Chapter 7

Love and War

Lois hummed to herself as she juggled her cup of coffee, the two morning papers she'd just purchased from the newsstand, the paper bag with her breakfast donut inside, her purse, and her room key. She finally managed to get the door open without spilling everything onto the ground and staggered into the room.

She let her purse fall to the floor, heedless of where it landed, dropped the key in the general direction of the purse, slid her coffee onto her nightstand, kicked off her shoes, and flopped onto the bed. Only when her stomach made contact did she remember that "flopping" wasn't really a good idea on a rock-hard mattress, and she winced at the bruising force against her ribs.

Lois rolled onto her back and pulled the donut out of her bag with one hand while grabbing her coffee with the other. She took a big bite and followed it with a long pull from her cup. She was definitely feeling the need for coffee this morning, given how late she'd gotten back to the hotel the night before. It had taken her forever to get a cab to take her close enough to Arkham for her to retrieve her car.

Feeling slightly more caffeinated, Lois dragged the newspapers onto her lap. It took a bit of juggling, but she managed not to spill her coffee or drop her breakfast as she unfolded The Daily Planet.

The headline made her scowl, mostly because the name in small print beneath it wasn't her own. She was seriously going to have to have words with her editor. Granted, the front page of the Planet usually covered either global issues or events in Metropolis, but still. Her story on the breakout was certainly more worthy of the front page than the President's stupid economic summit.

Okay, so not everyone would agree with her on that, she had to concede.

She flipped pages until she found her article about the breakout. At least it was above the fold. For the moment, she shelved the issue of where her article would have been more appropriately placed and scanned the text. Her disgruntlement was slightly improved when she saw her editor hadn't butchered it too badly. Sometimes he got a tad overeager with his little red pen.

Slightly mollified, Lois tossed the Daily Planet aside and reached for the Gotham Gazette. Now that was a paper with the good sense to put the breakout on the front page, above the fold. (Of course, it had happened in Gotham, but Lois deemed that to be largely irrelevant to the issue.) She scanned the article. It was okay, she supposed, but nowhere near as good as her own. That was the problem with reading other newspapers; she couldn't resist the urge to critique. Okay, to be fair, she did the same thing with other reporters at the Planet.

Lois had been accused of having something of a competitive streak. She didn't know what caused such vicious rumors. She only made the tiniest of gloating chuckles when she saw that the reporter at the Gazette didn't have a number of facts that she'd been able to put into her own article, and she could only imagine an editor somewhere across town was blowing a gasket. Of course, the Gazette reporter hadn't snuck into the Asylum when things were rapidly escalating towards a full-fledged riot. Most reporters had a better-developed sense of self-preservation.

Her curiosity satisfied, she almost threw the Gazette to the floor, to join the discarded Daily Planet, but she was bored, so she flipped through it instead. Apparently, there was going to be a hike in bus fares in Gotham over the next few months. WayneTech stock was on the rise. The Gotham Griffins anticipated a rough season, due to some injuries to key members of the team. And on the society page…

"Oh. My. God," Lois breathed, almost spilling her coffee as she saw the photo covering the page. Her. Her face. Well, her profile. Of course, she wasn't alone in the shot; she'd hardly make the front page of the society page on her own merits. The camera had caught the kiss she'd given the stranger who had acted as her savior at the fundraiser the night before. In the photo, the embrace seemed much more intimate than she remembered it being.

Her eyes dropped to the caption at the bottom of the page. The caption in huge, pulsating, 2,000-point font (though perhaps she was exaggerating) read, "Bruce Wayne's New Girlfriend?"

Bruce Wayne. Bruce Friggin' Wayne. She had roped Bruce "Born with a Silver Spoon in His Mouth" Wayne into helping her get into the party. She might not have recognized him by sight, but she was certainly familiar with the name. Gotham's Golden Boy, owner of Wayne Enterprises, and she'd offered him a fifty to help her out. The man probably tipped the local barista a fifty just for getting him a cup of coffee! At this point, she didn't think it was possible for her to be a bigger idiot.

