Waffles, And Other Important Life Lessons

            She awoke the next morning to find him sitting next to her on the bed, already dressed.  "Hey," she said sleepily.

            "Good morning," he replied.

            "What time is it," she asked suddenly, noting the sun was already high above the horizon.

            "Ten minutes past nine."

            "Good lord," she moaned.  "I'm supposed to be at work right now."

            They stared at each other for a second until he responded.  "Maybe you should call in sick?"

            She nodded thoughtfully.  "Yeah I guess I could do that."  She regarded him for a moment.  "Will that other guy be here today?" she asked quietly.

            "What other guy?"

            "The one that doesn't like me very much and can't wait for me to leave."

            He reached a hand up to smooth her hair away from her forehead.  "No.  He won't be around again, I promise."

            "Good."  She smiled.  "I'd really love a shower."

            "Make yourself at home," he said indicating the bathroom door.  "There's a bathrobe hanging on the door you can wear."

            "Is it yours?" she questioned.

            He nodded.  "I'll be down in the kitchen when you're done."  He stood up and left the room.

            She sat up in bed and reached for the phone on the table.  She dialed Mrs. Dupre's number and explained that she just couldn't drag herself out of bed this morning.  The office manager responded that Mardi had been looking rather sickly the last week, offered her well wishes, and told her they'd see her on Monday.  Mardi was grinning as she hung up the phone then went into the bathroom to shower.  When she was finished she put on the robe, taking a moment to smell it.  Aftershave, soap, and something else that was distinctly him.  She smiled absently at the memories the smells invoked.

            Downstairs, in the kitchen, she found him standing at the counter, a waffle iron on the counter to his right.  "Handsome, rich, and he cooks.  Doesn't get much better than this, does it?" she called out to him.

            He turned towards her, a bowl under his left arm, the right mixing batter with a whisk.  With a half smile he responded, "It's not much.  There's a pre-made powder mixture you can buy and add milk, eggs, and shortening to.  Not very difficult."

            She walked over to where he was working and hoisted herself up onto the counter to watch him work.  "Bisquick," she replied in awe, nodding to the yellow box standing to his left.  "Magical stuff, or so I've heard."

            "Do you cook?" he asked as he carefully measured a portion of the batter and poured it onto the preheated iron, and then closing the lid.

            She gave a bark of laughter.  "Cook?  My best dish is take-out; I can order a mean moo goo gai pan."  She sighed.  "It's a wonder that my father and I didn't starve to death after Grandma died.  If it couldn't be boiled or nuked we didn't eat it.  As a matter of fact it was my poor showing in Home Ec that brought my grade point average down.  Damn Ms. Simms and her soufflé final."  She held up a fist in mock consternation.

            He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter.  "Cooking is like a science.  Measure the proper ingredients, mix in the correct proportions, and heat.  Sit back and watch the reactions.  Sometimes the experiments work, and sometimes they don't."

            He turned back to the waffle iron and opened the lid, revealing the golden brown creation.  Using a fork, he popped it onto a plate and presented it to her.  "Amazing," she breathed, looking at the plate from all angles.  Setting it aside she said suddenly, "I want to know everything there is to know about you."  She grabbed his arm to pull him in front of her, wrapping her legs around him.

            "Everything?" he asked, his brows furrowed slightly in worry.

            "Sure.  Unless you've got some secret too terrible to tell me.  What could be more terrible than Muffy and Buffy?" she asked, with astonishment.

            His face seemed to relax and he shook his head.  "No, there's nothing worse than Muffy and Buffy."

            "Good."  She hooked a hand behind his neck and brought his lips down to a kiss.  He gently pulled away, much to her chagrin.

            "Your breakfast is getting cold," he chided her.

            "Yeah, but I'm just getting warmed up," she said and reached for him again.  He looked at her with a raised eyebrow, shaking his head, and then went back to his task, pouring a second serving into the waffle iron.  "C'mon," she complained, slipping off of the counter and grabbing her plate.  She walked over to the kitchen table where melted butter and syrup were sitting in delicate china serving bowls.  "Sex is the one thing we've got going for this relationship.  Don't start holding out on me."  She sat down and cut a bite off the waffle.  "Oh this is heaven," she whispered.

            "You don't believe that do you?"

            "What?  Name one thing besides a mutual attraction that we have in common."  He started to open his mouth and she cut him off.  "And don't bring up the tragic loss thing.  That's even worse to base a relationship on than sex."

            He sat down with his own plate.  "Maybe once we've learned about each other we'll discover something after all."

            "Hmm," she replied unconvinced as she ate her meal.  When they were finished, she gathered up the plates.  "I may not be able to cook, but I can at least clean up."  She loaded the industrial size dishwasher with all of the breakfast dishes, as he sat quietly watching her.  "So tell me, what happened after your parents died?" she asked as she sat back down, placing her elbow on the table and cupping her chin.

