Author's Note: Don't really need to say a lot to set this one up, my dozens and dozens of fans. This be just another one of those stories set between the six months between Issues #83 and #84 and is basically just an attempt to satiate the dual yearnings of wanting to write something in a first-person perspective and something that is a piece of somewhat adulterated fluff. Those warnings aside, please sit back and enjoy. . .

Settling the Little Grumblies

Wayne Manor – 5:21 P.M. Eastern Standard Time

Dave Barry, in his impressive though finite wisdom, once claimed that if Romeo had spent long enough staring up worshipfully at his beloved Juliet there would have invariably come the time when he would begin to notice her nose hairs.

Now, I'm certainly not about to start gauging the deductive skills of what I've always viewed to be one of the dimmer romantic heroes in all of literature (I mean, come on, the guy didn't even check for a pulse) but it wasn't until recently that I began to look beyond the crude humor I'm occasionally fond of and start to pick at the real meat behind it. In my defense, I've rarely had the need or the luxury to look at such things, a fact borne not just by my fairly stable image of the world around me but also thanks to the simple truth that I had yet to come across a woman who would be willing to give me enough of her time to allow me to stare up at her, worshipfully or otherwise. Yes, I'll be the first to confess that I've had my share of painfully awkward romantic flings but, when it comes right to it, this black dog has to admit that his experience in the romance department is decidedly sparse.

But I'm wrapping myself into my own self pity again, aren't I? Many apologies for that. 'S a bad habit of mine that I'm doing me best to work out of. Mostly because she keeps tellin' me that she's heard enough of it but that's another story for another time.

It still seems weird to me that I'd be doing so much for her. I mean, she's not exactly the customary beauty or really anything else I was really interested in looking for during my mercenary days. Her legs are a little too long, her arms are just a titch too stringy, and there are some times, particularly when at least one of us is being difficult, when those brilliant, blue eyes of her suddenly become a little too big and childlike for my liking. She often finds herself short on things to say, a quality of hers that forces me to pick up the conversational slack and that's one job I've never really found to be the least bit appealing. I still have a hard time understanding her sense of humor every now and again and her taste in music is something that even the most hardened of psychologists would be stumped to try and analyze (Nine Inch Nails and Counting Crows on the same mix CD, I tell you).

Ah, and the less time I spend talking about her recently aborted attempt to start a ceramic unicorn collection in our bedroom, well, the more sanity I'll be able to keep.

To make a long story short, Kara Zor-el is nothing like anything I've ever been interested in before when it comes to the occasionally fairer sex. So, the question now becomes, why am I so interested in making certain that this dinner I'm cooking for our three-month anniversary goes off without a hitch?

It's pretty bloody safe to say that no one else would have gotten this kind of treatment. Scandal certainly would have never forced me to the point where I would willingly drag my frantic eyes into the deep end of Alfred Pennyworth's cookbook collection in order to find just the right series of dishes. A night with Morrigan would have already kicked into gear, hours before, at one of the finest restaurants on the globe before it would degenerate into a night of attempted passion ruined only slightly by her threats to dominate my soul, take over my body, or the inevitable point when I would finally chicken out and run away with my meat and two veg tucked safely underneath my legs, whichever came first. And as I take a brief pause from this death march down memory lane to make sure the abalone is cooking properly, it suddenly occurs to me that I've run out of noteworthy examples to compare and contrast to the Last Daughter of Krypton and I should probably be more than happy with what I've got.

So, in conclusion, not a great deal of experience in this particular milieu I'm playing in tonight. Nevertheless, I do like to think I can learn from my mistakes.

For example, it only takes a fraction of the second I break my eyes away from my simmering culinary efforts and towards my prospective audience allows me to realize that I've got a good idea going here. That gentle, kindly smile of hers, the one that always seems to keep me talking and trying when every part of me wants to give up and slide back into my comfy shell, almost forces me to break out in a goofy grin as the low lights above the island table bathes her in a hint of alluring shadow. I almost chuckle at the way her cheeks flush as I take a moment to leer at her, my eyes more than happy to take in the sight of her in that sleeveless black gown before helping my brain commit that delicious sight to memory.

Of course, being someone who at least tries to pass himself off as a gentleman, I had made certain to pay close attention to her worries about how awkward the low hem would look if she didn't wear high heels and that the gown drew too much attention to what she sometimes thinks to be her undersized breasts. Don't rightly know why she could think of herself as anything less than a vision, inside and out, but I also make sure to say the truthful things that I knew would make her smile again. Never really saw the appeal of heels myself and well, the fact remains that I've got pretty small hands.

Now don't give me that dirty look. Let's see you look at 'er blushing that way and see if you can resist getting a little randy.

