A/N An update! Yay me! (Let's not talk about the fact that I was supposed to be reading postcolonial theory instead of writing this. I couldn't focus anyway.)

Thank you so much all of you who reviewed, particularly Boleyn who sent me three reviews in one day and was directly responsible for me finishing this chapter.

Chapter 9

In Which Bruce Expresses an Opinion about Art and Gordon's Affairs Take a Turn for the Worse

In Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours,
Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers:
Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all.

- Tennyson

"Thanks, baby. Bye."

Babs Gordon hung up the phone and repressed a sigh. Her father was missing dinner for the fourth time that week, thanks to the stupid casino case. Even so, things between her parents had seemed a little calmer lately. There hadn't been a screaming match since the night of the robbery, and even her mother's usual nagging had been absent. Maybe they've finally worked something out, she thought hopefully as she headed slowly to the kitchen. Despite the recent peace, she was still reluctant to break the news.

Barbara was standing in front of the stove, stirring a saucepan full of tomato soup, but she looked over when her daughter entered the kitchen. "Who was on the phone?"

"Dad."

"Skipping dinner?" the older woman asked, almost absently, as she returned her attention to the soup.

"You know how busy this casino case is keeping him," Babs defended, avoiding a direct answer.

"I know," Barbara responded, switching off the burner. "Supper's ready, will you call Jimmy?"

The meal passed peacefully, and if either Babs or her mother were particularly quiet, James Gordon Jr.'s chatter covered it up. Afterward, Babs did the dishes and then went to her room to work on her homework. As she sat at her desk, she could hear Jimmy splashing in the tub, and her mother's voice scolding him. Things quieted down when the bath was over, although Babs mentally followed the routine of brushing teeth and reading a bedtime story.

"Babs! Babsie! I'm going to bed!" Jimmy's voice hollered from his bedroom.

Rolling her eyes, Babs went to perform her part of nighttime ritual. She kissed Jimmy's cheek and rumpled his hair, then waited as her mother turned out the light. Together, the three of them sang

Sleep my child, and peace attend thee, all through the night.
Guardian angels God will lend thee, all through the night.
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping, hill and vale in slumber steeping,
I my loving vigil keeping, all through the night.

As they left Jimmy in his bed, Barbara laid a hand on her daughter's arm. "Wait for me downstairs. I need to talk to you."

An uneasy feeling blossomed in Babs's chest, but she obediently went downstairs and sat on the sofa. When her mother came down, she was carrying a small brown suitcase, her purse, and her coat. She set down the things and sat next to Babs, then reached over and took her daughter's hands.

This is going to be bad.

"Babs, sweetheart, I'm going to visit your grandmother for a few days."

Cancer, thought Babs. "Grandma Jane? Is she sick?"

"No, honey, she's fine. I just need to talk to her."

"Now? But why didn't you tell us earlier?"

"Because…" Barbara drew a deep breath. "Babs, I'm leaving your father."

At first the words didn't even make sense. "What?"

"I can't do this anymore. I can't deal with him being only a part-time member of this family." Barbara laughed bitterly. "Sometimes I feel as though he should punch in on a time card whenever he comes through the door."

Panic was beginning to set in. Babs glanced wildly at the suitcase and then back at her mother. "Why are you going to Grandma's?"

"She's going to lend me money to start divorce proceedings. I'll be back at the beginning of next week."

"So you're just leaving … leaving us?" Babs tore her hands from her mother's and jumped up off the sofa. "You're leaving us!"

"No!" Barbara stood up too and grabbed Babs's shoulder, forcing the girl to look at her. "I am not leaving you. You and Jimmy will always live with me – there's no question of that. But I need to see my mother, and if I take you two out of the state, your father could press kidnapping charges."

Babs shook free of her mother's grip. "I can't believe you're just giving up! What about counseling? You haven't even tried counseling!" she shouted.

"Sweetie, please keep your voice down, or you'll wake up Jimmy. He doesn't need to be upset by this."

"Oh, because he's not going to be upset tomorrow when he wakes up and finds you gone?"

"Tell him the truth – that I've gone to visit Grandma, and I'll be back next Monday."

Babs took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice down. "Does Dad know you're…"

"Not yet. I was going to talk to him this evening; however, he is, once again, not around when he's needed."

"He always comes when we really need him!" Babs responded fiercely.

"If he really thought he belonged in this family, he'd be around for more than just emergencies."

Babs ignored her mother's comment and ran toward the phone. "I'll call and he'll come. You'll see."

