Lost And Found

            He was walking on the treadmill in the small exercise room he'd created off of the kitchen.  There was no use for the training equipment downstairs anymore, which would probably kill him if he attempted to use it now.  Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing, he thought sourly, watching a small blue bird land in the giant maple tree just outside the window.

            Walking.  He was walking at a very firm, but sedate pace.  Once he could have run at twice that speed for hours.  Now he had to walk.  But it kept him occupied and fit.  Bruce Wayne would not let himself fall into laziness just because there was nothing else to do.  The whole of his future spread out before him, a void of nothingness.  Just how long could he reasonably expect to live?  "You're as strong as a horse Wayne," the doctor had said.  "I've seen men twenty years younger and not in as good shape.  You just keep an eye on that heart, moderate exercise and proper diet, and you'll live to a ripe old age yet."

            A ripe old age?  Impatiently he pressed the off button and the conveyer belt halted beneath his feet.  Wiping a hand across his forehead, he frowned.  Didn't even work up a sweat.  Time.  Time had turned into his greatest foe.  Of all the malignant, ruthless, deadly, and utterly insane opponents he'd come up against as the Bat, it was time that was going to kill him.  Time and his own damn heart.

            "Fuck," he muttered, slipping on a pair of sparing gloves.  He was in a fowl mood.  Had been since Sunday evening.  Maybe not having other people underfoot anymore was a good thing.  He could wander from room to room and vent his temper without so much as a raised eyebrow.  Then again, anger wasn't good for the heart, was it?

            A large, stuffed canvas bag hung from the ceiling.  He swung at it and landed a solid punch, the bag swayed slightly on its chain.  A couple more jabs, then and uppercut.  The topmost link in the chain squeaked melodically on the eyebolt in contrast to the dull thuds of the punches.

            She'd left.  They all did eventually.  Of course he did nothing to encourage her to stay.  He closed his eyes and gave the bag a solid smack that he felt deep in his chest.  After all this time it shouldn't matter anymore.  He'd made his proverbial bed, and he was content to lie in it, alone, for the rest of his days.  What was it she said?  "A broken little boy."  Bam, bam!  The bag swung even harder.  She'd known him for twenty-four hours and she was psychoanalyzing him.  Ridiculous.  Then why the hell did it bother him so much?  Because it was so familiar.

            Fifteen years ago, there'd been a break-in at an upscale jewelry shop and a sapphire necklace with a perfect oblong flaw in its center, giving it the name 'cat's eye', had been stolen.  It was completely obvious who the culprit had been, and Batman had spent the better part of the evening chasing her.  She would let him get close and then slip away with a wink and a laugh.  For hours they hopped building to building, swinging along the urban jungle in a dark parody of the Edgar Rice Burroughs character.  It was a slow crime night and Batgirl was patrolling, so he was able to devote himself to the pursuit entirely.  And let's be honest, it was not entirely unpleasant.  Then she stopped, waited for him atop the Greater Gotham Fidelity Building, just standing there, an easy smile on her face and a hand held out with the necklace dangling from one dainty cat claw.

            He paused as he landed and regarded her skeptically.  "Catwoman," he said, wary for a trap.  While Selina Kyle played solo, she was not averse to teaming up with others if it suited her needs.

            "Go on Batman," she purred.  "Take it."  He didn't take a step, and she sighed in resignation.  "What's the matter Bats?  Afraid of a little pussy?"

            "Are you turning yourself in Selina?" he asked, attempting menacing while her whip swayed casually from her free hand.

            "No, Batman.  I just wanted to give you a little something to remember me by, and to say farewell.  I'm leaving Gotham.  Tonight."

            "Leaving?  Where to?"

