A/N: Another late (late, late) chapter. Yep...sorry 'bout that.

~Chapter Six~

The Talanian high sorcerer didn't react to Bruce's outburst in any way except to raise one grossly long, white eyebrow. Clark tried to stop Bruce from getting dangerously close to the elderly alien, and failed because he couldn't quite tell where things were with all the smoke.

"Look," Bruce said, nearly close enough to choke the guy. "I don't want any of these fucking theatrics. No riddles or cryptic statements or ancient treasure maps. No blood rituals or 'finding my inner self' or any of that shit. I just want to know, in plain English, how to get rid of this spell. Got it?"

"Clearly," the sorcerer replied, with such a tangible note of disdain that Clark had to stifle a chuckle. "Anything for the champion."

Bruce growled something about magic being the scourge of every world with a sun, but quietly enough that only Clark caught it. The sorcerer waved his hands over the pot, twisting smoke up between his hands. The scent of the air changed from curry to apples, almost sickly sweet.

"Ah," the sorcerer said. "Yes, I see. Quite the mistake, this, but then I suppose that Alizandra never was one to check for specifications. Fiery girl, her, good sorceress with good magic but—ah—a bit hasty in it. Yes, I certainly see the problem."

"Good," Bruce replied. "Now if you wouldn't mind fixing it."

"Only the sorcerer who produces the spell can remove it." The old man clapped his hands together but they made no sound, and the fire spit up from under the pot. Bruce started to protest, took a step forward, but the sorcerer raised a finger to stop her. "Most of the time, that is. Most of the time. But we're about to approach an equinox point, and so in two days' time a threshold will open in the main hall. This threshold is a vacuum of magic. A cleansing place. Anyone who steps through will be stripped of any spells or curses placed upon them."

"So all he has to do is step through?" Clark asked.

"Yes. Mostly."

"Always a catch when it comes to magic," Bruce said.

The sorcerer sighed something about impertinence and the smoke in the room darkened. His long, thin mustache twitched with displeasure. Clark thought his expression might be a touch akin to the one that Alfred wore whenever he was losing patience with Master Bruce's obsessions. "The threshold will be open for only the briefest of moments—fifteen of your minutes at most. If you fail to go through in that space, then there won't be another chance. The spell will complete the transformation long before the threshold opens again."

"Great, so right in the middle of the same day I'm supposed to be catching an intergalactic pirate, I have to go hop onto a magical whozit portal." Bruce crossed her arms and leaned against the door. "Just my luck, I suppose."

"Gratitude is usually the path taken in these circumstances," the sorcerer said, "but since that hardly seems likely, you best be on your way."

"Well," Clark noted, once they were on their way back to their quarters. "at least we found some way to reverse the spell. I suppose reminding you to be a little nicer is a lost cause at this point. Hopefully the others have information about G'lorth, at least."

"Hmph," Bruce sniffed, which sounded almost dignified when done girly.

****#****

They got back to the quarters right around the same time that Diana and Shayera did, with GL and Flash not far behind. There was another long night of Talanian ritual ahead of them, this one an elaborate play followed by a waltz celebrating some battle or another. This meant, of course, that they had to get dressed up again and endure the Talanians' endless rituals and annoying diplomats. But it would be the perfect cover for G'lorth to meet his buyer.

"The talk is that the deal is going down during the play's third act," Diana said. "Now we can't stop it, because then we'll never find the weapon. But we can at least figure out who's buying, and who the Talanian go-between is."

"G'lorth's disguised himself as a support member of one of the humanoid embassies. Which one, we still don't know. They're probably innocent, though. Took him on as a secretary or something, none the wiser," Shayera added, while stripping small fruits of their skins with her fingernails. "We'd better be getting ready."

GL appeared in the hall that lead to the bedrooms. "Speaking of that," he said, "what the hell is wrong with Bruce?"

"What?" Clark and Diana got up from the table and went into Bruce's room, with the others in close pursuit. Clothes were strewn across the bed, mostly the gowns that the Talanians had provided. Pink, blue, red, gold—ruffles and ribbons covered the bed, the chair, and the floor.

Bruce was standing in front of the mirror, on her tiptoes, holding a particularly bright, frilly, and poofy gown across her chest. She did a little spin, and stopped in front of Clark and Diana. She was wearing a big, happy grin that was frighteningly out of place. "Isn't this pretty? I'm going to wear it tonight. Or maybe the sparkly red one—I like sparkles! There's so many to choose from."

"Um." It took Clark a full minute to reconcile this imagine in his brain. "Bruce, are you feeling okay?"

"Of course I am! We're going to a party and I get to wear a pretty dress!" Bruce flopped onto the bed and continued to smile that dopey smile up at them."

"What's fifteen times seventeen?" Clark asked.

"Math? I'm not good at math." Bruce turned over onto her stomach and wrinkled her nose. "Math is hard."

"Great Hera." Diana turned on her heel, grabbed Flash, and slammed him up against the wall. Wally gulped, but she didn't let up. "I swear to all the gods and goddesses listening—if you have turned my boyfriend into a bimbo I will rend your head from your shoulders."

Bruce jumped up, completely unconcerned, and picked another dress off the bed. "Maybe this one. This one has sequins and ribbons."

Clark took her by both shoulders and shook her. "Bruce! Snap out of it! Diana is about to murder Wally and you're acting like you've got bubbles for brains."

Bruce blinked and her expression changed, from dim-witted happy to confused, and then her eyes got wide and she threw the dress across the room and almost fell back against the wall. "Did I really say that? Oh my god, did I really think that?"

"The spell's getting worse." Clark let her go.

"No shit, Sherlock, I think we can all tell that the spell's getting worse." Bruce went into the bathroom and splashed fistfuls of freezing water on her face, washing away mascara.

"How are you going to hunt for G'lorth if you're prancing around in fancy shoes gibbering about your lipstick?" Shayera asked, leaning against the doorframe. "Frankly, I don't really want to see Little Miss Bats with sharp weapons."

Bruce slung her utility belt over her shoulder and curled her hand around it protectively. "I can catch pirates perfectly fine, thank you very much. This isn't any of your goddamn concern."

"It is if you're supposed to have my back."

"You want to test my fighting skills?" Bruce pulled a batarang out of her belt and dropped into fighting position. "C'mon. Let's go. I'll wager you fifty bucks that I can put you down in twenty minutes."

"Can we all stop trying to kill each other?" GL asked. "I realize that these are strange circumstances, but we do have to have some men left to get G'lorth. Which won't happen if you all start murdering one another."

Bruce glared at Shayera but straightened up and only secured the belt across herself like a sash. "Fine. If I go all crazy again, I give you permission to knock me out. That good enough for you?"

"Quite," Shayera said, and petted her mace. "Now the ball is almost starting, so you'd better pick out one of your pretty dresses, Cinderella."

"He looks more like Snow White." Flash, again, forgot to think before speaking, but when he saw the expression on Bruce's face he ducked behind Clark.

Bruce yanked him out and twisted his arm behind his back. "You had better be damn hopeful that this whole threshold thing goes off without a hitch."