As she indulged in a moment of retroactive embarrassment, she scanned the article. She hadn't even finished it yet when her phone rang. Lois groaned when she saw the name on her caller ID. Oliver Queen.

She hit the button and held the phone to her ear. "Hey, Ollie," she said with a sigh.

"Lois!" Oliver's voice was warm, and Lois couldn't help but smile at the sound of it. "So, how's the investigation going? Tracked down the bat yet? You know if you want a little backup, all you need to do is ask."

She shifted, trying to get more comfortable as she rested her head against the wall. "It's coming alone. You see my article this morning?"

"I did," he acknowledged. "And for the moment, let's just gloss over the terrifying thought of you sneaking into an insane asylum during a breakout." He paused and then explained, "I read between the lines."

She offered a weak smile. "It's all part of my charm, Ollie! You know that!"

He sighed. "It's what's going to send me to an early grave. Consider yourself lucky I'm not on a plane right now, ready to drag you back to Metropolis so I can keep my eye on you."

Lois snorted. "Oh, I'd like to see you try."

"Anyway, funny story," he said, ignoring her statement as he changed the subject. "I was flipping through the paper today and I came across a picture of an old buddy of mine. He was with a girl who looked remarkably like you. You know anything about that?"

Unsure how to explain, she decided to stall. "Since when do you read the Gotham Gazette?"

"Since you told me you were planning to set up camp in Gotham for a while. I figured you'd get yourself into trouble; even I'm astonished you managed it so fast. I thought it would take at least another week or two. I don't know what scares me more – that you're breaking into Arkham Asylum (almost certainly without backup), or that you're dating Bruce Wayne."

"Why? What's wrong with Bruce?" she asked, spurred by his comment.

"Haven't you heard his reputation? He's quite the ladies' man."

She snorted. "Whereas you're as pure as the driven slush. Not sure you have a lot of room to talk, Ollie," she pointed out.

He took her criticism with good grace. "What can I say? I let the most amazing woman I've ever known get away. Nobody else has managed to stack up, so I'm afraid I'm doomed to settling for second best." Lois shifted uncomfortably, this time due more to his words than the mattress. However, her discomfort was forgotten and she rolled her eyes in disbelief when he continued, "Happily for me, there is a long line of 'second best' willing to apply for the position."

"Anyway," she said firmly, redirecting the conversation again. "I'm not dating Bruce Wayne. I just needed his help to get into a fundraiser last night. In my defense, I didn't realize who he was at the time."

Oliver chuckled. "Please tell me you didn't tip him, too."

"No," she admitted, smiling at the memory of how she'd first met the man on the other end of the line. She seemed to have a thing about offering billionaires money. "I did offer him a fifty for his trouble, but I may have tried to weasel my way out of paying him." Oliver laughed aloud at that.

"Poor man," he said, once he'd regained control of himself. "You know, it's always amazed me that you can have informants in every back-alley bar and rathole in Metropolis, but you fail to recognize some of the richest and most influential men in the world."

"Eh," Lois said, the small exhalation of sound tasked with conveying the full extent of her complete lack of caring. "When billionaire playboys and society page socialites start coming through for me with solid tips about citywide corruption schemes, I'll start paying attention to them. Otherwise, the only time I care about Who's Who of the Rich and Useless is when they've committed a crime I'm working to expose." She paused and then added, a bit belatedly, "Um, I wasn't talking about you, when I made that crack about the Rich and Useless."

She knew him well enough, she could picture his flippant smile as he replied, "Sure, you did, but since you know I work very hard to be both rich and useless, I take it as a compliment." She frowned, wondering if she should argue the point. It would hardly make sense for her to tell him he should take offense, but she also knew he'd been through a rough time, in the previous couple of years. When he made self-deprecating comments, even when he sounded like he was joking, she had the feeling he wasn't. "Anyway, this isn't about me; it's about Bruce Wayne, Crown Prince of Gotham."

"So you know him well?" she asked, tempted dig for more information.

"Lois, he's a billionaire. It's a pretty exclusive club. We wear pins and use secret handshakes and everything," he teased. "But if you're digging for information," damn it; she hated that he knew her so well, in some ways, "you're wasting your breath. I didn't call you to give you pointers on your love life. I called you to tease you about it."

