2054

            "Explain to me again what I'm doing here," Mardi said through gritted teeth as she raised her champagne glass to her lips.  The words weren't spoken loud enough for anyone in the large reception room to hear, but the individual she was addressing understood the comment well enough.

            The small device – serving as both receiver and transmitter – buzzed in her ear.  "Attending the unveiling of a rare Rembrandt painting on behalf of the Wayne family, and keeping an eye out for any unusual activity."

            "And why aren't you here?" she asked, again under cover of a broad society smile.  Only twenty minutes had passed since her arrival and she already felt miserable from small talk with people she'd never grown accustomed to associating with.

            "Because I hate those things.  And I need to be here to back-up Grace."

            "Um about that…"  Before she could finish a tall, silver-haired woman strode grandly towards her.

            "Mardi!  What a thrill!  I'm so glad you came.  No Bruce though?" she questioned casting a glance about the throng of partygoers.

            "Hello Millicent," Mardi replied pleasantly.  "No I'm afraid Bruce sends his deepest regrets.  But you know how it is at that age.  Things just stop working or fall off altogether.  Most days I have to remind him not to eat the soap.  It must be terrible," she said smoothly, grinning falsely the entire time, feeling like her cheeks would split open any minute.

            "Oh," Millicent Fontaine said, her expression faltering.  Regaining composure she continued, "Well give him our best will you?"  Then she was gone, mingling with the rest of the crowd like a perfect hostess.

            "I heard that," he growled.

            "Good."  She grinned for real this time.  Fact was, at 85 he still ran circles around other men, partly due to residual effects from the Lazarus Pit, but mostly due to the years of intense training and dedication.  He still had to be careful and had thankfully slowed down, but he wasn't nearly as frail as people were lead to believe.  She'd have him for a while longer at least.

            She nodded politely as another couple waved from across the room, and recalled her interrupted train of thought.  Grace.  She still couldn't believe she'd even agreed to this, but perhaps she was just so stunned by his even bringing up the subject or too wrapped up in wedding details that she'd forgotten to be angry.  Or maybe she had mellowed to the point where it ceased to rankle her.  Now, however, she really was having second thoughts.  "I don't like having her out there.  Especially on a school night," she finished weakly.

            "She's fine.  It's been slow.  It's more to keep up appearances while Terry's out of town."

            "But she's not exactly Batman," she reminded him while leaning down to inspect a ficus plant.

            "That's not the point.  It's the mask.  Any mask will do.  Criminals know there's a mask around they'll think twice."

            "If you say so," she responded, uninterested in his assessment of the criminal psyche.  All she knew was that her younger daughter was out in the cold, instead of safe at home studying.

            She left the ficus and wandered back into the thick of the party, which focused on the large painting hung prominently on the south wall.  The canvas showed a small girl of about 3 or 4 years old in a sailor outfit kneeling down on a riverbank and pushing a small sailboat out into the current.  The existence of the painting was discovered only ten months previously in the basement of a small Dutch library, and it had since been certified a genuine Rembrandt.  The auction was attended by invitation only (the Waynes had RSVPed with a respectful declination) and was eventually won by Emile and Millicent Fontaine with the astronomical bid of $50 million.

            Millicent was so excited about her newest acquisition she decided to throw a lavish party for its unveiling.  Normally neither one of them would have accepted the invitation, but Bruce felt it was a prime target for art thieves and thought having someone on the 'inside' would be beneficial.

            Mardi sipped her champagne again and walked to the front of the crowd to get a better look at the guest of honor.  It was undeniably breathtaking and she was momentarily glad to have come.

            "Beautiful isn't it?" a deep voice asked from her right.  She turned to look at the speaker and felt her breath catch in her throat.  He was tall, about as tall as Bruce, with rich mahogany hair and silver-gray eyes.  The smile he gave her showed a mouth full of straight, white teeth.  He must have been in his mid to late forties.

            "Yes, it is.  I was just thinking how breathtaking it was."

            "And luckily for me, not the only thing that's breathtaking in this room."

            "I'm sorry, do we know each other?" she questioned, feeling a little lightheaded.

            He shook his head, the unabashed smile never faltering.  "No, I'm in town briefly on business.  My associate invited me, friend of a friend, you might say."  He bent down closer, his breath blowing across her bare shoulder.  "You're not here alone, are you?  I admit I've been watching you, and I haven't seen you with anyone."