            He didn't seem the least disconcerted over the abrupt change of topic, but looked thoughtful for a moment.  "The state wanted to put me into foster care, but I refused.  With the help of a colleague of my father's, Alfred became my legal guardian, and I was able to stay here, in my family's home."  His quiet voice belied any emotions, but his eyes were alive with them.

            "Alfred was your butler, right?" she asked softly.  He nodded.  "Must have been a pretty lonely childhood.  Where'd you go to school?"

            "I attended a private academy for a few years.  In my early teens I left Gotham and traveled abroad, throughout Europe and Asia, for about twelve years."

            "A grand tour?  Pretty exciting.  You must have had a good time if you were over there for so long."

            "It was educational," he replied deadpan.

            "Educational?"  It suddenly dawned on her.  "You've always been like this haven't you?"

            "Like what?" he asked.

            "So completely wound up in yourself, like you have this huge Atlas complex – the whole world's on your shoulders.  What I don't get is those reports of you as a party-hearty ladies' man.  What's that all about?  I mean I saw the pictures, but it just didn't seem like the real you."

            "People don't ask questions when they think they already know the answers."

            "What questions?"

            "It's not imp…"

            "Important," she finished for him testily.  "I think I've heard this tune before.  Listen, I'm not your therapist.  I've got too much going on in my own head to give a shit about your hang-ups.  I get that there are things you don't want to talk about and I'll respect that – to a point.  I could leave right now and, even though it would be harder to do than last time, I could say goodbye and actually mean it.  But I'm warning you that given too much longer I'm going to be emotionally invested.  That's what I've been avoiding all this time, so if I'm going to let myself take that step, the least you could do is meet me halfway.  If that's too much to ask, then…"

            "You told me so?" he spoke with a graveled voice.

            She sighed.  "I hate being right all the time."

             He took hold of her hand and rubbed a thumb across the knuckles.  "Just give it time," he said.  "I've closed off a part of my past that I'd like to stay closed.  Bare with me on the rest."

            She squinted her eyes.  "You're never going to be warm and fuzzy are you?"

            "No."

            "Perfect.  I hate warm and fuzzy.  Just be honest with me, okay?"

            "I'll promise never to lie more than I have to."

            Later, they retired to the library.  He started a fire at her request, even though it was still late summer.  She chose a book from his vast shelves, a rare first edition of 'Jane Eyre'.  Holding the book up for his inspection, she said, "One of my favorites.  The classic but tragic tale of a young, naïve girl who falls for a brooding older man with a dark past."  She paused for a moment's thought, and then said suspiciously, "You don't have an insane wife locked in your attic do you?"  He couldn't help a small laugh as he shook his head.  "Well that's a relief."

            She threw some pillows on the floor in front of the fireplace and settled down in them to enjoy her book.  She was still wearing the bathrobe and it slipped down her thigh as she crossed one slender leg over the other.  He relaxed in a comfortable chair with a book of true crime stories.

            After a quarter of an hour, when he realized he hadn't turned a page, he put the book down in his lap.  He cleared his throat, and said, "Why don't you finish school and get your degree?"

            Without looking up from the book, she replied, "Why?"

            "You would improve your job marketability, increase your income, you could find something with a future."

            This time she did set the book aside and looked over at him.  "Something a bit more permanent, maybe?"

            "That too.  Are you planning on being rootless for the rest of your life?"

            "Rootless?" she echoed, and then crawled over to kneel in front of him, placing her hands on his knees.  "You're really worried I'm going to take off aren't you?"

            "It had crossed my mind."

            She took a deep breath and licked her lips, then said lightly, "Well I could take a few night classes.  It's only a semester, it wouldn't take too long.  Would that make you happy?"

            He reached over and brushed her hair away from her face.  "Yes."  He stood up and motioned for her to stand as well.  "There's one more thing that's been on my mind," he said in a serious voice.  "I'm concerned about the neighborhood you're living in."  She rolled her eyes and tried to turn away, but he caught her arm and made her look at him.  "Would you be able to defend yourself if attacked?"

            "You've got to be kidding.  I'm in no danger there.  You, on the other hand, would be prime pickings.  They know I don't have anything."

            "I'm serious, Mardi.  Gotham is a very tough place to live in.  Things happen, people get hurt.  How would you defend yourself if you were attacked?"

            "I'd probably scream my head off, okay?"  It happened quicker than she could have ever imagined.  One minute they were facing each other, and the next he was holding her arm at an unnatural angle behind her back, his hand over her mouth. 

            He lowered her head and whispered into her ear, "Now what are you going to do?"

            "Mmmm.    Mmmmm.  Mmmmm!" she cried out beneath his hand, trying to work out of his grasp, to no avail.  He let her go as quickly as he'd grabbed her.  She whirled around and stared at him in astonishment.  "What the hell was that!?"