"Babs…"

She hit speed dial for her father's cell and almost collapsed with relief when his voice, not his voicemail, answered. "Daddy, you need to come home."

"Babs, what's wrong?"

"It's just…you just need to come home, right now."

"All right, sweetheart, I'm on my way. Is anybody hurt?"

"No. Just hurry, ok?" She hung up and turned triumphantly to her mother. "He's coming!"

Barbara closed her eyes and sighed wearily. "I have to leave, Babs. My taxi will be here any minute." As if in response to her words, the doorbell pealed.

"No," Babs shook her head frantically, trying to repress the sobs choking her throat. "Mom, don't."

"Babs, I have to." Barbara pulled her wooden daughter into her arms and pressed a kiss against her forehead. "I've left a note for your father – you don't have to explain anything. Mrs. Harris is going to pick Jimmy up from kindergarten and take care of him until you get home from school. There's plenty of food in the fridge, ok?"

"No, it's not ok!" Babs shoved her mom away and retreated to the wall, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. "It is not ok!"

The doorbell rang again. "I have to go. I'll see you on Monday. Babs, please, try to understand."

Babs glared at her with all the fury and fear that was coursing through her. "I will never understand."

Barbara's mouth tightened, but she didn't respond. She picked up her suitcase and left.

Babs heard the taxi pull away from the front of the house, and only then did she slump against the wall, both hands clapped against her mouth. She wasn't certain whether she wanted to scream, cry, be sick, or all three, but she would keep whatever it was inside, because her mother had been right about one thing – Jimmy didn't need to be dragged into this. Not yet.


Bruce abstractedly swirled the champagne in his glass as he stared at the painting hanging on the wall in front of him. The naked figure of a woman was drawn in bold black and tan lines. She was bent backward into an arc, her stomach ripped open and a scarlet fountain shooting out to water the flowering dollar signs that bloomed around her body.

"Do you like it?" a voice at his elbow asked.

"No," Bruce said decidedly, turning to see who had addressed him. The woman beside him was tall and slender; the midnight blue dress that hugged her figure brought out the equally dark blue of her eyes, and highlighted the blue sheen of her glossy black ponytail. Yes, Bruce Wayne would definitely be interested in this one, particularly since Bruce Wayne was notoriously bored by anything considered high culture. He smiled with the easy, boyish charm he was famous for and said, "I don't believe we've met."

"Not with these faces, at least," she responded, smiling a little in return. "But in a previous life, who knows?"

He replied smoothly, "I'm fairly certain you appeared in all of my previous lives." He shifted his glass to his left hand and held out his right. "Bruce Wayne."

"Selina Kyle." Her hand was slender and cool, but strong. "I've been reading a great deal about your philanthropic work, Mr. Wayne."

"Please, call me Bruce."

She acquiesced with a small smile. "This Foundation of yours is really something."

He looked intently into her eyes. "People in … my position … have a great responsibility to give something back to the community."

One delicately shaped eyebrow moved fractionally upward, and she said deliberately, "You mean you buy the city off with one hand so that you can screw it with the other."

He winced. "Does this cynicism carry over from our encounters in previous lives?" He gestured toward the painting with his glass. "Actually, sometimes I think the city's screwing me over. Do you know what the museum paid for this?"

"About ten thousand dollars. And I'm not being cynical, I just understand you. I have great admiration for the way you handle your public image. By judicious applications of cash and apologies you remain likeable enough to get away with murder."

"She says she's not cynical!" Bruce pleaded with the tortured woman in the painting.

Selina laughed lightly. "I work for LexCorp. I'm paid to do exactly the same thing."

"LexCorp? Are you here to do the deal on the casino?" he asked interestedly.

"Actually, no. I've been in the city since before the robbery, checking on some of the company's other investments here. Mr. Luthor also donated a good deal of money to the museum this year, and he asked me to drop by and make certain that people remember that. He also asked me to see if there's anything he should bid on to add to his private collection."

"You're an art critic?"

"Amateur only. I know what Lex likes though." She nodded toward the painting. "He would like this."

Bruce grimaced. "He can have it. A new conversation piece for his dining room, perhaps?"

"Oh no. This would definitely go somewhere in the main office complex. For the irony."

"I think my high school English teacher mentioned the term once."

Her expression became faintly contemptuous, but she explained, "The meaning of the painting is essentially feminist Marxist, saying that women's lives have been sacrificed to the growth of capitalism. So by incorporating this painting into the décor of a building which represents the pinnacle of the capitalist dream, he mocks its philosophy by proving that he can possess it."

"Nice guy you work for," Bruce said dryly.

