Kidnapping is a What?, a batman fanfic

What you need to know:
Our intrepid full-figured heroine (Wendy) has finally after much trials and tribulations has married her One True Love, billionaire Bruce Wayne aka Batman. Her best friend, adventurous albiet dim McKenzie has become one of the Dark Knight's newest sidekicks, codenamed: McKenzie, and entered into a relationship with Bruce's ward/adopted son Dick Grayson, otherwise known as Nightwing. In this installation, Wendy finds that having a superhero husband is not at all without some snags.

I wake up to the sun streaming through the large balcony windows of my bedroom. Alfred probably opened the heavy curtains earlier in the morning at around ten, but I don't manage to pull myself out of bed until eleven thirty: a time that could be considered early in this household. I reluctantly squirm out my luxurious sheets and stretch towards the sunshine feeling fully rested. Oh yes, it's good to be rich.

Today will be the first time in months that I will have the house to myself. Bruce and McKenzie were called overseas to address some Justice League Major Crisis and expect to be gone at least the whole day, possibly thousands of years. Dick left a few days earlier for a weekend training session with the earliest batch of Teen Titans. Even Alfred has left: he's been planning a quick trip to the Old Country to catch up on some friends. Opening my curtains was the last on his list of loose ends to tie up before leaving for a few days. I'm alone and a little excited about it. I have a whole list of things I want to do. I plan to do some hardcore uninterrupted writing, bake cookies, go shopping... some other stuff. I wrote them down. Right now I'm not worried about my list. I concentrate on putting on my bathrobe and trekking towards the bathroom, absentmindedly humming a tune I woke up with. My yellow fuzzy bathrobe is soft and clean; I pick up a clean towel and new toothbrush left just outside the bathroom (courtesy of Alfred) and pad towards the door, opening it and...

"Auuggh!" I scream at the sight of two strangers in my bathroom, almost dropping the toothbrush I had hung idly in my mouth. The newly turned on lights show a strange looking man dressed in a green business suit and high collared cape, tenting his fingers commandingly as he sits on my toilet like a throne. The other man is a hulking figure with a bald head and short vest without a shirt underneath, trying desperately to maintain his intimidating, muscle bound Right Hand Man stance behind his master while being squished into the little alcove made for the toilet. He loosens his crossed arms over his expansive chest as he almost trips over the tiny trashcan next to him.

"I know," the man in green says darkly from across the bathroom, his voice low, elegant and ambiguously accented. With his head dipped thoughtfully as he stares at me I start to recognize the high arching forehead, wild salt and pepper hair and singular facial hair. It's the life version of the large mug shot once illuminated on the batcomputer screen that terrible, paranoid first year of marriage when Bruce made me memorize general facts about all of his mortal enemies. (At one point out of exhaustion I asked him if he made every one he loves memorize stuff. He very matter-of-factly replied, "yes". A name comes to mind.

"Ra's?" I say disbelievingly, "Ra's al Ghul?" I take my toothbrush slowly out of my mouth. "What are you doing in my bathroom?"

"Yes, you know my name, though we have not been formally introduced. We would have met sooner if I wasn't at the time indisposed."

One of the odd things I remember about Bruce's explanation of Ra's Al Ghul is that he is very old and "sometimes dead." When I questioned him about "sometimes" he evaded with "well, currently dead. At the moment. That might change."

"Indisposed? As in dead? Weren't you dead?"

"A man of my greatness is not confined to boundaries that impede the mortal man."

Okay, don't answer. I return to my first question. "What are you doing in my bathroom?"

He sits back, ready for the question. "I am only here to demonstrate the extent of my power, Gwendolyn" Gwendolyn? "by effortlessly infiltrating your most guarded area of this labyrinth of protection systems that you call home."

"Wait, the most guarded room in the manor is my bathroom?"

Here, he looks a little peeved. "No, it's your bedroom. But" cough, "we couldn't get in there." He glares at who I can only assume is Ubu. I stifle a laugh: he is trying so hard.

"Well," he still seems to be fishing for reverence and admiration, "uh, good job for getting as far as you did... That must have been tough."

"It was effortless as I said, but THAT IS IMMITERIAL! The reason behind my visit today is to express my outrage at your dishonorable conduct."

"He's just pissed that he had to find out about you through Talia. And three years late, too. God, he'll never live that down from her." He rolls his eyes and reaches under his ottoman for a small golden tub, going on. "Although really you can't blame him for the mistake. You just miss things when you're dead. It can't be helped." He has returned with the tub filled with sweet smelling hot water.

"So he was, uh...dead, right?" I falter at the sight of him laying the tub on the foot section of my lounging chair and adding unidentifiable spices to it.

"Yes, well, mostly. But you know how that goes. May I?" He reaches for my feet. Without waiting for answer he takes off the foot jewelry and carefully sets them aside. I am only more uncomfortable by finding that he is preparing to wash my feet for me, a revelation that hits me right before he gently dunks my bare feet in the hot water.
"What conduct?" I rack my brain for what this could be. Bruce said he is an environmental nut. Whatever it is must be against me because Bruce Wayne and Wayne Enterprises are as green as a Lantern/Arrow convention. So what could I have done? Are my books not made out of recycled paper? Did I throw away a pop can? Hit a squirrel?

He gets a "if you don't know then I'm not going to tell you" kind of look and moves on. "One of you will pay for your transgressions and responsibility falls on you."

"Conveniently the helpless one that was left alone for the day." I fill in. I cross my arms. "So you're going to kill me? Is that the deal? Is there is a reason why you decided to tell me first before killing me?"

His eyes narrow. "My dear, you have no idea what you are getting into." He gestures slightly and Ubu starts to advance on me. I shy away but too late and he already has me in his iron grasp. I hear a slight hiss and my vision melts; I slip into unconsciousness...

...I open my eyes to an unfamiliar room. My first initial reaction is surprise at how I don't feel groggy after just waking up from a sleeping toxin. Usually these things have nasty after affects≈grogginess, nausea, headaches≈and believe me I've felt them all. Between my already numerous instances of being kidnapped, Bruce's warped idea of safety, and McKenzie's warped idea of a joke, I'd say I'm practically an expert of the stuff. Now, however, I feel fine and even better: I feel alert and rested. Maybe even peppy. And what was that toxin anyway? Was it gas, injection? I felt no twinge of a needle, but no one else was affected by it. Ra's Al Ghul, it seems, has perfect taste in knockout drugs.

Moving past the drugs, I realize that the rope restraining me to my chair manages to be just loose enough to be constricting but not uncomfortable. I'm even in a comfortable position. I look down to further examine and... My God! My view of the lower half of my body is blocked by my sudden, excessive cleavage. There's just so much of it. Where did this all come from? While unconscious I was apparently divested from my bathrobe and given, of all things, this dangerously dipping top: tight fitting, a gauzy, shiny, silky fabric in a deep red-magenta with apparently the Wonder of Wonder Bras built in. It looks like a great square where my bodice was has been cut out at the last minute; no doubt for an emergency patch job somewhere else on the outfit. My sleeves are poofy and sheer with weird slits and trailing fabric. There's other holes and extra veil like fabric everywhere. Maneuvering my view over my chest I find, much to my dismay, that I am wearing, yes: poofy, gauzy, holes down the sides pants. I am a harem girl. I even have the veil.

