She sat at her vanity table and was supposed to be brushing out her hair before going to bed, but the brush was motionless in her hand and it hadn't moved in five full minutes. She stared at it, her mind buzzing as she remembered the scene downstairs, trying to ignore the despair eating away at her heart. Suddenly she looked up into the mirror and saw him standing behind her as still as a statue. The brush clattered loudly as she placed in back down on the tabletop.
"How are you doing?" he asked quietly.
"That's a trick question, right?" Their eyes remained focused on the cold, reflective glass and not on each other. His hand came up and rested on her shoulder, gripping it briefly and then pushing so she would swivel in the chair to face him.
"You don't look well," he stated.
"I haven't been sleeping. I'm surprised you even noticed."
He took a hold of one of her hands as they lay limply in her lap and pulled her up so she was standing before him. She looked into his face and almost lost her balance, so surprised to see a tenderness she hadn't beheld in ages. His hand slipped behind her head and he gently pulled her forward so he could whisper into her ear, "I love you. I always have and nothing will ever change that."
The tears in her eyes blurred everything when she leaned back to look up at him again. "Does this mean you forgive me?" she asked, lips trembling.
"You have nothing to be forgiven for. I'm responsible for what happened. I should never have let you go back to Powers' office."
She shook her head and tried to hold back her tears, but they insisted on coming. "You couldn't have known what was going to happen."
"I knew what he was capable of. I just gave him more credit than to do something so bold and vindictive."
She completely broke down, burying her face in his chest, clutching his shirt with her hands. She could taste the blood as she bit her lip to keep the cries from escaping. He smoothed her hair with his hand. "I've missed you so much," she gasped. "I thought you were gone forever. I'm so sorry for everything," she wailed. "I am so sorry!"
"I'm here. I'm not going anywhere," he soothed. "You are not…completely at fault," he admitted. "I needed to realign my priorities. I'm sorry it took this long, sorry you had to suffer like this."
She stepped back and blinked up at him. "What happened?"
His fingers gently touched her cheek. With a wry smile he replied, "There's something about a woman threatening to kill me I just can't resist. Now you need to get some sleep. Do you think you'd mind some company?"
"Don't you have to be downstairs?"
"I gave Terry the night off."
She felt like laughing and crying at the same time. "No, I wouldn't mind company at all." With the back of her hand she wiped the tears away from her eyes. "I am so sick of crying. I'm getting too old for this crap."
"You? Imagine how I feel."
This time she actually did laugh. "Yeah, you're definitely too old for this crap." Then without warning she broke into powerful sobs, covering her face with her hands. "Oh God!" she choked.
"Mardi?" he asked, concerned.
She shook her head in wide sweeps and then pulled her hands away. "Are we okay now?" she asked thickly, almost unable to believe it could be over that easy.
"Yes, we're okay now," he assured softly, reaching for her. He placed a kiss at her temple.
"Good," she sniffed. "That's good."
"Mom?" the small voice asked from across the room.
Mardi looked up from the Saturday morning paper to her daughter. She sat in the enormous dining room that was rarely used, at the head of the table, a cup of coffee and a half eaten bagel in front of her. Isabella walked over and bent down to kiss her on the cheek. Sadly Mardi realized her little girl was tall enough to tower over her, at least while she was seated. "Good morning, sweetheart," she told her with a smile.
Isabella flopped down in the chair next to her. "You look good this morning," she said, fiddling with the ponytail she'd swept over her shoulder. "You look happy."
It was an odd comment, but Mardi simply replied, "Thanks." Isabella fidgeted in the chair for a moment and then pulled her foot up onto the seat, wrapping her arms around her long, slender leg. She was wearing shorts and still sported a little of last summer's tan. "Both feet on the floor please," Mardi chastised automatically. "And sit up straight, or you'll turn into a hunchback."
Obeying, Isabella stuck a thumb in her mouth and started worrying at its nail. Once she'd bitten a piece of it off she said, "I'm really glad you and Dad aren't fighting anymore."
Mardi's heart thumped uncomfortably. "What makes you think we were fighting?" she asked.
A sudden calm came over the young girl and Mardi was aghast to see the frightening resemblance she had to Bruce. Mardi had always thought she was such a mixture of the both of them, intense and winsome at the same time, but she may have more accurately been described as a vision of what could have been if Thomas and Martha Wayne hadn't been murdered in front of their son. The look she gave her mother spoke volumes and Mardi felt her face flush with shame. To drive home the point she said, "I'm deaf, not stupid."
Wondering what happened to her baby, how she had managed to grow up so fast, Mardi replied, "I know. I'm sorry it made you uncomfortable."
Isabella shrugged, and reverted back to her normal demeanor. "No big. I knew it couldn't last for long anyway. You two are nuts about each other."
Mardi reflected on the phraseology, wondering if 'nuts' indeed described them to the letter, as she watched Isabella lean forward and grab the pewter salt and pepper shakers closest to her, moving them around uneasily, tapping them against each other and the reflective surface of the mahogany table, obviously uneasy about something. She snapped her fingers in front of the girl's face to grab her attention. "What is it?"
She bit her lip thoughtfully and then blurted out in a breath, "You don't like that he was Batman, do you?"
