ficcies

Summary: Almost twenty years went by between Bruce Wayne hanging up the mantle of the Bat and meeting Terry McGinnis, the new Batman. How exactly did he spend that time? This story is just a little ‘what if’ scenario set a few years after his last outing as Batman (as seen in ‘Rebirth’), when he’s just lost control of his company. Life after Batman – Can Bruce find happiness, or love, or is he destined to become that bitter old man prowling the night alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He picked up a sheaf of papers on the desk before him. A few phone calls had netted him with enough information about her to make him seriously question her motives. She had held fourteen jobs in the last eight years. All of her former employers proclaimed that she was hard working, considerate, and indispensable. In almost every case she had left with little or no notice, often citing ‘family emergency’ as her reason for leaving. Even so, every employer promised she would be hired back with no qualms. He suspected she was running away from something or someone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” he said in a perfunctory manner, but his eyes were scanning the area, and his ears alert for all sounds. For lack of a better place he led her to the kitchen, poking his head through the swinging door before entering to make sure it was empty. Seeing there was no one inside, he pulled her after him. To the left was another door, which he opened and thrust her through, ignoring her cries of protest. Inside was the spacious butler’s pantry filled with shelves of cans, jars, and sacks of food plus a multitude of cleaning supplies. He flipped on the overhead light and faced her. “Stay here.”

He moved to go back through the door into the dining room when it suddenly opened inward. One of the waiters, apparently performing a sweep of the house, pushed through with his weapon drawn. Bruce reacted quickly, using the element of surprise to his advantage, by grabbing the gun with his left hand, turning his body away and pulling the man forward as he smashed his right elbow into his face. The unfortunate fellow crumpled to the floor before he knew what had happened with a severely crushed nose. He dragged the lifeless body into a far corner, trussing it up with several dishrags and tossed a tablecloth over it for camouflage.

That chore finished, he revised his decision to retrace his steps through the house, opting for some covert outdoors surveillance. Exiting out the side kitchen door, he made his way quietly along the perimeter of the mansion, towards the large block of windows that looked in on the ballroom. He had just arrived when a small crunching sound alerted him to a presence behind. He turned and pulled his punch mere inches from impacting onto Dick’s face. “I thought I taught you to be quieter than that,” he groused.

“I just came for the show. You know I’m a sucker for happy endings, even when it’s not my own. Anyway after the ceremony I was heading back down to the road to get my car when I saw these guys acting suspiciously around the truck. Once they left I checked it out. I was on my way inside when I heard the gunfire, so I tried the old cave entrance back there,” he pointed over his shoulder, “but you’ve apparently sealed them all off.” Bruce nodded absently. “So you got a plan?” Dick asked.

Bruce watched the exchange between the scarred man and Mardi. He asked her a question, which she answered, precisely as she should, then he gestured towards the one that brought her in, who then nodded in response and left the room. The scarred man said something so distinctly to Mardi even someone unable to lip-read would have understood before placing the muzzle of his gun against her head.

Her heart was about to clatter out of her chest as the creep with the scar stood over her pressing the gun against her forehead. She wondered about the whole life-flashing-before-your-eyes concept; wondered if Darren or her mother or her grandmother would be waiting for her on the other side; wondered if there was possibly anyone on the planet more idiotic than she.

She had done exactly as instructed, even though she desperately wanted to run after him. But she had stayed, sat on the footstool with her hands clasped between her knees, concentrating on breathing and keeping the half of the peanut butter and banana sandwich in her stomach since the stale air and dust was making her incredibly queasy. She made an effort not to speculate on what was going on or what Bruce intended to do about it. The one thought she allowed herself was that he was probably attempting to contact the police and would be back once that was done. She did not dwell on what would happen should he be caught.

Then, like Little Miss Muffet in the nursery rhyme, she received a surprise visitor. If it had been anything else she would have been fine, but it dropped down in front of her face with its eight legs and beady eyes, hanging on its silken bungee cord like an insectile thrill seeker. The scream seemed loud enough to shake the jars overhead as she leapt up and backwards, tripping over the footstool and landing on her back with a painful thud that was at least useful in cutting off her cry.

Unfortunately, her prayers went unheard. The door flew open and one of the waiters stood at the threshold pointing an extremely large gun at her. “Get up!” he commanded and she did, slowly, wincing as the muscles in her back started registering their displeasure at her sudden landing on the hard floor. “Come on,” he said grabbing her elbow and forcing her back towards the ballroom. Once inside he shoved her forward with such force her feet couldn’t keep up with the momentum. She shuffled a few steps before falling ungraciously to her knees in front of the big guy with the scar she would soon learn was the ringleader of the whole sordid mess. “Look what I found in the kitchen pantry,” the man behind her said.

She took one deep breath and then said, “He was feeling a little tired, with all the work he’s put into this, so he went upstairs to lie down for a bit.” Not one who was ever comfortable lying, she felt she’d spoken with remarkable calm and resolve. Her eyes wandered to the wedding guests, all looking tense and afraid, with their hands clasped behind their heads, and she spotted Barbara who smiled and nodded reassuringly. But there was something in her eyes, almost like she knew Mardi was lying.

Mardi was now sitting in a chair, apart from the rest of the group. She looked tired and worried, and Barbara had to wonder exactly how much she knew. Bruce was obviously out there somewhere. She couldn’t hope he would simply call for reinforcements, would follow protocol. No, he had to do things his way. She shook her head, and then stepped forward. “Are you going to tell us what this is all about?” she asked in a strong voice. She could sense Sam tense up, but did not try to stop her; he knew she was a capable police officer and trusted her instincts.