"Oh, thanks," she replied dryly.

Oliver chuckled and continued, "So you really had no idea who he was when you grabbed him and laid one on him, huh? I bet he doesn't even know what hit him. I know I didn't."

Lois sighed and grumbled, "That's not fair! I didn't kiss you!"

"Unfortunately," he muttered, but she ignored him.

Not losing steam, she continued in her defense, "And how was I to know you weren't a delivery boy?"

He replied lightly, "Oh, I don't know. The fact that my picture has been plastered across every paper and magazine ever published in Metropolis. Ever. For, I dunno, my entire life."

Lois ignored him as she growled through gritted teeth, "I don't suppose there's any chance I'm going to be able to live this down, is there?"

Ollie still sounded entirely too amused when he responded, "Not any time soon, no." He paused and she heard a low murmur in the background. Then he said, his voice sobering slightly, "Listen, I've got to go. You sure you don't want me to come out there? Honestly, it would be no trouble; I'd be happy to do it. I meant it when I said I'd be there for you, whatever you need."

She smiled warmly, knowing he couldn't see her face but would hear the appreciation in her tone when she murmured, "Thanks, Ollie. That means a lot to me, I mean it. But this is just something I've gotta do alone, you understand?"

"Not really, but I'm trying to," he admitted. He fell silent for a second. When he spoke again, his voice was low and earnest, all traces of teasing gone. "He never deserved you, you know. Not saying I did, either, but at least I was smart enough to know what I was throwing away, even if I was too dumb to do anything about it. You know if I had a chance to do it all over again, I'd do things differently, right?"

They weren't talking about Bruce any longer. It was hard to talk around the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat, and Lois picked idly at her threadbare blanket, attempting to suppress her emotional reaction to the subject that she spent so much time trying to forget.

She remembered what she'd told the man on the other end of the line, as they sat together on a front porch at a wedding that hadn't gone exactly as planned. "I thought – just for a minute – that someone needed me." The memory still made her cringe, as much from the memory of how she'd let her guard down as because she realized she'd actually wanted to be needed. The fact she'd been so monumentally, almost laughably, wrong in that minute was just an added an extra dose of self-recrimination to the entire situation. "You don't mean that," she said in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, I do." Then Oliver cleared his throat and said with false cheer, "Anyway, just remember that I'm here for you, okay? Whatever you need, all you have to do is ask."

"Thanks, Ollie," she replied, touched by the sincerity of his offer. "You're a good friend."

He made a noncommittal sound. "So you'll take my advice and stay away from Bruce?" he tried one last time.

Lois snorted. "Please. I didn't even give him my name. I'm sure he has no idea who I am, I'll never see him again, and this whole thing will be forgotten by tomorrow." Just then, she heard a knock on the door. She frowned, wondering who it could be. Probably someone who had the wrong room. "Anyway, there's someone at the door, so I've gotta go now. Talk to you later. Bye, Ollie." She heard him wish her goodbye, and then she hung up the phone.

There was another knock, and she got to her feet and crossed the few steps to the door. When she threw it open, she let out an audible gasp at the sight on the other side of the solid panel. Her savior from last night. Bruce Wayne. Standing on her doorstep. Well, lounging, more like. He was leaning against the doorjamb, one hand slipped casually into the pocket of his high-end, tailored suit, his other hand behind his back. His feet were crossed at the ankle. Her gaze dropped to his feet; his shoes probably cost as much as her car. Her gaze swept up his body. No, his suit cost as much as her car; his shoes would have just covered the price of the monthly rent of a high-rise apartment in downtown Metropolis.

And she'd offered him fifty dollars as an incentive to help her out. Though, really, she supposed she should have been more appalled at herself for having stiffed him.

After her initial start of shock, Lois crossed her arms over her chest and tossed her hair over her shoulder. With a smile of bravado, she drawled, "Mister Wayne, I presume."

"Ah, Miss Lane," he said. "And here I was thinking you hadn't caught my name last night."

