…0…
Only in the frictionless vacuum of a nonexistent abstract world can
movement or change occur without that abrasive friction of conflict.
- Saul Alinsky
…0…
"I still think this is a bad idea."
Chloe turns to her uncle, throwing him yet another exasperated look that wasn't going to do any good-just like the others.
But the whole thing was beginning to get on her nerves.
"Its just dinner," she says, for what feels like the millionth time since the entire situation had come up.
Muttering under his breath, he continues on setting the table. The notion of Dick Grayson coming over for dinner wasn't one he likes at all, and he's made no secret of it. In all honesty, as much as Chloe loves her uncle, and as grateful as she is to him for everything he's done for her, she thinks he's acting like a child. Who cares if he dislikes Dick? Chloe does and that should be enough for him.
When the thought runs through her head, it gives her pause and she sets down the stack of napkins as forcefully as she can, given that they're cloth and all. "I just don't understand why you're so against me being friends with Dick. Yes, he's a little much at times, but he's a good guy."
"You don't know that," he says softly, almost too softly for her to hear him.
"And neither do you," she counters. Over the previous week, she's begun spending more time with Dick than she had anticipated, and surprisingly enough, he's becoming someone she looks forward to being around.
Before either of them can say anything else, JJ comes into the dining room and announces that he's removed all evidence of Chloe's never ending research on babies from the living room.
"You're going through a lot of trouble for a guy who's just a 'friend.'" JJ says, dipping his finger in the corner of the lasagna.
Chloe swats at his hand. She's been trying all evening to keep him out of the food - mainly because she's so tempted herself to just dive in and he's making it harder for her to muster up some willpower of her own.
"He is a just a friend," Chloe insists, ducking her head as she finishes setting the table so they won't notice how flushed she's becoming.
"I've noticed," JJ states, plopping into a seat at the table, "that when people say they're 'just friends' they're usually not."
She snorts. Only a 16 year old can ever sound that sure of themselves. And she tells him as much, which leads him to retort about her outfit.
Jim smacks him on the back of the head as he passes by on the way to kitchen. He knows that Chloe's getting a little sensitive about her appearance, mainly because she finally is beginning to gain a little weight. "Don't listen to him, sweetheart. You look lovely."
That doesn't stop her from eyeing herself in the dining room window. Its so dark outside that she basically has a mirror in the thick pane glass. Eyeing herself critically, she considers the possibility that JJ might be right about her outfit. Even though its only been a week, she does think that Dick is starting to accept that she's not interested in him romantically and she worries her clothes might suggest otherwise.
She can't really help it though. All of her more form-fitting clothes are too tight now, and even the ones that had provide a little more room in the earliest stages of her pregnancy are failing to conceal the rounding curves of her hips, stomach, and breasts. Her belly is just starting to poke out a little, so she had decided to compensate with a flowy top she bought the day before on a whim. With so little time left before she's forced into maternity clothes, the fact that it fit and doesn't make her look visibly pregnant made it a keeper. The low neckline was just something she had to live with.
Chloe doubts that people would automatically know she's pregnant just by looking at her. Soon, however, soon her condition will be obvious.
The idea of changing flits through her mind but the doorbell interrupts her worrying. Smoothing down the fabric where she was futzing with it, she goes to open the door.
Dick greets her with a wide smile, the kind that causes his eyes to crinkle at the corners. The kind she can't help but return.
"I come bearing gifts," he says, pulling from behind his back a bouquet of white tulips and a pink pastry box that gives off the thick aroma of dark chocolate.
She takes the box first, trying not to drool. "You didn't have to do that." He hands her the flowers and she inhales deeply.
"One of the first things," he begins, shrugging off his leather jacket which looks like it costs more than a year's tuition at an Ivy League school, "Bruce taught me was to be more observant than need be. And I've noticed that chocolate is the sure thing to light that smile of yours up."
Okay, that was definitely a line.