Of course, just as I finally begin to grow confident that I'm not going to screw this up, my ears pick up the sound of a familiar whistle and the fear that all my preparations are about to meet a grisly end are reborn once again. That trepidation quickly gives way to anger as none other than Stephanie Brown skips onto the scene, a disgustingly carefree smile on her cheery countenance as she quickly takes in the scene she knew she would find here. I take a moment to batten down the fairly dark, but perfectly logical, instinct of teleporting the irritating little twit to the dark side of the Moon but she simply manages to use my distraction to gain a greater advantage, her little frame already sliding past mine in order to take hearty sniffs of the soup I had taken a half-hour to prepare. The impish smile on the Green Lantern's face, when combined by the mild look of concern on the face of my lover, fills me with a sense of dread that could have gone toe-for-toe with anything that Vincent had ever thrown at me.

"And just what do we have here?" my fair-haired torturer asks me, her tone bright and slithering as she continues to take me in. "Is Lloyd Boy tearin' up the kitchen to make us all a tasty, home-cooked meal?"

I somehow manage to overcome my fear of the night's proceedings becoming a train wreck as I snatch away the stirring spoon from Robin's clutches. "You don't have a bit to do with this meal and you know it," I growl back with as much menace as I can muster. "Now get out of here before I stuff you in the nearest crock pot and prepare you as our dessert."

Stephanie, as was her way, responded to my grisly threat by scrunching up her face and pursing her lips. "Awwwww, am I getting the 'ittle puppy anxious? Come on, bud, you know a day like this is all about spending time with the one you love, or at least with the one who gave you the opportunity to hook up with the one you love anyway."

I take in the tired sigh pouring from Kara's lips as I do my best to gnash my teeth at my pesky, adopted sister in what I hope to be a menacing manner. "Aren't you supposed to be spending the evening on patrol with Bruce?" I throw back at her, the hopes that I will appeal to Steph's occasionally sparse loyalties starting to dwindle even as I play the card. "You know, so the rest of us can be rid of you and spend our evening in peace?"

To be fair, Robin was kind enough to take a moment and pretend to give that possibility some thought, her eyes and nose already steering her towards my preciously prepared oyster sauce as a familiar telepathic signature worms its way towards me.

"Sorry about this," Bruce Wayne silently announced from his customary seat in The Batcave, the middle-aged crime fighter sounding surprisingly sympathetic even through the emotional buffers of our telepathic network. "I did the best I could but. . ."

"It's all right, Mister Wayne," Kara replied for the both of us, my energies already diverted to the task of making sure that Stephanie leaves us with at least a sparse pair of portions of wonton soup. "We knew the risks involved here."

I managed to take in just the barest hint of a chuckle rumbling through Batman's train of thought before he moves on to what he really came to us to for. "I hate to throw in my own monkey wrench but The Saizeru Monastery is requesting assistance in order to eliminate a potential infiltration of Gnarlesh demons taking up residence in downtown Belfast."

"Is that right?" I throw back, my eyes quickly meeting Kara's with a familiar, knowing look that prompts Stephanie to roll her eyes in annoyance.

"I'm afraid so," Batman replies. "Interestingly enough, I've also managed to somehow acquire a late night reservation for two at The Patrick Guilband that I have no idea what to do with. Would that be a situation that either of you would be willing to help defuse for me as well?"

At this point, I would be more than willing to debate anyone who would like to claim that Bruce Wayne is an uncaring bastard. The combination of the utter confusion on Stephanie's face and the nasty little smile on Kara's lips only make the possibilities that much more enticing.

"Looks like I'm going to have to ditch the slinky, black dress for something a little more functional."

The words, and the tone behind them, work hastily in vitalizing a fairly threatening part of me, something that I normally wouldn't allow to see the light of day. I see a glimmer of what is to come after all the chaos is done and suddenly I feel far more compelled to see everything play out even without the inclusion of designer dresses or expensive lingerie. And, before any of you say anything, I do recognize that it's those kind of thoughts that are a big part of why my romantic cupboard is fairly bare.

Wayne Manor – 5:37 P.M. Eastern Standard Time

All righty. Now, before we begin, don't even bother trying to make me feel guilty for doing what I just did. Believe me, I've managed to take on the shame-inducing glares and/or patronizing looks of everyone from Tim Drake to Cassandra Cain to Clark Kent to Hal Jordan to even Bruce Wayne so it's pretty safe to say that there's nothing you can do to make me feel ashamed.

I am the goddamned Robin and I feel no ignominy!

Besides, it's not like I don't deserve this surprising enticing spread currently bubbling before me. After all, that sickeningly idyllic scene we all had to suffer through wouldn't have been the least bit possible without the aid of yours truly. Yeah, all the angst-worthy moments that made you want to stick your heads into an oven? Those two years of emotional repression now buried and mostly forgotten? All of it is now resolved thanks to the careful ministrations of moi.

You're welcome, Kara and Lloyd.

Oh, fine. I'll behave now.

