room, somehow managing to look remarkably alike, and Bruce stared after them with some alarm. When he looked at his remaining intruder, Harkness had a similar look on his face.

“I’m not sure that was the wisest thing to do,” Harkness said.

“I’m beginning to think you might be right.” Bruce shook his head, dismissing those concerns for the more immediate ones. “However, I *still* haven’t gotten an explanation for your presence.”

For the first time, Harkness showed signs of anger, in the fist that clenched momentarily and a twitch in his jaw. “Why do you *think* I’m here? You’re the first clue I have to what I might have done in those two years.”

Bruce looked down into his cup.

“Look at me.” Harkness’ voice was raw. Unwillingly, Bruce looked up. “You would do the same.”

“Yes.” It hadn’t been a question, but it deserved an honest answer.

With unsteady hands, Harkness put his cup down, leaning forward to stare into Bruce’s eyes. “Do you want me to beg? Because I will.”

The vision that flashed through Bruce’s mind was…unsettling. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

Harkness seemed to have an idea of what Bruce was thinking, at least if the brief grin was any guide. “Tell me?”

“You came to a Wayne Foundation fundraiser last year and followed me around.” Bruce scratched the back of his neck, remembering the annoying feeling of being watched. “We tried to figure out who you were, but couldn’t find any record of you. This annoyed me.”

Bruce looked at the man sitting in front of him, remembering. “Finally I confronted you, asking you what you wanted.”

“And…?” Jack said when Bruce paused.

“You kissed me. Then you said you’d always wanted to kiss Batman and you disappeared.”

There was a long pause as Jack stared at him, handsome face almost slack with astonishment. In an instant, he started to laugh, a full-bodied roar of amusement that left him hunched over.

Bruce flushed, annoyed at being mocked. “I’m glad to have provided you such amusement.”

Jack trailed off, pulling himself back upright. “Sorry. Believe me, I wasn’t laughing at *you*. It’s just…I may not remember what I did during those two years, but it sounds like something I would have done. After all, I stopped being a con man because of a pair of brown eyes and a set of big ears.”

“Jack, what are you talking about?”

Jack stared at him. “What did you call me?”

“I…” Bruce trailed off.

That damn grin spread across Jack’s face. “I’d say I made an impression. And I may not know why I was in Gotham, but believe me, if I kissed you, it was because I was attracted to you.” His eyes did a swift appraisal. “In fact, I’m surprised that a kiss was all I did. Hell, I’m surprised I left.”

From the heat he could feel coming off his face, Bruce suspected he was red as a tomato. He took a moment to bring his autonomic functions back under control. “It was just a kiss.”

“Mm-hmm.” Jack looked completely unconvinced. “So, I kissed you, vanished, and…you’ve been looking for me for the last year.”

It sounds bizarre when put that way, just as when Alfred had said it. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to know how you knew my identity–it *is* a rather closely guarded secret. But I would assume that you no longer know the answer to that.”

Shrugging, Jack said, “I probably found it in Time Agency files, but it could have been revealed any time in the next few centuries. I doubt you’ve got a leak to worry about.”

“Oh.” Now that Bruce thought about it, that was a very anticlimactic answer to the question. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

“So really, why have you been looking for me?”

“What?”

Jack was reclining again, but somehow he didn’t look nearly as relaxed. In fact, he reminded Bruce of one of Selina’s cats. The large ones. When they were waiting for dinner to arrive. “Why were you looking for me?”

“I told you–”

“You’re probably a damn good liar under normal circumstances, but you’re bad when it comes to your personal life. Has anyone ever pointed that out?”

Bruce couldn’t help it. “It’s been noted on a few occasions.”

“I’m sure it has.” Jack put his arms over his head and stretched, deepening his similarity to the larger cats. Bruce couldn’t help the way his eyes drifted, and Jack was grinning again when Bruce managed to drag his eyes back to Jack’s face. “C’mon, it’s just the two of us now.”

Bruce swallowed. “I wanted to ask why you’d kissed me.”

Sobering, Jack met his gaze. “I can’t say for sure, but you are one of the most handsome men I’ve met, so I can take a damn good guess.”

Bruce suppressed another flush.

“Was it unpleasant?”

Bruce was silent for a long moment. “No, it wasn’t unpleasant,” he finally said through a throat that threatened to close.

“Were you interested in repeating it?”

Unsure how to answer that, Bruce just watched Jack slide off the couch and take three steps to kneel in front of him.

“Bruce?”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Yes, I think I was. Am.”

Agonizingly slowly, Jack put his hands on Bruce’s head and pulled him close, until their lips were millimeters apart.

The memory of their kiss was so vivid in Bruce’s mind that he found himself angry that Jack couldn’t remember it. He grabbed Jack’s shoulders and pulled him in tight, kissing him as if he could force him to remember. It was…well, Jack was definitely the man Bruce remembered, as he found himself leaning against the back of the couch with no memory of how he’d gotten there.

After an endless kiss, Jack pulled back. “How far did you want to take this?”

“I don’t know,” Bruce said, forced into complete honesty. “I’m not sure why I’ve been obsessed with finding you.”

“It’s the jawline,” Jack said with a grin. “Gets ‘em every time.” The smile faded away. “I don’t really know you, but I want to. I wouldn’t have come if I weren’t fascinated you, both as Bruce Wayne and Batman.”

Bruce tried to remember the last time he’d done something on impulse and when he failed, said, “To hell with it.” Grabbing Jack, he pushed the two of them to standing.

“I love a man who can push me around.”

Rolling his eyes, Bruce took a handful of Jack’s shirt and dragged the unresisting man out the door toward the stairs.

* * * * *

They were through the door to Bruce’s bedroom in a flash, and Bruce took a moment to lock the door just before Jack pushed Bruce against the carved wood of the door.

Jack’s body was hard in all the right places as he leaned against him, cradling his head in warm hands. Bruce let his hands roam, as he’d spent the entire past year wishing he’d done the last time. Jack obviously approved, moaning into his mouth more than once as Bruce skimmed hips and back and shoulders.

Bruce was sure he was supposed to be thinking about something else, but the most coherent thought he could manage was “Clothing. Off.”

He wasn’t even sure if he’d articulated the thought, but Jack was obviously on the same wavelength, as Bruce felt Jack’s hands unbuttoning his pajamas.

A small part of Bruce’s brain wondered idly why having someone else unbutton your shirt was so hot. But the sensation of hands tracing up and down his chest quickly banished that question.

Bruce unbuttoned Jack’s shirt quickly, yanking up the undershirt as swiftly as possible. Bare chest to bare chest was even better, and Bruce’s skin felt overheated as he ran his hands up Jack’s back to hold him in place.

“Not leaving this time,” Jack mumbled into his mouth. Bruce froze, and Jack pulled back, looking serious. “I…was a different person then. You’re not the only person I’ve abandoned.”

Bruce looked him in the eyes. “I don’t trust easily,” he said.

“Neither do I. Kind of a failing of the job, isn’t it?” Jack gave him that sexy grin.

Bruce swallowed. “Yes, it is.” Then he gave in and took Jack’s hand, tugging him toward the bed. Jack followed, toppling next to him with a look of glee that was contagious. Bruce found himself grinning like an idiot as they rolled back and forth, fighting to be on top.

When Jack suddenly dropped onto his back, only near-perfect reflexes kept Bruce from falling over. He found himself hovering over Jack, and slowly lowered himself down, catching Jack in a long kiss, then pushing himself up again.

Down, kiss, then up. Jack’s hands rested gently on Bruce’s biceps, feeling the flex and release. Down, kiss, rub against him, then up.