If I didn't think twice about it I'd think I was in some cheap adult plus size Jasmine Halloween costume. But no, he didn't find this in a bargain bin: this is quality stuff. The fabric, though most of it sheer, is not that itchy stuff they make costumes out of. It's oddly enough tailored perfectly and, if I'm not mistaken, the jewels embellishing the edges are no sequins or glass. I feel a fairly heavy head piece on top of my hair. I wonder what it looks like. I wonder what I look like. Probably not very good: I can't vouch for what those flouncy pants do to my kind of figure. I'm just glad he didn't decide to go the bare tummy way. But I'm barefoot: bonus.

Hm.

Still, despite the crazy outfit, this is a pretty high class kidnapping, even for my standards. The attention, the consideration put into this caper seems to only get better when I check out the digs around me. The marble room I'm in is styled in what might be called hedonistically Arabian with lots of pillows, lush fabrics, exotic plants, fountains and foods. I squint at the catering grade food display. Delicious looking treats and fruits and is that my favorite chocolate? Am I tied up in Arabian heaven?

Better question: where is my guard? Don't I get one? I am after all Batman's wife. The man called me Gwendolyn; he must not know me well enough to know that I couldn't escape from a Chinese fingertrap, much less a well guarded fortress. Of course, he does know my favorite chocolate...

Well. This is fun.

I wonder if I know all the words to Beauty and the Beast...

iAnd now, we invite you to relax, let us pull up a chair, as the dining room proudly presents... your--/i "Magnificent." The doors to my room are thrown open and Ra's Al Guhl strides in, cape flapping, Ubu dogging him slightly behind. "You husband has taught you well."

I quickly tone down my mumbling and switch frames of mind. I don't have to express my confusion; he continues quickly.

"I gave you ample time to escape from the area as I am sure your husband has instructed you how to do, yet you remained. In the deeply involved concentration I saw you in through the surveillance cameras" Flashback: ithe wife of that BOORrish, BRAINless/i "you only must have surmised that escape is inevitable even for the best: the electrified exits and sixty armed guards waiting just outside each would have stopped you from making the seemingly easy exit. Well done. I am glad to know that you are not a complete discredit to the Detective's name. You would have been killed for certain."

"I have a question." I would have raised my hand, but you know, it's tied down. "Why did you say 'I know' earlier when I walked into the bathroom?" This question was bothering me all the way through the Bonjour song.

"Weren't you thinking something like 'I am so glad that no one knows how to get past the intricate web of protection systems of the Wayne Manor without detection'?"

"No... I was singing 'Dude Looks like a Lady' by Aerosmith."

"Oh. Odd. I'm not usually wrong about that kind of thing. Anyhow," he waves away the mistake and sweeps into a big important stance. "You have been thoughtless, malicious in your nefarious attempts to..."

"Hold it." I cut in early because I figure the monologuing might go on for a while. "Since we established I'm not going to run away, would you mind untying me?" I've tried this before at other kidnappings and surprisingly enough it has worked with Gothamite criminals.

"Oh yes. Of course. The restraints were only a formality." He nods towards Ubu who begins untying me from my comfortable chair. "And feel free to try the food platter. It's the best in their areas, naturally."

"Thanks." I wander towards the table full of delicious looking treats. (At this point I notice how free moving and comfortable the cut and fabric of my outfit is. I jingle a little as I walk.) "Go on. Nefarious attempts..."

"In your nefarious attempts to... would care for refreshment?" Ubu is lumbering silently towards Ra's with a silver tray in tow. The distinguished man ticks off options on his fingers. "Coffee, tea, wine, champagne, an assortment of fountain drinks..."

"Root beer?"

"Mug, Barq's, home brewed..."

"Whatever is fine."

Ubu brings me a cold Barq's root beer and a crystal chilled stein with ice in it. Ra's resumes. "To destroy the world will no longer go unpunished. The deaths you've caused through starvation" I pick up a chocolate from the golden platter "pollution and negligence could fill cities and I have taken it upon myself to administer harsh punishments befitting your crimes against the world."

I sit down in a particularly comfortable lounging chair. Ubu starts rubbing my shoulders. "Exactly what did I do?"

"The crime of crimes too devious to let pass. You have..." he pauses for dramatic effect "threatened the population of sea turtles of the North Caribbean region."

"What?"

He strides quickly past to drop a manila folder and some legally looking papers peeking out of it. "Information has come to me that Ricky's Knick Knack Shack on the Florida coast has left his store porch lights on ievery night of the week/i though he has been SPECIFICALLY instructed to do otherwise as it is hatching season for the hawksbill flatback sea turtle known to nest in that area." I flip through pictures of some sad little shack on the edge of a beach, some in infrared, and a little bald man wearing a tank top. There are close ups on the offending porch light.

"This man, the culprit of such acts, is inot only/i an employee of a company that is loosely affiliated with a branch of Wayne Enterprises but the VERY LIGHT BULB is manufactured in none other than a factory owned by your illustrious company. Wayne Enterprises knows of this offence and has ionly once/i taken the time to talk to him about it. There has been no change since the confrontation and it has been going on unheeded for itwenty days/i. As you probably know, the baby sea turtles hatched within those twenty days are as well as dead. The globular luminescence of the porch light is mistaken by most hatchlings to be the silken shine of the moon, and no well meaning error can be more fatal. Instead of following the moon to the ocean waters, they instead move instinctively towards certain death: land and the terrors of civilization. Though the waters promise hardships of evasion of predators, fishing nets, and starvation, the only promise a porch light answers for these fragile creatures is the cruel ridge of a truck tire, the crushing jaws of a family dog." His voice decrescendos to a strangled whisper. He pauses to compose himself.

I find myself wondering, are we still talking about sea turtles? I second guess to the point of asking whether we are but before I can speak up Ra's turns suddenly and bursts forth with new fervor.

"YOU." He yells, staring at me intensely with wild eyes. I jump. "Your husband, the company have allowed this injustice, this imassacre/i to go on too long and I will not idly stand by while you destroy all the world in your wake."

Now at the end of his explanation he stands proudly, ready to take questions or comments accompanied with the appropriate reverence for his awesomeness. I take in the charge and finish flipping through the "evidence." I pause to collect my thoughts.

"This is it?" I finally say. "This is all you could come up with?" The cape ends he had flicked back before are now brought back over his shoulders in a defensive action. "Wayne Enterprises is huge and a corporation. Corporations are always unethical. Yet the only bad thing you could dig up about Wayne Enterprises is this silly crap?" I flick the folder with my forefinger.

"Damaging the ecosystem is a serious matter." Ra's interjects.

"Shouldn't you be going after someone more evil than this? McDonalds or maybe Wal-Mart? I'm sure they've damaged the ecosystem more than Wayne Enterprises ever will."

