Family Bonding

            Three people sat around the end of the long Wayne dining table, Bruce at the head, Mardi and Dick on either side of him, eyeing each other like a pair of boxers awaiting the starting bell for round one of the championship bout.  It had been three days since their unfortunate introduction and the animosity had not slackened.  Bruce felt a little quality time between the two most important people in his life was called for if he hoped to have a meaningful future with either one.

            The dinner laid out before them was as simple as it was inedible.  Mardi had actually attempted cooking it on her own, from the leathery pot roast to the mashed potatoes that weren't all that lumpy to the almost gravy-like substance that had at least a cup too much salt to the vegetable dish that had started out as green beans but was now unidentifiable mush.   All three diners seemed to be making a concerted effort not to notice. 

            Bruce remained wisely silent, hoping that one or the other would make the first overture, throwing meaningful looks at Dick.  Finally getting the hint, Dick cleared his throat.  Mardi looked at him expectantly.  "I guess I need to apologize for the things I said the other night.  I didn't mean anything personal by it."

            "Sure," she said.  "And I'm sorry I called you a sanctimonious ass."

            Dick looked perplexed.  "You never said that to me."

            "Oh.  In that case, you are a sanctimonious ass."   She resumed eating, oblivious to his sputtering.

            Dick looked at Bruce, who was intensely interested in a watercolor landscape painting hanging on the wall to his left.  Fighting the urge to kick him under the table, Dick looked back at Mardi, who was now staring at him with the utmost contempt.  "Okay, let's call that even and start over," he offered.

            "Whatever," she replied flatly.

            "Good," he said brightly.  "So Bruce tells me you work at Wayne-Powers.  That must be kind of weird, huh?"

            "How so?"

            "I was just thinking if everybody knows that you're shack…er, I mean living with one of the owners…"

            "My living arrangements are nobody's business but my own."  Her voice dripped with icy calm.

            "Uh oh, I've gone and offended you again, haven't I?"

            "What a surprise," she drawled.  "Of course, what more is there to expect from a grown man who has the maturity of a twelve year old?"

            Bruce was now studiously inspecting the carpet.  Dick realized he was completely on his own for this showdown.  And he feared he was woefully outgunned.  They could sling insults back and forth, but what would that accomplish, he wondered.  He'd already made the first move towards reconciliation with Bruce, and this seemed to be the final test.

            "Okay, that's it!  We've got to call a truce," he finally said with exasperation.  Pointing to his father he said, almost pleading, "For him at least?"

            Bruce finally looked at him, a hint of pride in his blue eyes.  Then he looked at Mardi with a raised eyebrow.  "Well?"

            She stood up, tossing her napkin down.  "We have apple pie for dessert," she said and disappeared into the kitchen.

            Dick gave Bruce a desperate look.  "What, is she trying to kill me?  You couldn't find someone who at least can cook?"

            Bruce shrugged.  "She has other talents."  He gave his son a knowing smile.

            "Oh, I did not need to hear that!"

            "Hear what?" Mardi questioned as she came back through the door carrying a tray.

            "I was telling Dick that although cooking isn't your forte, you have some other remarkable skills."

            "Really?  Did you tell him about that thing I do with my feet?"

            "Please don't," Dick moaned.

            "Is your mind constantly in the gutter?  I simply can write my name with my toes."

            "Why would you want to do that?" he asked in utter confusion.

            "I never said it was a useful ability," she shrugged, and started dishing out slices of the pie.  "And for your information, I did not make this; I picked it up at a bakery."

            "Thank God!" Dick exclaimed with relief, digging into his piece.  Mardi looked at Bruce, and Bruce looked at Mardi, and she burst out laughing.  Dick looked up and swallowed the bite in his mouth.  "Does this mean everything's okay?"

            She stopped laughing long enough to shake her head and say, "No."  But she was still smiling.

            She was out on the veranda, leaning against the railing, gazing out at the starry night, after leaving the men to talk in the study.  He watched her through the glass door for a moment before softly opening it and joining her against the rail.  She was cradling a mug between her hands and took a sip before looking up at him.

            "Hey," he said softly.  "What's that?"

            She shrugged.  "Just some hot tea.  I was hoping it would settle my stomach.  I think something I ate disagreed with me."

            He flashed one of his patented grins.  "Join the club."

            Her face darkened for one brief second and then relaxed into a large smile.  "I've come to terms with the fact that I won't be gracing the cover of Haute Cuisine Monthly."  He could see how she managed to capture Bruce's heart.  She was feisty and clever, able to sling vicious barbs and still maintain a self-effacing humor, with a touch of bawdy temptress thrown in for good measure; it would be enough to keep even the most jaded man on his toes.  And she was unquestionably attractive in a simple sort of way.  Dick thought that given different circumstances he may well have fallen for her himself.