            Something flickered across the beautiful thief's face, a longing perhaps.  "Batman, if I honestly thought you'd follow me, I'd tell you in a second, but frankly I don't feel like putting myself through years of wondering, 'Is today the day he's going to show up?', but knowing good and well you won't."  She licked her ruby lips and rolled her head in a stretch.  "It's been fun, Bats, but I don't think you're capable, even if you're willing, of taking it to the next level.  Did mommy not hold you enough as a baby?"  She shrugged a shoulder.  "Whatever the reason, you're stuck in the play yard where the little boys punch the little girls as their only display of affection.  Outside you may be all grown up, but inside you're still a baby bat.  Pity," she drawled.  She flicked her finger and the necklace sailed through the air towards him in a slow arc.  He reached up and grabbed it in an instant, and at the same time she leapt over the other side of the building.

            There was absolutely no sign of her as he leaned over the edge.  He spent the rest of the night trying to track her, starting with her apartment, which was completely empty.  He could find no evidence of where she'd gone or how she'd even left Gotham.  She had utterly vanished.  In the months and years to come he would find no record of Selina Kyle or any crime fitting Catwoman's MO in any of the hundreds of databases he had access to.

            The storeowner later received a large, anonymous, payment for the necklace, which was stored in a box at the bottom of his closet.

            But that night, still reeling from Catwoman's less than flattering comments, he'd entered the Batcave to find Barbara sitting at the computer console, filing her reports for the evening.  She had turned to him and smiled a greeting.  To this day Bruce couldn't say completely what caused him to do it, and he would certainly regret it much later.  Removing the cowl, he had silently walked over to her, pulled her into his arms, and started kissing her.  Barbara had been momentarily stunned by unexpected display, but gave in nonetheless.  He could only speculate as to why, but he was reasonably certain she was still hurting over Dick's departure. 

            The affair lasted until she finally decided that fighting crime was better off done on the side of the law.  She wanted to follow in her father's footsteps.  She wanted a normal life.  There were surprisingly few words, angry or otherwise when she left.  Alfred had wished her well and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before departing for the kitchen.  They had stood there, in his study, looking at each other, and she confided to him, "I'm afraid of what's going to happen to you, now that you're all alone."

            "I started out alone.  I'll manage."

            Then she was gone.  And he had felt nothing but a guilty relief.

            But that was the past.  He finished up with the punching bag, feeling the workout in his hands, and shoulders, and chest.  He was breathing hard and his knuckles were sore, but that didn't seem to alleviate the problem.  After a shower and a change of clothes he went into his study.  On the blotter, in a perfect circle, was a diamond necklace, and in the center lay two earrings.  He'd found them Monday and they had been sitting here every since.  He was undecided about what to do with them.  He knew he had to return them, but how?  A messenger would be too impersonal, yet he didn't want to invade her privacy by showing up at her doorstep either.

            "This is ridiculous," he muttered and swept the jewelry off of the desk impatiently.

            "Mardi?  Mardi!  Are you deaf!"

            She looked up to see her cube-mate leaning over the partition.  "What?"

            "They've been paging you down to the lobby for fifteen minutes."  The blonde, whose name was Gerty, narrowed her eyes.  "Hey, are you feeling okay?  You've been spacey all week, and you really don't look so good."

            "I'm fine, I just haven't been getting a lot of sleep.  The lobby?  What would they want with me down there?"

            "I wouldn't know, but can you please get down there so they stop calling your name?"  Gerty huffed and sat back down to her desk

            She pushed herself away from the desk, the invoice before her had been sitting there for over an hour.  Spacey?  That wasn't the half of it.  If she didn't get her butt in gear she'd be out of a job for sure.

            Nodding to Mrs. Dupre, she walked over to the elevator bank and depressed the down arrow.  Soon the light ding informed her the car was waiting and the doors opened.  She entered and selected the lobby.  Slowly she descended thirty-five floors.  As usual her mind was wandering elsewhere, and when the doors opened she walked forward automatically.  "Excuse me!" a large voice boomed before her, and she looked up in time to see the man she was about to run into stare down at her venomously.

            "Sorry," she muttered, going around the man.  He and another man boarded the elevator car.

            As the doors closed, she heard him say, "Send a note to personnel, I want a more stringent hiring policy.  No more of these mental slackers."    Mardi turned and got one last glance at the man.  He seemed familiar.  Then it hit her, the large photograph she passed under everyday – CEO of Wayne-Powers, Derek Powers.  Just great, she thought, piss off the boss why don't you.