“Who know,” Jack said, his voice catching, “that I had such a kink for muscles?”

Bruce just lowered himself as slowly as he could, feeling the pleasure burn through his entire body like a wave that crested in his groin. Jack leaned his head back, eyes drifting closed, and Bruce took the opportunity to kiss and lick his neck, enjoying the faint smell of cologne and the taste of fresh sweat. Jack’s hands clenched and he said, “Nnngh.”

“I’ll assume that’s a good thing,” Bruce said into Jack’s ear.

Laughing, Jack slid his hands up to cup Bruce’s face. “Yes, that’s a good thing.” In a sudden move, he wrapped his legs around Bruce’s waist and lifted his lower body.

The feeling of their dicks touching, even through pants and pajamas, was enough to make Bruce groan and he lowered himself out of the pushup until he was pressing Jack into the bed. “Still too much clothing,” he managed to say.

With a little slithering and a lot of groping, they were finally naked. Bruce felt goosebumps all over his body and tugged Jack up the bed until they could pull the blanket over themselves.

“Cozy,” Jack said, nibbling on his ear and stroking up and down his side.

Bruce couldn’t reply, each of Jack’s movements making him catch his breath. How long had it been since he’d let someone touch him this way? When had he and Selina last…? But this was definitely not the time to think about Selina, as Jack’s hand slid down, focusing his attention.

Against his will, he tensed, and Jack stopped, bringing his hand up to gently stroke Bruce’s chest. “Okay there?”

“Sorry, this is kind of a bad time to have second thoughts.” Bruce’s face felt feverish.

“Not the worst.”

“Pretty close.” Bruce managed a grin.

“Tell me.” Jack sounded calm enough to wait all night, although certain portions of his body proved it was a lie.

“I’m not sure what’s wrong.”

Jack ran a thumb across Bruce’s lower lip, considering him. “When was the last time you truly let go?”

“I…” Bruce closed his eyes.

“You don’t always have to be on top, you know.”

“That’s not–”

“Uh-huh, pull the other one, it’s got bells on.” Jack ghosted his lips over Bruce’s ear, delicately tracing the outline with the tip of his tongue. “I understand, you know. We’re not that different. Fate of the world, too much responsibility–”

“Amateur psychoanalysis,” Bruce said with a snort.

“True.” Jack’s shrug somehow turned into a full body rub. “But it doesn’t make it any less important that you occasionally relax.”

“I’ll bet you say that to all the guys.”

“And gals.”

That made Bruce laugh.

“Hey, when it comes to pleasure, I’m equal opportunity.”

“I can’t make any promises. About anything.”

“Neither can I.” Jack turned Bruce’s head to face him, looking very serious in the bright moonlight. “But that has nothing to do with right here, right now. You and me.”

“I’ve also never been good at staying in the now.” Bruce smiled a little at the vast understatement.

Jack gently stroked Bruce’s cheek, strong calloused fingers leaving a trail of warmth. “Will you let me teach you?” he asked.

Bruce’s entire body thrummed an answer. “Yes.”

–end–

by Mara

Summary: To his own surprise, Lex finds himself helping Chloe disguise herself as a society babe. And what good can come of *that*?

NOTES: This fic got out of hand, and as usual, it’s all Medie’s fault
Tremendous thanks go to Alexis for reassurance and betareading duties. And thank
you to Angelsgracie for giving me the opportunity and the incentive to write
this fic.
DEDICATION: This story is a gift for Medie on the occasion of her fandom roast,
in honor of the many plot bunnies she’s sicced on me, as well as the
encouragement and praise I’ve received from her. ::hugs::

Lex barely resisted the smirk he felt trying to creep across his face–partially
because he knew how much smirking annoyed Chloe and partially because this was a
smirk-worthy situation.

He’d been silent and expressionless through her entire presentation, a tactic
that had been known to cause less-prepared businessmen to develop a stammer and
drop pens on the floor. But Chloe completely ignored his lack of response,
laying out her proposal with a succinctness Lex secretly wished he could teach
some of LexCorp’s top executives.

“*My* help?” he asked when she finished, leaning back in his leather chair and
tenting his fingers to hide any smirk vestiges. “You want *my* help on a story?”

Chloe frowned at him. “Well, if I’m going to write about the bad behavior of
rich, spoiled young adults, you’re be a natural person to help.”

Lex didn’t move a muscle. “Some people would be trying flattery at this
juncture. Or at least tact. I would imagine that someday you’ll learn both.”

That baited her into a response, her fair skin flushing. “You *know* what I
mean. You know these people, how they dress, how they talk. I need your help to
fit in.”

“Considering our past…antagonism, I’m surprised you’re here,” he said.

“That’s in the past,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Live in the now, Lex. And
right now I’m asking for your help. Will you do it or not?”

Taking his time, Lex studied Chloe: hair in the blonde flare she’d worn forever,
pink floral shirt making her look younger, expression trying for calm and
patient while he could hear her toes tapping. Four years of college hadn’t
changed her all that much.

Was it even possible? Could he turn nosy spitfire Chloe into a visiting society
girl? And why *would* he?

Although he *knew* nothing was showing on his face, Chloe seemed to have
followed his thoughts. “Look, if you don’t want–”

“Wait.” He knew why he was going to do it: It represented a challenge and he
hadn’t had a good challenge in a while. Besides, he still owed her for…for his
father. “How much time do we have?”

Chloe grinned. “You’ve got a week, Pygmalion.”

“It’s nice to see that some classics are still known. Perhaps this won’t be as
difficult as I thought.” Mind already full of makeup and hair, Lex eyed her
again, trying to estimate her size. This little project might even be fun.

And fun was something else that had been conspicuously lacking recently.

* * * * *

Lex’s secretary was scandalized when he swept out of his office, ushering Chloe
in front of him with a hand on her back. “Rose! Cancel this afternoon’s
meetings,” he called. “Tomorrow too. Reschedule Finver and Gifford for Thursday.
Everyone else gets the next open slot.”

“But Mr. Luthor…” Rose opened and closed her mouth and Lex knew what was
bothering her. Certainly he’d been known to take it in his head to disappear
with a young lady, but they were usually the kind of young lady considered
suitable for the head of LexCorp–rich, gorgeous, and either stupid or devious.

Hand still on Chloe’s back, Lex paused. “Yes, Rose?” His voice held undertones
he knew his secretary could read.

“Nothing, Mr. Luthor. I’ll take care of the rescheduling immediately.” She shot
a curious glance at Chloe, but chose to keep her job.

“Glad to hear it.”

Chloe, eyes narrowed, was obviously trying to figure out what had just happened,
but Lex had no intention of enlightening her. For one thing, he wasn’t in the
mood for the inevitable 20-minute lecture on wealth and power and double-
standards for women. There was enough of that in his immediate future.

“Come along. So much to do, so little time.” As he led her out of the office, a
quick glimpse of her face showed suspicion mixed with caution.

Good.

* * * * *

Suspicion seemed to be winning by the time they stepped off the elevator into
the marble-floored corridor leading to his penthouse. On the way over, she’d
been suitably distracted by the amenities of his latest Ferrari, but now she had
the unsubtle look on her face she’d nearly always had in high school when he was
around.

“Relax, Chloe, I have no interest in ravishing you. I haven’t ravished an
unwilling woman in, oh, weeks.”

She scowled at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. But what *are* we doing here?”

Lex unlocked the door and strode through, covertly watching Chloe’s unease with
the moderately opulent surroundings. They’d have to work on that, he thought as
she picked her way across the deep pile of the rug. “Why are we here?”