            They stood in silence for a while, before Dick gathered enough courage to launch into his reason for coming out.  "Despite my initial reservations, I wanted you to know I think you might actually do him some good.  Take it from someone who knows, he's not famous for making commitments, he's always been, well…"

            "Don't worry, I know all about his past exploits."

            "You do?  He said you didn't know he was…"

            "Fast and loose with his affections?  There used to be a different woman every night.  Sometimes two.  It doesn't take a psychiatrist to figure out what that was all about.  Orphaned at a young age, just trying to replace his parents with whatever girl was handy."

            "Oh that past," he said, backpedaling.  "Sure that's exactly what I meant.  The whole playboy routine.  Yeah."  He cleared his throat.  "So anyway why won't you marry him then?"          

            "I've been married before.  It's not all it's cracked up to be."

            "I know I sounded harsh before, but if it makes any difference I know you're not after his money."

            "And how do you figure that?"

            "I'm a police detective; it's my job to read people," he said good-naturedly.

            "But I could be the world's greatest actress.  After all what better way to throw you off the scent than to refuse the one thing I wanted."

            "Sure, but there's one flaw in your reasoning.  He trusts you."

            "So?"

            "So, Bruce Wayne may be a lot of things, but gullible is not one of them.  Believe me, he knew everything there is to know about you twelve hours after you met him.  I guarantee that if you were trying to pull the wool over his eyes, he'd know and you'd be out on your ear."  She just shook her head and looked out over the grounds effectively dismissing the subject.  He decided not to pursue the matter.  Instead he gently elbowed her and asked, "So any chance you and I will ever be friends?"

            "Hard to say.  You didn't make a very good first impression," she replied airily.

            "I can accept that.  Just don't expect me to call you 'Mom'," he teased.

            Turning, she placed a hand on her hip.  "If you do you won't live long enough to say it a second time," she promised.

            "Agreed," he said with a laugh.  "Hey, the night's still young, you up for a little fun?"

            "What?" she asked suspiciously.

            "Have you ever been to a karaoke bar?"

            "Singing in public?  No."

            "Perfect.  First-timers are the best.  Tim and I used to do it all the time.  It's a blast."

            "Who's Tim?"

            "Uh, just another one of Bruce's strays.  He used to collect them back in the day."  She started to ask another question, so he said quickly, "Maybe we can even get old grim and grumpy to accompany us."

            "Dear lord, her singing is just as bad as her cooking," Dick complained.  On stage Mardi was putting every effort into a song, even though she was terribly off-key.

I keep on fallin' iiinnn
And out of love with yooouuu

            "Tell me again what we're doing here," Bruce asked as his finger drummed the table.

            "Family bonding," Dick replied with a pained look on his face as he watched the performance.

            "I mean what am I doing here?"

            Dick shot him a look.  "Barb told me you're busting your back getting their wedding together, so I figured you could use some time to relax."

            "This is relaxing?"

Oh, oh, oh - I never felt this waay
How do you give me so much plea-sure
And cause me so much pai-ai-ai-ain

            "Dogs must be falling down dead outside," Dick quipped.   "Hey what are you going to sing?"

            "I'm not singing," Bruce replied darkly.

            "Spoilsport," Dick complained as he flagged down a waitress to get a song list.  "Look at all these oldies.  Hmmm,"  he perused the list.  "Oh, look at this.  Another Superman song.  Ever wonder why they never wrote a song about you?" he said slyly.  Bruce ignored him.  "You know what, I think this might work.  Listen,  'I'm just a man, in a pointy black mask'," he sung.

            Bruce shot daggers from his eyes.  "That's enough," he spoke through clenched teeth.  Dick got up and asked the waitress for a pen and paper.

            Mardi's performance was winding down on stage.

I'm fallin' in and out of love with you
I never loved someone the way that I love you

            Mercifully the song ended.  A few onlookers removed their hands from their ears and gave a half-hearted attempt at applause.  Oblivious, Mardi hopped down and walked over to the table, sliding into the chair next to Bruce.  "Oh, that was fun," she gasped with a huge grin on her face.

            Bruce leaned forward and whispered, "Don't ever do that again."

            "Why?" she asked.

            "Because you sucked," Dick responded without looking up from the paper he was furiously writing on.

            "Well I'd like to see you do better," she told Bruce.

            "No," he replied.

            "Why not?"

            "My family can trace its heritage to Scottish royalty.  The Wayne's do not sing karaoke."

            "That's a crock of BS!" Dick exclaimed.  To Mardi he said, "He can do anything as long as he's prepared for it.  His biggest fear is of failure.  Or being embarrassed.  Or being embarrassed by failure.  Anyway, everything's got to be perfect for Mr. Control-freak.  I mean when I was a kid and we…"

            "Dick, that's enough," Bruce scowled.