Truth be told, I still sometimes take a moment or two to wonder about what may have happened if I took the road more traveled by. Given my past history of romantic failures and relationship-related fuckups, it's only natural to think that even my best efforts at hindsight may result in a little bit of regret. So, as I slide my bare feet across the tile floor on my way to the utensil drawer, I cast my memories back to the first time the big, bad Batman allowed Lloyd and I to spend a night on the town. I slip out a smirk and allow myself a chuckle as I think back to the handful of awkward moments that took place before we finally chose to just accept each other's permeating weirdness and just be ourselves.

Even I didn't have any trouble seeing that I had come across somebody who could be a friend for the ages. After all, anybody who not only had such a twisted sense of humor but also was willing to endure me for longer than five minutes was always cool in my book. His ability in helping me riff my way through X-Men 3 certainly didn't hurt and when he banged his head against the chair in front of him when we first heard The Juggernaut say the ten words that have plagued the World Wide Web ever since, I knew that this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Come to think of it, I'm still not even sure about when I came to the decision that I wasn't even going to try and jump The Black Dog's bones (and, yes, the thought of doing such a thing now makes my stomach churn) but at least now I know the reason why I chose to avoid that potentially disastrous instinct. It was something that rang true with every memory of Tim shaking his head at me in disgust and Dean's best impersonation of a deer in headlights when I told him that he was about to be a father.

I can clearly recall that crooked little smile of his, the one that he thinks is charming but looks more like he swallowed an entire lemon, when I told Lloyd of those particular stories of romantic woe. I'll give anything to avoid having him be the star of my next pathetic tale.

Sooooo, now I have an annoying, smarmy, know-it-all big brother whose cooking I will giddily steal at any potential opportunity. Not too bad, if I do say so myself, but the fact remains that I still had to deal with the task of getting a girlfriend for the boy known as The Black Dog. After all, it's not like that phenomenally repressed mush rump could possibly be trusted with such a task! The guy's got all the emotional maturity of a horned toad and I was not about to be responsible for the consequences behind the buildup of all that British-model sexual repression.

Fortunately for me, it was right around that time when a prime candidate fell right into my big brother's lap. Metaphorically speaking, of course, although I don't think Puppy would have minded if Kara had literally done just that. Yeah, I only needed one glance at what I then thought to be that perfect little Supergirl with her big, blue eyes and her pretty white teeth and her shy, repulsively endearing sweetness before I realized that this could be a match worth making. I mean, you've got the brooding, British bad boy with a heart of gold meeting up with what I thought to be the alien equivalent of Cinderella. It was the stuff that tawdry romance novels are made for!

Okay, so I'll admit that it took me longer than I would have liked to realize that there was a bit more to Kara Zor-el than met my usually observant eyes. But it's all working out, isn't it? It may have taken a great deal of effort and cost me a fairly unhealthy portion of my sanity but I finally managed to bring those two together. Hell, if anything else, this wonton soup is a mere pittance of the rewards that I deserve for my good deeds.

I recognize the chiding sigh before I even bother to look up and say hello to the source of it. The sound of stylish but functional hunting boots clacking across the floor, as sharp as it may be, is nearly drowned out as my senses savor the spices of my hard-fought reward.

"You know, I'd like to say that I can't believe you would stoop so low just to get a free meal," Cecilia begins as she slides into the seat across from mine, my occasional collaborator in Operation Get Puppy Laid clearly not the least bit afraid to show her disgust, "but, let's be honest, it's not like we both don't know better."

I relish my friend's annoyance with a smile before making a reach for Kara's abandoned bottle of mineral water. "You know, it's nice that we've come to this mutual understanding. It really does make this part of my life a great deal easier." I pause as the ass-kicking chica known to some as Arrowette rolls her eyes at me while moving her head slightly forward to give my meal a somewhat inquisitive sniff. "And, besides," I press on while raising an intrigued eyebrow, "it's not like you really wanted to sit here and see all the disgustingness either. Seeing them sneak those little looks of theirs. . ."

Cecilia fires back with a snort of agreement. "Watch them cuddle up on that loveseat while we're trying to play video games."

"Acting like they know sooooo much more than we do."

"UGH! I hate it when they do that!" Cissie belts out while rushing over to the cupboard to fetch a soup bowl. "I mean, yeah, you guys are this big, happy couple after all this time! It's not like you have to go and drill that into our heads over and over and over."

I wisely choose to say nothing as I watch Arrowette dig into those weird looking snails Lloyd was cooking up not five minutes ago. She does deserve a bit of this handsome reward as well, after all. "Still, I guess they're kind of a cute couple in their 'Hi, we've got the definite potential to destroy the world if something goes wrong' kind of way."

My fellow fair-haired, Gotham-based vigilante is quick to nod her head in agreement. "Way cuter than you and Timbo ever were."