She shrugged, the smooth skin of her bare shoulders glimmering in the light. "He's Lex Luthor, not Mother Teresa."

Two of the members of the museum's board of directors approached, and they drifted apart. Bruce, however, kept track of her progress through the glittering assembly of art patrons, and when she headed for the exit, he abruptly cut off his conversation with the mayor's wife and hurried after, catching up to her at the coat check.

"Can I give you a lift anywhere?" he asked, taking the heavy silk wrap from her hands and winding it around her shoulders.

"I'm just headed back to my hotel, unless I get a better offer." She met his eyes with a faintly challenging expression.

He sighed inwardly. After his flagrant display of ignorance in front of the painting, he'd expected her to turn him down, after which he could go home. "Consider the offer made." He rested a hand on the small of her back and guided her toward the entrance.

A valet ran off to bring the car around, and Selina tilted her head back, apparently to look at the stars. "Next time you throw a little money at the board of directors," she said absently, "you might request that some of it be spent updating their safety measures. The security in this place is terrible."

Bruce followed her glance upward and saw the camera positioned just above the door. "So you're an expert on security as well as art?"

"I know a little."

The valet pulled the gleaming Saleen up to the curb, and Bruce held open Selina's door while she seated herself. He swapped a tip for his keys, and settled behind the wheel. "Where to?"

She fastened her seatbelt. "Do you dance salsa?"

"Only at gunpoint."

"Then it's fortunate I never leave home unarmed." She made a gun with her fingers and poked his temple. "To the club, James."

They zipped away from the museum and down eight blocks to the heart of the downtown district. The line into Habana Abierta, a club known for its live and hot Latin music, was out the door and halfway down the block, but Bruce sidestepped the crowd and went straight to the door. "Evening, Maurice," he said cheerfully, slipping the man a bill.

"Mr. Wayne, always nice to see you." The bouncer cast an appreciative look at Selina and stepped aside to let them pass.

"If you only dance salsa at gunpoint, then why does the help know you?" Selina asked as they maneuvered through the crowd.

"A lot of people have guns."

They pushed onto the dance floor, not far from the band stand. Bruce unbowed his tie and shoved it into his pocket, then unfastened the button on his collar.

"Feeling overdressed?" she half shouted, in order to be heard over the music.

"No, I just like to breathe while I make a fool of myself," he replied as she began to step to the beat. There was little room for fancy maneuvering on the overcrowded floor, but she made the most of the space they had, twirling beneath his arm as she danced out and back.

"Bruce, you're barely twitching," she accused as she came close and draped her arms over his shoulders. "Is this any way for Gotham's premier playboy to behave?"

"I pay them off so I can do what I like, remember?"

She narrowed her eyes. "You haven't paid me off. Come on." She took his hands and pressed close. "Move with me."

Alfred would gloat, but Bruce had to admit that he was actually having fun. Selina was a refreshing switch from the kind of women he usually ended up with. Flirtatious without throwing herself at him, her cool wit was amusing and relaxing. In fact, for the first time in a long time, he had to stop himself from relaxing too much, from indulging too intelligently in the repartee. And there was no denying that she was attractive. Jaded as he was by constant contact with the elite's "beautiful people," he still found her stunning. He caught himself wondering whether she was going to let him kiss her, and then, as her hip brushed against his, ruefully acknowledged that he wanted to do a lot more than that. He wouldn't, though; he never did. It was too dangerous – his nightlife was practically carved onto his body, not to mention the fact that serious relationships were out of the question. Rachel Dawes had left him a wiser, if sadder, man. Still, it had been five years since he'd even kissed a woman because he wanted to, not because he had to.

They spent the better part of an hour at the club, and then Selina pulled him toward the door. "I have to catch an early flight to Metropolis tomorrow," she explained as they stepped out of the hot air of the club into the much cooler street.

They drove in silence until they reached her hotel. She directed him to a side entrance rather than the main lobby one, and when he got out to open her door, the street was empty. He helped her out, and walked her to the entrance, but caught her wrist before she could slide her keycard through the lock.

"I kiss better than I dance."

"It would be hard not to," she taunted. Nevertheless, she slipped the card back into her bag and wrapped her arms around his neck. "All right, Bruce Wayne. Let's see if you're as good as your reputation."

"I'm usually judged on a scale of one to ten," he murmured, running his hands along the silken skin of her shoulders, absently noting a small scar on one. Her perfume was extraordinarily understated, but at this distance, it was almost overwhelmingly alluring. "Clive Christian?" he guessed.