"Hm," she replied, leaning against the doorjamb. "I know you didn't catch mine. How'd you find me?" He held up the newspaper he'd been hiding behind his back, showing their kiss in lurid black and white. "Nice try, but I happen to know for a fact it didn't print my name."

Bruce frowned and glanced at the paper. "True," he admitted. "Happily for me, I have a friend who's good at tracking people down. He was a little busy last night, so it took him a little longer than it normally would have, but he managed to come through for me in the end."

Oh. Right. It was a stupid question, she realized in retrospect. It wasn't like he didn't have enough money to hire a fleet of private investigators to track her down, should he so choose. The fact that he'd chosen to do so was a bit of a surprise. It was also incredibly flattering, if she had to be honest. Not that she'd admit as much to him. She did allow herself to smile, choosing discretion as the better part of valor as she mentally debated how high to set her sarcasm meter.

Bruce didn't seem taken aback by her silence. He uncrossed his ankles and straightened. "Anyway, I'm here to cash in your promise for dinner and a dance."

Lois snorted, tried to stifle the sound, and emitted a strange sound that was somewhere between a squawk and a choke. Hoping she wasn't flushing too red, she acted like she'd intended to make a sound like a cat choking on a bit of bone. "Really? And the fact that it's only…" she paused and looked at the clock, "half past noon doesn't strike you as kind of a huge flaw in your plan?"

He leaned in and explained in a conspiratorial murmur, "Call me crazy, but I thought you might need a little convincing."

Lois sighed and rolled her eyes, lest he think his charm was actually getting him anywhere. Just because her pulse had a nasty tendency to race when he was near didn't have to mean anything, as long as she kept it to herself. "Well, a billionaire in this part of town is only going to draw attention. You're going to get mugged, hanging out on my doorstep like this. I guess you should come inside."

His face didn't change expression, but she could swear she saw amusement in his eyes at her gracious offer. She stepped back, allowing him enough room to squeeze past. "Nice place," he mused as he looked around the Spartan space.

"You think so?" Lois asked, shutting the door and glancing around with pursed lips. "Thanks! Trade you?" She'd be more than happy to live in a mansion while he roughed it in this hellhole.

He turned to face her, the corner of his mouth twitching. "I was being polite."

She hummed, a non-committal noise. "Yeah. I don't usually bother with that, myself."

"So I've noticed." He wasn't smiling when he said it, but his gaze was too warm to take offense.

He was staring at her in a way that made her feel distinctly uncomfortable. Like he was seeing right through her or something. Which was about the moment that she realized how she must look – her hair hastily thrust into a messy ponytail, her face devoid of makeup, and her morning coffee and donut still on her breath.

Oh, good god.

She shifted, an awkward jerking of her shoulders, as her brain scrambled for a way to distract him. "Anyway, why don't you have a seat while you come up with a mental list of all the reasons you think I'm going to join you for dinner, all of which I'm sure I will ignore? I just have to – ah…" Her voice trailed off as she glanced around and realized that there was only one place to sit in the room. On the bed. Well, if that wasn't just a new level of nightmare.

"Gimme a moment," she mumbled, darting to the bed. She threw her newspapers, clippings, notes, and the rest into a haphazard pile, and swept them into her arms as she kicked at the clothes sticking out of her suitcase, which had been pushed halfway under the bed. She gave her suitcase a swift kick, trying to shove it against the wall, and her foot connected with a crumpled piece of paper. The paper skittered out from under the bed, rolling against the wall, but Lois didn't notice.

"I'm just gonna…" she nodded towards the bathroom door. She looked down at the papers in her hands, glanced towards the bathroom, and then huffed in irritation. "Oh, just sit down, would you?" she griped, storming away.

Of course, her bathroom was roughly the size of a closet, and there wasn't really a place to store her papers. She glanced around desperately for a moment and then shrugged, dumped them onto the floor of the shower, and pulled the curtain closed. She'd sort it out later.

It took only a few minutes to make herself respectable. When she walked back into the bedroom, she saw that Bruce wasn't sitting on the bed. He was standing against the wall, reading a crumpled piece of paper. She didn't realize what it was until he glanced up and said, "Interesting. You really think Batman's a racecar driving ninja trapeze artist magician? I have to admit, I don't think I've ever heard that theory before."