I rightfully stick my tongue out at Cecilia before taking a quick sip of water, the brief bit of liquid refreshment giving her enough time to try out the crab salad. "Still, if all else fails, I suppose we can look on the real bright side of it, mi hermana. After all, it's not like relationships between people in our line of work are ever really meant to last. I mean, look at Dick and Barbara."

Cecilia leans the tip of her tongue to the left side of her mouth as she considers my argument. "Yeah," she finally replies with a slow nod. "Or Tim with you or Tim with Cassie Cain or Tim with Wonder Girl or Tim with Ravager. . ."

"Woahwoahwoahwoahwoahwoah," I sputter as a wonton threatens to trap itself in the center of my throat. "Tim and Rose?! When in the undying, green fuck did this happen?"

For some reason, the casual shrug of the shoulders Cissie fires back at me seems like a surprisingly sharp slap to the face. "I don't think it's anything serious. All I heard was that Rose was trying to handcuff him to his own bed, Tim was trying to run away, and Kid Devil caught 'em before they could."

It doesn't take long for me to pretend that I want to bang my head against the table. "God, how could such a ho still be a virgin?" The question draws a snort of laughter from my friend and that allows me to keep my cover. "Ah, and let's not forget Black Canary and Green Arrow. That long term car wreck has saved dozens of perfectly worthless tabloids over the years."

There's a bit of an angry flicker in Cissie's eyes that quickly fades away before she provides the next counterargument. "How about Bruce and Selina? Or does that one really count?"

"I think so," I reply with a bit of caution, my own irritation starting to slightly hackle. "Dick and Starfire. . . and, wow, a lot of these have to do with The Batboys, don't they?"

"Indeed. There's even Batman and Wonder Woman if you listen to the rumor mills."

The slow, simmering look I fire back causes my friend to not only shrink away from that particular line of thought but also manages to indicate that I wasn't about to hitch a ride on that particular crazy train. Thankfully, it doesn't take long for either of us to get back onto a more neutral ground, the miniscule sparks of irritation and mischief dying out as we eat our dinner before it gets cold. When Cissie speaks again, the tone is softer, more meaningful, and a long ways away from the sarcastic exchanges that preceded it.

"I really hope they don't end up like Dick and K'ory."

"Yeah, me too."

Belfast – 11:45 P.M. Irish Summer Time

Even before the day my father told me to go kill my cousin and subjugate what would be his newly adopted home just before shoving me into an escape pod and forcing me to watch the destruction of everything I had ever known, it's safe to say that I've had my fair share of unanswered questions. Not surprisingly, the cold, dark void of the cosmos didn't exactly provide a great deal of elucidation and the thirty-five years spent in cryogenic sleep while receiving intermittent subliminal messages suggesting the virtues of smashing, killing, and destroying certainly didn't do me any favors either. However, as I ball up my left fist and effortlessly shatter the uppermost nose of the demon in front of me, the actuality that I have unlocked a great many of my answers upon the battlefield continues to stare me right in the face. It's an undeniable part of who I am and whatever I will become and there are still times when the fact that I will most likely be forever linked to this kind of chaotic contemplations that makes me wish that I was still dazed, confused, and sleeping in that small spacecraft while drifting forward to parts unknown.

Please pardon me if it seems like I'm woolgathering at a time like this. As bizarrely enticing as the thought of taking on a small army of demons may sound to the untrained ear, the actual execution of it can sometimes be more than a little underwhelming. In fact, all you really have to do is make sure you clear out all the bystanders, try and figure out which part of the ugly fellow in front of you is the easiest to break, and then proceed to break it while trying not to get yourself killed. It may sound tricky at first but, believe me, with the right kind of experience, training, and outlawed genetic groupings, you too can beat up three-nosed Gnarlesh demons on the rolling hills of Southern Ireland and relentlessly psychoanalyze yourself while you're doing it.

Hurray.

I suppose it's only natural for somebody as messed up as I was, and maybe still am, to search for some form of stability. I dug deeply into the heart of Themyscira to see if I could live the life of a warrior, tried my hand at being a hayseed farm girl from the heart of Illinois, and even took more than a minute being someone who would happily dress up in an outfit my grandmother picked out for me but none of it really stuck, at least not in the way that I would have preferred. Then Bruce Wayne offers me a home, a mission, and a chance to take what I could from what he had to provide. Of course, I'm pretty sure that what he meant by it was only a little bit like what I've actually gained from it but beggars can't be choosers.

So he isn't exactly the idyllic model of what I was looking forward to when it came to settling my matters of the heart. He's hardly the big brick of muscular beef with the perfect tan that Cissie and Steph seem to be constantly cooing about. More like a weird little scarecrow with too long arms and legs that can come off as stumpy in some particular frames of mind. He'll never have six-pack abs no matter how many crunches he tries or how much he continues to complain about it until I want to roll my eyes into the back of my head. He hates it when he has to talk about things he doesn't feel comfortable talking about and all that sarcasm and cynicism sometimes does him more harm than good, especially when he's stressed out about what others expect of him. There's also the massive inferiority complex but, then again, I'm not certain if I want to start throwing stones within that particular glass house.