            Mardi walked up to the reception kiosk, and asked the young woman, "I'm Mardi Purcell, and I believe I was paged to come down here?"

            A small device sat in the receptionist's ear, with a thin wire curling down in front of her mouth.  It was into this she spoke.  "Wayne-Powers, can you hold please.  Wayne-Powers, how may I direct your call?  One moment I'll transfer you.  Thank you for holding.  No, he's not available, but I'll put you through to his secretary.  Wayne-Powers, how may I direct your call?  No, we don't do that.  No sir, you'll have to call your plumber.  Good day.  Wayne-Powers, how may I direct your call?…."  Mardi tapped the desk in front of the girl, and without a pause in her speech she pointed behind Mardi.

            Mardi opened her mouth to ask a question when the receptionist pointed again, more emphatically, and raised her eyebrows in punctuation.  With a sigh she turned and the sigh died on her lips.

            He stood thirty feet away surrounded by fern plants, arms crossed over his chest, just watching her.  Her feet moved her forward until she stood before him.

            "Hi," she said uncertainly.  "What are you doing here?"

            He reached into an inside jacket pocket and removed the diamonds.  "You left these on the bed table."

            "Oh wow," she said in relief.  "I was afraid I'd never see them again.  Thank you."

            "You could have called," he pointed out.

            Right, she thought.  Calling about lost jewelry is the oldest trick in the book.  Out loud she responded, "Yeah, I guess I should have.  But you really didn't have to bring them yourself."

            "It was no trouble.  I needed an excuse to get out of the house anyway.  Boredom's going to drive me crazy."

            "Maybe you should get a dog.  Or even a goldfish.  I hear they're hours of entertainment."  She smirked at him.

            He ignored her attempt at levity and said somberly, "I was afraid you'd left town already."

            She hitched a shoulder indifferently.  "Well I've got this great job, and I like my roommate an awful lot.  Plus Gotham's really an interesting place to live.  Did you know that there was a guy who used to dress up in a crazy bat costume and helped the police catch criminals?"

            "Batman?" he said casually.  "I've heard something about him."

            "Where do people like that come from?"

            He was saved from answering as a group of businessmen and –women entered the lobby and walked past, speaking in hurried but hushed tones.  When the group was gone they looked back at each other.  "Have dinner with me tonight," he said.

            She swallowed hard.  There was zero chance of it being strictly dinner; she knew this because at the moment she felt as if she'd implode if he so much as touched her.  "We had an agreement."

            "I didn't agree to anything," he pointed out.

            She opened her mouth in disbelief, and then said, "Qui tacet, consentaire videtur."

            His lips twitched in a smile.  "Silence is consent.  Impressive."

            "I had a semester of business law.  But I'm serious.  What will people say?"

            "They'll simply assume I'm up to my old tricks," he replied dryly.

            She let that comment pass without question, but filed it away for future consideration.  Instead she asked, "And what about my reputation?"

            "I wasn't aware you were going to stay in town long enough to gain a reputation."

            "That was dirty," she replied quietly.

            "I play dirty sometimes.  I'll be waiting at the same restaurant we had lunch in, at six o'clock this evening.  If you come, we'll take it from there.  If you don't, then I wish you all the best."  He turned and walked out the door, leaving her fairly shaking with emotion.

            On her way back to the elevators, the receptionist yelled out, in a rare break from phone calls, "Nice rocks."

            Mardi looked up at her.  "What?"

            "The jewelry.  Your man's got good taste.  I'm surprised you still bother to work.  Won't he set you up?"

            "These were a graduation present from my father.  He was just returning them to me," Mardi replied with a bad taste in her mouth.

            "Oh, whatever."  Her eyes shifted as another call came in.  "Wayne-Powers, how may I direct your call?…"

            Mardi stuffed the jewelry into her blazer pocket and continued back up to her desk, feeling a distinct and powerful impulse to hurl herself out the nearest window.