Mardi sighed. This was not a conversation she wanted to have with her daughter. She longed for a much simpler topic, like the birds and the bees. "No, I don't," she replied honestly, chagrined as she recalled falling fast asleep in the comfort of his arms.
"Why?" Mardi was stunned speechless by the question. She remembered feeling so angry because he hadn't been completely truthful with her, but other than that she'd never actually considered her reasons for protesting his chosen vocation, besides its inherent dangers. Emboldened by her mother's hesitation, Isabella jumped to his defense. "He helped lots of people, saved many lives. He's a hero, Mom," the girl said with admiration.
Heroes don't lie to their wives, she wanted to say. Instead she replied sadly, "He's just not the same person I thought he was."
"How? How is he different?" Isabella asked with the most solemn expression she'd ever worn in her young life. The interrogation was discomfiting, and Mardi would have preferred to tell her to go to her room and mind her own business, but she knew this curiosity was better off not being ignored.
She turned away to peer out the large bank of windows to the beautiful sunshine-filled day, repeating the question to herself in her head: How? "I don't know," she said with a sigh. Isabella tapped her on the hand, reminding her she was still looking away. Turning her head back, she replied more firmly, "I don't know."
Isabella sank back into the chair, folding her arms over her chest, and smiled, indicating she had rest her case.
"You need to stop growing up young lady, you're starting to scare me."
Isabella sprang out of her seat and wrapped her arms tightly around Mardi's neck. "Love you, Momma," she whispered, then let go and headed back towards the kitchen. "Hi Dad!" Mardi heard her call out and turned to see them passing in the doorway, Bruce carrying a cup of coffee in his hand.
"Good morning, princess," he said softly and leaned down to kiss her on the head before she disappeared. He came over and sat down in the chair she'd just vacated.
"Hey," Mardi greeted him quietly.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked without preamble, sounding truly concerned and not just making polite conversation. Then again, when did he ever just make polite conversation?
"You know, I actually did," she replied happily. "Better than I have in a long time. I guess the company really helped." She winked at him.
He took a sip of coffee, his eyes never leaving her face, then said, "You were talking in your sleep." It was an ominous statement and there was no humor in his face.
"Oh?" she replied, feeling a bit mischievous. "I didn't mention my affair with the pool boy, did I?" Her eyes opened wide with shock to give him the full effect.
Unfortunately, being born to enormous wealth, and growing into a perfect physical and mental specimen, did not guarantee a sense of humor. The corners of his mouth turned down in disapproval and Mardi began giggling at his inability, or unwillingness, to get the joke. That only served to darken his expression, which caused her to howl with laughter until she was fighting for breath.
"Are you just about finished?" he asked irritably.
"God that was priceless!" she said. "You should have seen your face." He gave her a stony look and she leaned forward, confiding to him, "We don't have a pool, dear."
"You didn't say whose pool it was," he pointed out to her.
She gaped at him for a moment, and then smiled. "I'd never dip in anyone else's pool, silly." He gave no indication that he was going to let the conversation slide off the course he'd mapped out. "Fine, what was I saying?"
" 'Please don't take them.' You cried it out several times."
"Really?" she said. "Gee, I wonder what that means." Her eyes were on the paper she held in her hands, a sign she wasn't all that interested in divining the true meaning in her dreams. Vaguely she remembered a large bat, the size of a prehistoric pterodactyl, swooping down after her family, but she'd shaken off the feeling of doom it had left her with in the morning and did not feel like revisiting it. Turning back to Bruce, she changed the subject. "Isabella is quite pleased we've made amends." He was silent. "And of course I didn't get a chance to thank you last night for keeping another secret from me."
"I didn't want you to overreact."
"Nooooo. No chance of that happening." She looked him directly in the eye. "No. More. Secrets. Especially when they concern my daughter. Am I understood?"
"Of course."
She relaxed back into her chair. "You know, I didn't think it was possible, but she idolizes you even more now." She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. "And you're wrong. I don't think it's just a phase. She's going to want to be just like you."
"One thing we're in agreement on is that won't happen. I've said no, and that's final."
Mardi smiled thinly. "And you've had so much luck saying no to her in the past." If she were the overprotective parent, he was the permissive parent. It was a fact that no one could contradict.
"This is different. The rules are different."
She nodded slowly. "I believe you. But what happens after you're gone and can't say no anymore?" His face changed slightly. "When she wants to follow in your footsteps and there isn't anyone who can stop her, because you and I both know that when she gets something in her head she's more tenacious than anything you can imagine."
"What are you trying to say?"
"I don't want her getting hurt because she doesn't know what she's doing."
"I thought you were against getting her involved."
"I am. I'd as soon slit my own throat then see her mixed up in your world." She sighed. "But I'm also a realist. Teach her, give her the tools and the knowledge. Don't make it glamorous or fun. Discourage her. Maybe she'll get it out of her system, maybe she won't, but I will not have ignorance be her undoing."
"Do you know what you're asking of me?"
"You're her father, she's going to inherit a lot more than your bank account. You opened this can of worms, and I'm leaving it to you to clean it up. That is what I'm asking of you."
Their eyes met and held for many seconds, then he blinked. "Very well."