And then there are those eyes of his. Honestly, they're so big that it almost seems like they should belong on somebody else's face. Just these green saucers that anger me when I'm mad, antagonize me when I'm frustrated, and make me smile when I want to be happy but aren't sure how to do it on my own. Stupid green circles with all that innocence and mischief and self-anger. Makes me want to hit somebody just thinkin' about 'em.

Ah, and the less time I spend thinking about his ever-present desire to hang up a Carlton Cole jersey in our bedroom, well, the better off we'll all be. Hell, the mere thought of it distracts me long enough to allow a stern, beefy fist to slam straight into my solar plexus. The impact hurts the beast a whole lot more but just the thought of momentarily dropping my guard is enough for me to get frustrated enough to bat the guy aside before he could finish his healing spell, the sight of the demon's body sliding across the grass and dirt bizarrely satisfying.

This somewhat disturbing mindset continues to stick with me as I turn my sights toward the other half of my lover, the part that should have initially been intriguing but actually ended up unsettling me for longer than I would have ever expected. I can feel the small but dangerous smile curling my lips upward as I watch him rise into the sky, his gleaming, silver saber slicing through the air with well-practiced ease as his skillful left hand pilots the blade through both the air and the surrounding puce-colored flesh with equal ease and expertise. I watch him bob and weave through the crowded air space while recalling all the times he told me that he viewed the fight as little more than a well-practiced dance and the simple truth is that I could hardly ever ask for a better partner. There's a silent confidence in everything he does here, his actions so quick and sure and as I meet the wave of silver energy he sends hurtling towards the ground with the heat vision pouring from my eyes, the merge of what we are incinerating everything that was trying to harm us, I'm left feeling more than a little turned on.

However, as the dim of battle quiets down, I find myself getting back to who I really want to be. I make sure not to break my sights away as Lloyd's own bluster dies and the man who tried his best to make an anniversary dinner slowly returns to the surface. I let out a relieved breath as I am reunited with the one whose arms are wrapped around me as we sleep away the long, morning hours, whose hands anxiously shook under the table during the majority of our first date, and whose heart pushes me to be stronger and better than what I was before. I know it won't be long before he gets back to being a little bit cocky, a smidge sarcastic, but the sight of what he truly is reminds me of why I kept my eyes on this occasionally unimpressive creature even after my crushes on Dick Grayson and Hal Jordan (don't ask) slowly faded away.

He's not just an unforgiving half-demon warrior or a shy little boy who lost his mother and father and took it to mean that he didn't deserve to be happy. Just like I'm not just some blonde bombshell from a galaxy far, far away or the tortured young woman who cried herself to sleep at night because she knew, deep down, that she was a horrible person. We're whoever we think ourselves to be and, right now, we're the happy, young couple on our way to an after-hours reservation at the nicest restaurant in town while only being slightly worried about embarrassing ourelves.

It could certainly be worse.

Oh, and for the record, my boyfriend may not have a six-pack but let's see one of Dickie's girlfriends try to make a comfy pillow out of his abdomen. Best way to watch television, as far as I'm concerned.

The Batcave – 6:02 P.M. Eastern Standard Time

My oldest friend is kind enough to let the hanging question remain unspoken as I continue to look over the footage provided by the security cameras posted at The Patrick Guilband. I knew the both of them would be momentarily uncomfortable at the thought of having one of Europe's finest restaurants to themselves, just as I also realized that the two of them would carry each other to calmer ground with nervous chatter and kindly gazes. I watch The Black Dog reach across the table in order to claim Zor-el's hand and allow my lips to curve into a smile at the sight of these two people that I've come to care for.

It's blatantly obvious that the both of them have never been happier and that bald truth is something that can't help but cause me to become more than a little concerned.

I've often been asked about how I've managed to stay alive in the face of everything I have forced myself to confront over the course of the last two decades. I have even been told that even some alien societies have managed to develop intellectual circles designed to unlock this mystery but the simple fact remains is the truth that I have conditioned my mind to search for weakness. It was the only possible way for me to pull my weight in a world of alien demigods, unending crime, unyielding suffering, and the existence of allies who could wipe me from existence with little more than a fingertip and, for better or worse, the instinct to find that way to win is something that I can no longer ward off even in my most peaceful moments. It is perhaps the most dominant part of what I've become and that is something that I will have to endure.