"Hey!" she cried, making a grab for the sheet of paper. "That's just…it's personal!"

Somehow, instead of snatching the paper out of his grip, she found her hand trapped in his. His voice dropped to a low murmur as he asked, "How's your head?" She pulled back a little, surprised. "I thought I saw a bruise, earlier, when I came in. What happened?"

"Oh," she said, lifting her hand to her hair. Her bangs should cover the bruise, left behind after her impact against the wall the night before. Then again, her hair had been pretty disheveled before, and if he'd seen it, the bruise must have been visible. "Just a little occupational hazard, really," she said sheepishly, combing her hair over her forehead with her fingers. "Not a big deal. Believe me, I've had worse." She pulled her hand out of his and stepped away.

His eyes still locked on hers, Bruce opened his mouth, as if to say something, but then she saw him appear to change his mind. "So, you're investigating the Batman? Trying to figure out his secret identity?"

She frowned, turning away as she folded the crumpled sheet of paper and slipped it into her pocket. She'd throw it away later, but for now, she just wanted it out of sight. "Well, if he wants to come up and introduce himself to me, I certainly wouldn't turn down the interview. But I saw Batman in action; he's a hero." She knew she should keep her objectivity as a reporter, but after meeting him last night, she was even more certain that the official story on him didn't make sense. "I don't know what happened the night Harvey Dent died, but if Batman's going to keep doing good in this city, people can't know who he is right now. So I'm not here to uncover his name. I'm here to clear it." She grinned. "Then I'll worry about who he really is and land the story of a lifetime."

Bruce didn't say anything; he just stared at her for a long moment, his head bowed. He was looking at her with an assessing expression on his face, as if she was a puzzle he was trying to figure out. As the silence stretched between them, Lois realized just how close he was. She swore she could almost feel his breath against her skin. It was oddly intimate, standing with him like this, and that realization made her inexplicably nervous.

With a soft cough, Lois took a step back, breaking the spell that had fallen between them. Then she braced her hands on her hips and threw him a cocky smile as she offered her challenge. "Anyway, you didn't come here to talk about the Batman. You were about to try to convince me. I should probably warn you, I'm pretty stubborn."

"I find that hard to believe," he deadpanned, and she didn't even try to hide her answering grin. Lois was well aware of her flaws (or, as she considered them, 'virtues for those with discriminating taste'). At times, she was even proud of them. "But I should probably warn you, I don't fight fair."

Lois tried to hide her smile. Damn it, it wasn't fair that, with his looks, he was charming, as well. Did he have to so obviously corner the market on sex appeal? She looked away, to hide her expression, and caught sight of the paper he'd been holding earlier, which he'd thrown on the bed while she was out of the room. The photo of the kiss was clearly visible, even from across the room.

Maybe in all seriousness, this was a bad idea. Lois's romantic history actually surpassed "train wreck" and launched well into "nuclear meltdown" territory. Most of the guys she'd dated in the past several years had tried to kill her, it seemed. Her only really "successful" relationship had been with Oliver Queen, since the two of them had managed to part on good terms. Still, the end of the relationship had been painful enough that she'd had to drown her sorrows in a pint or two of Rocky Road ice cream.

For the sake of her heart – not to mention her waistline – was it really a good idea to dip her toe in the romantic pool again? Hadn't she just recently sworn off even thinking about giving romance a shot for the next decade or so? And she couldn't entirely ignore the warning she'd just been given. After all, Bruce was another billionaire playboy, and if Ollie was telling the truth, then he didn't exactly have the best track record with the ladies. She'd certainly been down this road before, and it didn't end well for her. She'd had to close the door on a potential future with Oliver Queen because she'd come to realize that, even without his extracurricular activities, he'd always leave her behind in one way or another. No matter how much he cared about her, there would be times when she had been – and would likely continue to be – something a little too close to an afterthought for him.