            "Uh, as a matter of fact I did come alone," she said, feeling her heart thud inside her chest and the hairs on her arms stand on end.  His look seared down to her very core, his intentions not at all ambiguous.  She was flattered and disconcerted at the same time that this incredibly attractive man would be hitting on her.  The royal blue velvet gown accentuated a figure she still attempted to maintain, but there was only so much that could be done.  Her hair was about forty percent gray since she'd given up on coloring it, and though the wrinkles on her face were not quite so telling as some other women her age, it was more than obvious she'd reached the far side of middle age.

            "That's a relief.  My, it's rather warm in here.  Would you care to step out onto the terrace for some air?  Here, let me refresh your drink first."  He spoke quickly, overwhelmingly.  He took the glass from her hand and flagged a passing waiter before she could respond.  A new glass was passed to her and he placed a hand on her back, guiding her through the French doors into the night, closing the doors behind them.  Out there the crisp evening air was a shock to her system.  She shivered and rubbed her bare arms.  "It does get chilly after sundown, doesn't it?  Here take this."  He promptly removed his jacket and hung it over her shoulders.

            "Thanks," she said.  "But I won't be out here long.  It was kind of stuffy in there."  She adjusted the jacket around her.  "So are you planning on introducing yourself?"

            He grinned and the moonlight picked up a charming dimple on his left cheek.  "I'm Maxwell Simms," he asked putting his hand out.

            Shaking it, she replied, "Mardi Wayne."

            The grin widened and he dropped a suggestive wink.  "I know.  Somebody pointed you out to me when you walked in.  I've been dying to get you alone.  I hope you don't mind."

            "For what, putting the moves on me?"  She laughed lightly, placing the champagne glass on the terrace wall and facing him fully.  "It won't work anyway."

            "Oh," he remarked.  "Is that so?"  She nodded.  "Well, from what I hear your husband's a bit, uh how should I say this…?"

            "Old?"

            Maxwell grinned sheepishly.  "I wasn't trying to be offensive."

            "You weren't."

            "Like hell he wasn't," Bruce's voice penetrated her brain.  She ignored it.

            "What I mean is, a lovely woman like you, must be…longing for some real attention."  He reached up on finger and dragged it softly across her shoulder.

            "What are you doing talking to that dreg?  Get back to the party."

            "In a minute," she breathed.

            "Excuse me?"

            "I said, 'Is that so?'"

            "Well yeah.  You always hear about these old geezers marrying younger women, you know, as arm candy.  I find these women usually benefit from my companionship."

            Mardi had to bite her lip to keep a straight face.  "And I don't blame them.  Do you charge for this…companionship?"

            He placed his right hand against his chest.  "You wound me.  I'm not some gigolo."

            "That's refreshing.  So you do it out of the kindness of your heart then?"

            "Well I get something out of the relationship too you know," he replied in a hoarse whisper as he leaned in close, pushing her against the stone railing, bringing his mouth in line with hers.  "You are a very attractive woman Mardi."

            "That's very flattering."

            One of his hands rested intimately on her shoulder.  "It's the truth.  I'm sure you don't get to hear it often enough."  His lips continued toward hers.

            "Does anyone?" she asked coyly and then raised her hand up and placed the palm against his shirt, halting his ardent pursuit.  "You certainly give a girl a lot to think about," she said coquettishly, drawing her hand up to his shoulder and behind his neck, shifting her lower body at an angle to his.  "But there's really something you should know."  With surprise on her side more than strength, she slammed her knee into his groin.  Maxwell gave a painful, constricted groan, and dropped slowly to the terrace floor, his face reddening, and eyes clenched together.  Mardi slipped off the jacket and laid it across him like a blanket.  She squatted down in front of him and placed a gentle hand on his knee.  "What you need to know is that I was never 'arm candy' to my husband.  And any attention that I'm longing for will be more than satisfied in my own bedroom."  She hooked a finger under his chin and forced him to face her.  "My husband is a hundred times more man than a second rate hustler like you ever will be.  Enjoy the rest of your visit to Gotham, Mr. Simms."

              Picking up the glass she walked back into the reception room, carefully closing the terrace doors behind her to give her new acquaintance a little privacy.  "Feel better?" she asked softly.

            There was only silence and she was afraid the transmitter had malfunctioned, until he finally spoke to her.  "Don't ever do that again."

