FOREWARNING: This has been sitting on my hard drive for almost a year because I wrote it while on Vicodin and it is totally cracktastic and insane. But my New Year's Resolution is to start taking more risks, so please enjoy the craziness of my drugged-up brain :) Rated T for humorous nudity and Bruce's dirty language.

~Chapter One~

Tensions were running high. They'd been on the mission for two days already, and they were dirty, sweaty, and exhausted. Clark had had to stop Bruce from murdering Wally twice already.

And they weren't even fighting anyone.

The JLA had been asked to take the Javelin and warp-leap thirty light-years to the Talan Hierarchy, an alien civilization that had invited Earth to send ambassadors to their yearly Meeting of Worlds. The United Nations, of course, had called on the Justice League to set up relations with the Talanians. Their secondary purpose was to catch an interstellar pirate that the Green Lanterns had been hunting for months, and who'd been spotted hiding out in the hubbub of the Meeting of Worlds celebrations.

Needless to say, diplomacy was wearing. The Talanians were one of those species that loved endless ceremonies with all the pomp and circumstance. They still had a week of feasts, dances, and on the middle day a ritual fight where one warrior from each race in attendance fought magically-enlivened armor and sculptures (because the Talanians just had to be a magic-using race).

They were all tired and cranky—even Diana had started snapping at people. But Bruce was definitely in the worst of his moods, mostly because he had to be the one to play warrior in the ritual fight, as there was a ban on powers. And when Bruce was in a bad mood, Wally should not have been anywhere near him.

"I'm going to kill you." Bruce hissed, Talanian purple-sprout juice splashed all across his shirt.

They were at another feast, this time one to celebrate "The Day of Less Talking" (a Talanian celebration of a war in which neither party wanted to negotiate a treaty) and thus the room was nearly silent. But Wally, seated across from Bruce, had tried to reach one of the roasted six-legged birds on a nearby platter and tipped his cup over right onto Bruce.

"Sorry, Bats." Wally held up his meal apologetically. "It was the last one."

Bruce leaned across the table, very, very deliberately, and grabbed Wally by the collar. "I am going to murder you."

"Come on, now," Clark reached over and pulled Bruce back. "At least it's not your costume. T-shirts can be replaced easy."

Bruce grumbled and tried to wipe off the sprout juice. They'd decided to forgo the costumes—they were across the galaxy after all, and with the Talanians' weird customs it seemed the better bet.

"Ease up," Wally laughed. "We get eight days off with decent food and hot alien chicks."

"I should be working," Bruce snapped. "And so should you."

Wally slumped in his chair. "God. Fine. Spoilsport."

"Guys," said Clark and Diana, in unison. Bruce and Wally glared at each other and went back to their plates.

****#*****

That night, Wally left his room and took a walk through the winding Talanian gardens, cursing Batman all the way. They had to go on this mission—couldn't he be glad that they weren't getting punched for once? Or maybe try to lighten up and laugh stuff off once in awhile? Bruce Wayne was kind of a cool dude, if you got over the foppishness—maybe if Bats took a breather he could be an actual person.

Wally kicked a rock on the ground and it shot through an orange plant. Someone on the other side shrieked.

Crap! He darted around the weird-colored roses and found a woman sitting on the ground, rubbing her knee. She was Talanian, with the ruddy red skin and the green crosshatching down her arms.

"Sorry!" He grabbed her and set her back on her feet. "I kicked that rock—didn't mean to hit you with it."

She smiled. Wally couldn't tell how old she was, but she had the intricate medallions of a high-level Talanian sorceress. "Upset, I see?"

"Naw." Was it wrong that he found Talanian girls kinda hot? "It's just that—not that this whole 'Meeting of Worlds' isn't great or anything—but one of my teammates is being a jerk since we have to be here and I wish he'd just see it from my point of view for once."

"You want him to…" she hesitated, the comlinks' Talanian translator program had some glitches. "Change the way he sees things?"

"Yeah!" They ambled along the pathway, under the leftover banners from yesterday's festivities. "I just think we'd both be better off, you know?"

"Yes." She clasped her hands; it was some sort of Talanian-magic thing but Wally had phased out when J'onn explained all the intricate little rituals. "Many people wish others would change—there are some people who just won't see from a new perspective."

"That's exactly what he needs—a fresh perspective." Wally looked at her, and was suddenly hit with an idea. "Hey, you're a sorceress, right? Do you have a spell or a potion or something that will make him not be such a stubborn bastard? Not mind control of course, just…ah…make him have a more open mind?"

"I have something for fresh perspectives. Quite popular, on Talan, for those who don't have the right one to start with." The sorceress pulled a vial from her robe. "Here. Free, for a guest."

"Thanks!" Wally took the tiny glass container. The liquid inside was light amber. It looked a lot like apple juice, actually. "So I just slip this in his drink?"