“Yes, Lex, why are we here? It’s not a difficult question.”

Down the hall, passing his own bedroom, he stepped into a guestroom. “We’re here
because of a truism.”

Chloe crossed her arms, leaning against an 18th century walnut dresser. “What
truism?” she asked.

With a flourish, he threw open the closet doors and stepped to the side. “Why,
clothes make the man, of course.”

Chloe’s jaw dropped and she was speechless for a moment as her eyes roamed the
racks of clothing of every style and description, men’s and women’s both. Never
speechless for long, she turned to him. “Is there something I should know about
your dress habits?”

“First lesson of the rich,” Lex said. “Be prepared. You have the money, so you
use it.”

“To buy clothing?”

Lex began to flip through the racks, occasionally turning to appraise her again.
“To be able to offer a guest a gown for an unexpected black tie event.” He
pulled out a black Vera Wang dress and handed it to her. “Or something more
casual for a night on the town.” A Casper pantsuit in peacock blue came out, was
held up against her, and then went back. Tilting his head, he considered the
same outfit in red. Nodding to himself, he pulled it out and handed it to her.

“You keep clothing in case a guest needs it?”

When he glanced over his shoulder, Chloe’s jaw looked like it wanted to hit the
floor. “Second lesson: Never look surprised. Never sound astonished. And never
ever seem impressed.”

“How do you do that?”

“Hmm?” He was looking back and forth between a burgundy Halston and another Vera
Wang, this one a gold minidress.

“How are you so…blasé about everything.”

Lex chuckled. “You misunderstand. I didn’t say you had to *be* blasé, just that
you have to *act* that way.” He turned, holding the Halston up against her skin
and hair. “You need to stop showing your feelings on your face.”

She made an effort to stop looking disconcerted and uncomfortable and he raised
an eyebrow at her. “I don’t know how,” she said finally, shifting under his
gaze.

“You’ll learn. If you want this badly enough, you’ll learn.”

He sorted through the rest of the clothing, after shooing her into the bathroom
to start trying on the outfits. She was already starting to get that stubborn
look, but Lex didn’t give her a chance to refuse the clothing. She’d never
succeed for an instant without as much as she could wear, but if he let her
argue, she’d just talk herself out of it.

“Rules are for other people,” Lex said loud enough to be heard through the door
as he flipped the racks to look at the more sedate everyday items. “Whatever you
see someone do, whatever they say they did, don’t look shocked.”

“But–”

“You’re going to have to stifle your natural impulses,” he continued. “Outrage
and curiosity are rarer than a virgin in these circles.” His lips twitched at
the stifled sounds from the bathroom.

Three more outfits in hand, Lex turned when he heard the door opening. “And be
certain that you…”

The words died on his lips as he looked at the figure stepping through the
doorway. Even without the other changes he’d planned for her, Chloe in the Vera
Wang, barefoot, rounded in all the right places, was…astonishing.

Obedient to his previous coaching, she was looking unconcerned and haughty
(well, almost), but when he didn’t respond, her face changed. Glancing down at
herself, she wrinkled.

“I look stupid, don’t I?” She ran a hand over one hip, where the nubby silk fell
perfectly into place, outlining curves he wasn’t sure he’d ever noticed before.
“I don’t think this is going to work. You can put a pig in a suit, but it’s
still a pig.”

“Ah, Chloe,” he found his voice, “don’t compare yourself to a pig. In fact, I’d
prefer you attempted to excise all farm metaphors now, rather than later. But
that’s beside the point.”

She blinked at him. “What’s the point?”

“The point is,” he ran through three responses, “that the dress suits you.”

“It does?”

“It does. If you ask nicely, I might even let you keep it.” He’d never seen her
look so uncertain before, and it was oddly charming, especially when paired with
the bare feet. Tearing his eyes away from the neckline that fell just low enough
to tease properly, he turned back to the closet. “Try on the others.”

“Lex?”

He took an instant to blank his expression before turning. “Yes?”

“Why are you going to this much trouble? You don’t even *like* me. If this is
some weird backhanded favor for Clark, then you shouldn’t bother.” Now she
looked and sounded like herself again–combative and argumentative–and it made
him feel better.

He momentarily considered giving her one of the true answers to her question,
but settled for an evasion. “You asked for my help.”

“Lex–”

“Try on the clothing, Chloe. And remember to look at the labels, so if someone
asks you about them, you’ll know what they’re talking about.”

She met his eyes and held them, once again giving him the disconcerting feeling
that she knew what he was thinking. (Had she been able to do that in high
school? Surely not.) But she couldn’t know. If neither Lionel nor Clark had ever
learned to read him, it was impossible that *she* had. He held her gaze,
consciously staying relaxed, his expression faintly amused.

Finally she gave up and stomped back into the bathroom. Lex let his expression
change to something slightly more nostalgic, remembering countless days and
evenings spent with Clark and his coterie. Frustrating in their nearly
impenetrable innocence and naïveté, they had nonetheless provided a telling
counterbalance to his upbringing. Not that he planned to point that out to
Chloe.

She came out in a sea foam green strapless Chanel that didn’t quite work without
the proper push-up undergarment. He considered it for a moment, giving up when
he decided she would rebel if he tried to pick out a bra for her. Smallville
sensibilities strike again. “The color’s right, but not the size. Next.”

Chloe saluted and marched back. “Okay,” she called through the door, “I can’t
talk about farm stuff or journalism. What *do* I talk about? I’m assuming the
average society girl isn’t much for politics or TV sitcoms. What are my choices
for small talk?”

“No current events unless it’s business or society news. And we all watch
television, we’re just not allowed to admit it. There’s always money–who has it
and who doesn’t. Fashion is safe, but I don’t have the time to teach you more
than the basics.”

“Don’t worry, I can fake almost any topic.” Her voice was momentarily muffled.
“One advantage of journalism is you learn how to sound like an expert without
actually being one. Besides, I have a good memory.”

She stepped out in the pantsuit and he nodded his approval. “That one will do.
So, I’m assuming you have a more clever plan than hoping someone will do
something illegal.”

“Yes, Lex.” Hands on her hips, she glared at him. “I *am* an investigative
journalist. As you might recall.”

“Touché.” He shooed her back to try on the next outfit. “Somehow I doubt your
readers will be surprised that the young, bored, and rich use drugs and have
indiscriminate sex.”

“I want to see what they do and how they manipulate the system to keep out of
official trouble. But I think there’s more to it,” she said through the door.
“These people are influential–if not now, then later when they end up running
businesses or sitting on the boards of philanthropic organizations. Their lack
of ethics now has future consequences.”

He paused, considering the closed door. “Chloe?”

“Yes?”

“Are you investigating me?”

Something thumped and he leaned against the wall, arms crossed and waiting. The
door opened enough for her to stick her head and part of a bare shoulder out.
“No!”

Lex waited.

“No, I’m not investigating you. Jeez, if I was, I’d have said so. Or else you
wouldn’t have known until I published and you tried to squelch the story. You
know that!”

Lex waited.

“Lex, I swear I’m not investigating *you*.”

He nodded once. “Okay.”

“Okay.” They stared at each other, then Chloe realized she was only half-dressed
and ducked back into the bathroom. “So,” she said, “once we’re done raiding your
wardrobe, what next?”

Since she couldn’t see him, he smiled. “Next, we pay a visit to Alberto.”

“Who’s Alberto?”

“The very best hairdresser in Metropolis, of course.”

Her groan was loud enough to be heard in Smallville.