“Get over yourself Bruce. This is it, absolutely it.” Her face was hard, her lips a thin white line of tension. This was not the girl who had emulated Batman and who had energetically leapt into the life of a vigilante crime fighter. A harsh, cold woman had somehow slipped in and taken her place. Where had Batgirl gone, he wondered briefly. “This is the last straw. You could have gotten someone killed pulling that stunt; hell, Mardi’s lying unconscious in the library right now because of you. And now I’ve got to come up with some reasonable explanation about what went on in there, when there’s a room full of cops and lawyers who witnessed the whole thing. I’m telling you, no more. No more warnings, no more second chances. I’m going to be appointed commissioner in a little over a month, and I’ll be enforcing a strict no-Bat policy.

“You need to start acting like a retired businessman, because that is all you are! From here on out Batman is history. Finito. Capice?” He started to open his mouth, but she cut him off. “If you don’t, then I suggest you find another city to live in.” She pointed to the portrait of his parents. “They are still dead, Bruce. After all you’ve done nothing has changed that. Your parents are still dead. You’ve also managed to alienate your son and let’s not forget what happened to Tim. Is this really something you want to keep reliving?”

They returned home from the hospital late in the evening. Though she had been pronounced as not having a concussion, she was severely dehydrated and low on electrolytes. For two long hours she lay in a hospital bed on an IV to replenish fluids and much needed nutrients. During that time she’d tried to piece together the events of the day, but had little luck. Quite clearly and with great shame, she remembered her hormonal declaration about the baby and desperately wished she’d used a little more tact. The ceremony stood out in her mind, but things got fuzzy around the reception. Apparently there had been a revolt of the waiters and somewhere along the line she’d gotten bashed on the head. Bruce was no help. He’d gone to take a nap before the whole commotion started, which seemed odd to her, but she didn’t press the matter. The ER doctor released her with an anti-nausea prescription and an appointment with an obstetrician after she refused his suggestion to spend the night under observation.

The voice on TV droned on, “And to recap the top story, highway 589, southbound to Bludhaven, is at a standstill after a horrific 25 car pile-up occurred earlier this evening resulting from a tractor trailer jackknifing just before exit 30. Rescue workers are still valiantly assisting those trapped amidst the wreckage. Preliminary reports list fatalities at 15, and many more seriously injured have been rushed to both Gotham General and Bludhaven Memorial hospitals. While many of the dead or wounded remain unidentified, we do know that one of those killed was Officer Richard Grayson, a member of the Bludhaven police force, who was off-duty and traveling home from Gotham. Grayson was not killed during the initial collision, but while trying to rescue a woman from her burning vehicle that subsequently exploded, killing both of them. Grayson is the adopted son of Bruce Wayne, famed industrialist and director of the Wayne Foundation, which provides much-needed charitable support throughout the city. Mr. Wayne could not be reached for comment. We’re going to go live to the sight now with Brandon Kilmichaels reporting. Brandon…?”

The film cut to a nightmarish scene of twisted metal, fire, and smoke. Mardi walked over to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “For heaven’s sake, please turn that off. Nothing’s going to change.” Her voice was raw with exhaustion and emotion. He reached down and thumbed a button on the remote, muting the sounds, but the images still flashed across the screen in bold living color.

With only the sound of the grandfather clock to fill the heavy silence, she felt her own tears falling at his display of grief. Finally he pulled back slightly, placed a small kiss on her lower abdomen, and then looked up into her eyes. “Marry me. Don’t take this child away too. Please.” His voice was beseeching, his eyes wounded, and she started sobbing as the only possible response. She threw her arms around him and cried into his neck.

The weather was appropriately dismal for the somber event. Dark clouds filled the sky and a bone-chilling rain fell non-stop throughout the miserable day. Mardi hated funerals, cemeteries, and wearing black. Black was cold, the absence of all light, the symbol of evil. It sucked the life out of everything it touched. Black was death and of course, dearly beloved, that is why we’re all here today. Hallelujah and amen.

But she didn’t do that anymore. Instead she waited beside some headstone of a person who had died years before she was even born and watched the people one by one press their hand to Bruce’s and offer some words they hoped might comfort him, but words were never going to fill the hollow place in his heart, no matter how many times he heard, “So sorry for your loss.”

Among the mass of mourners crowding the expanse of the Gotham Cemetery were a cadre of Bludhaven police officers dressed in their finest uniforms who had served as pall bearers and gave a traditional 21 gun salute as Dick’s casket was lowered into the ground. Mardi also saw the woman who was the ex-Mrs. Grayson with her new husband and three children – two boys and a girl – in tow. Bruce had made an effort to approach her earlier and she had snubbed him with calculated malice. Barbara was there with Sam, looking morose and stricken. Mardi had come to learn that she and Dick had had a relationship when they were younger. She overheard a terrible fight between Barbara and Bruce before the funeral started.

And things had only gotten worse from there. The media was on hand as if death were still as entertaining as it was in ancient Rome. Especially the heroically tragic death of the son of the city’s wealthiest citizen. They were kept at bay at the gates of the cemetery by a posting of Gotham’s police force, all determined to protect the sanctity of one of their own.

The condolences showed no sign of slacking and Mardi really couldn’t stand to watch her love pretend to be calm and self-assured when she knew deep down he was in agony. So she moved even further away, glancing at the grave markers for lack of anything else to look at. At the top of a long slope was a huge marble monument with the name Wayne chiseled along the top. She blinked in disbelief and moved closer to read the names, Thomas and Martha, and noting the dates of death were identical, over fifty years earlier.

