Unexpected Guests

Spring, 2026

            "Are you busy?" the soft voice called to him from the hall.

            He grunted in reply without looking up from the mounds of papers on his desk.  He'd somehow been roped into hosting Barbara and Sam's wedding since they were both extremely busy in their respective careers – Sam recently elected to the position of district attorney, and Barbara leading the field as the possible replacement for the soon-to-be retiring Commissioner of Police.  One evening, a week earlier, while he and Mardi were having dinner with the couple, Barbara had been lamenting over her lack of spare time and all of the tedious details wrapped up in even the simplest of weddings, not to mention the decision still remained as to where the event would even take place.  Mardi, in a moment of shear cosmic absurdity brought on by too much wine, had piped up and volunteered his time and home.  Several methods of slow, painful torture crossed his mind after she'd finished speaking, but the look of hope and relief on Barb's face had clinched the deal.  "Of course," he'd said cordially.  "It'll be my wedding gift to you."  He knew the former Batgirl was secretly laughing inside at his new role of wedding planner.

            Now he was knee-deep in florists, caterers, photographers, and invitations, though he drew the line at outfitting the wedding party; the bride and groom were on their own in that respect.  For about the millionth time he wished Alfred were still around, but he was the Batman who had defeated worse odds than this.

            The instigator behind his current grievous situation glided across the study floor and stood to the left of his desk trying to gain his attention.  He could feel her presence though he couldn't see it, since he still refused to so much as raise his head to acknowledge her.

            "I know you're still sore with me," she started, "but I was hoping I could get your assistance on a matter of grave importance." He pursed his lips together in annoyance and laid down his Cross pen.  Turning towards her, he folded his arms across his chest in a regal manner, and looked up.  It was with the strongest self-control learned from the greatest eastern masters that he managed to keep the look of cool indifference on his face.  She posed before him a vision in a silk, midnight blue peignoir with black lace edging the entire garment.  The V of the bodice dipped down to a dangerous level and a slit ran up the right thigh, stopping a few meager inches below her waistline.  It clung to her curves and accentuated every positive feature of her lithe form.  "I picked this up after work today.  The clerk at the shop says it's guaranteed to drive any man wild.  So, do I need to get my money back or not?"  She lifted her arms, and everything shifted provocatively.

            Using ancient calming techniques he regarded her thoughtfully.  With a slight nod he said, "This will take some serious study.  Turn around."  She grinned sheepishly, and then slowly rotated to the left.  When her back was to him he commanded her to stop.  Reaching out he placed a hand on each hip and pulled her backwards until she gently sank into his lap.  "All the senses must be tested," he whispered into her ear, drawing his nose down her throat to smell her sweet fragrance, stopping at her shoulder where he planted a small kiss on the bare skin beside the negligee's strap.  His hands ran smooth, slow paths down, then up her thighs, and then around her abdomen, sliding up to cup a breast in each palm.

            Her breath hitched and she said thickly, "I don't know about you, but I'm sure getting my money's worth."

            He drew her legs across his lap and she draped her arms behind his neck, leaning into a kiss.  They were lost in each other for what could have been days, but was more likely several long minutes, hands searching, tongues tasting, and skin feeding on skin.

            The hot passion was unceremoniously cooled as a harsh voice cried out, "Oh good God!"  It was both angry and horrified and captured their attention immediately.  "It's worse than Barb said.  You have finally lost it!"

            "Dick," Bruce whispered, almost unable to believe his own eyes.  The other man's features had softened with age and his black hair was streaked with gray, but he was still solidly built with an aggressive stance enhanced by the venomous look he wore on his face.  He made a dismissive gesture with his hand and walked out of the room.  "Dick!" Bruce finally managed to find his voice.  He stood up quickly and set Mardi brusquely onto her feet.  "Stay here," he ordered and headed after his son.  "Dick!  Wait!" he commanded.

            Dick finally halted a few feet from the front door and turned to glower at him.  "You!  You of all people I would never have believed to fall for some cheap whore!" he yelled at Bruce, his voice echoing throughout the large manor.