Unready for the question, he starts to sputter, "but the ecosystem...sea turtles..."

I smell a cry for help. I look at him sympathetically. "Is there another reason why I'm here? Is there something else bothering you?"

Ra's eyes grow wide; he clams up immediately. Under his stone impressive expression I see his eyes start to glisten. He blinks a few times.

"Okay fine." I lift my hands to ease the growing tension. He breathes again. I reluctantly play along. "So what's your plan of action?"

Al Ghul settles back into a comfortable pace, glad that things are again going his way. "In nature every action causes a similar but opposite reaction. I have devised that because the wealth you and your company has acquired has lead you to negligence I will hold you for ransom. Surely the company, the government, and your own family members will readily give up the appropriate funds for your safety. The money I will dedicate to the worthy cause of preserving sea turtles. Then I will return you mangled and dead: only the same fate you doomed to countless others as you let that porch light pass your notice. It will be lesson to Bruce Wayne and Wayne Enterprises who dare to abuse the world to their pleasure."

Oh where to begin? I stare at him unbelieving. "Hold me for ransom? Won't that take a while? You know Batman's going to find us before then, right?"

He doesn't flinch. "I don't deny the possibility."

Realization hits me. "Ohhhhh. This is iall/i bullshit. You made up the whole thing just to meet up with him, didn't you? Oh."

"You will find by the evidence, Gwendolyn that..."

"Can't you just call him? You probably passed a couple phones on the way into the Manor."

"Mrs. Wayne, a crime against nature cannot be made to rights with a phone call..." I have a brief suspicion that is how he contacts every one he likes. Need to call Talia: okay. Kidnap boyfriend, plant evidence, sneak into guarded structure, lead Talia through goose chase the ends up meeting face to face, with all deceptions unveiled, all truths bared at feet. ...So, how's the new job going?

"Ra's" I say his name seriously but gently, a solid gaze held between us, "what is really wrong?"

He tugs at his cape collar nervously, then takes a quick look at Ubu. The vested man holds back an eye roll and gestures encouragement. Ra's Al Ghul's imperious sneer crumbles a little. He holds.

Right when I think he's going to break, Ra's turns suddenly around, gesturing largely about something like the need to "recheck the security modules and make a few phone calls." Before he scampers out the door he says, "Ubu, keep watch over Gwendolyn as I tend to the separate cogs and spires of my ingenious plan. I will be in the master suite. For now, Gwendolyn." He nods gravely in my direction and with a large turn that sends his cape swinging dramatically, he exits the room.

The heavy doors slam close and I am left alone with Ubu. "What the hell was that about?" I say more to myself than to the brutish man across the room. I'm surprised that Ubu heard it; he turns his attention to me and stands to lumber my way. The hulking figure gets closer, large muscles flexing, a serious scowl masking his face.

He sinks heavily into the ottoman by my chair. "He's such an idiot." A clear, American accented voice comes out of a man I wouldn't have guessed could say anything, much less in perfect English. In fact, I had some punch drunk Arabian broken English in my mind, highly laced with "Allahs" and "Infidels." Odd. I never knew how racist I was. Not that the garb helps much. He'd be Aladdin if he wasn't missing his tiny fez hat. As Ubu casually goes on leading the conversation I take a second look at him and realize he might just be more than the brainless evil meatsack I was supposing him for. I don't think he's even Middle Eastern.

"So he was, uh...dead, right?" I falter at the sight of him laying the tub on the foot section of my lounging chair and adding unidentifiable spices to it.

"They're...probably stinky..." That's the only thing I could think of at the moment.

"Hence the washing. You don't mind, do you?"

I can't escape the disturbed look on my face and fail at answering. "...I...guess... not..."

What is one supposed to do in these situations? He's touching my feet. He's a complete stranger and touching my feet. Ubu goes on as if it's nothing.

"So anyway," he dunks my feet into the water and I forget almost all of my discomfort. The water's a tantalizing temperature that's just warm enough without being too hot. The mystery herbs brewing in it are delicious smelling and almost instantly relax me. "He completely missed the wedding because the last Ubu was too dumb to get that ridiculous clue Batman left us to find him. By the time he finished being crazy from the lazarus pit the press had just finished covering your honeymoon and now were bored with the Bruce and Wendy craze. Man, he is so pissed that he missed the wedding. You should have at least sent him an invitation so that he didn't feel left out."

"Well, it was small, private...really nothing..." I say before I even realize it. I've had to say that to so many people √ istrange/i people √ since I've been married that it came out automatically. The thought always following is ionly about a thousand people/i where I bitterly reminisce about the wedding guest list reaching University size proportions. No matter how many millions of people were invited, there always seem to be more that feel snubbed by missing it. But I remember who I'm speaking to. "But isn't that against some mortal enemy code to go to the others wedding?"

Ubu takes his hand out of the water to enhance his "pshaw" sound with a wave. "Oh, he would have behaved. He doesn't get out much these days and the man loves to party." A passing image of Ra's at a Rave disturbs me into silence. Ubu concentrates on my feet again, scrubbing my feet in an awesome circular motion. I am once again blown back into utter relaxation.

"So Ubu," I say, eyes closed, resting my head on the soft back of my chair complacently. Ubu takes my feet from the water and pats them gently with a terry towel. "Is that really your name: Ubu?" I pronounce his name weirdly: I'm high on relaxation.

He holds in a snort. "Hell no. Ubu. God knows where he got ithat/i crazy name. It's Keith Larsdayle, but not around here." He whispers, "keep it on the down-low."

I open one eye to take him in as a "Keith." He at that moment had rubbed oil on his hands and started massaging my feet, so I almost immediately lose interest. I let my head fall back on my chair and fully enjoy the expert massage. I remember something. "Aren't Ubus supposed to come from a long line of a Middle Eastern tribe that's life purpose and mission to serve Ra's Al Guhl?"

"Oh that Ubu tribe died out long ago. Something about bottlenecking: not enough variation in the gene pool. A flu epidemic almost completely wiped them out. Ra's was in a pinch to find one since the last one accidentally caught himself on fire and..." he said the "and" long and breathily as he pressed harder into my foot. I lost time. God, he's good. "...was in L.A. right when my pilates core class fell through. He made me an offer and..."

"Wait." Despite the utter bliss that is Ubu's foot massage, I pry my eyes open and sit up straighter. "You? A pilates instructor?" Ubu: evil minion, pilates instructor. He can take a beating from Batman iand/i strengthen your core muscles.

He sighs wistfully, "yeah, but LA's real tough, ya know? I just couldn't get it off the ground." iFailed/i pilates instructor. "But Ra's came along and offered me the job of personal assistant so I'm alright now."

"You don't mind being Ubu?" I eye his tiny embroidered vest and shaved head.

Keith shrugs. "The man can hardly wipes his ass by himself, but at least it pays better than dry cleaning."

"Dry cleaning?"

"My brother owns a business in Tulsa. He was going to spot me a job when my pilates fell through."