Chloe rolls her eyes, not able to keep the smile off her face, but Dick merely looks at her with an amused, indulgent look on his face. That's how he usually looks at her; like she's a three year old that inadvertently just did something cute.
Just then her uncle and her cousin come into the foyer, and the shaking of hands begins. Everyone eyes each other very seriously, like they're sizing one another up, until she can't take anymore and asks JJ to get her a vase for the tulips.
"Well Mr. Grayson," Jim says, "I hear you and my niece have been spending quite a bit of time together."
A flush flares up in Chloe's cheeks. And worse, they both notice.
Trying, and failing, to be discreet about the smirk twisting his lips, Dick allows his eyes to slide toward her before he nods his head in her uncle's direction. "Yes sir. I've been lucky enough that she's agreed to hang out with me from time to time."
"You know she lost her husband not long ago?"
"Uncle Jim!" Chloe explodes, mortified beyond belief.
He shot her a 'what?' look, shrugging.
Exasperated, she glares at him while Dick shifts in discomfort. She gets that he's trying to look out for her, but that was a little much.
Dick begins to speak, the words coming out fragmented. Chloe's eyebrows rise. Never would she have thought she'd see Dick stuttering. "Um, yes, you see - she, um, I-"
"Dick, breathe."
He does, and gives her a grateful look. "Yes," he says, clearly this time. "Babs has told me about her husband."
JJ walks back into the foyer, wrinkling his nose. "Babs?"
Rolling her eyes, Chloe sighs. "I can't get him to call me anything else."
"I like it," her uncle announces. "It's very you."
A snort escapes from Dick, who's face has turned so red from trying to stem his laughter that she worries it can't be good for him. She shoots him a murderous glare and heads to the table. The guys follow her.
…0…
"So…" Chloe looks up at Dick, grinning. "Was dinner with the police commissioner sufficiently scary enough for you?"
With a shrug and an easy smile, his eyes twinkle under the dim glow of the light over the front stoop. He grins down at her, all relaxed charm and good humor. She envies him that attitude. It's been so long, too long, since her own mood has been that light.
"Terrifying," he tells her, ducking his head down next to her ear. "Especially the part when he told me about you hiding brussel sprouts in his shoes when you were five."
Chloe laughs. "When was that?"
"When you were getting coffee."
A hefty yawn breaks his words off, making her laugh again. "It doesn't seem to be doing the trick though."
"Yeah, that's because it was decaf."
She can't help the face she makes. Chloe's doing her best, but the fact remains that decaf coffee is hardly worth drinking, and she's counting down the days until she can have an extra large latté again. Just then she feels a little flutter in her stomach, like water swishing around. Dr. Evans and all of her books have told her that its too early to be able to feel the baby moving, but she can't help but think that her little tadpole is protesting her desire for coffee.
Dick makes a face similar to hers. "That's just wrong."
"I agree."
He opens his mouth to say something else, only to be interrupted by a siren piercing through the silence of the quiet street and then the door's flying open, her uncle hurrying down the steps. He apologizes for nearly bowling them over, and says there's a hostage situation down at Gotham National Bank.
When she glances back up at Dick, his face has tensed into hard lines. "Dick, you okay?"
"Yeah," he says, not looking at her. "Thanks for dinner. It was great."
Then he takes off down the steps, and pulls his car onto the slick street so fast his tires screech.
…0…
At five the next morning, Chloe's morning sickness rears its ugly head, forcing her from the warmth of her bed on her day off from work. Grumbling, she heads down to the kitchen once she's sure that nothing else in her stomach is trying to work it's way up and decides to try out that ginger fruit smoothie recipe she got online the day before that's supposed to help with nausea. This is the first time she's had a chance to try it when she's actually queasy.
Hopefully it won't make a return appearance.
The house is quiet and dark, the morning outside the window just starting to lighten up. A thump catches her attention, and she looks out into the misty morning to see her uncle getting out of his squad car. She fills the coffee pot up with regular and flips the machine on.