            "Whatever.  I'm done."  He got up and spoke to the waitress, who nodded and went to load the machine.  Dick proceeded to take the stage.

            "Mr. Control-freak?" Mardi asked.

            "Let it go," he warned.

            Into the microphone Dick was beginning his own introduction.  "There have been numerous songs about The Man Of Steel, Superman.  Don't get me wrong, Big Blue is certainly song-worthy, but why haven't there been any for Gotham's own hero, the Batman?"  A few cheers rose through the crowd and Bruce groaned inaudibly, putting his head in his hand.  Dick continued.  "So I have borrowed one of Supes' tunes and rewrote some of the lyrics.  This is dedicated to the Dark Knight, may he rest in peace."

            As the music was being queued, Mardi leaned over and asked, "Do you really think Batman's dead?"

            "Absolutely," Bruce replied.  "We should be leaving now."  He tried to stand up as the first few notes of the song came out of the speakers.

            "Hey!" she exclaimed.  "I remember this song.  It was one of my favorites as a kid.  I want to hear."  Bruce glared at her, but sat down.

            Dick started singing in a clear baritone voice:

I can't stand to fight
It's not some great feat
I'm just out to rid
The evil from the street

I'm more than a bat…I'm more than a man
More than some darkened face, always with a plan
It's not easy to be me

Wish that I could cry
Fall upon my knees
Find a way to hide
From all these painful memories

It may sound absurd…but it's still the truth
Even Heroes have the right to brood
I may be disturbed…but wouldn't you be
Even Heroes have the right to grieve
It's not easy to be me

Up, up here…away from everything
It's all right…You can all sleep sound tonight
I'm not crazy…or anything…

I can't even fly
But I found other means
Men weren't meant to swing
Like monkeys in the trees

I'm only a man in a pointy black mask
Battling every night on these lonely streets
Only a man in a pointy black mask
Hiding from the dark things inside of me

It's not easy to be me.

            The song faded to an end.  There was one brief moment of silence before the entire room exploded in cheers and claps and whistles.  Dick sketched an exaggerated bow and leapt off the stage, executing a perfect forward flip, causing even louder praise.  He was grinning ear to ear as he strolled confidently to the table.  He brought a hand up and touched his fingertips to his forehead in a mock salute to Bruce, who for once seemed at a complete loss for words.

            Mardi leapt up clapping enthusiastically, and gave him a big hug before he sat down.  "That was great!" she gushed.

            "Thanks," he grinned taking a swig of his beer.  "Whaddya think?" he asked Bruce.

            Bruce just stood up, motioning for Mardi to do the same.  As she was putting on her coat he looked at Dick and nodded once.

            They were getting ready for bed.  She stood from her dressing table, rubbing lotion into her hands and arms.  As she moved towards the bed, Bruce stepped out from the bathroom and caught her around the waist, pulling her close and nuzzled her throat just beneath her jaw line, where he knew she was most sensitive.

            "Mmmm," she sighed, but managed to push him away.  "Not tonight, I'm sorry.  I have the most vicious headache, and I'm simply too exhausted to do anything but fall into bed.  Probably put a little too much effort into my big debut tonight," she gave him a small smile.

            "Are feeling alright?" he asked, mildly concerned.  "You didn't eat much tonight."

            "Can you blame me?" she poked him gently in the chest, but he didn't play along.

            "Maybe you should see a doctor."

            "Maybe I just need a good night's sleep.  It's simply been a very stressful couple of days.  They're performing an audit on all the departments at work, which always means the whole company goes nuclear, plus meeting your son hasn't been exactly conducive to a healthy state of mind."

            "Don't think you can use this as an excuse to miss the wedding this Saturday," he warned her.  She has already made it known that she didn't feel comfortable with the idea.  She made a face at him.  "I mean it.  You will be there, at my side, the entire time."

            "Yes, sir!"  She saluted him with full military precision.  "Shall I be in street-walker attire, or modestly virginal?"

            His eyes narrowed, and he gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger.  "It's Barbara's day, you were the one who suggested it be here, and I expect you to behave.  This is not about you."

            She nodded.  "I'm sorry.  I'm just a little nervous about meeting all those people."

            "Most of them will be from the police and DA's office, and their own families.  No one you should be concerned with."  He dropped his hand and moved over to the bed, sliding between the sheets.  She joined him from the other side, turning off the bedside lamp.

            Snuggling close, she whispered sleepily, "Was my singing that bad?"

            He replied, "I've heard cat fights with more melody."

A/N:  "Fallin'" belongs to Alicia Keys and "Superman (It's Not Easy Being Me)" belongs to Five For Fighting (although the rewrite is mine.)  No copyright infringement intended.