Keith with a brother in Tulsa. Dry cleaning, LA, pilates core class. It's a little hard to grasp coming from some Arabian garbed bodybuilder massaging my feet in a palatial marble room. I would almost more readily believe all the Ubu tribal bullshit. I have a sudden urge to have Ra's say every single ordinary word this "Ubu" said in that last five minutes. Imagine him calling him Keith.

"Does Ra's acknowledge any of this information?" I ask, suppressing a giggle.

He rolls his eyes again. "Oh no. We can't do that. He still pretends that I'm of Middle Eastern descent." I connect meaningfully with his blue-grey eyes. "I'm actually one sixteenth Pakistani, not that ihe/i would be able to tell. I heard one Ubu had Ra's swearing up and down that he was from a small nomadic tribe straight from the Sahara Desert when really the guy was half Puerto Rican. From Jersey."

I laugh out loud and Ubu joins me.

"Nah, he's not too bad really. And this job allows me to do some awesome things, meet cool people... I have to tell you, Mrs. Wayne, that I am so psyched to meet you. You are my favorite celebrity." I once again open my eyes. Now, ithis/i is a surprise. "I have your pictures from People all over my room and let me tell you I had such a fit for Ra's to let them send People over here. It costs an arm for the postage."

"How long have you been out of the States?" I ask wearily. Maybe the desert sun has addled his brain.

"Not too long. We always skip over there to do something every couple of months." Okay, so he has to have caught some pop culture while taking brief trips to cover minks in paint or whatever they do. That means that he isn't deriving this fandom from a mistaken distortion of American pop culture. Then what the hell is this?

"Funny. I never knew I had a fan base." This has got to be a joke.

"Are you kidding? We love you! You're so cool and collected; you don't give a shit about what anyone thinks. You always look fabulous" (does that have anything to do with me? No.) "and you've tamed the single hottest man in America. What's not to love?"

The moment he said "we" I wanted to hit myself in the head. Of icourse/i. Keith is gay! God, why didn't I pick that up before? Really my gaydar should have gone off at "pilates" but I was so engrossed in his foot massage I passed it thinking nothing more that "imight/i be metrosexual."

I clear my throat. "So by saying 'we,' do you mean that I am a gay icon?"

He smiles one of those wide, sweet smiles. Oh, he is definitely gay. "Well, you're no Cher, but you've done a lot for gays and lesbians since your marriage and it's been appreciated in the gay community."

I suppose it is true. Now that I think of it I have done a lot for the gay community. There were a few different charities and shelters I donated to over the years, and there was that one time in the beginning when Bruce was trying to impress me by donating a whole bunch to several different support systems because he knew my best friend is Jared. But the most feedback I've gotten from it is negative: a mixture of homophobic blabber and snide comments that suggest I'm so supportive of gays only because my husband is one (who could ever think Bruce is gay? Man, if they only knew...) I never knew there were people who liked me for it. I can't believe this slipped by me. Note to self: when I get back, I have to berate Jared for failing to mention my stardom among his people.

"There are fan sites," Ubu/Keith offers. "I'd show you if this place had wireless."

"This place doesn't have wireless? What a bitch."

"Dial up." He says miserably. I gasp. "It's crazy, isn't it?"

"You poor baby."

"You'd think someone who aspires towards world domination would at least get high speed internet."

"Ethernet or a LAN line even."

We further bond over internet connections while he switches to my other foot. I'm really starting to like this guy. He drops some anecdotes of Ra's technological ineptness that make me laugh out loud. He's sweet and open; I nearly peed my pants at the story about Ra's trying to send an email.

Our conversation drifted back to my celebrity and he asked some very short breathed questions about living with Bruce and "what he's ireally/i like." I responded with some funny stories of my own. There were other topics, but the conversation tapped off a little after that. We settled into a comfortable silence where Ubu once again concentrated on my feet and I concentrated on...

Wait. I open my eyes again, this time feeling a little groggy and heavy like time had gone by. Ubu is now suddenly at a chair next to me reading a magazine. Hold on: did I just take a nap? This is the best kidnapping EVER!

I stretch contentedly, so relaxed I am to the point of noodly, and smile at Ubu.

"Hey, sleepy head." His legs are crossed leisurely while he flips through the magazine.

"Is that People?"

"Yep. Wanna share?" He scoots close and we look through the pages together, commenting and giggling as we go. We are in the middle of a collaborated attack on Lil Kim's taste in dress when the double doors swing open.

Ra's strides in, voice booming, "Only fools would attempt to infiltrate my ingenious..."

"HEY! Whoa! Whoa!" I yell over Ra's at the sight of him completely naked, letting it all swing out for the world to see. I shield my eyes while Ubu jumps quickly out of his seat.

"Master, please! There are guests here!" Ubu races up to hide away Little Ra's behind a frightening picture of Li'l Kim. I stare at the magazine forlornly. iI wanted to read the rest of that/i.

"I don't know what you mean." Ra's moves slightly and Little Ra's once again swings into view.

"Hey! Put that away!" I can hardly talk over my laughing. Oh dear Lord, get to know your enemies.

"Master, remember what I said about clothes in the company of others?" Ubu is pink up to his shaven scalp, trying to at once avert his own eyes while making sure that mine aren't upbraided once again by the sight of...Oh god.

Ra's juts out his lower lip, "I have told you, faithful servant, that iages/i" he gestures wildly. I avert my eyes; Ubu slips "have already weighed upon this frail frame of a body," he flexes "so that even the feather weight of silken garb can press like tons against my ancient" another flex, turning to the side, "structure." Ra's ends on the opposite profile, advantageously holding his arm in a sober manner that show off his excellent biceps and back muscles. "They also are a tad bit itchy."

Ubu, exasperated, "Master. Please. Would you just... Oh god. Okay." Ubu slaps the magazine resoundingly into Ra's hand, then moves the hand to Ra's private area. "Stay. I'll be right back." He casts an apologetic look over his shoulder to me as he skids out the door.

Ra's doesn't really understand the purpose of the magazine: he lifts it close to look at it then, disinterested he hangs it loosely from his hand while he crosses his arms. I manage to find the fountain to the right particularly interesting: golden spires, flowing water...

Ra's taps his bare foot impatiently. I try not to look towards the sound.

"So." I'm called involuntarily towards his presence. He stares at me blankly. I stare back trying not to look down farther I have to. "Did he ever mention me?"

I sigh. It's not that bad, really. It's not like I haven't seen a man naked before. I try to calm down. I can be adult about this. So a mortal enemy of my husband is buck naked right in front of me. Could be worse. Could be the Joker.

Ra's is getting bored. "So, only fools would attempt to infiltrate..." Ra's booms swinging his arm out broadly. I'm not adult enough to handle this. I burst out laughing. Luckily Ubu swoops in to ease the tension.

"Look! Look, here I've got your favorite outfit. Now iplease/i. Please put it on."

Ra's stops his monologuing to look down at the clothes. He considers. "No," like a bratty child, quickly sauntering away.

Ubu follows him. "Please, come on. Look, I have your favorite cape! Fur lined! Remember how good you look in it?"