"You're up early," he comments at catching sight of her. He tosses a pile of papers and files onto the kitchen table.
She shrugs, adding a few strawberries to the blender, some bananas, and hits the highest setting. "Anti nausea smoothie. Thought I'd give it a try."
"Ah." He pours himself a huge mug of dark roast coffee, and she sips her smoothie sullenly. It's good, really good, but she honestly couldn't care less. As good as it is, she'd much prefer the coffee right now.
Being pregnant sucks. She loves her baby already, but being pregnant just really sucks.
Chloe grabs the copy of the Gazette off the table and her eyes move over the blaring headline; BANK HOSTAGES SAFE, THANK BATMAN FOR RESCUE.
"Hostage situation go alright?"
He grunts. "What do you think?"
It must be hard, to work so hard to keep people safe only to have someone swoop in (literally) and steal your thunder.
She reads the article, eyeing the fuzzy picture of a black figure swinging away from Gotham National on a wire. Bellow that, a smaller article about a fire on the west side catches her attention. A family had been stuck in one of the upper floor apartments, trapped by a fallen beam, only to be rescued by a mysterious black clad stranger. At first it was thought to be Batman, but then the news of his exploits on the other side of town emerged, and the theory of a new crime fighter was beginning to form. There was already an editorial a few pages over about what the city was coming to when there were two 'masked loonies' running around pummeling people with their bare hands.
Looks like she arrived in Gotham just as things are getting interesting.
…0…
Chloe is just getting to the part of Gone With the Wind where Rhett carries Scarlett up the stairs when the doorbell rings. Grumbling, she hits the pause button and sets down the carton of cold noodles she ordered for dinner on top of her stack of pregnancy books.
Dick looks her up and down when she opens the door and grins. "You cannot wear that."
She glances down at her pajama bottoms and the voluminous Gotham U sweatshirt Tony bought her, and on down to the fuzzy slippers Lois had given her for Christmas. Frowning, she tilts her head to the side and cocks an eyebrow at him. "Well excuse me for not knowing that my uncle's living room had a dress code." For the first time she notices that Dick isn't dressed as he usually is. Instead of jeans and a sweater like he typically wears, he's dressed in what looks like a military uniform, all dark wool and shiny buttons, under a being trech coat and holding a hat in his hands. "When did you enlist?"
With a small roll of his eyes, he steps into the foyer and plops the hat on his head - which gives him an almost uncanny resemblance to Gregory Peck in Night People.
And with that thought she realizes she has officially been watching too much TCM.
Spreading his arms wide in a way that makes his trench coat open more in the center, he does a slow twirl on his toes, showing off his outfit. "You like?"
Despite her best efforts, the corners of her lips twitch and Chloe giggles. "You look great."
"Thank you," he says, bowing his head in her direction.
"So why are channeling a GI anyway? New look?" She moved toward the kitchen, hoping that he wouldn't notice the books on the end table beside her uncle's comfy chair.
He gives her an incredulous look. It was almost as if she had suddenly lapsed into Swahili or told him that she thought pedophiles should run for Congress. "You're serious?"
"Obviously."
Dick shakes his head, chuckling, and Chloe feels like she's on the wrong side of an inside joke. "Tonight's the Policeman's Ball," he states, and she knew that. It was the main reason she was home alone on a Saturday night. "Why aren't you dressed?"
Well that one's easy enough. "Because I'm not going."
"You can't not go," Dick says, as if the event were mandatory.
Sure, there are lots of people in Gotham who would probably love the chance to get all dressed up in a costume and watch tipsy detectives attempt to slow dance with scantily clad socialites, but Chloe isn't one of them. For one thing, she's growing harder to fit lately and for another, her wig recently started itching along her hairline and is driving her full out nuts.
"Dick," she says flatly, "I'm not in the mood for a party tonight." He starts to protest so she holds her hands up to cut him off. "Even if I did want to go, I don't have anything to wear."