She closed her eyes and sighed. How did I wind up here? She thought grimly. A flip of a coin had decided her fate – heads Metropolis, tails Gotham. That’s all. Where would she be now if it had come up heads? Her hand came up and rubbed her stomach. A baby. She was going to have a baby. A whole family for that matter. The diamond and amethyst ring shined brightly in the bleakness of the day. He’d kept it all this time, just in case she said yes.

“That’s just wedding day jitters. All brides get it,” the calm reply came from her left. In the mirror she saw Lois Kent lean against the counter with arms folded and a slight smile on her face. Lois and her husband Clark were friends of Bruce’s that he’d called on to be witnesses to their marriage. She was the managing editor of the Daily Planet while he was their top reporter. They were an attractive and gregariously nice couple, which compared to the at times grimly solemn Bruce, made them seem to almost come from another universe.

The sun was setting in the western horizon as she pushed through the front door, dropping the suitcase with a thud. The house was dark and quiet and she wondered where Bruce could be this late. Probably taking a stroll with that mutt of his, she thought. She didn’t exactly hate dogs, but when he brought the mangy half-starved creature home proclaiming it’d saved his life she’d had some severe reservations about keeping it; in the end though she didn’t have the heart to refuse. So she and the large, menacing animal he’d named Ace had formed an uneasy relationship of avoidance, and she was certain he eyed her throat with a particularly hungry longing at times.

Wearily she grabbed her satchel and went upstairs to unpack, and perhaps have a lengthy, hot bath to wash away the tension of travel. It had been a long and stressful few days. Her father had finally died of heart failure after thirty years of living inside his own world of dementia. Funeral arrangements had been basic. His body was cremated and a small memorial service held in his honor at the chapel of the nursing home he’d spent his last days in. Most of her time had been spent dissolving his meager estate, which consisted mostly of the house she’d grown up in. The sale of the house had gone smoother than anticipated so she was able to return several days earlier, explaining why Bruce was nowhere to be found; she hadn’t bothered to inform him of her change in itinerary.

She finished emptying the case and set it back in its place on the closet floor, within easy reach. Eighteen months ago she had been promoted to Vice-President of Finance at Wayne-Powers, and had been required to take several overseas trips to tour its international branches. She sat down at her vanity table and inspected her reflection in the mirror critically. At fifty she was the youngest member of the executive board. Small wrinkles were visible around her eyes, though frequent trips to the salon kept the gray hairs hidden. Reaching up, she loosened the clip that held her hair back and let it flow down her around her shoulders, brushing it out with her fingers and massaging her scalp.

Her eyes dropped from the mirror to a small silver-framed picture sitting on the corner of the table. Three people smiled into the camera. Correction, two people smiled broadly and one made an effort not to scowl. She chuckled and picked up the photo bringing it closer to her face. Isabella Martha Wayne sat between her parents with a huge, gap-toothed grin. She was six when they sat for the portrait, shortly before she was sent off to the school.

Mardi frowned at that thought. It was the best school money could buy. They visited often and she came home for a month in the summer, but it was difficult to be without their baby girl, who had Bruce’s dark hair and her green eyes that may or may not darken when she got upset. They couldn’t know because she never got upset. The girl went to bed with a smile and woke up laughing. Even after the ear infection stole away her hearing she never had a sad moment.

Isabella’s sudden deafness almost seven years ago had devastated Mardi, but Bruce took in with characteristic aplomb. He immediately learned sign language, which he then taught to Isabella, and before she knew it the two of them were participating in silent, animated conversations she had no hope of keeping up with. They were like flip sides of the same coin, those two Waynes, different as night and day, but sharing a bond that was unequaled. Isabella was an extremely bright and curious girl, learning to read by the time she was three. Bruce began tutoring her daily in all manner of subjects, teaching the child a different language each week it seemed. Mardi remembered coming home one day and hearing her five-year-old daughter greet her in Latin. She was both impressed and concerned, but Bruce insisted the girl was like a sponge, soaking up every bit of information given to her.

And yet she had still enjoyed playing, often spending hours with her dolls or constructing a giant castle with her blocks in order to play as a beautiful princess. She was well rounded and happy, and loved everyone she came in contact with, but absolutely adored her father above all else, and the feeling was reciprocated two hundred percent. He would sit patiently for hours with her in his lap as she asked questions from ‘why is the sky blue?’ to ‘how do they get the creamy stuff inside twinkies?’ and he would give each answer the same serious consideration. He was the one who bought her first bicycle and held her tightly after she fell off and scraped her knee. It was he who told her she could be anything she wanted to be.

Foregoing the bath, she changed out of her travel clothes and into a comfortable pair of sweat pants and shirt before heading downstairs to look for him, thinking of something simple she could make for supper, something that did not require a lot of ingredients. She’d reached the bottom of the stairs when she saw the young man, a boy really, walking from the kitchen towards the study with a mug in one hand and a sandwich on a plate in the other.

“Okay,” he replied dubiously and went into the study. She was beginning to question the boy’s mental stability when she noticed the grandfather clock was at an odd angle to the wall. She watched as he went behind it…and disappeared. Swiftly she followed him through the hole in the wall that shouldn’t be there, feeling her way along until the light grew bright enough for her to see. They immerged into a gigantic cavern. She could smell the damp sea air and heard the faint fluttering and small squeaks of what she assumed were bats. The entire space was filled with equipment and paraphernalia the likes of which she’d never seen. It was like stepping into a completely different world.