Ra's stops just short of the potted palm to gaze longing at the emerald cape Ubu is holding up. "I got that one from Bangladesh."

The bald man sees he's gaining ground. "Yeeeesss, Bangladesh! Remember how fun that trip was? Don't you want to wear it?"

"Very well. But just the cape." He reaches to touch the fur trim gently.

Ubu sweeps it away from Ra's grasp just in time. "No, you have to wear the whole thing."

The naked man's voice pitches high with frustration, "You wanted me to wear something..."

"Ok fine. Hey, look what I have here! Your favorite pants! How about just the pants? You wear these I swear I won't say another word."

Ra's eyes the pants reluctantly.

"They're stretchy, see?" He pulls taught the green pants in front of Ra's. "Veerry comfortable!"

"The pants... iand/i the cape?" What a negotiator.

"Yes, dear god. By all means." Ubu hands over the clothes and with a huge sigh sinks into the nearest cushion. I feel sorry for him, especially since now I am almost completely acclimated to Ra's nakedness. I've seen it so much in the past few minutes, I barely mind any more. But saying that after such a laborious battle would have been a little rude.

After quickly hopping into his clothes Ra's saunters over to me wearing his coveted fur trimmed green cape and pants. The pants, I notice, are so thin and stretchy that you can see every contour: a small change from seeing it all out in the open anyway. I do have to admit the cape is nice, though. Even considering the fact that he is shirtless and barefooted he looks damn good in it.

"Nice cape."

"Thank you!" He strokes the fur trim lovingly. "I bought it in Bangladesh."

"So I've heard."

He stands majestically with his hands on his hips and his gaze somewhere off to the right. I wonder if he knows any cape tricks like Batman does. I wonder if he does the flamenco.

"So... what are we doing now?"

"I have notified all authorities that I have you in my custody and have given them my demands. All they have to do is respond."

"So we're waiting?" For Batman.

"Yes."

I nod slowly. "Cool."

He stands for a bit and then majestically sits down next to me. After I recover from the wave of wind from the flourish of his cape, I try to start a conversation.

"So... you're an environmentalist, eh?"

"I am a man of the earth; I only try to recover a little of the monstrous damage done by our own sad race."

"Uh-huh. I've met some environmentalists in my time." Poison Ivy, my sister Katy, Lewis and Clark students... "What's your focus?"

"I have always been an advocate for the creatures of the sea. It has always been my belief that what affects the fragile lives of submerged species affects us all."

This I don't quite believe. Wasn't it just last week that McKenzie was talking about Ra's "life dream to save the majestic tiger"? I remember something.

"I once donated a whole bunch of money to this one charity dedicated to helping sea life. I did it basically for the awesome t-shirt that you got from donating. Eighty thousand dollars and it was itwo/i sizes too small. Cheap bastards. And it was a pretty cool shirt, too. There were turtles and dolphins and porpoises waving hello. It was a pretty blue color... I'd give it to you if, you know," I eye his bare chest "were into that."

I have a startling picture of Ra's wearing the powder blue "Sea Creatures are Our Friends" t-shirt with his stretchy green pants, maybe holding up a sign at a tuna plant pickit.

"I'd most likely not like the gift. I abhor the bureaucracy of charities and find their well meaning dribblings sadly deficient in restoring the world. I myself prefer more drastic measures."

"Such as?"

"Mass genocide, particularly."

"Oh. Interesting."

"Yes, it is my opinion that what world needs most is not simply a trickle of time and money spent trying to regain what we ourselves have irrevocably destroyed, but a thorough cleansing of the source of the problem: the human species."

"So... all humans?"

"Many, not all. We are overpopulated as it is; a drastic cut back would help considerably."

"Hm. That'd still be a lot, though."

"The death toll would be catastrophic."

"Ah." Batman would be so angry about that. "How come you didn't do something like this time?"

"I am in the process of devising an ingenious plan that will accomplish something to that nature. In the meantime..." He winces and is reluctant to finish.

"...You thought you'd put aside your big World Enima ideas to work on the problem of sea turtles?"

Ra's is found out; he panics. Suddenly he picks up a box that was previously shrouded with a gauzy shawl. "Care for a game of Stratego?"

"Roll."

"Me? I thought it was Ubu's turn."

"Ah, by the suns of the..."

"Alright! I'll roll, already."

For the fourth time, I land in jail. God, I'm starting to hate Monopoly. Ra's happens to be racking up the property, though.

"Aha! You cleverly think you can escape the harrowing taxes from my impregnable empire by hiding safely away in a guarded prison cell, but I have news for you, friend, you cannot stay for long. Your sanctuary is temporary: too swiftly will your three lost turns go by, and then..." he tents his fingers and leans back, "Then, you are at my mercy."

"It's your turn, Ra's" I say, holding back a laugh.

"Is it? Oh, I see." He straightens up and starts shaking the dice in his hands, scrutinizing the board as he did so. "Let's see now, what enterprise shall I deem worthy to conquer next? I do own Pacific Railroad though the utilities seem particularly enticing..."

The door opens and a well-built masked man in typical minion wear interrupts in a wavering voice, "excuse me, Master..."

"What is it, man?" Ra's sweeps around and booms, giving the lackey a horrifying glare. "Can't you see I'm busy!" The lackey flinches as Ra's nearly throws the dice at him.

"My apologies, Sir. My apologies. I'm most humbly sorry...it's just that... as your grace has so wisely suggested... I'm here to tell you...my apologies...that, that someone has recently infiltrated the farthest border." He attempts to calm himself and says in a more concise voice, "He's here, sir."

"Excellent!" Ra's drops the dice carelessly on the board and springs from his chair. He remembers himself, "If you'll excuse me, Gwendolyn≈"

"≈Wendy."

"≈Yes. I must leave you now. As you might guess I have other matters to attend to. For now." He bows to me, then turns to his servant who is the current owner of the coveted Madison Gardens, "Ubu. See to it that our guest is as comfortable and secure in her confinement as possible, then join me in the control room."

Ubu put a fist to his chest and bows. "Master."

"Lead the way, underling."

A few quick strides and the nervous soldier and his master are gone. Ubu and I sit back in the after math, looking at the half played monopoly board. Ubu starts picking up the game. I help him.

The bald man shakes his head as he picks up the hotels.

"What?"

He winces than says, "It's nothing. I just can't help feeling that this could be avoided if..."

"He had someone to talk to?"

"You got that, too?"

"He almost cried when I said I don't mind monopoly."

Ubu nods his head, noting that he noticed that, too. "It's just with Talia gone doing her own thing, I can't say that he misses her specifically, but it seems he regrets losing the female aspect."

"Does Ra's like women?"

He looks up with surprise from putting the lid on the box. "Of course. I mean, I can imagine it's been a long time since he...knew one, but he's definitely got the... potential. It's hard to meet women in the world domination kind of work, you know? The point is he's lonely." Keith stows away the board and puts his hands on his hips with finality.

"Ah." Ubu asks me if I need anything, another root beer, maybe? Or anything else before he leaves. I wave away his offerings, still stuck on the previous idea. "He's lonely, you say?" Ra's≈rich, intelligent, environmentally aware, tolerably attractive (and believe me, I know)≈is looking for a girlfriend... "How does he feel about curvy women?"