Dick's face, pretty as it is, widens into an unholy grin that has Chloe's hand itching to reach out and slap the side of his head. She knows that look. She has experience with that look and the type of guys who used it to soften the boom before they did something that would inevitably make you want to pull your hair out.
Holding up his index fingers, Dick dashes out the front door and back in a few seconds later, too quick for her to even think of being confused. He holds a garment bag with the logo of Harlequin Costumes down the side out to her.
Eyes narrowing, she unzips it. "What is this?"
A huge smile breaking his features, Dick shrugs. "That is what you're wearing."
…0…
It took close to an hour, but Chloe reluctantly agreed to accompany Dick to the party - on the condition that he would have her back home in no more than two hours.
Stumbling slightly over her ridiculous shoes, Chloe glares at Dick as he helps right her. "I hate you."
"Now if that were true," he quips, "you wouldn't be here."
With murder in her eyes, she stands and straightens her mask and prays her uncle won't go ballistic when he sees her outfit.
Of all the possibilities for costumes, Chloe can not wrap her mind around why Dick would have chosen this particular costume for her. She had expected, going off his own outfit, that he had brought her some 40's era dress, something akin to Lauren Bacall or Katherine Hepburn from Hollywood's heyday. That she could have dealt with.
But after lots of whining on her part and even more wheedling on Dick's, she had finally relented and donned the female Batman outfit he had brought her.
"I've seen you researching Batman at the library when you think no one's around," he said in response to her horror at the outfit. "I knew it was perfect the second I saw it."
Perfect isn't what Chloe would call the canary yellow go-go boots she can barely walk in, or the matching mask that all but totally obstructed her vision. More like ludicrous. The only part she was grateful for was that her belly was for the most part concealed. Though she still isn't obviously pregnant, since she entered her second trimester she's starting to gain more weight and there's now a strip of bare skin between her shirt and pants whenever she weaes a shirt that is even a little tight. Luckily, Gotham is a good ten degrees colder than Metropolis on a good day and she can get away with heavy sweaters and layered cardigans and scarves. Scarves were actually very handy at hiding a bump she's learned. At least her cat suit, or bat suit rather, is spandex and not leather like she would have expected, and the bright yellow faux utility belt covers her stomach from the front and the billowing cape worked on the sides.
It's not perfect, not by any means, but at least her secret is still safe.
And the longer she goes without telling Dick, the more it feels like a secret.
"I look like an idiot," she insists, whacking the end of her ponytail away from her face.
"You look fantastic," Dick contradicts. "I bet if Batman could see you he'd want to take you on as a sidekick."
The word hits her straight in the chest and she turns her head to the side sharply, trying to stave off the tears burning up behind her eyes.
Damn hormones.
A hand lands on her shoulder. "Babs, you okay?"
"Yeah." She plasters the biggest, most fake smile on her face she can manage and squares her shoulders. "Let's get this over with."
Dick beams. "That's the spirit."
…0…
As predicted, Jim isn't pleased with Chloe's costume, or with the good natured chuckles that came with learning that the Batgirl is the Commissioner's niece.
"I'm sorry," she hisses. "It wasn't my idea."
Most of the officers have opted to wear their dress uniforms instead of costumes, and Chloe realizes that her uncle looks much more official and intimidating in his dress blues.
"Just have fun," he tells her, ushering her away from the receiving line towards Dick.
"I'll try," she mutters under her breath and joins Dick, who leads her towards a small crowd at the edge of the dance floor.
He leans down to whisper in her ear. "Trust fund babies. Prepare for stock talk."
Which was exactly what she gets - along with discussion of portfolios, liquid assets, and equitable property.
And then the conversation turned to her costume.
"It's just… darling," is the comment from a tall blonde in a painted on white Marilyn Monroe dress and perfect curls. The brunette with the enormous blue eyes declares that it is 'adorable.'