While she’d stopped halfway down to stare open-mouthed at the unusual surroundings, the young man continued to the bottom and walked over to an immense computer console with a high-backed executive chair facing it. “Here’s your sandwich Mr. Wayne, and you’ve got a visitor.” The chair revolved slowly around and she wasn’t the least surprised to find her husband sitting upon it. Their eyes locked for a heartbeat, and then he simply said without emotion, “You’re home early.”

It was ironic that the man who planned for every contingency, who feared no one, who fought and defeated the deadliest criminals to walk the streets of Gotham, had no idea how to tell his wife that he was Batman. For fifteen years it simply hadn’t mattered, it was a closed chapter of his life and bore no relevance to the current situation. But then a month ago when she’d been on a trip to Japan and he had taken a walk late one night to help him sleep, everything had changed. For a month he’d juggled the two lives as he had so many years ago, thinking perhaps he could actually get away with not telling her at all. But now here she was, there was no getting around it, and she did not look happy.

“Well the house sold much faster than we thought it would and the weather was atrocious so I decided to come back a little earlier and just what the hell is going on here Bruce?!” Her voice bounced against the cave walls asking the question several more times before fading out. She came down the steps and he rose from the chair so that they formed a triangle with Terry who looked from one to the other with a baffled expression.

“Go on. It’s okay.” Terry scooped up his knapsack and moved off to a private area to change. Bruce turned and saw she had discovered the glass cases holding the old uniforms of his and his allies. She moved down the line, stopping to stare at the old Batman suit, one finger pressed against the glass. He walked up to her. “Mardi.” Gently he touched her shoulder.

“Mardi,” he repeated sternly. “You’ve always known there was something different about me, that part that scares you, the part you’ve done your best to ignore.” She tried to shake her head and tell him no, but he reached out with his free hand and gripped her shoulder. “This is it, this is who I was, who I still am.” He turned her to look back at the case.

She sat in her comfortable leather chair in front of a massive oak desk that had been a present from Bruce upon her promotion, and booted up her computer. Vice-President of Finance sounded like a big deal when engraved on the plaque over the door, but in reality it was a glorified term for chief bean counter. She oversaw all aspects of accounts receivable and payable as well as monitored the annual budget, which for a company the size of Wayne-Powers was a considerable undertaking. But in the grand scheme of things she was of little consequence, having to report directly to the Chief Financial Officer and indirectly to the Chief Executive Officer, one Mr. Derek Powers. She’d met Powers only once, shortly after her promotion, and had disliked him immediately, finding him to be arrogant and cold (and who just happened to single handedly steal her husband’s family business out from under him), but she did not let her personal feelings about the man to sway her loyalty to the company itself.

Still, the accusations that he could somehow be masterminding mass genocide via some nerve gas, or that he’d ordered a man’s death to cover it up was too outlandish to even consider seriously. Yet Bruce seemed to believe it. He’d asked her once if she trusted him, and she did, implicitly, even now after knowing he’d concealed something so important from her.

Fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard as she logged in and entered the archives of Gotham’s library system, connecting her to all published information in the last fifty years, looking for clues to his past as she’d done so long ago, but this time her parameters were different and the search returned considerably less information. Several of the articles speculated about whom or what the Batman truly was while others debated his true motivations while making the streets of Gotham his own personal battleground.

The few she found actually reporting on his deeds were mere sketches of conjecture and rarely was there a photo attached. Those pictures she did find where some intrepid reporter had managed to catch the masked man swinging off on his jump line were grainy and shadowed and she was doubtful of the veracity of many of them. There was one, however, that caught her attention. He’d rescued a small boy from a burning high-rise and as he handed the child to a waiting EMT someone had snapped a photo. His head was bent down and slightly away from the camera’s sight line, but a portion of his face and jaw were clearly visible.

With a shake of her head she returned to her research. An hour later, eyes sore from reading, she had an epiphany of sorts. While Batman was an independent agent, he often worked closely with a certain member of the police force, trading information when feasible. The working relationship had evolved to such a level that a signal light was often used in the night sky to summon the Dark Knight for a rendezvous with his accomplice.

“Wayne is still blocking the purchase of that munitions plant in Eastern Europe. He has the support of most of the stockholders. I have a considerable amount of money riding on this deal and I need a way to change his mind, quickly.” Derek Powers paused and steepled his fingers under his chin. His assistant stood before him pale and worried. That was precisely how he liked his people. “So, tell me what sort of dirt you’ve managed to find about him. And it had better be good.”

“Ah, yes,” Derek said leaning back in his chair already forming a plan. He remembered meeting her soon after her promotion to the executive level. Attractive woman in a mousy sort of way. What she was doing with a fossil like Wayne he could not guess, but that was not his concern. She might just prove to be a true asset to the company. “There’s an executive meeting today, isn’t there? See to it Mrs. Wayne comes to see me afterwards.”

“Did you sleep with my husband?” The question seemed to come out of nowhere and was spoken so softy, she almost believed she’d heard it incorrectly. But she trusted her ears, and nearly laughed. She liked Mardi, she really did. The woman had given Bruce something to focus on these last years besides the loss of his personal mission. And the few times she’d seen him with his daughter made her almost believe in fairy tales where there were true happy endings. The mistakes he’d made with Dick, and to a lesser extent Tim, were made by a man who’d closed his heart off to everything except an obsession with vengeance, which did not seem to be the case anymore.