Ubu turned to my question with interest, but is called out of the room, before he can answer.

I'm eating another chocolate (my god, I'm going to make myself sick) and finishing the People magazine when I hear a strange clatter coming from outside my room. There are a few abruptly ended outbursts, a couple shots fired and cries of pain, and the doors swing open.

"WENDY!" Bruce's voice cries out raspy and full of rage as he holds both doors open with his outstretched bare, cut up arms. He's wet and bare chested, the rest of his costume is hanging on by a thread; he is covered in scrapes and bruises and soot. He searches the room frantically with his eyes, almost missing my head above the couch I was sitting in. "WE≈"

"Over here, Bruce!" I wave and get up. I fling the People magazine away; we both almost run to each other. Bruce has hard expression of deep consternation that is focused directly on me, but I have just enough time to watch the doors swing close on a scene of piles of soldiers slumped on the ground, still moaning, twitching. I have a vague hope that Bruce hasn't killed them until I'm distracted from it by meeting up with him.

"Wendy! All you all≈" Approaching me with a momentum that would suggest flinging himself at me, he suddenly stops a few inches from me, finally noticing my outfit. The concern is almost swept completely from his still masked face as he takes a second to observe my harem girl garb. He almost smiles. His arms that were outstretched to grab me at my shoulders are now dropped at his side. "Are you alright?" he asks, finding it hard to keep his expression somber.

"Yeah, I'm fine." I take my time observing his state, noticing the peculiar but strangely appealing wardrobe choice of wearing the bottom half of his costume and cowl but leaving his chest unprotected. Kinky. "Where'd your shirt go?"

"Crocodile pit." Bruce says simply, as if that explains everything. He's taking another long look down my body; he can hardly hide his smirk now. Finally he comes back up to my eyes, "nice outfit."

I, too, observe my excessive cleavage and flowy fabric, hardly able to contain my laughter. "I know."

I smile but Bruce's expression crumples into something more serious. His brow pulls up in the middle, he reaches towards me slowly, "Wendy, I was so..."

The doors swing open. For a second we both turn to see McKenzie in similar disrepair, holding the doors open with her mouth gaping. McKenzie and I meet each other's gaze, she notices my state, and she closes the doors immediately. There is the distinct sound of McKenzie's loud, uncontrollable laughter outside the room. It takes a full minute to calm down. One of the doors opens a crack and we see McKenzie peep around again. She can't even close it this time before laughing hysterically.

I get progressively more impatient and red with embarrassment. Bruce is unsure what to do. Eventually, he calls her name in a short bark. "McKenzie."

The door sways a little as we hear a strange wheezing in between her giggling. The large breaths become more frequent and it sounds like she's finally calming down. McKenzie reappears in the doorway, holding her stomach and breathing through her mouth. She looks at me, purses her lips over a smile and says, "Wendy!" she throws up her hands "We're here to rescue you!" The last part of her sentence wavers into a laugh, and she begins laughing again.

"McKenzie!" Bruce barks with more severity. McKenzie straightens and approaches us.

"Hi, Wendy." I can tell she's consciously avoiding glancing at my cleavage.

"Hi, McKenzie."

"I like your..." she couldn't finish.

"I know. It's cool, isn't it?"

McKenzie winces, observing my state with less and less seriousness. She's preparing to state an objection. "You couldn't..." she winces again, "you couldn't at least take the veil off?"

I, myself am having a hard time keeping from smiling. "I tried, but it's stapled on or something. I couldn't detach it from my hair." My next line, "it's not that uncomfortable" couldn't be heard over McKenzie's redoubled laughter.

"Oh, Wendy." She places a hand on my shoulder after straightening from laughing with her hands on her knees. Her eyes have tears. "I'm glad to see you're okay."

"Thanks."

"We need to start moving." Bruce impatiently straightens the one glove he has left. "Nightwing should almost be done with securing the southern end where Robin is waiting with the jet..."

"Tim is here? You brought the whole gang? For me?"

Bruce's jaw softens as he says, "Of course." Then, "we need to get moving, before..."

"FOOLS!" Ra's bursts in through the doors, accusatory finger high in the air. It seems that he has dressed up for the occasion; he's wearing a more elaborate cape than what he was wearing before, and boots and gold earrings. Ubu trails him quickly behind in an over-beaded vest. Bruce's expression immediately darkens; McKenzie rolls her eyes. "You think you can infiltrate my fortress so easily. But there must be retribution for your heinous crimes. There must be..."

Ra's can't finish, mainly because he is being held up against the wall by his throat by Batman. "What." Batman seethes. There are choking sounds from the old man as he struggles to get out, and Ubu is vainly trying to release Batman's hand. "What could I have possibly done for you to disrespect me in such a way." Bruce's brow darkens. Ubu has resorted to kicking him. "What you have done..." his jaw clenches,"I can't..."

I realize that something must be done in calming him. I see the folder a few feet away, and quickly stride to reach Bruce. "Bruce, it's this. These are our 'crimes.'" With difficulty, I persuade Bruce to let go of Ra's to take the folder. While Bruce flips quickly through the evidence I keep a hand on his arm to remind that yes, I'm alive, and he doesn't have to kill anyone for me. It seems to have calmed him a little on a basic level. Ra's is quickly escorted farther away by Ubu; he stands protectively in front of Ra's while Ra's rubs his own neck and tries to regain some of his imposing demeanor.

After only a few moments of sifting through the evidence, Batman speaks, still looking at the folder. "I know this case. Ricardo "Ricky" Velasquez, age 67, is in the early stages of Alzheimer's. He came to us earlier to ask if we would buy out his business so that he could pay for his medication. Wayne Enterprises has bought the store, but as a Wayne Enterprises employee, he now gets his medication free of charge, full benefits, and dental. The money from the sale went towards his retirement fund, any luxuries he would like to enjoy in his few years left of sanity, and inheritance for his underprivileged descendents. Despite all this, Ricky has expressed interest to live out his remaining days just as he has for the past forty years: working at the store he has built from his own sweat and blood. Wayne Enterprises allows this to happen as long as his infirmity doesn't interfere, and he is being monitored to make sure that that doesn't happen. He has been doing pretty well as of late; the medication has been helping; the deterioration is minimal. To increase his chances, Wayne Foundations is spearheading a national effort to find a cure and better methods of treatment for Alzheimers. The "Ricky Velasquez Foundation" has reached funds to the millions and the heads of the project are optimistic of finding an outcome. In the meantime, however, Ricky still shows small signs of his unfortunate disease from time to time, especially occasionally forgetting to turn off the porch lights of his store. Wayne Enterprises fully recognizes the magnitude of such an act at the crucial time for the hawksbill flatback hatchlings indigenous to the area and are at this moment installing a better, more efficient automated porch light that would fix this problem."

Batman snaps the folder close and tosses it on the ground. He didn't look at it once during the speech; it was all from his memory. Ra's sputters for a moment. Batman turns around, takes my arm, and starts walking me towards the door.