The guys in the group have more suggestive comments, prompting Dick to get up in the face of a man a good three inches taller than him, who has to outweigh Dick by at least fifteen pounds.
She pulls on his arm. "Dick, drop it."
They walked away, and Chloe notices the other man's shoulders visibly relaxing. From what she'd gleaned about Dick's background (both on her own and secondhand) in martial arts, he could have dropped that guy with a flick of his wrist.
A man in the corner is signaling for Dick to come over. Not wanting to suffer through any more small talk, Chloe excuses herself and goes outside for some fresh air. It's late April, and the nights are still cold but not to the point where Chloe is afraid that merely stepping outdoors without her coat will lead to hypothermia. Standing on the top of the steep steps leading into the Gotham Museum of Art, she takes a deep breath and removes her mask. It's a beautiful, if foggy night, and the stars overhead twinkle brightly against the jet black sky.
A feeling like corn popping in her stomach draws Chloe's attention and she looks down at her stomach with a soft smile. She places her hand on the upper curve of her protruding stomach above the top of her belt and rubs a small circle. "Guess you like it better out here too, huh?" More popping occurrs and she chuckles.
The way Chloe sees it, pregnancy is a tradeoff. As soon as one horrendous thing ends another crops up, interspersed with a few things that are actually pretty cool. Once morning sickness and chronic fatigue gave way to weight gain and cravings, she was supposed to feel better. Which she is. For the most part. No longer does she wake up with the feeling that she had just completed a marathon instead of sleeping the ten hours or so she had actually gotten in. She attributes a lot of that to getting the caffeine out of her system at last.
And then, about a week ago, the best part of pregnancy had happened. She felt the baby moving.
As the days wear on it moves more, and more. And feels more like a baby than a situation.
Her brief maternal moment gets interrupted by a loud crash around the side of the steps. She peers over the edge but all she can see is a few vague dark shapes moving around. But then she hears the sounds of scuffling and a grunt and knows that somebody is in trouble.
Chloe dashes down as fast as she can manage in her boots without breaking her neck and sees what look to be two men, one with large, wing-like sleeves, trying to force another into a van despite the impressive fight he's putting up.
How was no one else seeing this? Over half of Gotham's police force is less than a hundred yards away and she's the only person aware of an attempting kidnapping in progress. Digging into her belt, she grabs her phone and sends her uncle a text to get outside ASAP and bring backup. Then she blows the whistle her dad had given her for the summer she spent interning at the Planet to get their attention.
Just because her belt didn't come equipped with grappling hooks and smoke bombs doesn't mean it's entirely useless.
"Hey!" She yells, everything in her telling her that she was being an idiot.
The men look up at her, glaring and the one without the wings advances on her. "Look at the Batgirl. What's wrong; the big man too busy to come out and do any of the work himself, he has to send a little girl?"
A loud thump and the sound of bone cracking draws both their attention and she sees the man with the wings doubled over on the asphalt, blood seeping through his full facial mask and covering his face and neck. The kidnappee stood, panting, drawing himself up to his full height and Chloe sees that it's Bruce Wayne, his once immaculate tuxedo covered in mud and blood and who knows what else. Wiping his face on the back of his hand, his eyes meet Chloe's and his face goes blank, unreadable, as their gazes lock until the cops barreling down the steps break her reverie.
…0…
Four days later Nancy asks Chloe if she minds staying a little late to help her catalogue a new shipment of children's books that had just come in that day. Both Beth and Ross had been out since the week before with a virus, and since Chloe was pregnant Mrs. Billings insisted she take a few days off so she wouldn't catch it. Ordinarily, she wouldn't even care, but with the option of taking even over the counter medication being off limits she wasn't willing to risk it.
'A little late' had turned into almost nine o'clock and Chloe walks out cranky and tired, her back aching and her ankles swollen like grapefruits inside her boots.