The meeting was even more boring than usual. The head of marketing had taken up most of the time describing the advertising campaign for a new kitchen gadget that would revolutionize the way meals were cooked. Mardi couldn’t have cared less on a good day, but today her thoughts were just to full of other important details to give even the impression of interest. Once the conference concluded, she was gathering her belongings to return to her office when the greasy little weasel she recognized as Derek Powers’ personal assistant approached her with a completely insincere smile and said that her presence was requested in the great man’s sanctuary, immediately.

“Mardi,” he greeted her warmly from behind his desk. “Please come in and have a seat.” She did, crossing one leg over the other and clasping her hands over her knee. “Now I’m sure you’re wondering why I asked you here,” he said with a smile and then Derek Powers stood from his chair and walked around the desk slowly with his hands behind his back. “Are you familiar with the works of William Shakespeare?” he asked out of the blue as he perched on the edge of the desk in front of her.

He nodded approvingly. “The Bard’s words are quite beautiful aren’t they?” Before she could even answer he continued on. “One of the most interesting things he had to say concerned names. Perhaps you’ll recall the scene in question. Will postulates that names have no true relevance, that, in his words, by any other name a rose would still smell as sweet, or perhaps in some cases the better analogy would be that the thorn would still prick as sharply. What do you think about that Mardi?” he asked with a feral smile.

“Too bad. I, however, do have an opinion. As brilliant as he was, Shakespeare was quite full of it on this respect. You see names do have a great deal of importance in this world. Well, take yours for instance.” He held his hand out to her. “Purcell. Hmm, simple, nothing that really catches your attention. Maybe you could use a different name. How about…Wayne? Now there’s a name with impact. It just says something to me, what about you?” He sat back to watch her reaction.

“I’ve never denied being married. Many women keep their surnames in business, it’s not an uncommon practice.” She stood up. “Yes I am married to Bruce Wayne. If you’re concerned you didn’t get us a wedding gift, then by all means, consider yourself absolved. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve had a very…interesting…day, and I’d like to get on with the rest of it.”

“I’m going to tell you one last time to sit down. You are not dismissed until I say you are dismissed.” Mardi was about to tell him where to stick his dismissal, but stopped with the words on her lips. It was not the risk of unemployment that held her tongue, but what Terry had said: ‘Powers a very dangerous man.’ So she sat and waited. He returned to the other side of the desk and sat facing her. “I have a little problem Mardi. There is a factory in Eastern Europe I want to buy that manufactures weapons, explosives, whatnot. The current owners can’t seem to come up with enough capital to keep in afloat. I, on the other hand, am in the perfect position to make this factory a very profitable venture, and I’ve orchestrated a contract with the military that would sweeten the pot even more. This is a deal worth billions to me Mardi. Certainly you can see that? But there is one problem, one wrench in the works, you see. Do you know what that is?”

Powers waved away her response as he would a gnat. “Yes, I know all about that little quirk of his. What I need from you is to convince him to get over it. This is going to make us all a lot of money. I’m sure you have the means to change his mind.” He winked at her. “All women have their ways of getting what they want, even if it means a cold bed for a night or two.”

“That is unfortunate,” he frowned. “But I see that there is no talking you into it, so I’ll just leave you with one other unrelated matter.” He picked up a small data disk. “It seems in the last fourteen months a considerable amount of money has been cleverly siphoned out of the company on a weekly basis. All together, about 25 million dollars.” Tapping the disk with a finger he finished, “All the proof is on here. The guilty party has been caught red-handed.”

It was much too early in the afternoon for her to be home, but she was in the library lying on the couch. She’d kicked off her shoes and they were scattered on the ground next to her blazer that had been casually dropped. A glass of bourbon was resting on her stomach held loosely in her left hand while her right arm was slung over her eyes as if to ward off the world. Ace padded quietly over and stuck his nose in her ear. “Get away from me dog,” she slurred slightly, not moving a muscle.

“I think I still had a right to know. Why is it I can’t seem to walk anywhere without tripping over one of your old lovers? On second thought forget it.” They sat in silence for a while as he continued to gently rub her feet and ankles. “I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet,” she said finally. “Derek Powers called me into his office this afternoon.” She sat up, pulling her legs out of his lap, bending her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. “He informed me that unless you stop blocking his purchase of that munitions factory he’s going to have me arrested for embezzlement, to the tune of 25 million dollars. I’m assured I’ll get at least fifteen years in prison and that his evidence is airtight.”

“I never said I wasn’t…” He didn’t bother to finish the thought. It was a childish sentiment to assuage his guilt of omission. It didn’t work the first time he used it and would not go very far into making his case this time around. “Is there anything I can say to make you change your mind?” She paused and for one moment he thought she would renege, but then she closed the lid of the suitcase and snapped the locks into place. This wasn’t something she was going to simply laugh off. Grabbing the handle she hefted the bag off the bed and walked towards the door, stopping in front of him. “Please don’t go,” he calmly implored her. “I love you.”

“Thank you. Send her in,” Derek replied into the intercom. “Well this should be interesting,” he said to the large man standing in the shadows of the corner. “And far easier than I expected.” A few moments later the door opened and she walked through, dressed casually in jeans, a contrast to the normally flawless business attire she normally wore. Derek smiled. “Well, well, I just can’t get away from you Waynes can I?”

“You disappointed me, Mardi,” Derek said as he leaned comfortably in his chair, “I asked you to do one simple thing for me and in return I get defiance and duplicity.” She looked at him in that hard way women used when they thought they had been offended in some way, like he was a bug floating in her soup. He didn’t like it. “But you can make it up to me,” he informed her.