            "Watch your language," Bruce spoke in a low, controlled voice, but as usual his emotions were in turmoil in regards to this man who once upon a time had been a small boy that had admired and revered him.

            "Why?  I'm sure she's got her hand on your wallet while the other one's wrapped around your…"

            "Richard!" he bellowed, which only caused the younger man to smirk.  "Who do you think you are coming into my home after all this time, uninvited and unannounced, and start slandering a person you've never met?"

            "I thought I was your son!"  Dick replied with surprising force.

            "So did I!"

            The two men glared at each other until Dick finally cut his eyes away first.  "When Barb told me you had a girlfriend I got suspicious.  I mean, you?  There had to be something more going on."

            Bruce nodded.  "Why don't you come in and we'll sit down and talk about it."

            "You?  Talk?" Dick replied flippantly.

            "You'd be surprised at what I'm up to these days," Bruce commented ironically.  Dick followed Bruce back into the study, where Mardi still stood behind the desk, arms crossed in an attempt to cover her only barely dressed form.  She was frowning, but moved to Bruce's side when he held his hand out to her.  "Mardi, this is Richard Grayson, my adopted son.  Dick, this is Mardi Purcell…"

            "The cheap whore," she cut in caustically, eyeing Dick with obvious disdain.  "Congratulations, you've caught me red-handed.  After all there isn't one redeemable quality about him that any self-respecting woman would be interested in, is there?  Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll leave you two to talk alone.  I've got to be at work early tomorrow."  She slipped between them and headed towards the stairs.

            Dick watched as Bruce stared after her in an almost longing manner.  Only one other time did he see his mentor react to a woman like this, and she turned out to be a plant.  For some reason he didn't think that was the case this time.  "You're in love with her aren't you?" he asked in awe.  "Are you going to marry her?"

            "I've been trying to convince her to for over a year now.  I was starting to make some headway, but thanks to you I'm probably back to square one."

            Dick raised his eyebrows.  "She won't marry you?"  He paused for a minute.  "She has a job?"  Bruce nodded and Dick suddenly felt like an ass.

            "Have a seat.  Would you like something to drink?"

            "Yeah, I think that would be a good idea."  Bruce moved over to the side bar and poured two brandies.  He carried the snifters over to Dick who was sitting in the large comfortable chair in front of his desk.  Dick thanked him and took a small sip.  "What does she do?" he asked conversationally.

            "She's an account manager at Wayne-Powers."  Dick gave him a knowing look.  "I have nothing to do with the company anymore.  Her work there is totally her own.  I suspect she'll be a division head in a couple of years.  I'd like her to find something else, but she enjoys it too much and I don't have the heart to ask her to give it up."

            "You really have changed since you stopped being Ba…"  He bit off the rest as Bruce held a hand up in the old signal for silence they'd used while patrolling the streets, the long ago training coming to the forefront of his mind.  Bruce set down his glass and walked over to close the double doors of the study.  "She doesn't know you were Batman, does she?" Dick asked when he came back and sat down.

            "No.  And I'd like to keep it that way if you don't mind."  Dick sighed and drained his glass, unsure where to go from here.  Bruce started by asking, "So you've been in contact with Barbara?"

            He nodded and then said, "Yeah, for a while now.  She even asked me to come to the wedding.  Can you believe that?"  There was a small laugh, but then he was reminded of what caused the rift to begin with and looked at Bruce darkly.  "I wanted to kill you when I found out what you'd done.  I was angry with her too, but you…God she was my life Bruce how could you?"

            The older man sat in silence for a moment.  "You were the one who left her," he finally pointed out.

            "No!  I left you, not her.  She should have come with me."

            "You should have asked her.  Or maybe you didn't because you knew what the answer would be."

            "She wouldn't have chosen you over me, never!"

            "She wouldn't have chosen Bruce over you, but she would have chosen Batman.  She knew where her duties lay."  Dick huffed and threw his head back.  "Dick," Bruce said softly.  "I never meant it to happen.  I never wanted to hurt you, either of you, in that way."