And I'm not sure how to eliminate these two should the need ever arise. Every prospective theory only has a moment to bounce back and forth within my active thoughts before colliding with my own reasoning and disappearing altogether. The Black Dog's knowledge of the mystic arts, when combined with nearly three millennia of battlefield experience, leaves me the struggle to overwhelm an opponent who could topple me in any given territory that I choose. His formerly unwilling alliance with the creature known as The Condemner appears to be the closest thing to an ironclad fusion between man and demon that anyone has ever come across and any evidence that could be employed to counteract that union faded away with the spell's creator. As for Kara, her weakness towards kryptonite has been all but eliminated save for some of the most extreme and implausible of circumstances and every passing day spent training with her knowledgeable lover seems to increase her tolerance towards whatever magic my other colleagues could throw at her.

Allowing the two of them to come together, even persuading the two of them to pursue a relationship beyond that of student and teacher, was a risk I had chosen to take. Given their common past histories and shared psychological foibles, it was only natural that a firm connection between my two strongest soldiers would only result in a more cohesive team. The fact that I helped create this potential monster leaves me with the responsibility of doing what I can to figure out how to stop it.

He stood by you even when he was a stranger to you, when everyone else except Alfred and Stephanie no longer wanted to deal with you. He chose you over Mao.

No.

She tried so hard to figure out who she was, even when she knew the answers would frighten her. She chose you over Clark.

I don't need to deal with this right now.

They protected Gotham while you left to discover what you had lost.

This isn't going to help me protect everyone I have chosen to watch over, to do everything I can to keep others from having to endure the emptiness that I was forced to endure.

They did their best to try and see what drives you, to understand you and see what they could do to help your impossible dreams become a reality.

Shut up.

They would give their lives for you.

The inaudible grunt that suddenly pours from my lips causes Noah to jump in surprise, the bespectacled hacker doubtlessly realizing what was going on but still surprised by it. Once again, he's kind enough not to press forward any unwanted questions or force me to respond with undesirable answers. Unfortunately, the sounds of the cave door sliding open and three pairs of footsteps echoing off the stone steps warns me that I will not be able to dodge such stressors for as long as I would have liked. The joyfulness of the incoming chatter quickly irritates me and the inclination to chastise two of my visitors for some false display of laziness stretches just beyond the tip of my tongue before I finally manage to swallow it. Seeing that I have a few seconds, I choose to ignore Noah's silent question and get myself into a more relaxed state of mind before turning to meet my newfound audience.

"Everything's quiet in the city," The Flash announces, The Fastest Man Alive once again arousing my annoyance by beating me to the punch. "Well, as quiet as this hellhole ever is, I suppose."

"Hey! Easy with the h-e-double toothpicks, Wall-Eye," Arsenal interrupts with a familiar, jovial air, the same tone that makes me quite happy that I had the foresight to hide my eyes when I constructed my cowl. "We've got sensitive ears here!"

"Yeah! What the hell, Uncle Wally?" Lian quickly throws in, her unsurprising retort prompting her father to take on a look of ridiculously false shock before trying to place his right hand around his daughter's mouth. The young lady moves quickly away from any attempts to silence her as she turns her sights toward the main monitor. "Hey! It's Uncle Lloyd and Aunt Kara!"

I don't need to look his way to know the slightly pointed glare on The Flash's face. Roy, on the other hand, is a bit more subtle with his work as he makes his way over to Noah's terminal. He's quick to peruse the recording of the recent rout in Belfast and it only takes a couple of seconds before he lets out a slow whistle.

"Well, looks like the big guns didn't need our help at all did they, pumpkin?" The red-haired sharpshooter briefly turns away from the screen in order to lock eyes with his longtime partner. "I'm tellin' you guys. There's a whole lot of money to be made with all these videos. I mean, all we have to do is plant a camera in Kara and Lloyd's room, give it a couple of days and. . ."

"Oh, do be quiet," Noah snaps back in quick order, my old friend successfully defusing the situation with far greater gentility than I would ever be able to manage. "If you wish to engage in such blatant debauchery then kindly keep my good work out of it."

"Oh, please," Roy snorts back before planting his hands over Lian's ears. "Like I'm the only one thinkin' about the profit margin of 'Up, Up, and Inside'! It's not like I haven't heard about all the offers that Supes and Power Girl get. You mean to tell me that you don't think anyone would be interested in seein' a little man-on-Kryptonian action?"

"Well, if they are then these enigmatic sycophants you believe to exist won't be receiving it from me." Calculator counters with a surprising degree of serenity, the computer expert not even trying to calm himself by cleaning his glasses. "However, if such a recording does arise, I imagine that I could find someone who would be interested in acquiring footage of a former Checkmate agent and founding member of the Teen Titans forcibly expelling six pints of Irish whiskey along with about a half of a pint of stomach acid outside one of New York City's most esteemed adult establishments."

I hear the combined sighs of relief coming from The Flash and myself as Roy absorbs both the unkindly threat and the accompanying laughter of his daughter. "Oh, fine," the marksman finally relents. "And I'm going now so the two of you don't have to keep going with the death glares," he adds without even turning my way. I don't even bother to follow the troublemaker with my eyes as he races Lian up the stairs, the both of them doubtlessly moving at speeds that would prompt Alfred to cluck his tongue in discontent.