"You cannot leave! You must pay for your crimes! Ubu!" He gestures towards his servant.

The hulking man nods and charges towards Batman. "Infidel!" He cries in a thick Arabian accent.

I am pushed harshly to the side. A mere second later, Ubu is taking a shot at Batman. The pilates instructor is fast, but Bruce is not playing games. In nearly one movement, Bruce blocks, twists, and sends Ubu sliding across the floor, all without turning. There was the sound of a break somewhere in the middle; Keith is crying out in pain on the floor.

"Bruce!" He turns back quickly to catch my distressed look. He remembers: he must be nice. There's a moment when he takes some kind of Chi breath to calm down, and then he holds out his hand to me. "Let's go home."

I take his hand and he pulls me close to lead me out. "You didn't have to do that, you know. He's a really nice guy." I whisper while he's trying to shuffle me out. He rolls his eyes.

"No! This is not acceptable! We need to finish this."

"I am done here."

"I will not stop in seeking justice. The crimes... sea turtles..."

I lay a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "Bruce..." I say quietly, giving him a look, "...he's lonely." He clenches his jaw.

Meanwhile, McKenzie, who has been disinterestedly pilfering the contents of my palatial prison, is suddenly excited. Though I can tell no difference in the clatter coming from outside of the room, she seems to now deem it worthy of yelping excitedly and running towards the door. The brawl outside comes close to the door and it is burst open by the sliding body of a minion. Nightwing, shirtless, fighting off the last handful of minions still clinging onto his arms and back, comes in smiling.

"What... uhn... is taking you guys so long?" Right as the last of the clingers-on is dislodged and unconscious, McKenzie throws herself onto to him in almost the same fashion. Nightwing doesn't seem to mind the change.

"Hey, Nightwing." He shifts McKenzie to look towards me. He's better than the others: he stifles his laughter at my appearance extremely quickly.

"Wendy, ya'lright there?"

"Just fine. I always like vacations."

"Enough." Ra's breaks in, "We shall settle this. Take up arms, Detective, and I..." Ra's unsheathes a curved sword from his belt and swings it around menacingly, "I will have my retribution."

I hear the slightest sigh from my husband. He looks to Nightwing and McKenzie who are attached but otherwise seemingly ready for action. He looks back at me. I shrug. "I'm fine."

"Nightwing." Bruce nods in my direction. Dick responds with a short nod that carries equal solemnity. Batman reluctantly and carefully gives my hand that he was holding to Dick, passing me off as some expensive object. Dick accepts it without any embarrassment. I'm a little disgusted by the exchange. Bruce moves off only after McKenzie flanks me on the other side, her back almost pressed into me as she stays vigilant to the exit. "Take her to safety," he says over my head, "I'll deal with him."

Batman turns his back to us and unsheathes a sword that was lying nearby. The two stand with their swords ready, feet spread slightly apart, silent: western face-off style. Before there is a first strike, Nightwing and McKenzie start pushing me towards the door.

"Can't we watch them? I haven't seen a good sword fight since Princess Bride."

Dick stops, questioning the orders for the first time. "I suppose we can watch. Everyone else is incapacitated, and even if there were stragglers they wouldn't be anything McKenzie or I can't handle."

"And it's not like Ra's is going to be a problem." McKenzie jerks her thumb towards Ra's who is still squaring off with Batman; they are slowly circling now.

"Ra's isn't better than Batman, is he?" I look doubtfully to a man who has hundreds of years to hone his fighting skills, and to another who has a hundred times more drive to learn.

Dick's smile lines mold around the edges of his mask. "Ra's is going to get his ass kicked."

The first strike: Ra's lunges. Batman is too quick and the swords clang. The fight starts and their expert skills result in many near misses and artful maneuvers. The three of us become enthralled at watching the fight. Dick drops my hand, which is good, because it was becoming increasingly uncomfortable for everyone, involved or not. We stare open mouthed at the fight, the debate on leaving completely erased from our minds.

Ra's slices a pillow clean in half in effort to take off Batman's arm. Batman springs back and counters. "You know," I cross my arms (awkwardly: the cleavage), "now that I think of it, the sword fight in Pirates of the Caribbean was pretty good too."

Batman vaults over a low sofa. "Eh." McKenzie shrugs, not taking her eye off the fight. "Felt too staged. The originality was overshadowed by its lack of spontaneity."

Ra's lunges with his sword so that Batman nearly falls over in dodging it. It seems to have grazed him lightly on the stomach. "I have a love-hate relationship with that part where Orlando gets doused with dirt. On the one hand, he's dirty. On the other, he's ugly in dirt. The wig especially makes it unpleasant."

Batman swipes at Ras' leg. "Orlando is ugly in anything. That guy is so repulsive; I don't know why anyone likes him."

Ra's takes a cheap shot and kicks while their swords are locked. Batman recovers. "Too true. He is really unattractive. And really bad at acting, too. I was so disappointed when he came out of his Legolas costume."

"He really should have stopped there."

"Remember Troy? Blah. Disgusting."

"Nauseating."

"Hideous."

"I don't think he's that bad."

We both turn around to stare blankly at Nightwing.

"I mean, I wouldn't marry him or anything, but I liked him as Legolas."

I roll my eyes. "Everyone liked him as Legolas." McKenzie continues to stare. "That's where the whole problem started." McKenzie is still staring, still at a loss for words. Her lip curls and she hits him. Another near miss calls us back to the fight.

The fight progresses through the large marble room. Statues are tipped in the direction of the foe, pillows thrown and sliced, furniture stepped on and overturned. Batman deflects three maroon pillows while advancing on Ra's.

"This doesn't make really make sense. Batman doesn't kill people; why is he dueling with a sword?" Batman makes a lunge that if it wasn't deflected would certainly vitally injure Ra's.

"They do this all the time," Nightwing says, as if it's an explanation. "It's kind of required when you go against Ra's."

"He seems to be particular about quite a lot of things." I sourly look down at my outfit.

"I'll say." The swords cross and the two men, arms shaking, struggle to push the swords one way or the other.

I wonder at the similarity of undress between Dick and Bruce. "Dick, how did you lose your shirt?"

Nightwing looks down at his chest, almost in surprise. "Oh. There was an explosion." The swords are dangerously close to Batman's face.

"A shirt-taking-off explosion?" It's probably a rule in Ra's house that you have to take off your shirt if you are male and... "McKenzie. Did you lose iyour/i shirt?" I finally notice that the tank top she is wearing is the cloth one she usually wears under her costume.

She looks down at her chest in the same way as Dick. "Uh huh." The swords nearly touch Ras' neck.

"iHow/i?"

She shrugs. "It's really hot out there." She makes a squinched up face, and shakes out her limbs "I was sticky."

With a final burst of strength, Ra's pushes Batman off of him. They begin circling again. Batman strikes, Ra's counters, but Bruce does a tricky move that sends Ra's sword flying from his hand. Ra's trips over an ornate footstool and scrambles to get up. He can't. Batman has the tip of his sword at Ra's neck. He breathes heavily, and in his low, scratchy voice says "Yield."