All she wants in the world right now is her bed at her uncle's and the leftover chicken picatta JJ swore he would leave for her. And maybe she can wheedle a foot rub out of him if she plays her cards right. Her mood swings over the last few days have been a nightmare and all three of her relatives have become only too happy to accommodate her whims.
It's nice. She likes being a little power hungry.
"Miss Gordon."
Hand on her chest, Chloe whirls to find Bruce Wayne walking slowly toward her, looking ominous his black overcoat. "I'm sorry if I scared you."
She snorts. If?
"I take it that I did," he quips dryly. "Again, my apologies." He lays his briefcase on the hood of her car and pops it open. Handing her a folder, he fixes a steely gaze on her that reminds her eerily of Lex, back when they first met and she considered him a friend and not the face of evil on Earth.
"What is this?" she opens it up and sees a picture of herself, complete with short blonde hair and minus her glasses staring up at her. Her blood running cold in her veins, Chloe looks up at him and feels the world fall away from beneath her feet.
He knows.
"Before you say anything," he begins, "I'm not going to do anything with this."
She glances up at him, tears swimming in her eyes and making her vision blur, Bruce a fuzzy blob of black in front of her. It's hard to believe him when he's just handed her everything she's been trying to leave behind her.
He keeps talking, taking a step closer to her and lowering his voice. "I have to admit, I've been a bit curious about you for a while now. Dick talks about you all the time and even though you told him about your husband, he's not going to let go. He's crazy about you."
Chloe closes her eyes against the words, the tears finally spilling over. "How much do you know?"
"Chloe Sullivan," he says, and begins to recite her life history like a board report, "born in Granville, Kansas, former Met U student and Daily Planet reporter turned champion of the meteor infected. You have a history with the Luthors and a pretty impressive track record of showing up in the wrong place at the wrong time."
Well, that's true.
"The rest is purely speculation on my part."
At that she looks up at him, curiosity and dread vying for a place in the forefront of her consciousness. "Speculation?"
When his eyes tick down, her heart plummets through her feet. And it must show on her face for he nods slowly, looking resigned. "You're pregnant."
Chloe nods. "Dick doesn't know."
"And I won't tell him," Bruce assures her. "It's not my place, it's your business. But Dick is family to me, and I'm only looking at for him. That's yours," he motions to the file. "Do what you want with it."
He turns to leave and her breathing comes easier.
Bruce's voice floats back to her, and she looks over at him, hesitant to hear what else he could have to tell her. "I owe you for the other night. I can't thank you enough for what you did."
She can't help it, she smiles - just a smidge.
"But it was reckless in your condition, and I have a feeling I'm not the only one who would think so."
Now her interest is peaked. He sounds so sure of himself, so confident, so like every other billionaire she's met that she cocks her head and glares at him. "I didn't do a single thing to harm my baby. I wouldn't."
Nodding, he admits that it's true, but not what he meant. "Just be careful, Miss Gordon," he says. "Judging from those photos, I'd say there's someone who would agree with me."
Turning, he walks a few paces and disappears into the shadows, nothing more than a ghost in the night. She opens the folder and digs through it, near frantic.
Basics mostly. Transcripts, medical records. An article about Lionel Luthor's trial, her engagement announcement, Jimmy's obituary.
And then she finds them. The photos and clippings of her and Oliver out in Metropolis back when they caused such fervor. Paper-clipped to the upper corner of what looks like a surveillance shot of her and Oliver walking to the coffee shop down the street from Isis, Oliver's head next to her ear, looking every inch the boyfriend whispering sweet nothings, was a photo of two boys, no older than fifteen, in matching blazers and ties in front of an ivy covered building.
She knows those faces. They're younger than she's familiar with, but unmistakable.
Bruce and Oliver, in their prep school days. Clearly, Bruce wants Chloe to know that he knows. Everything.
"Damn it."
…0…
I know the Batgirl costume is a little hokey, but that's the canon first meeting of Bruce and Babs way back in the Detective Comic days so there you have it.