"Don't you ever get tired of looking for something, Bruce?"

I wasn't about to delude myself into thinking that he would remain quiet about this. To be fair though, I can't imagine that I would allow someone who had forced me to suffer through several days worth of seizures thanks to preparations such as these to continue with what they were doing without a dissenting word or two.

"Constantly."

The one-word reply briefly tempts my frequent dissenter into giving up the argument but, much like his uncle, he continues to press forward in spite of his own hesitations. Wrapping his gloved, right hand around the bottom of his mask, my son's oldest friend peels off his inherited cowl with a deliberation that would seem slow under ordinary standards, let alone those of The Fastest Man Alive.

"You know that people like us don't get a whole lot of shots at happiness," Wally goes on, the veteran displaying none of the aggravated irritation he normally held for being referred to as a so-called superhero. "Don't try and take it from them."

The temptation to gun for a weakness in my opponent lashes out at me once again. I'm nearly ready to remind him of all the effort he put in to denying himself. I know that all I would have to do was mention how he had enlisted the aid of The Spectre to rob all of us of ever knowing him and that would lead to an argument that would result in getting him away from me and back to my duties.

All I have to do is say the words.

"Shut off the camera, Noah."

Wayne Manor – 7:28 P.M. Eastern Standard Time

Hey, aspiring world conquerors and abusers of global commercialization! Are you looking for a way to take a single event and blow it phenomenally out of proportion? Well, just leave a bit of gossip out for a whole household of superheroes to see it and consider your mission accomplished!

Honestly, I've interviewed celebrities that have made suing for libel into one of their favorite hobbies that have more restraint when it comes to making assumptions about the simplest of things. To be fair though, it does take an interesting kind of reasoning to look at someone robbing a bank or trashing a city or plotting to take over the world and think: "Hey, I should go stop that."

As for me? Well, I think more along the lines of: "Hey, I should go take a picture of that, run the hell away from all the property damage, and then try to see if I can get an interview after it's all over." Don't look at me like that. That was my job and I like to think that, outside of the occasional life-threatening situation, I was pretty damn good at it.

So, long story short, I have a different perspective when it comes to today's apparent topic of discussion here at Wayne Manor. And as I listen to Kara talk excitedly about every aspect of the anniversary dinner that she can remember, from the precisely chilled wine to the soft, lilting music to the delicious main course to the apparent charm of her company, all the evidence provided to me leads me to once again reaffirm my previously crafted conclusion. Just to make sure though, I briefly tilt my eyes across the room to seek out another bit of evidence and the sight of Lloyd using his telekinesis to playfully juggle Jai and Iris causes a smile to slowly slip onto my lips that doesn't even come close to matching the playful smiles on the face of my children. Finally, with my penchant for investigation now coupled with the confirming substantiation at hand, I must conclude that Kara Zor-el and Lloyd Thomas are a normal couple.

Yes, I know. Shock and awe.

They're not going to blow up the world, you won't see them on Maury Povich talking about how Lloyd slept with Stephanie or waiting for the results of a paternity test to determine if The Black Dog is Kara Zor-el's baby daddy, and it's safe to say that these two will be able to survive if or when they decide to no longer be together. They're just two people who have somehow come to realize that this mean world is occasionally easier to handle if you've got somebody by your side to take it on. It's something so blatantly obvious that, of course, the big deal geniuses brooding away in The Batcave can't grasp it and that alone makes me want to go downstairs and slap some sense into their heads. Particularly Wally since, hey, it's not like I'm sharing his name so I can enjoy the recent death threats or take a piece of his $25,000 annual salary.

On the other hand, another part of my old job was to draw a meaningful reaction from the people I interviewed so, against my better judgment, I decide to twist the knife a little.

"Looks like you're developing quite a knack with children, Mister Black Dog," I say with a sudden shout. "Ever thought of takin' this lady here and making a few of your own?"

My success is quickly revealed as Lloyd is so startled that he loses his grip on Jai, the little one nearly plunging into the seat of the recliner before the telekinetic regains his hold on him. Of course, if he didn't catch him then Kara certainly would have, especially with the half-panicked speed she poured into getting to my son before he could be in the least bit of danger. Jai, of course, is ecstatic about all the recent adventure and all the attention that came with it, the little destructive moppet throwing his arms up in glee as Kara gently bundles him into her arms. I chuckle as my son immediately grabs a fistful of Lloyd's hair as The Black Dog comes in close to investigate before joining Kara in a quick round of relieved laughter.

Oh yeah, I'm good.

"I don't know about that," Kara finally replies as her body slides closer to Lloyd's. "For one thing, I don't think that a half-demon and a half-Kryptonian really make for a viable mix in the DNA department. Second, I don't want my boyfriend suffering from another heart attack at the mere thought of making a commitment."