She nodded, and turned down another path. "I have to go prepare for the Lights Festival tomorrow—do you have all you need?"

Wally turned the vial around in his hand. "Yes, yes I think I do."

****#****

At the feast the next night, the Talanians insisted on seating everyone. Bruce was at the end of their table, in a bronze seat instead of the other's green ones. He looked around and saw that all of the other races' "warriors" were seated the same way. Talanian waiters in long gold robes filtered through the dark wood dining hall carrying platters.

As he watched them set out food, he started seeing that there was some sort of social order going on. Clark (the "leader") got a roasted bird, while Diana (the "ambassador") got a plate of vegetables and something that looked not unlike couscous. Wally, Shayera, J'onn, and John (the "support") were served a cut of sauced meat.

One of the waiters glided up to him, and set down a plate. Diana looked over and almost jumped backward. His plate was full of grey, multi-pronged tentacles swimming in a lighter, sticky grey sauce.

"Comparatively, it's very high in nutritional value." Diana gave the plate a scan with her tricorder, and wrinkled her nose. "Fighting food."

Bruce sighed, and turned away from her and back to his plate, just in time to see Wally pull back. "What were you doing?"

Wally jumped. "I thought I saw a bug in your glass. Geez, Bats. Calm down."

Bruce rolled his eyes (and checked his glass—no bugs, of course) before picking up his forks. As one of their endless customs, the Talanians got upset if you didn't eat their food. "Well, here it goes."

He stabbed at one of the tentacles, and it squirmed away from him. God, ever evolutionary instinct he had was telling him Do not eat creepy-alive alien foods. He finally got one speared and stuck it in his mouth. It tasted rancid—sour and slimy, like two-week-old raw pork. It slithered when he swallowed.

Apparently whatever face he was making was hilarious—Clark was chuckling into his hand. He grabbed his glass and downed the whole eight ounces of disgusting sprout juice in two gulps. It felt like the thing was still wiggling in his stomach. "That's awful. It tastes like rotten meat."

He still had to eat a third of the plate to meet the minimum of Talanian politeness. One of the servers was passing by—he snagged her by the sleeve and told her in no uncertain terms to bring him a whole pitcher of sprout juice.

****#****

Dinner finally ended an hour later. Bruce kept tasting slime in his mouth, no matter how many glasses of bitter juice he drank, but at least he got to hand his still-wiggly plate to a server.

All the hundreds of attendants began moving from the massive dining hall into an equally massive and ornate room for dancing and music from all the worlds in attendance. Bruce followed John and Shayera (they were back together, and obviously looking forward to dancing from the way they couldn't keep their hands from touching) towards the ballroom.

Just before he passed through the doorway a wave of dizziness hit him like a two-ton truck. He grabbed the doorframe before he stumbled. His knees suddenly felt about as sturdy as grape Jell-O.

"Are you all right?" Clark came up behind him and touched his shoulder. "You're shaking."

"I don't feel well all of a sudden." He was cold, even though there were braziers burning all around the room, and his skull felt like it was getting smaller, pressing in on his brain.

Clark pressed a hand to Bruce's forehead. "You're a little feverish. Maybe it's food poisoning?"

"Damn tentacles tasted spoiled." His stomach started twisting itself into knots. His hand went to his side and his knees buckled. "Ooh."

"Yeah, probably food poisoning. That stuff looked disgusting." Clark put an arm around his shoulders. "Come on and lie down. I doubt anyone will miss one human when there's hundreds of different species packed into a dance hall."

Bruce nodded, if only because the lightheadedness was starting to make him feel like the room was changing shape around them. Clark walked him to one of the Talanians' spot transporters and the operator beamed them up to the suite-style hall where they were roomed.

Thank god that the rooms were furnished to human standards. Clark kept a hand on him until they were inside the room he'd been given, and then Bruce just stripped off his shirt and pants and fell into the bed.

"Are you going to be okay?" Clark asked.

"Yeah." He felt marginally better now that he wasn't standing. "Food poisoning usually only lasts twenty-four hours."

Clark turned out the light and left to join the others.

****#****

"Where's Bruce?" Diana asked the next morning, when they were all sitting around the little table in the room that connected all their bedrooms, waiting to start another day of long, long ceremonies. "Is he still sick?"

"Haven't seen him," Shayera said, biting into one of the small, green Talanian fruits that she'd gotten addicted to.

"I don't know." Clark stood up from the table. "Maybe he just didn't wake up. I'll go check on him."

He walked up to Bruce's door and knocked. No answer, but it wasn't locked so he walked in and turned on the light. The form in the bed was completely covered by the blankets, and didn't move. Clark reached out to pull them back. "Bruce? Wake up."

The person in the bed was certainly not Bruce.

In fact, she was for one a woman, and for another naked except for white boxers.