* * * * *

It was fortunate that Lex had no personal need of the man’s services, because it
was entirely likely that Alberto would never, ever forgive him after the
experience of cutting the hair of Chloe Sullivan. Chloe didn’t know it, but Lex
had paid a substantial sum to Alberto to get him in after hours, so nobody else
would see them.

Lex leaned against a nearby counter and watched the battle. Oh yes, this was
definitely amusing enough to be worth the trouble.

“What do you mean tinting?” Chloe’s voice seemed to have gone up an octave.

Alberto was shaking with anguish. “Your hair, it has been butchered. There is
only so much I can do in one day. A little tint, maybe I can distract from the
dryness, the…oh, Mr. Luthor.” He turned to look at Lex, who shrugged. “I can
only do my best.”

“Look, can’t you just cut it or,” she waved her hands around, “something.”

“There is more than just cutting. This is art!” Alberto waved *his* hands, but
his years of experience allowed his handwaving to symbolize his helplessness,
his need to do this right, and just a bit of disgust that she’d let her hair get
in this shape.

Lex nodded. So far, it was Alberto: 2, Chloe: 0. He could see a sweep coming.

Two hours later, as they exited the salon, Chloe watched herself out of the
corner of her eyes, seeming unsure quite what to make of the fashionably elfin
hairstyle with its streaks of silver and gold.

“Next stop is Andrea, if she’s in.”

“I’m afraid to ask, Lex. Just tell me she’s not fitting me for a mink, because I
draw the line at animal fur.”

“Andrea is complicated.” Lex slid behind the wheel of the car. “Let’s just say
she owes me a few favors and I’m cashing in.”

He forestalled her next question by flipping on the car’s mobile phone. Two
rings and Andrea picked up, her warm contralto sounding pleased as it echoed off
the car roof. “Lex! How have you been?”

“The same.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Lex could hear Chloe’s intake of breath, but he ignored her. He certainly wasn’t
going to explain what Andrea meant. “Are you free for a few hours tonight or
tomorrow? I could use some help.”

“Really?” Her interest was piqued. “Not tonight, I’m afraid. I’ve got class. But
if you come by tomorrow evening, I’ll do whatever I can. Do I get an
explanation?”

“Let’s just say I need you to dig out your war paints. I think it might be
easier to explain the rest when we get there.”

“We?” Andrea laughed. “This should be interesting.”

“I know you’ll think so. Tomorrow at 7?”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.”

Lex clicked off the phone and glanced at Chloe, daring her to comment. She
narrowed her eyes and compressed her lips, refusing to give in. “Well, if
Andrea’s not available, I think we’ve done enough for this evening. You must
have studying to do, windmills to tilt at.”

He could almost hear her teeth grit. “I *do* know who Don Quixote is.”

“Just checking. I can never be sure with Smallville schools.”

Chloe sighed. “Thank you for your help, Lex.”

Conversation was desultory on the way to her apartment.

* * * * *

As arranged, he picked her up the next evening to drive them to Andrea’s. And
just as he’d suspected, Chloe’s curiosity was piqued.

“So, how do you know Andrea?” she asked.

“Prep school.”

If all her interviews were this subtle, he was going to have to re-evaluate his
opinion of her journalistic ability.

“Hmm. And the favors she owes you?”

He looked through the front windshield. “Are for services rendered.”

That shut her up, although he could feel her studying him. Why had he thought
that consulting Andrea was a good idea?

Because she was one of the very few people he could trust.

When they pulled up in front of the modest brownstone, Chloe stared, but didn’t
ask. Lex strode up the front steps without waiting to see if she followed, but
he heard her shoes click on the concrete behind him.

Before he could ring the bell, the door was flung open and Andrea threw her arms
around him. As always, he was thrown off-balance by the warm, genuine welcome.

“Andrea.”

“Hello, Lex.” She grinned and let him go, stepping back.

“You look wonderful,” he said. And she did, curves where they should be, dressed
casually but with style, and a smile hovering around her lips.

“You definitely look the same.” She eyed him briefly. “Still need to get out in
the sun and eat a few more vegetables, but you’ll do. I suppose.”

Chloe stifled a chuckle and Lex glanced at her. “Andrea Lassic, I’d like you to
meet Chloe Sullivan. Chloe, this is Andrea.”

“Good to meet you,” Chloe said, sticking out her hand.

“Likewise. Won’t you two come in?” Andrea ushered Chloe in first, catching Lex’s
eye. He looked back blandly, but knew she recognized the name. He’d forgotten
how much he’d told her of Smallville.

Within moments, they were seated in her living room, Chloe looking stiff in a
chair while Lex and Andrea reclined on the couch.

“So, Lex, what’s the deal?” Andrea waved at a series of containers on the coffee
table. “I’ve dug out the war paint, but why do you need it?”

It only took a few minutes for Lex and Chloe to explain the plan.

“…so I was hoping you could give her some tips on makeup and demeanor.”

Andrea laughed at the dubious expression on Chloe’s face. “Ah, she doubts my
qualifications.”

“No, I, I mean–”

Chuckling, Andrea leaned forward to pat her knee. “It’s okay. I don’t look like
a spoiled brat anymore, but I can assure you I was.”

Don’t get into it, Lex thought, cutting her off. “Believe me, she was. So,
Andrea, will you help?”

“Of *course*, Lex. I’d be happy to. Now shoo.”

“Excuse me?”

Chloe struggled to keep a straight face as Andrea waved her hand as if he was a
recalcitrant puppy. “Go work on my computer. I’m sure you’ve got some stock
research to do or something.”

“Yes, Lex, shoo.” Chloe was definitely laughing now.

Pulling together the remnants of his dignity, Lex stood. “I’ll be in your
office.”

As he left the room, he could hear Chloe. “So, how do you know Lex exactly?”

He winced, tempted to listen at the door, but those who eavesdrop rarely hear
good of themselves. Continuing down the hall to her office, his memory dredged
up other days and nights with Andrea.

Andrea with a needle in her arm. Andrea found pawning her mother’s pearls for
drug money after her father cut her off. Andrea leaning over his arm to throw up
in the toilet.

Lionel had never approved of Andrea as a friend and Lex had needed to sneak
around to see her. Originally, it was out of rebellion, but her wicked sense of
humor appealed to him.

Andrea on the floor, barely breathing. Andrea begging him to help when her
parents refused to take her calls. Andrea on her first day out of rehab, so thin
he could count every rib, her eyes only half-alive.

Nobody knew what he’d done for her except the two of them. And possibly now
Chloe. This was definitely a bad idea, giving Chloe ideas about him that weren’t
true. He wasn’t some do-gooder like her or Clark.

Andrea offering to sleep with him as a thank-you, weeks later. The surprise and
gratitude in her eyes when he said no. Andrea the day she got into grad school,
her entire face the very picture of joy, allowing him to experience that joy
second-hand.

He flipped on the computer, diving immediately into work he’d been putting off,
writing a few unclassified reports from memory and logging on to his external e-
mail. He’d installed her system, so it was *nearly* as secure as his own.

When Chloe came to get him some time later, it took him a moment to notice her
in the doorway, so absorbed was he in the question of whether to increase the
R&D budget to allow for more nanotech research.

She leaned against the doorway, watching him. In return, he studied her face. As
expected, Andrea had done an excellent job. The makeup was subtle and
sophisticated. Exactly right.

“Lex?”

“Can you duplicate this?”

“Pretty much. With some practice. She gave me what I’ll need.” Chloe held up a
small bag in her hand.

“Great. I’ll thank her and we’ll get going.”