Ra's swallows and catches his breath. "Yes. It is true: you have once again bested me with steel, Detective. It would be a grievous lie to..."

Without letting Ra's finish his monologue, Batman throws the sword to the side. He marches quickly towards me, ignoring Ra's sputtering protestations, and grabs my arm. Our starts moving quickly in a body, me in the middle though I am having trouble keeping up with Bruce's long stride. Ra's trails behind yelling half formed soliloquies about "honor" and "prowess."

"Thanks for the hospitality!" I yell back at Ra's through my army. "It was a pleasure being kidnapped by you!" Ra's can only wave. I remember something else. "Say goodbye to Keith for me!"

"Wendy." Bruce clamps down harder on my arm. We're moving faster than before, and Batman is steaming.

"Keith...?" McKenzie starts to ask, but Nightwing shushes her.

I hardly know where we go or what the other places look like. I am practically carried out of the door. McKenzie or Nightwing once in a while break rank and I catch a glimpse of another marble hallway while the muffled sound of a throw-down is behind me. Finally we get outside; my feet touch sand. We rush to a passenger jet nearby and we all strap in.

Bruce takes the controls and everyone else buckles up in the back. I get to hear what everyone had to do to get me, which was a lot, and their personal adventures. There is a lot of talk of near-deaths and explosions, not to mention traversing halfway across the world. I'm a little amazed at the extent they had to go to get me back, and even more that they don't seem to begrudge the adventure at all.

"But don't you guys feel bad about spending useful hours and many millions of dollars just getting me from a kidnapping?"

They all shrug. "I'd say it was a worthy investment," Dick says, trailing his eyes to the cockpit. I look up there, too.

I decide to visit Bruce in the cockpit. Though the others have changed, washed, or at least dried off a little, Bruce is still in the same condition he was when we left Ra's palace. The pilot head gear a looks a little funny on top of the cowl.

He probably hears me coming because of the bells on my feet ornaments, but he doesn't seem to acknowledge it. I sit down in the co-pilot seat next to him, folding a leg under and crossing my arms. Bruce doesn't say anything; in fact, he hasn't said a word since we exited the palace. This doesn't bother me; I don't say anything for a while either.

After a moment, I sigh. Then I say, "Well, that was fun."

Bruce looks to me and suddenly he's flicking switches very rapidly. He gets up; I assume he put the jet on autopilot. Without a word he towers over me, and then roughly picks up my arm. He twists it from side to side, grazing it with his other hand, pushing up my stupid fluffy sleeves. He drops my arm and picks up my other one, doing to the same quick and harsh process.

"Hey, hey, hey! What are you doing?"

"Have you been hurt? Was he abusive? Do you feel woozy at all?" He barks at me in his full blown Batman voice, twisting my neck in odd directions and peering closely at it.

"No, I'm fine. Quit it!"

He doesn't stop. "Did he inject you with anything? Did he ask you weird questions? Did he mention anything that seemed out of place?" He lifts a leg to examine it. I can only imagine what that must look like from the passenger area.

"No, no, no. We played Monopoly." I'm momentarily blinded by a sharp small light shown in my pupils.

He stops. "You played Monopoly?"

"Yeah. I don't think he planned anything nefarious, Bruce." I rub my eyes to get rid of the spots. "I think kidnapping was it."

For a moment there's no more interrogation and I concentrate on rubbing my eyes. When I open them, however, it's because Bruce is no longer standing, but has buried his face in my lap, arms clasped tightly around my legs. I am surprised but mainly because he chose to show this kind of vulnerability around the family, which he doesn't usually do, and because it was unexpected as it always is. I lay a hand on the back of his cowl and wait. I can feel him breathe through the fabric, but he doesn't say anything.

Eventually I feel short bursts of air and his shoulders shake. He starts making a low, rhythmic noise that is getting louder. I start worrying about who is going to land the plane if Bruce is incapacitated with crying. He lifts his head; he's smiling and laughing.

"What?"

"...This outfit..." he touches the gauzy fabric and laughs again.

"Okay, I have had just about enough of everyone making fun my clothes. I didn't pick out, you know, so I shouldn't have..."

"No." He sits back on his heels and trails a hand up my leg, gently this time. "I'm saying that I like it."

"You do?" Our eyes lock, and I know from experience that it is definitely not a joking gaze.

"Yes." He starts to sit up and he continues to trail his hand all the way up the seam of the dress. "We don't have that many costumes" he reaches my neck and kisses it, "for you."

Ooh. So the trip wasn't such a waste after all. "You see? Ra's is not such a bad guy."

He pulls back. "Aside from the genocide."

"Yes. Aside from that." I grin, thinking about my new plan. My sister Katy has been bugging me to set her up with someone from my vast connections. I've been looking half-heartedly, but all I know are lazy, rich charity slobs, the kind of real-life Bruce Wayne's. But someone who is passionate, intelligent, environmentally active... I can just imagine pitching it. "Katy: how do you feel about evil men?" Ubu and I have exchanged email addresses and I'm supposed to notify him if it's a go. I can't tell Bruce; I'm sure he'd be ithrilled/i at the idea of his mortal enemy dating his sister in law. But then again, it may never go anywhere.
Bruce sits back in his seat and flicks autopilot off, quickly reaching his usual silent serene. I relax back, too, and we chat about what we might do when we get home or later in the week, the children making noise in the background, asking loudly if we "are close to home yet?"

"They're...probably stinky..." That's the only thing I could think of at the moment.

"Hence the washing. You don't mind, do you?"

I can't escape the disturbed look on my face and fail at answering. "...I...guess... not..."

What is one supposed to do in these situations? He's touching my feet. He's a complete stranger and touching my feet. Ubu goes on as if it's nothing.

"Well, it was small, private...really nothing..." I say before I even realize it. I've had to say that to so many people v istrange/i people v since I've been married that it came out automatically. The thought always following is ionly about a thousand people/i where I bitterly reminisce about the wedding guest list reaching University size proportions. No matter how many millions of people were invited, there always seem to be more that feel snubbed by missing it. But I remember who I'm speaking to. "But isn't that against some mortal enemy code to go to the others wedding?"

He holds in a snort. "Hell no. Ubu. God knows where he got ithat/i crazy name. It's Keith Larsdayle, but not around here." He whispers, "keep it on the down-low."

"You don't mind being Ubu?" I eye his tiny embroidered vest and shaved head.

Keith shrugs. "The man can hardly wipes his ass by himself, but at least it pays better than dry cleaning."

"Dry cleaning?"

"My brother owns a business in Tulsa. He was going to spot me a job when my pilates fell through."

"Does Ra's acknowledge any of this information?" I ask, suppressing a giggle.

I laugh out loud and Ubu joins me.

"How long have you been out of the States?" I ask wearily. Maybe the desert sun has addled his brain.

"Funny. I never knew I had a fan base." This has got to be a joke.

I clear my throat. "So by saying ¦we,' do you mean that I am a gay icon?"