Was Bruce really likely to be that different? He didn't moonlight as a superhero, as Ollie did, but that didn't necessarily mean he wouldn't leave her behind. Besides, Lois had decided to focus on her career and not allow herself to be distracted by another doomed relationship. She wasn't so cynical that she thought that love didn't exist, but she had come to embrace the idea that it just wasn't for her.

No, this was a bad idea. She couldn't believe she'd even let things get this far. She was here in Gotham to work, to track down a story about the Batman. She was now faced with a potential series of future articles on the recapture of the city's Most Wanted. The last thing she needed was to be distracted by her federal disaster zone of a love life, regardless of how nice she found Bruce's eyes or the way he made her laugh.

She straightened, crossed her arms over her chest, and tried to force a nonchalant smile. "You know, this has been fun, but I really should get back to work." She scooted towards her purse, picked it up, and fished around inside of it until she found her wallet. She opened it and pulled out some cash, which she then held out to her companion, hoping he wouldn't notice the slight trembling in her hands. "I told you I'd give you a fifty for your help, so I guess it's only fair if I pay up. But, really, I think it's best that we leave things at that."

A flash of surprise crossed Bruce's face at her sudden change of mood, but he didn't say anything right away. Instead, he stepped forward and reached for her hand. When his fingers closed around hers, she felt a brief spark of disappointment, which was ridiculous. She'd wanted to fend him off, and now she was a little let down that he was letting her off the hook so easily? How absurd.

But he didn't take her money. Instead, he wrapped her hand around the cash, tucking it into her palm. "Keep it," he murmured, his face distractingly close to hers. Seriously, there was no reason he had to stand so close to her right now. Or ever. There was apparently only so much oxygen to be had in a room at any given time, and he was clearly taking up her share because she found herself a little short of breath, with him so close. She tried to pull her hand back, but he held it fast in his own. "You promised me dinner and a dance, remember? I intend to hold you to it."

She huffed. "Yeah, well…I've changed my mind."

He didn't move, and she couldn't read his expression when he replied, "I haven't." Then he dropped her hand and walked towards the door. "I'll pick you up at eight," he said over his shoulder.

Her jaw dropped. That was it? She'd told him she wouldn't go to dinner with him, and he came back with 'be ready at eight'? And he expected her to actually agree? She followed him to the door, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me! Did you miss the part where I said I didn't want to go to dinner with you?"

"First of all, you didn't actually say that. Still, I got the point, but since you actually do want to go to dinner with me, I've decided to ignore it," he replied, sounding almost flippant. He didn't even turn to look at her, the rat.

Lois was so irritated, she didn't know if she wanted to scream or throw something at his head. He started to leave, but she raced forward and ducked around his arm, slapping her palm against the wooden door with enough force to slam it closed. "Are you always this arrogant?" she snapped, glaring at him.

Bruce looked up, appearing to consider the question. Finally, he glanced down at her and said, "Actually, I think…yes." He paused, as if mulling over the question for a moment more and then gave a decisive nod. "Absolutely. Yes. I'm definitely always this arrogant."

Had she thought he was charming? She'd meant 'annoying.' He was annoying. "Does this usually work with the ladies, Wayne? Because let me tell you, down here, in the real world, it's not gonna fly. You can come by at eight if you want, but I'm not going to be here!"

The corner of his mouth quirked up just a little. "Sure you will," he predicted. "You want to be able to throw my dinner invitation back into my face and, if at all possible, throw in an 'I told you so' for good measure."

"I…you…!" she spluttered. How had he known she'd been planning on doing just that? Of course, in her hastily-concocted fantasy, she'd be dressed casually (though still making sure to look better than she had when he'd surprised her at the door) and she'd greet him with the casual nonchalance of someone who'd forgotten the invitation entirely. "You can't honestly think I'm going to go to dinner with you!"

"Why not?" he asked mildly. "You promised."

"Under duress! Which clearly doesn't count!" she retorted, more from irritation than honesty.

He didn't seem perturbed by her revisionist history as he pulled open the door. "You know what they say, Miss Lane. All's fair in love and war."

Lois crossed her arms over her chest and glowered at him. "All right, Mister Wayne. I guess it's war."