She was trying for courageous, but he noticed that a hint of fear had crept into face, which he found far more interesting. He was almost sorry he wouldn’t be able to witness it first hand. “What you’re going to do is to teach your husband a valuable lesson in loss and at the same time you are going to learn exactly what happens to people who deceive me.” He signaled and the guard reached forward placing a hand on her shoulder. She tried to squirm out of his grasp, her face growing alive with terror, but he was trained in many ways to kill with only his bare hands. This time, however, he simply applied pressure to a pair of nerves in her neck, completely relieving her of consciousness in less than a second. She fell limp into his arms. Nodding with approval, Powers said, “You know what to do with her and make sure any evidence that she was here this morning is completely eradicated.”

Powers examined the disk in his hand closely. Wayne had caused him a lot of trouble since he’d absorbed the company. The old man just didn’t know when to quit. Well, Derek Powers was going to teach him to mind his own business finally. The false skin of his hand started to crack as the burning radiation that composed his body broke through, completely incinerating the disk.

He whirled and looked at Terry as if he’d just awakened from a nap. “She should have called by now,” he said forcefully. Terry looked perplexed. “She was going to turn in her resignation at Wayne-Powers this morning and then drive up to Isabella’s school. She said she’d call when she got there. The drive is three and a half hours, four max. She should have called hours ago.” His lips pressed together.

Terry suited up and took the batmobile out as usual, but this time he was seriously concerned with his mentor. Bruce wasn’t exactly overflowing with the milk of human kindness on a normal day, which he’d grown used to. When the two of them had faced down the Jokerz that night outside the estate and then Terry’d had to help him inside only to discover the long closed-off batcave, the old guy had gone completely psycho. If it hadn’t been for the fact Powers had ordered his dad murdered, he and Bruce would have gone their separate ways permanently, but as it happened he needed what Bruce had to offer, or at least what Batman had to offer. But he’d seen the look in those old eyes after it was all said and done, the smile on his face as he’d offered Terry a more solid partnership. This was what the guy lived for, this was who he was.

It had taken Terry completely by surprise to discover there was a Mrs. Wayne, but the way he saw it Bruce had turned to something besides crime-fighting in his later years, which was understandable, it just wasn’t enough. Were they happy together, Terry wondered to himself. It seemed like a strange relationship, she was a lot younger and a little on the high-strung side in Terry’s estimation. But different strokes, as the saying went.

Things weren’t looking good when he finally appeared, entering through the main door and striding confidently up the lobby. She was waiting for him and stepped forward. For one second she was afraid he’d brush right past her and she’d be forced to arrest him. But he did stop and glare down at her as if demanding she pick a side and heaven help her if she picked the wrong one.

“Bruce,” she said and did the unthinkable: she put a hand on his arm to stop him. He turned back and she saw that Batman was still alive and well after all this time, and more than ready to take on all comers. “You’ve got to listen to me now. She did not come through the lobby and none of the secured doors have recorded an entrance using her pass card since yesterday afternoon. No record of her parking in the garage, no footage of her on any of the security cameras, no witnesses. Powers has agreed to talk to me, to us, but you have to understand this is a dead end.”

Ignoring him she pulled Bruce closer to the door. “We have procedures, Bruce, and attacking people is not one of them. Besides, she may very well still be alive.” But even as the words escaped her mouth her gut knew better. Instinct told her that something very bad had happened and that more than likely Derek Powers was behind it, but she was a cop and needed hard evidence, not instinct. The look on his face told her he believed it even less than she did. This was not a man who had survived a lifetime of darkness on false hope. “I’ll start at the scene and work my way back,” she said in a lowered voice. “Hopefully the trail will lead back to him.” He shot one last look at Powers and then stalked out the door.

The mid-afternoon sun shone through the large windows of the library, warming it up to almost uncomfortable levels, but that was how she liked it. The warmer the better. He walked into the room and saw her sitting sideways on the couch engrossed in a book held in her hands. Isabella was napping in her playpen not too far away and she was taking advantage of a rare quiet moment to herself. Slowly he walked the perimeter of the room with the stealth of a man more comfortable with shadows, coming up behind her. He walked without pain, the twinges in his back mere whispers of the agony that would force a cane upon him in a decade later.

Two weeks had come and gone without any sign. Nothing had netted any results. Not dragging the river, not checking all the hospitals in the entire city, not even canvassing the surrounding neighborhoods in a door-to-door search. Officially it was stamped an accident with Mardi missing presumed dead. No evidence of foul play Barbara said, nothing they could use against Powers. She’d vanished completely and he had no hope of ever seeing her alive again because if she was alive she surely would have called by now. If she was alive without at least contacting him that would mean she had intentionally disappeared. Now all that seemed important was obtaining a sense of closure and finding the courage to tell Isabella that her mother was gone. Forever.

Awakening as the frigid, foul smelling water crept up her legs, disoriented and partially paralyzed, she’d floated out into the river’s current before the car was completely immersed, barely managing to keep her head above water, but she’d learned to swim before even taking her first steps and natural instinct took over allowing her to slowly propel herself to the opposite edge. There she’d lain on the dirty riverbank not thirty yards from a group of street people huddled around a barrel fire who looked at her as if she were a creature from the deep. Finally able to stand, she’d wandered around the city cold and confused and most importantly frightened with no real destination in mind. Hours later she stopped and realized she knew where she was, recognized the neighborhood, and heaved a sigh of relief as she staggered the last few steps to the door.