            "Did you love her?"

            "Of course.  She's the daughter of one of my dearest friends, she fought along side of me for years, she saved my life.  But she never loved me.  It was always you." 

            Dick closed his eyes, trying to process the information, the bitter hatred in his heart not wanting to let go, but he tried anyway.  "Why did we have to wait twenty years to do this?" he asked tiredly.

            "Because some people can be hardheaded and foolish."  Dick raised an eyebrow but stayed wisely silent.  "Are you coming to the wedding?"

            Dick shrugged.  "It's just too weird, know what I mean?"

            "Yes.  Yes I do."  Bruce sipped his own brandy.  "How's the family?"

            Dick looked skeptically.  "Like you haven't been keeping tabs?  Cheryl divorced me three years ago.  She's got full custody of the kids."

            "I'm sorry."

            "Nothing for you to be sorry about.  She just didn't want to be a cop's wife anymore, not to mention all the night work.  She married a butcher last fall.  I get steaks every time I go visit the kids.   Is Tim coming?" he asked.

            "No," Bruce replied sadly.  "It's better for him, he says, if he stays away from here."  From me, his eyes said.

            Dick looked at Bruce.  "Babs told me about your little adventure last Christmas.  Getting back into the swing of things?"

            "It was nothing really."
            "Going to put the suit back on?"

            "I can't.  It takes too much out of me physically.  I could end up getting someone else hurt or killed."  He raised his glass.  "To the death of Batman."

            "You're really through?  I never thought I'd see the day when you'd hang up the cape."

            "Me either Dick."

            Dick looked thoughtfully into his glass for a moment, then looked up with a grin.  "You know if you marry her she'll be like my step-mother."  Bruce stared at him blankly.  "She's younger than me," he explained.

            "Get over it," Bruce replied tersely.

            She was lying on her side, facing the wall when he slipped under the sheets next to her.  It didn't take the world's greatest detective to figure out she was still angry.  "I'm sorry," he said out loud into the darkness.

            "Why?  Because you didn't raise him with better manners?"  She rolled over and her eyes flashed in the moonlight.

            "Dick's concern was genuine, if misplaced, however he has a short temper and has a bad habit of saying whatever's on his mind.  Not unlike another little hot-head that I'm particularly fond of."  He tapped her nose with a finger.

            "Yes but if he thinks that way, what do you expect the rest of the city thinks?" she cried.

            "Let me make one thing perfectly clear, I don't give a damn what the rest of the city, or even the world for that matter, thinks.  They don't know you, and they don't even really know me.  Most of them are probably more interested that I've been with the same woman for longer than a week.  If they believe you're using me they probably feel I'm simply getting my comeuppance."

            She sighed, "But…"

            "No," he replied firmly.  "No 'buts'.  I know you, and I trust you. That's all that matters.  I won't listen to any more about this."

            She bit her lower lip and lowered her eyes for a moment.  Then she looked back up at him.  "Fine," she agreed reluctantly.  "But I'm not really a hot-head, am I?"

            He trailed a finger softly down her cheek.  "You are very passionate, about everything, you speak your mind, and you always fight the good fight.  I can't begrudge you that.  As a matter of fact, that's what attracted me to you."  His hand slid down her shoulder and beneath the sheets, settling on her still silk-clad waist.  "I do believe we started something earlier that needs to be finished."  Before she could reply he sunk his fingertips into her delicate flesh, eliciting the desired reaction.  She squealed and tried to pull away from his touch.

            "Don't do that!" she shrieked between giggles as his hand found other tender areas quicker than she could defend against the brutal onslaught.  Before long she was gasping for breath and begging for his mercy.

            The following morning Mardi's alarm clock sounded at precisely six am.  She quickly turned it off and made her way to the bathroom with an increasing sense of urgency.  She managed to close the door behind her and barely made it to the toilet before expelling the meager contents of her stomach, followed by several dry heaves.

            Once the convulsions had passed she stood before the mirror and wiped her face with a cool cloth, wondering what she could have possible eaten that would have made her so violently ill.