Chloe started to say something, but he brushed by her. She got the message
quickly…for once.

She spent most of the ride home that evening giving him strange looks, which he
ignored, instead continuing his lectures on how to act rich, bored, and stupid.

* * * * *

A week later, Chloe’s expression as she threw open her apartment door was
priceless, something like surprise, annoyance, and a pinched nose all put
together. “Lex, what are you doing here?”

Smiling slightly, he inspected her makeup, hair, and the fit of the Donna Karan
dress that slid over her right shoulder and across her chest, finding no fault
with any of it. “I’m here to escort you to the soiree, of course.”

“I told you I can handle things from here. It *is* my job as a journalist and
I’m good at it.”

“I’m sure you are.” Lex extended his arm. “But your professors must have taught
you the value of a native guide. With my introductions, this will go much
faster. Besides, how do you think you got invited if not as my companion for the
evening?”

Chloe obviously wanted to argue with him, but after opening her mouth, she
closed it again. Her nose twitched slightly as she tucked her arm into his and
allowed herself to be escorted to the car. “Fine,” she said, narrowing her eyes.
“Let’s go.”

He opened the door for her and watched her stifle the impulse to snap at him for
the courtesy. “Good girl,” he said.

Dropping the pose, she glared as he got into the driver’s seat. “Call me girl
again, and story or no story, I’ll kick your ass.”

Lex chuckled as he started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. “This
should be an amusing evening.”

* * * * *

For Chloe’s “debut,” Lex had chosen a small party thrown by Ambrosia (sadly, her
real name) Fitzgerald, who he knew for certain, and from personal experience,
was into nearly every illegal, unethical, and immoral practice Chloe was
interested in.

As they pulled up in front of her Metropolis condo, Lex could see Chloe eyeing
the façade with distaste and discomfort. He’d been just about to tease her
again, but changed his mind. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.

“Of course I am.” Her chin went up and her jaw tightened.

“It’s not too late to give this plan up and have an early dinner at La Miche.
They make a lovely salmon in crab sauce.”

Eyes narrowing, Chloe looked at him. “Why are you suddenly trying to talk me out
of this?”

“I wasn’t,” Lex said, “I was trying to make you angry, because when you’re
angry, you forget to be scared.”

Chloe blinked. “I’m not sure I want to know why you’ve thought that much about
me.”

“Shall we go in?” Without waiting for her answer, he slid out of the car and was
opening the door for her before she had time to forget and open it herself.

“Thank you.” She bestowed a cool smile on him.

“By jove, I think she’s got it,” he said. Taking her arm, he led her up the
steps to the door, pressing the doorbell set into the intricate floral design.

To Lex’s surprise, Ambrosia herself flung open the door, giggling with glee, her
long black hair flying in all directions. “Darling! I can’t believe you actually
agreed to come!”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He gave her a sedate kiss on the cheek. She was already three
sheets to the wind, from the way she swayed, and he remembered *why* he’d
stopped attending her parties.

“Naughty boy,” Ambrosia said with a pout that was the envy of her peers.
“Pretending you haven’t refused practically every invitation for years. We might
even think you didn’t like us.”

The tiny movement from Chloe was probably too small for anyone else to notice,
but Lex didn’t look at her. “Ah, but how could I refuse this particularly
opportune occasion to introduce you to my dear friend Lana Ross?” Stepping back
from Ambrosia, he put his arm around Chloe’s shoulders.

Ambrosia didn’t look entirely pleased at the sight, but she recovered gamely.
“Lana, it’s wonderful to meet you. Any friend of Lex’s is a friend of mine.”

“A pleasure,” Chloe said, shaking the outstretched hand.

“Well, come in then, things are just getting started.” Ambrosia turned and led
them down the hall, past a Ch’ing dynasty vase and a delicate painted screen
that was in rather better taste than he’d expected from her. Her latest
decorator was obviously classier than usual, he thought as her voice drifted
back down the hall, wafted by the sounds of some annoying modern music. “Skye
and Simone are both here and I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to see you.”

“I’m sure,” Lex said.

As they followed Ambrosia, Chloe grabbed his arm and yanked. “Lana Ross?” she
hissed.

“Well, you weren’t planning to be introduced as Chloe Sullivan, were you?”

“No, but–”

“So I’ve given you a name.” He dared her with a quirk of his lips. “Think of it
as a gift.”

Her eyes narrowed again. “Another one?”

“I still owe you a debt.” He hadn’t intended to say that, but he didn’t allow
his face to change, hoping she’d let it go. But this *was* Chloe, after all.

“Lex, there’s no debt.” All vestiges of Lana Ross disappeared and she was all
Chloe again. “If you still think I–”

“I have no desire to discuss this.”

Ambrosia had turned at the door to the living room and dining room and was
looking at them strangely. “Something wrong?”

“Of course not.” Lex smiled just enough to make her melt. He slid his arm around
Chloe’s waist and ushered her in just in front of him, watching how she blanked
her face as he’d taught her, glancing around the room with casual interest and
mild disdain.

She’d actually learned to hide her true feelings much better than he’d expected,
which would make things easier. So why did it bother him so much when she did
it?

“Lex,” Helena called, standing up from a leather couch, “I couldn’t believe it
when Ambrosia said you would be joining us.”

He kissed her cheek. “It has been a while, hasn’t it? I’m afraid business has
taken up much of my time. May I introduce you to Lana Ross? She’s new to town
and I promised I would show her around.”

Helena turned an appraising eye on Chloe and found her acceptable. “It’s lovely
to meet you. So, what brings you to Metropolis?”

“You know how it is,” Chloe said with a languid smile, “Daddy was a tad upset
with me over *one* escapade, and he decided to drag me out of Paris.”

Helena threw her head back and laughed. “Oh yes, I know how that is.”

“So,” Chloe said, “can anyone tell me what fun there is to be had in this
place?”

Helena grinned at Lex and tucked Chloe’s arm into her own. “Oh, I think that can
be arranged.”

* * * * *

The next weeks were a flurry of activity, as Lex worked all day while Chloe was
in classes and studying as much as she could, then he escorted her at night from
party to club to sordid back room. Her impression of a bored party girl got
better so fast, Lex wondered why she’d never tried acting as a career. *He*
almost believed it now and then.

He’d intended to escort her to that first party then leave her to her work, once
he knew she could pull off the impersonation well enough. But he found the
thought of leaving Chloe to the vultures that inhabited his world made him
nervous. She might have learned to play the part, but she was still from
Smallville and truisms become truisms for a reason. You could take the girl out
of Smallville…

Besides, if he let anything happen to her, there’d be hell to pay from Clark,
right? So, obviously, he had to make sure she was safe.

He smiled genially at Zora, who was trying her best to get him into bed, but
kept half his attention on Chloe, who was curled up on a couch with Ambrosia.
Their heads bent together, the conversation looked like it was getting serious.
Chloe brought her drink to her mouth and Lex tried to figure out if she’d really
sipped or was just faking. She’d *better* be faking, because he knew exactly how
much alcohol was in that glass.

“Lex?”

“Hmm?”

Zora leaned forward and put her hands on his cheeks. He didn’t pull away as she
kissed him, but he didn’t encourage it either. Soft lips, talented lips, a hint
of floral perfume, he should have at least been *thinking* about sleeping with
her.

She pulled back after a moment, amusement on those talented lips, and wiped her
lipstick off his lips with her cocktail napkin. “I see I’m wasting my time.”

“Are you?”