Now over two weeks later she sat in the cozy kitchen and watched her old friend and roommate clean up the breakfast dishes, wondering why nothing she cooked ever smelled so good. To her right in a highchair was Jesse’s youngest child, an eighteen-month-old girl with bright eyes and hair sticking out in random corkscrews. She was alternating between eating and playing with a piece of toast coated with peanut butter. Occasionally she’d look up at Mardi and grin. Jesse’s husband and three boys had gone down to the local park for a Saturday game of pickup basketball.

“Daddy!” Isabella Wayne rushed forward and embraced her father, arms barely meeting around his waist. She was two months shy of her thirteenth birthday and extremely tall for her age, the top of her head almost reaching his shoulder. Her long black hair was braided down her back, styled by her roommate, Tiffany. She wore the mandatory uniform of the Bellweather Academy: white oxford shirt with the crest embroidered on the left pocket and blue and green plaid skirt, with white socks and brown loafers. Because it was Saturday they weren’t required to wear the navy blue blazer. If anyone had bothered to ask Isabella her opinion on the outfit she would have told them to burn it, but no one did.

The Bellweather Academy was as boring as it was exclusive. It had started out as your run-of-the-mill prep school, but more and more wealthy families started sending their special needs kids there, the deaf, the blind, the handicapped. Soon that’s what they started catering to, offering superior education for those kids who didn’t fit in to regular classes. And that was the biggest problem in Isabella’s opinion. To her being deaf was like having dark hair: it was just a part of her. She got along fine with it. She could lip read in five languages, not to mention signing. She didn’t care for signing though, except when she and Tiffany could have secret conversations. Then it was fun.

She hated the school even more than she hated the uniform and had become slightly rebellious, but she was a good girl and never caused more than a little harmless mischief, like sneaking into the kitchen and dumping a load of pepper on the headmaster’s supper. She hadn’t been caught that time, but there were others. As far as she knew they’d never called her parents for those pranks though, not wanting to bother such important people with trivial matters like toilet papering the dorm halls or instigating a food fight in the cafeteria or breaking into the nurse’s office and stealing a box of rubber gloves to make water balloons.

But aside from being known as a troublemaker, she was also the top student at the school, excelling in every class she took, and had even started tutoring the younger kids (although what she taught them was not always from the curriculum). For some reason she remembered everything she was told or read. Her dad called it an eidetic memory or something like that. Didn’t matter. She was tops and of course all the kids wanted to cheat off of her, which she would never, ever do. Of all the pranks she pulled, she knew her dad would be most upset if he found out she cheated and he would give her that disappointed look, that no-child-of-mine look. She’d only been on the receiving end of it once before and she had no intention of ever seeing it again. It was about three years ago when her mom had refused to take her to a movie over spring break simply because she had put a frog in some girl’s bed. Isabella was furious because this was the movie everyone was going to see and she would be the only one in school not able to talk about it. So she’d gotten angry and screamed, “I wish you were dead!” Her dad had been in the room at the time and that was when she got The Look, and it had scared her more than anything else in the whole world. Calmly he told her to go to her room and wait for him. A few hours later he’d come in and sat on the bed beside her and held her as she trembled. He looked into her eyes and carefully explained how her mom’s mother had died when she was very young and how both his parents were killed right in front of him in a terrible way. Furthermore, he went on, all life is precious and we must all do our part to preserve it. It was an important lesson, he said, and he hoped she’d learned it well. She had, and she made a vow to herself never to upset her father like that again.

He smiled back in his dad-way. She knew some people considered him grim and dour, thought he had no sense of humor. Her mom had once said that he couldn’t laugh if his life depended on it. But Isabella knew better. He smiled at her all the time and while he didn’t laugh outright at her, she knew when he was amused with her, as opposed to those times when she just annoyed. “How are you?” he asked looking directly at her.

Relief flooded through her. She clapped her hands together and then turned and ran back to her dorm room. She couldn’t wait to tell Tiffany she was finally getting sprung. She wondered if Dad had brought up public school with Mom. Her mom could be so rigid about things like that. She thought Isabella wouldn’t be able to handle it ‘out there’. She was always so worried, but she had no idea what her daughter was really capable of.

“Ah, Mr. Wayne, there is the matter of the damage bill. I hate to bring it up, but if you are withdrawing her then we do need to settle up.” Bruce blinked at the man, who seemed almost rapturous at the thought of finally getting rid of her. He could see why Isabella disliked him. He’d actually found the pepper story amusing, and insisted they not tell her that she’d had been discovered. Of course it had cost him a new set of bleachers for the gymnasium.

“We’ll see.” He grabbed the bag and started out the door as she skipped along beside him. Outside Terry was leaning casually against the car. He straightened as he spotted them coming down the walk, reaching out to take the bag from Bruce and putting it in the trunk. When he came back around Bruce said, “Terry, I’d like you to meet Miss Isabella Wayne.”

She looked up at the young man and grinned, her cheeks flushing pink. “Hi,” she said holding out her hand for him to shake. “You can call me Bella. That means ‘beautiful one’,” she informed him. Bruce frowned. The only person to ever call her Bella was Mardi. He knew the children at the school called her Izzy, though they never dared use the nickname in his presence. She turned to him then and made several emphatic gestures with her hands.

Terry shook his head as he slipped behind the wheel and Bruce walked around to get in the other side. Then they hit the road. Isabella sat between them, offering a running commentary. She didn’t even bother to see if they were paying attention as she told them how she pointed out to her math teacher that a problem on last week’s exam was inaccurate or how she performed the best gymnastic routine in their last competition or how she was so sick of spaghetti and meatballs on Saturdays and could they please go out to dinner tonight, preferably for Chinese? After about forty-five minutes of non-stop chatter she yawned and Bruce slipped his arm around her. She leaned her head against his chest and shortly she was snoring softly.