"You're stalling," she accused.

"I'm savoring the moment. It's not every night I get to kiss an art critic."

"Get on with it, Wayne, my flight leaves…"

He cut her off with his mouth, and despite the surprise, she responded with a smoothness that proved he wasn't the only one with a reputation. She knew how to be subtle, and he couldn't repress a shiver of pleasure as the kiss deepened.

One moment he was in control, on the verge of pulling back. The next, he forgot everything in a fiery wave of desire as her arms suddenly tightened around his neck and her body arched against his. He crushed her against his chest and felt her yield and melt, her demands on his mouth growing increasingly desperate. Triumph flooded through him as he realized that she was his, and he could do anything he liked.

Abruptly, he dropped his arms and stepped back. She didn't protest but stood still, gasping. "That was…unexpected," she murmured, sounding dazed.

No kidding. Bruce leaned against the wall of the hotel and tried to steady his own breathing. After a minute, he had regained enough control to ask challengingly, "So. How do I rate?"

She pulled her key out and slid it through the card reader before turning her head to look at him. "Oh, about four and a half." She smiled wickedly. "Good night, Bruce." She opened the door and slipped inside.

"Four and a half," he muttered as he walked back to the car. "Four and a half," he said again as he slipped behind the wheel. "Four and a…" Bruce rested his forehead against the steering wheel and laughed until his sides ached.

As he drove home, he decided that it was a very good thing Selina Kyle was flying back to Metropolis in the morning.


Dear James…

Gordon sat at the kitchen table as he stared down at Barbara's letter. I should have seen this coming, he thought bitterly. He should have known that the recent calm was suspicious. But he had never thought she would just walk away without even the decency of telling him to his face. True, she had told Babs that she was coming back next week, but it wouldn't surprise him if she had only said that to calm the girl down. When Gordon had arrived home, he had found his daughter curled up in the corner, weeping wildly but silently. She at last managed to choke out the news, and then she started apologizing as though the whole thing were her fault. I'm sorry, Daddy, I couldn't stop her, I'm so sorry…

The thought of her desperation increased Gordon's fury, and he had to force himself to sit still, gripping the edge of the table. Babs had finally dropped into an uneasy sleep out on the couch, and he refused to do anything that would disturb her or distress her further. Her mother had done enough of that. That bitch, he labeled her venomously. Heartless, selfish…

His pager vibrated against his belt, and he automatically unclipped it and checked the number. It was Detective Essen. At this time of night? Maybe something on the casino case, I'll have to go in. Who can I get to stay with the kids this time of night? Might have to requisition a sergeant from…

He froze, suddenly hearing the thoughts that had slipped effortlessly into priority position in his mind. His wife had just left him, and he was already planning to hand his children over to a stranger so that he could go to work. He stared down at the pager as though it had bitten him, then hurled it across the room. It bounced off the wall and skidded under the refrigerator, where he could still hear it buzzing.

Like a deadly landslide, memories of each and every time he had skipped dinner, canceled a family event, or slept in his office at the precinct, began tumbling through his mind. In the beginning, after the advent of the Bat, he had asked Barbara to understand how important this was and promised her that it was only for a while. Just until things got under control. Later, he hadn't even done that much.

He'd been sitting here railing at Barbara for leaving. He should be asking himself why he hadn't given her a reason to stay.

This was his fault, Gordon thought with sickening clarity. He was the one who had fallen down on the job – ironic, for a man who prided himself on his work ethic. And now not only he and Barbara but Babs and Jimmy were going to pay for it.

Filled with the overwhelming need to see his children, he pushed away from the table and walked into the living room. Babs was still dozing, curled up on the couch, her eyelids swollen and the occasional sob catching her breath, even in sleep. Gordon unfolded a blanket and tucked it around his daughter, careful not to wake her. He realized suddenly how grown up she was becoming, and how much she looked like her mother. I'm sorry, baby.

Jimmy was fast asleep in his bed, his blankets half kicked off and his head buried beneath a mound of stuffed dinosaurs. Gordon straightened the comforter and removed enough of the animals to create breathing space, then stood looking down at the little boy. The last time they had gone on a family vacation had been that trip to the Caribbean, five years ago, and Jimmy had been the result of that. Thank God for Bruce Wayne, Gordon thought suddenly. He couldn't imagine life without his son.

The chief of police stiffened his jaw in determination. He was going to change. It might be too late, but he was going to change anyway. He'd spent the last five years trying to save a city. It was about time he started trying to save his family.

To Be Continued

A/N Review, review, review! Please, please, please?