            "It'll be that quick when it happens.  You need to learn to take care of yourself.  I could show you some techniques."

            "You?" she said dubiously.

            "Yes.  I studied martial arts while I was in Asia."

            "What, like karate?"

            "Among others."

            "So what belt did you earn?"

            "Seventh degree black belt."

            "Get out!"  She regarded him for a moment and then shrugged.  "Well in that case, why not?  It might be fun."  She followed him into the workout room, where he gave her a set of sweats to change into, before disappearing to change his own clothes.  He returned wearing a white gi, with a black belt tied around his waist.  Mardi whistled, he frowned, and the afternoon took a turn for the worse.

            "Oof."  Mardi hit the mat for the tenth time, this time she didn't make any immediate effort to get back up.  "God," she moaned.  "You know, I'm not going to be able to move tomorrow."  She managed to roll onto one side and push herself up.

            "You've got to focus," he said harshly, completely devoid of any signs of sympathy.  "You've got to gain control."

            "Focus has got nothing to do with it," she replied sharply, massaging her lower back.  "You outweigh me by at least a hundred pounds."  All her good humor had vanished and she was feeling annoyed with his tutorial style, which seemed like a cross between Attila the Hun and Darth Vader.

            "That's irrelevant.  Once you gain control of the situation you will be able to use your opponent's size and weight to your advantage.  Let's try it again."  His voice was hard and unyielding.

            She stood her ground.  Physically she'd always been in good shape.  Star of her school's volleyball team, and a passable basketball player, she'd always been fit, and still maintained a modest exercise routine to stay that way.  But at this moment she felt pummeled and beaten and tired, and he was asking for more.  "Remind me again why we're doing this."

            "So you can defend yourself against an attack.  So you won't be hurt," he replied impatiently.

            "Seems to me the only one hurting me is you."  She met his gaze defiantly and was not pleased by what she saw.  His eyes, which she normally found to be so sexy, were now cold and hard.  She moved to a side table and took a swallow from a water bottle, looking at his reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall before her.  Fear tingled at the base of her spine.  "Why are you doing this?" she quietly asked the reflection.

            "I told you…" he started, flexing one fist at his side.

            She shook her head and turned to face him.  "This isn't normal behavior.  Who are you?"  He didn't answer, and that small voice in the back of her mind cried out, You don't want to know!  The fear was strong, it was the same driving force that had made her virtually put her life on hold for the last eight years, but there was something else deeper down inside – stubbornness.  It was this stubbornness that had caused her to break an arm and a leg, and almost her neck, when little Bobby Miller had emphatically told her no girl could ever climb to the top of Old Man Sykes' oak tree.  It was what kept her in a failed marriage long after she should have thrown in the towel.  It kept her going in the rough years when all she wanted to do was lie down and go to sleep forever.

            She walked up to him and asked again, "Who are you?" in a stronger voice, but he still didn't respond, only looking at her with those eyes that seemed to come from a different world.  "WHO ARE YOU!" she screamed into his face, the fear and tension lacing each word, and did something she'd never done in her entire life.  Her hand drew back and she sent it flying towards his face, only it never hit its mark.  He caught it easily, his eyes never leaving her face, not even so much as flinching.  His grip was strong, but not too strong – she vividly remembered the man in the alley crying and holding his arm.

            "I don't know anymore," he finally replied as if coming out of a trance.  "I just don't know."  At this moment the tears spilled from her eyes.  He released her hand, which she let it drop helplessly to her side, and then reached out to clasp her head with both hands, his thumbs wiping the moisture from her cheeks.  "I'm sorry I hurt you.  For a moment I forgot you weren't….That I wasn't…."

            "Who?  You weren't what?  I don't understand."

            He let go and turned away from her.  "This was a bad idea.  I'm sorry."

            She swallowed, and came around to face him.  "The idea was good, but the execution was poor."  A feeling of deep sympathy for the pain she saw in his face overwhelmed her.  Forcing a smile, she continued, "I'd like to be able to kick some ass, and if you think you can leave the drill sergeant routine at the door, I'd like you to teach me.  Maybe I could actually take you someday."

            "Not likely," he replied.

            "You think you're invulnerable against me?" she asked playfully.  He shrugged, but smiled.  "We'll see about that."  She placed a hand on his shoulder and reached up, grabbing his earlobe between her lips.  After only several seconds he circled her waist with his arms and made a small sigh in his throat.  She pushed him away with a sly smile.  "See, everybody has at least one weakness.   Even Superman has kryptonite, right?"  His eyes narrowed, and he turned away from her while muttering incoherently.  "Hey, what was that?" she said, grabbing his shoulder.

            Looking her in the eye he said clearly, "Superman's a pussy."

            She stifled a giggle, and said with a serious face, "Oh yeah, I'm sure you could take him."