She remembered sounds, sort of. Often she would try and remember what sounds went with certain things, like she would drop a fork to the floor and try to recall what the clatter would sound like. But more often than not she really didn’t care. After all, she could just turn her head or close her eyes when she didn’t like what someone was telling her, which she usually did when Headmaster Pickles (And who could refuse picking on a man with a name like Pickles?) was reprimanding her for something she had done. Silence was golden to her.

The only sound she really missed was her father’s voice. She remembered sitting in his lap as a little girl and listening to him read to her, and not those silly children’s stories either. He read big books with difficult words, and often he would quiz her afterwards. His deep, serious voice always comforted her, never spoke to her like she was a child; it was music to her ears, and it was the one thing she would give anything to hear again.

Mardi stepped out of the car, thanked Jesse for the lift, and then waved goodbye to her friend as she drove away. The Saturday afternoon sun had almost completed its slow journey down to the horizon. Decisions had been made, action taken, and now all that was left was for music to be faced. Swallowing down her fear she went inside the house to find it completely empty. He was nowhere to be found. Not upstairs, not downstairs, not in his little play area in the caves, though the latter she could only assume because the clock entrance was closed up and they hadn’t bothered to give her the secret password, handshake, decoder ring, or whatever was needed to open it. In the backyard she spotted Ace lying next to his doghouse. He looked up at her skeptically, as if to say ‘What are you doing back?’ Dismissing the animal she walked back inside and wondered where he could be.

Mardi looked over her head and saw him standing there, glowering at her in a way that for a moment made her think being dead right now would actually be preferable. Arranging her face in a welcoming smile to cover her growing anxiety, she said to her daughter, “Of course I knew. What I meant was what are you doing home so soon? I didn’t expect you back this early”

After he’d gone Mardi walked into the library, crossing her arms across her chest for comfort. He followed her in. “And just where have you been?” The question was controlled, quiet, almost casual, but when she turned around to look at him her stomach clenched. She had never seen him angry. Sure they had had their share of disagreements, but she was usually the instigator and normally ran out of steam because he would refuse to offer more than a few unemotional words on any subject. But now he was staring at her so hard she knew he must be keeping a tidal wave of fury held back.

Mardi knew she could play this one of two ways. Though yelling back was her first instinct that wasn’t why she’d returned. So instead she marched purposely forward until she was right in front of him and then placed her hands on either side of his face, reaching up to kiss him in a way she hadn’t for a long time. He seemed unsure how to handle her unexpected and intimate response, and stood motionless for several seconds, but then she heard the sound of the cane dropping to the floor. One arm wrapped around her waist and the other hand cupped the back of her head as he began to kiss her back.

She pulled away slightly and whispered in a rush of air, “I was wrong, I know that and I’m so very sorry. But I was scared and confused. So much had been thrown at me in a short amount of time that I just couldn’t process it all.” Her hands slid down and settled on each of his shoulders. “And part of me still wanted to hurt you,” she admitted with a touch of guilt. “For not trusting me with your secret, for not letting me know who you really were. I felt like I was just a footnote in your life, not as important as that other stuff.”

He pursed his lips and then gripped her about the waist firmly. “You are going to listen to me, and listen well because I am only going to say this once. Batman was simply a tool I used to do what I had to do. A hard, cold, emotionless tool. A means to an end. But if I had told you about it part of me would always have to be Batman, and believe me when I say he could never love you as much as I do.”

“Frankly neither do I, but there’s too much at risk.” Watching him she became acutely aware of the rift, the line separating the man from the mask as they warred over justice versus his family’s safety. This is it, she thought. This was why he stayed alone for so long. The choice was almost too much for him to bear. She went over to him and put her hands on his shoulders. Looking into his eyes she tried to locate the man she knew. He was right, he’d become Batman again and looking him full in the face was by far more terrifying than the brief glimpses she’d seen over the years. “Please,” she quietly pleaded with him. “Don’t let your war into this house. Do what you need to down there, but leave the insanity outside. I came back for you. Don’t make me regret it.”

His face was like stone, but he nodded. She shivered and leaned forward, pressing her cheek against his chest. A hand came up to gently graze her hair, and then settled on her shoulder pushing her back. “Your daughter wants to go out to dinner tonight. You should go make sure she’s ready.” His voice was distant, almost unfriendly and it wrapped around her like ice.

Terry laid the suitcase on the large canopy bed with a frilly pink spread. Isabella thanked him with a sweet smile. He turned around to leave the room when he heard the shouting from below. The words were indistinguishable but the tone still ominous. Terry glanced over at Isabella who was picking through her things obliviously. He supposed in this one instance her deafness might be a blessing. He was uncomfortably reminded of his own parents’ loud arguments that lead up to their divorce. His brother Matt would sneak into his room and they would huddle together as the angry voices battled each other with vengeance.

Not wanting to go downstairs while Bruce had it out with his wife, Terry shut the door and began looking around the room. Roses matching the color of her bedspread dotted the wallpaper. One entire wall was devoted to shelves of stuffed animals. Opposite the bed was a desk with row upon row of books ranging from War and Peace to Through the Looking Glass. The walls were full of pictures, awards, and ribbons. Trophies dotted all available surfaces around the room. They were for a wide variety of activities both athletic and academic. Swimming and gymnastics were the dominant sports, but there were also several equestrian blue ribbons surrounding a picture of her on a large thoroughbred horse. She was in full riding gear and smiled brightly into the camera, holding up a silver cup.