“Don’t kid a kidder, Lex. I can’t tell which one of them you want, but stop
wasting my time and go get her.” Zora leaned her head in the direction of the
couch, where Ambrosia was giggling as she whispered something into Chloe’s ear.

“Thank you for the advice.” Lex narrowed his eyes. “But I think I can take care
of my own affairs.”

“Suit yourself. You always do.” Shrugging, she rose from the small table, frothy
pink drink in hand, making sure he got a good look at her ample charms. “If you
change your mind, you know where to find me.”

“I do.” He put as much innuendo as he could into the two words.

She curled her lip at him. “It’s nothing you didn’t do in your time, Lex. I
remember when you were fun.”

He didn’t bother to respond as he leaned back in his seat, struggling to not
turn his head and look at the couch. Sipping his drink, he watched Zora sway
across the room to a more likely–if less wealthy–candidate. He probably
shouldn’t have alienated her, but she’d begun to annoy him. Well, Lex Luthor
could get away with things that lesser mortals couldn’t.

A swish behind him and Chloe was draped across his shoulders in a waft of rose
scent. The pose was sexy, but the voice was all business. “Ambrosia’s on her way
to a drug deal. I’ll make my own way home.”

Smiling genially, he pulled her around and into Zora’s vacated chair. “No.”

Her face didn’t change, a tribute to his teaching. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean, you’re not going without me. I know Ambrosia, remember?”

She laughed as if he’d made a joke. “This is *my* story. There’s no point if I’m
not willing to take a risk. Besides, it’s not as if I’m going to *take* any
drugs or try to make a citizen’s arrest.”

“This is a bad idea.” He had to struggle to keep his cool expression.

“Give it up, Lex. I’m not a child.” Smiling, she patted his shoulder with more
force than anyone watching would have seen, and stood up.

“Be careful.”

Looking over her shoulder, she gave him a genuine grin. “I grew up in
Smallville, Lex.”

He watched her walk away and thought about the various meanings of that sentence
as she met up with Ambrosia, slipping out the back door moments later.

He counted to thirty, then left his drink on the table and followed the ladies
out the door. It wasn’t difficult to track them, as they were giggling loud
enough to be heard for miles around, and he tried not to pay attention to the
content.

Ambrosia stumbled on her high heels, still giggling, and Chloe caught her,
saying something too low for Lex to hear. He strolled along, following the sound
of their voices through several back alleys and out onto the street. Thanks to
several other clubs in the area, there was enough of a crowd at 2 am that
neither of them seemed to notice him.

Soon they were out of the nightlife district, the streets getting dirtier, the
alleys getting darker. Lex had to drop back because the lack of foot traffic
made him too conspicuous. Fortunately, Chloe’s gold dress and Ambrosia’s violet
one both glowed even in the faint streetlights–not to mention how they didn’t
seem to even be looking for someone following them.

Now Lex was starting to get *really* annoyed, stepping over a pile of
unidentifiable liquid and trying to hold his breath. He spent the time as they
picked their way down the street coming up with new and subtle ways to flay
Chloe alive for this.

When they stepped into a slightly less dilapidated apartment building, Lex
cursed under his breath, wondering if he should be calling someone for backup.

He watched them get on an elevator and waited until that elevator stopped on the
10th floor before he pressed the up button. Tapping one foot on the floor, he
considered his options and why he was *so* sure something was wrong.

“Smallville,” he said aloud.

In all his time in Smallville, nothing had ever gone as planned. Every plan had
always gone to hell in a handbasket. And somehow this reunion with a Smallville
resident had him jumping at shadows again.

Perhaps he should leave her to her story.

He turned halfway and stopped as the elevator wheezed and let out an anemic
ding. Well, maybe he could just go up and make certain she was okay. He nodded
and stepped onto the elevator, holding his breath as it groaned and creaked its
way up ten stories.

He’d planned to knock on doors until he found them, but his task was simplified
by the sound of raised voices in 10-C, one of them recognizably Chloe’s.

“I’m not a cop!” Chloe said, with the air of someone repeating herself.

Lex groaned and stuck his hands in his pockets, staring at the ceiling and
wondering what he’d done to deserve this.

He was *never* going to live tonight down.

* * * * *

It took a fair amount of knocking to get the attention of the apartment’s
current occupants, but after a shocked silence, the door finally opened and an
unfamiliar face peered out, stringy hair hanging around a barely-shaven face.

“Is Ambrosia there?” he asked, with an innocent smile.

“Lex?” Ambrosia’s voice was nearly a screech. “What are you doing here?”

“I did promise Lana a ride home.”

“Lex!” Chloe said. There was a small sound that he suspected was the yelp of
having a gun pointed at one’s head. He was familiar with the sound. Ah,
Smallville.

Lex smiled wider at the man holding the door, thankful that Ambrosia couldn’t
see his face–she wouldn’t buy his ‘stupid rich man’ act for an instant.

“Get in,” the man finally said, opening the door.

Lex stepped inside and glanced into the living room area. Chloe, check. No
visible injuries, check. Gun pointed at her, check. “There’s no need for that,”
he said, voice calm and ready to soothe all nearby maniacs.

“Your girlfriend here is a narc. What about you?” The second man was cleaner,
but he looked much smarter, which could be either good or bad. The gun was
definitely bad.

“A narc? Lana? Surely you must be mistaken.” Keep them talking, that was always
best.

“I seen her talking to a cop,” the first man said. “Narc division had me in for
questioning and she was talking to one of the cops. And she wasn’t under arrest,
neither. She was writing stuff down.”

Damn it, of all the unfortunate coincidences…

“Why would you think that was me?” Chloe demanded.

“Hair like that? Don’t see that everyday.”

Lex’s mouth twitched at the irony and he could see Chloe trying to decide
whether to laugh or glare at him.

“What are we going to *do*?” Ambrosia wailed.

Lex had forgotten about her, but from the way she was wringing her hands, she
wasn’t going to be much help. Worth a try, though. “I think Lana and I should go
home and forget that this evening happened.”

Her wild eyes focused on Lex with a start. “You never forget, Lex! Not a slight,
not an insult, nothing.”

“Tie ‘em up in the other room while we decide,” the second man said.

Lex hid his sigh of relief but Chloe was getting angry. Damn.

“Look, this is ridiculous,” she said, in what Lex recognized as the basic
Smallville ‘If you’re going to kill me then get it over with’ speech. “You have
no good reason to believe we’re with the police, so why–”

The second man was about to hit her. “Lana.” Lex’s voice was soft, but he made
it compelling. “Don’t argue.”

Her expression said–in no uncertain terms–that his plan had better be damn
good or she was going to haunt him in the afterlife. But she ducked her head and
was quiet.

“Get up,” the second man said, grabbing her arm. “You.” He pointed at Lex. “Get
in here.”

Lex followed Chloe into a small bedroom and docilely allowed himself to be tied
to a chair while Chloe was bound to the unmade bed. As the two men left the
room, Chloe slumped down on the bed with a wince for her awkward position.

“Do you know,” Lex said, staring at the cobwebbed and splotchy ceiling, “since I
left Smallville, I haven’t been attacked *once*? I’ve even been in fewer car
accidents than I’d been accustomed to.”

“Lex?”

“Nobody struck by meteor rocks has tried to gnaw on my leg.”

“Lex.”

“No love spells, no monsters stalking me through cornfields. Just the occasional
hostile corporate takeover. It’s been peaceful, really.”

“Shut *up*, Lex!”

“Why?” He looked at Chloe.

“Oh, I don’t know. I was thinking about *escaping* maybe. On the other hand, if
you’d rather wait until they gathered up their courage and came back to kill us,
you can stay.”