"Aw, come on now, luv," Lloyd grumbles back while casually waving his fingers through Jai's hair. "Don't ya think that's ponderin' a smidge too far ahead? I mean, seein' as I treated ya to dinner an' all, you think I might be able to get a break from that 'ittle slip up."

"No, you tried to treat me to dinner and then you let Steph steal it," Kara counters with a mixture of playfulness and good-natured accusation. "Then you had Bruce foot the bill for us to go to a restaurant so he could film us as we were going out for what was supposed to be a private dinner."

"Oh, fine, fine. See if I tend to what you want anymore."

I raise my eyebrows as I can't help but notice that Kara doesn't return with a vocal reply. The shared look between the two of them screams that they're talking into each other's heads and I take a moment to wonder about the benefits and consequences of such a luxury as I stride forward in order to reclaim my children from their temporary caretakers. They're moving only a moment after they place Jai and Iris safely on the ground, the two walking away arm-in-arm with disgustingly playful looks on their faces.

"Well, we best be off now," Lloyd declares at the foot of the stairwell that Kara is already dashing up. "Gotta talk about our relationship now an' such."

"I'm sure you do," I whisper back while smoothing Jai's hair back into what passes as its cleanest state, the realization that I would not get a reply hardly something worthy of my investigative talents.

9:05 P.M. Eastern Standard Time

There's a monster inside of me. Well, I suppose that something like it resides in everybody but at least I can actually give mine a name.

It wasn't placed there by my own volition but I'm the one responsible for making it grow into what it is now. It's what I use to make me carry on through the fights that I choose to take on.

It helped me survive when there was nothing else to see.

Nothing else to feel or think about.

Nothing else I could be.

I don't have to be that creature any more, at least not exclusively, and so much of that is thanks to the person resting in my arms.

I feel it cease its grumbling as the rest of me snuggles into my lover's chest, the beast that's caused so much bloodshed finding peace in the proximity of one of its own. The dominance it sometimes places upon me soon fades away altogether and the peace I feel as I'm left on my own causes me to let out a ragged gasp.

I tighten my grip as I look over the remaining part of me, the sliver that sometimes tries to convince me that I don't deserve what I share in these moments of silence with the one I love. There's so many people who have done far less harm that don't get an opportunity like this so what makes me think that I deserve to?

That question scares me sometimes, even more so when there's no one left but us to answer it. The happiness and peace that comes with such a limited audience sometimes makes me anxious.

Makes me tranquil.

Makes me confident.

Makes me shy.

It makes me be someone that I've always wanted to be.

So we'll let Cissie and Steph tease us about being too lovey-dovey.

And allow Bruce and Wally to argue over why the two of us should or shouldn't be together.

We'll show our fear when Linda starts talking about the future and saying what a cute couple we make.

And display our disgust when Roy throws out the possibility of us making a sex tape.

WHAT?!

Ohhhhhh, don't pretend like you haven't heard him talking about it.

Well, yeah, um, anyway, the point is that we're in this safe place where our own monsters can't get at us.

For better or worse.

And, at least for the time being. . .

That suits us just fine.

Misfits Confidential

Okay, here's hoping that I didn't get too overly sappy with this one. It's been a while since I've written a strictly romantic piece, at least one this long, and I'm hoping that I've hit all the metamessages I was looking to glance over with my supremely unexperienced thoughts. I'll leave it up to you guys to figure out which speaker was which in the last little segment, if only because I want to hear your take on it.

By the way, I seriously do have a mix tape that consists of songs by Nine Inch Nails and Counting Crows. If the three years I've worked on this fanfiction series and the 700,000-plus words I've written in that time hasn't given it away, I am a phenomenally weird person. Once again, thanks to all of you who have stuck with me and given me feedback throughout. After all, this train wouldn't keep rolling if you guys didn't supply the fuel.

(Sighs as he claps his hands together)

Speaking of which, out of regard to one of my loyal reviewers, I was planning on saving this particular story for another time. Despite some occasional tendencies towards impulsive behaviors, I consider myself to be a patient soul capable of enduring hardships in the favor of the greater good. However, after witnessing the on-screen mutilation of one of my favorite fictional characters and given the way the stars are aligned, I am afraid that I can no longer stop myself. As a wise man once said, "That's all I can stands, I can't stands no more!" so here we go!

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The skies darken as reality prepares itself to endure a strike at its very foundations. Champions shall be tested as they have never been before when those who would bring chaos and confusion among all that lives threaten to assert their power and expand their spheres of influence by climbing the broken bodies of those that would stand in their way. Drop by in two weeks as Billy Batson and Kal-L race to assemble their army in the oncoming Marvel/Misfits crossover event: With Apologies to Bea Arthur and the first installment: Denial. . . with Bullets. Until then, remember to say what you think and write what you feel!