“And what was your plan from escaping from these ropes?”

She glared at him. “I’m not sure, but if you could shut up for a minute, maybe
I’ll think of something.”

“Why bother?”

Her jaw dropped and she stared him. “You’re secretly suicidal? How did I miss
this?”

“No,” he said patiently, “I just thought we might wait for Superman, since he’ll
be here any moment.”

“What?”

“Before I knocked on the door, I called Clark on my cell phone.”

“You called Clark?” It was almost a squeak.

“He did,” a voice said from the now-open window. “I was surprised.”

Lex sighed. “Hello, Clark. Or are we required to call you Superman now?”

Clark floated in, settling down between them with an annoyed expression, cape
fluttering in the nonexistent breeze. “How many times do we have to have this
argument?”

“Uh, guys?” Chloe tugged on her ropes. “Do you think you could save the eight
millionth repetition of ‘Power corrupts, superpowers corrupt absolutely’ for
some time when I’m not *tied to the bed*?”

Lex and Clark stared at each other for a moment of astonished accord, then
turned to look at Chloe. She stared back, red creeping up her face. “If you
could both get your minds out of the gutter for a minute, there’s a little
matter of men with guns in the next room.”

“Right.” Clark straightened and threw back his shoulders in that ‘hero to the
rescue’ pose that always pissed Lex off. With a quick yank, Clark ripped the
ropes off Chloe’s wrists.

Lex tried not to sigh as Clark did the same for him and turned to the door. He
rubbed his wrists and listened to the sounds of Superman disarming and tying up
the three in the other room.

Chloe leaned against the window, her profile looking angry.

“You could say thank you,” Lex said, never one to step back from a fight.

Chloe whirled, hands on her hips. “I’ll thank Clark when he’s done.”

“I meant me, actually.”

Her glare would have gone right through him if she’d had Superman’s heat vision,
but whatever she was going to say was forestalled by Clark re-entering the room.
“Shall I call the police?” he asked, oblivious to the tension between them.

Chloe looked around. “Are there drugs here?”

His eyes unfocused as he turned in a slow circle. “Absolutely.”

“Good. Call the cops and they can book them for the drugs and leave us out of
it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Lex and Chloe said.

“Okay.” He shrugged and held out a hand to Chloe. “C’mon, I’ll give you a lift
back to your apartment.”

“No, thanks.”

Clark blinked. “How were you planning to get home?”

She looked away. “I was hoping Lex would drive me home, since he’s still got to
pick up his car from the club. If that’s okay.”

It was Lex’s turn to blink. “Certainly.”

“You want Lex to drive you home?” The shock in Clark’s voice was galling. Was it
really so unbelievable?

“We have things to talk about,” she said.

Clark looked at her, then looked at Lex, suspicion all over his face. Lex
shrugged, as nonchalant as possible under the circumstances. Who was he to argue
with Chloe’s whims? Clark should know better.

“Well, if you two are ready to go, let me at least take you down to the street.
And I’ll get the story later.”

Chloe nodded and Lex gritted his teeth as Superman lifted them both with ease,
tucking them under his arms like children or bales of hay.

* * * * *

They made it back to Chloe’s apartment building in complete silence, nothing but
the road noise beneath the car’s tires and the weight of the previous weeks
pushing on Lex’s chest.

When he pulled into a parking space, there was a silence that managed to be at
once louder and more painful. Lex stared out the front windshield, wondering
what he was supposed to say.

Chloe reached for the door handle and paused, clutching it like a life
preserver. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Surprised, he turned.

Her arms were crossed, she looked defiant, brows drawn, but she repeated
herself. “I’m sorry.”

Lex swallowed. Twice. “For?”

Chloe looked down. “This didn’t go the way I’d planned.”

“You have quite the story, though.”

“But I…” She paused, looking him in the eye. “Yes, I’ve got a story, but I
feel like I made a fool of myself.”

“If you did, you didn’t do it alone.”

Her eyes dropped and she absently smoothed the dress over her thighs. “I’m sorry
I got you into this, Lex. It was a stupid idea.”

“What were you really looking for?” How had he never asked that question of her?

“I’m not sure. I…I wanted to get these people, why they’ve got so much power.”

“Money.” The answer was obvious to him.

“Yeah.” She shrugged, still looking down. Her words seemed pulled out of her
unwillingly. “Maybe I wanted to know what it was like to be like that. To not
care about the rules or what’s right.”

Suddenly, it was incredibly important that she understand. “Not everybody is
like that. I introduced you to the worst I knew because I thought you wanted
that. Not everyone’s like them or…like my father.”

“I know. Andrea kind of explained that.” Her eyes looked unnatural with the
makeup, her cheeks artificial and cold like a mannequin. “Lex,” she said, “what
are you doing?”

His hand was on her cheek, he found, rubbing at the foundation, trying to get
back to the Chloe he remembered, the nosy spitfire who’d plagued his Smallville
days and stood up to his father when nobody else would. He ran a hand over her
hair, wishing he could remove the tinting so easily.

“Lex,” she said again, catching his hands with her own.

“I’m sorry for making you what you’re not.”

“I asked you to.”

“When my father exiled me to Smallville, I spent some time trying to be like
everyone else. It didn’t work.” His hand was still against the side of her face
and he stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I wasn’t suited for country life.”

“But if you could make me suited to city life…” She leaned into his hand. “I’m
not. Not like that, at least. I acted like an idiot. I can’t be like those
people and–”

“And I don’t want you to be!”

She stared, eyes wide.

“I prefer you as Chloe.” He heard her breathing catch, felt her hands tighten on
his. “Don’t change. I think I need to know Smallville won’t change. Even if I’ll
never fit in.”

She smiled and even through the makeup, it was Chloe. “But I think we make a
pretty good team.”

“We do.”

Without a conscious thought, he leaned toward her as she tugged on his hand.
They met over the gearshift, lips brushing awkwardly and then with more
assurance.

She still tasted like expensive lipstick and brandy, but he knew that wouldn’t
last. And the way she kissed lacked the broad experience of Zora, but the
knowledge that she wanted him and not his last name or money made all the
difference.

He licked her lips, smiling when she giggled and looked embarrassed. She finally
loosened her hand, but he only drew back a few inches, looking into her eyes.
“Chloe?” His voice sounded hoarse and his breathing was ragged.

“Come inside?”

“If you want me to.” This was no time to rush. Chloe wasn’t Zora or Ambrosia or
Simone or Helena–she needed care and…

She leaned forward and kissed him again, her tongue slipping into his mouth and
he sucked on it.

Care and honesty. He pulled back. “What do you want?” he murmured against her
lips. “I’m not good at…relationships.”

“Neither am I.” She reddened. “But we *do* make a good team, don’t we? My
brains, your money…”

He chuckled, sliding his hand through her hair again. “I don’t want to let you
down.”

“If you do, you won’t do it alone.” Chloe bit her lip. “Lex, please. Give this a
chance.”

“For you.”

This kiss went on for a while, Lex lost in the moment, enjoying the novel
experience of not needing to impress his partner. Pressing Chloe against the
seat, he leaned forward, jamming his side into the gearshift.

Chloe laughed as Lex rubbed his side. She opened the car door and stepped out,
pausing halfway out. “Coming?” she asked over her shoulder.

He was out the door and around to her side in an instant, arm around her waist.
“Allow me.”

Warm and soft, Chloe leaned against him as they walked up the steps and around
the corner to her apartment. She fumbled with the keys and her face felt warm
when he caressed it.

Squeezing her tighter, he got her attention. She smiled up at him and he kissed
her forehead gently.

Chloe opened the door and they stepped inside, Chloe slamming the door behind
them and nearly pouncing on Lex, who stumbled a step backward.

“Sorry, just a little overenthusiastic,” she said, kissing him again.

“Enthusiasm is refreshing.”

* * * * *

A siren whooshed by the window, waking him from his light doze. In the faint
moonlight, he saw Chloe blink once and close her eyes again, snuggling closer.

His arm was half-asleep from the weight of her head, but he wasn’t inclined to
make her move. Every breath she took wafted across his skin, warm and humid and
alive, and he wondered what it felt like for men with hair on their bodies.

They did make a good team, he thought. The past weeks aside, she’d always had a
nose for a story, and determination that matched his own–a need to get her way.
Her moral compass was too strong and his too weak. Her common sense was a little
lacking now and then, but with him behind her, there was nothing she couldn’t
do.

Chloe’s eyes drifted open. “What are you thinking?”

“Why do women always ask that?”

She ignored him, turning her head to kiss his shoulder. “Answer the question.”

“Oh, just plotting to take over the world.”

“What, again?” She yawned, pulling him closer. “Can’t it wait ’til morning?”

“I suppose it can.”

“Good. We’ll talk then.” She closed her eyes and nuzzled his shoulder with a
small sigh.

For a moment, he stared, trying to figure out if she was serious. Then he closed
his eyes.

She was right–it could wait until the morning. After all, now they had all the
time in the world.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: Wonder Woman is not nearly the innocent some might believe. And even Batman can be surprised now and then.

NOTES: Taryn made me do it! She double dog dared me! And then DebC seconded it!
And something that Morgan said made me think…well, you’ll see. Um, this is
cartoonverse, but I stole one comic thing about Diana. This is *not* a sequel to
“Hesitation Change,” however, since these are *very* different versions of the
characters. Thanks to Stexgirl and WelshWitch for beta duties.
DEDICATION: Written for Taryn on her wedding day: 1/23/04. ::hugs::

Lying on his back, breathing unsteady, Bruce blinked up at Diana, who slid her
way up to kiss him. His entire body felt like it was humming against the sweaty
sheets and he studied her face, half-hidden in the dim light from the lamp
across the room.

“Where,” he managed to say between kisses, hands roaming across satiny skin,
“did you learn to do that?”

It was, of course, an entirely rhetorical question, but in his tattered state,
he’d forgotten Diana’s status as the living embodiment of truth.

“Well…” She had a wistful, nostalgic look on her face. “From my first lover.”

“Ah.” He frowned, not certain whether he should feel jealous. It was faintly
ridiculous, considering that she’d just thoroughly…ravished him, and was the
last person on or off Earth to cheat on someone. A vestige of Batman’s mindset,
he supposed.

Diana gently nipped at his shoulder, then kissed it before curling up against
his side. When he showed no signs of moving other than to pull her closer, she
laughed and tugged the blankets over them.

The humming gradually died down and Bruce felt his entire body relax. The warm
presence at his side was comforting, as was her wonderful hair where it brushed
against his chest like liquid silk. Only his mind kept moving, remembering the
look on her face when she mentioned her first lover.

She stirred, lifting her head. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then why are you twitching?”

He turned his head, startled. “Twitching?”

“Yes, twitching. I know we have not been together long, but I feel certain that
this is not a sign of good things.” Her voice was soft and warm, far from the
competitive warrior she showed the rest of the world. It was a voice he’d
imagined was only for him, but now he found himself imagining some other man
holding her, some other man kissing her…

“Bruce?”

“What?”

“You’ve become very tense. What is *wrong*?” She leaned up on one elbow, using
the other hand to stroke down the center of his chest.

Breathing speeding up again, Bruce put his free hand over hers, stopping it.
“It’s…nothing.”

“Obviously not. I just went to a great deal of trouble to relax you, and I hate
to see my work go to waste.” She dipped her head down, hair cascading around his
face, and kissed him lightly on the lips. Her mouth was warm and wet and already
so familiar and dear.

He swallowed and she lifted her head, waiting. “Who was he?” Bruce finally
asked.

Eyes narrowed, she tilted her head. “Who?”

Now he felt like a real idiot. “Your first lover.”

There was a long moment where her face was entirely still, except for her eyes,
which had widened. With no warning, she started to laugh.

It was a full body laugh, everything shaking, and she lay back on the bed across
his outstretched arm. Affronted, he tried to pull his arm out from under her,
but she didn’t let it go, managing to roll over and laugh into his shoulder
instead.

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” he said, glaring at her.

Her laughter slowed and she smiled at him. “I shouldn’t have laughed. It’s
just…”

“What?”

“You men.”

“It’s not–”

“I’m not worried about jealousy,” she said. “It’s just that men always assume
that their ‘competition’ is male.”

His jaw dropped.

She propped herself on her elbow again. “Yes, Bruce. You’ve forgotten where I
grew up. There are no men, remember?”

“But–”

“You thought I waited until I left the island? Weren’t you ever an adolescent,
Bruce?”

“Uh–”

Her voice got softer and the hand he’d stilled started moving up and down his
stomach. “Didn’t you ever touch yourself and dream of having someone else do the
same?” She leaned over and lightly kissed his nipple, which made him jump.
“Didn’t you look at your agemates and hope that one would look at you the same
way?” Her breath ghosted across the nipple and he gasped, a shock running
through him.

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” His voice seemed to be coming from far away. “It was
different.”

Diana rested her head on his chest. “Perhaps it was. You are rather unique. But
I did look. And there was one who looked back.”

Slow, even breaths brought his treacherous body back under control. “What was
her name?” Somehow his jealousy was gone, mutated into simple curiosity.

And Diana seemed to understand that, as only she could. She smiled gently, one
hand making aimless patterns on his chest. “Her name was Bellona.”

“Tell me about her.”

She studied him, then nodded slightly. “Her hair was the purest gold and she
lived up to her name–truly a great warrior. In fact, she was my greatest
competitor from the time I could walk.”

Bruce propped one hand behind his head so he could watch her face as she spoke.
In the yellow light, her skin glowed.

Diana’s eyes were very distant. “She was astounding and beautiful and so
intelligent.”

“Just like you.”

A gentle puff of breath across his chest and he shivered. “I wanted her,” Diana
said. “It seemed as if I had always wanted her. Then when we were 16, she kissed
me, and we found ourselves a secluded place on the island. That was when we
taught each other the ways of love.”

Bruce’s mind boggled at the image of Diana and a blonde, engaged in… “Oh.”

A low chuckle, and she rubbed her cheek against his chest. “Men,” she said.

Bruce felt his face grow warm and he coughed. “I’m sorry, it…uh…just…”

“I understand.” The hand that had been rubbing his chest slid up and she began
to run a finger across his lips. He gently nibbled at the finger and she sighed.

Bruce drew himself up to kiss her on the mouth, enjoying the feel of her tongue,
the taste of her. He drew back a fraction. “I suppose I should be thankful for
Bellona, if she taught you so well. Although,” he paused, confused, “if she was
a she, I mean, she didn’t–”

“Male and female physiology are more alike than you might think.” She gave him
an angelic grin as she slid her hand down his body again.

Head dropping back onto the pillow, Bruce groaned.

Diana smiled the wicked smile that always made his insides melt. “Why don’t you
let me show you what she taught me to do with the lasso?”

His breath caught in his throat as she knelt above him, holding the golden
braid. “Oh yes,” he said. “I think that’s an excellent idea.”

–end–