            "Why not?  He deserved it."

            "I'm talking about your flirting."

            "You have to be kidding me.  You know I didn't mean it."

            "Doesn't matter.  I don't want to see you do anything like that again."

            "You were jealous."

            "No.  It was unseemly behavior."

            "You were.  Admit it and I'll promise never to flirt again."  Silence.  "I mean it Bruce, admit it or I'm going to pick a random guy in here and…"  Before she could finish her threat the lights suddenly went out, punctuated by cries of alarm throughout the room.  "Well, well, well, does this count as something unusual?" she asked as the emergency lights came on and gave a weak attempt at illumination.

            "What's going on?"

            "Blackout."  Above the room two skylights imploded and four men, silhouetted against the bright moonlit night, dropped down on ropes.  "And we've got company."

            The men landed on the floor, immediately pulling out large laser guns, trained on the shocked party guests.  "At least four that I can see," she whispered, holding her hand to her face for cover.  She was standing behind the ficus plant she'd looked at earlier, between it and the wall, hoping to stay out of the gunmen's way.  "Really big guns, all wearing half masks covering their noses and mouths.  Dressed completely in black."

            "Any discernable marks?"

            "Not that I can tell."

            "I've radioed the police.  And Grace.  She's only a few blocks away."

            "No!  I don't want her in the middle of this."

            "It's already done."

            She clenched her eyes together in frustration.  A hand clamped onto her arm, squeezing like a vice grip, and pulled her out of her hiding place.  "What do we have here?" a sleek, oily voice asked from behind the black mask.  Dark eyes regarded her from above.

            "Uh, I was just hiding.  I'm sorry, I don't want any trouble."

            "Who were you talking to?" he asked.

            "Talking?  Probably just to myself.  I do that when I'm scared."

            His eyes narrowed and flicked to the side.  The hand holding her arm released and moved up to her hair.  Like a magician, he plucked the transmitter from her ear.  "Talking to yourself, eh?"  The gun was brought up to her chin, forcing her head back.  "Who…were…you …talking to?" he repeated, thrusting the gun harder with each word.

             Her lips trembled and she was on the verge of tears, when sounds of commotion distracted the thief.  They both turned to see what had happened.  Two of the masked men were rolling around on the floor wrapped up in bolos that had been shot from the shadows.  The third man on guard from the attack shot several bursts from his weapon towards the direction the bolos had come.  From his left a smaller figure dressed in a body-length black costume with splashes of yellow, green, and red launched itself into the air, kicking the man in the head before landing behind him.  The man twirled around to face his opponent only to be met with several quick punches to the stomach and a roundhouse kick that swept his feet out from under him with a grunt of surprise.  Before he had a chance to regroup his hands were quickly bound.

            The man who'd found Mardi growled deep in his throat as he witnessed the almost military precision at which the intruder had immobilized the others.  Grabbing Mardi at the back of the neck he thrust her forward.  "Just what do we have here?" he shouted out.

            A small black domino mask and an economical and equally black cape finished off the outfit.  "I'm Robin," the little figure announced with only the slightest quaver in the voice.  "Let her go!" Robin commanded and Mardi felt the hand squeeze even tighter.

            "There hasn't been a Robin around here for years.  But it doesn't matter who you are, I came for one thing and one thing only: that painting, and I don't intend to leave without it.  So what's your choice," he raised the gun to Mardi's temple, "The woman or the painting?"

            The small crime fighter stood her ground for a moment, and then said, "Let her go."  It was a plea this time, an admission of defeat.  Mardi wondered if she had waited for Bruce's order before making the concession.

            "Good choice," the man said and dragged Mardi across the open expanse of the room, the rest of the guests having gathered together against the opposite wall.  He stopped in front the painting and ordered Mardi to her knees.  "You stay there and behave while I take this down and there won't be any trouble.  Agreed?"  She nodded, resisting every impulse that pushed her to go to her daughter.  A small laser cutter helped him remove the canvas from its grandiose frame.  He rolled the picture tightly, stuffed it into a tube hanging on his back, and lifted Mardi back to her feet, walking her over to one of the ropes that still hung from the skylights.

            Robin stepped forward.  "You said you were going to let her go!"

            "Relax kid, she's just a little insurance.  Can't have little Bat Babies following me, can I?  Once I get away, she'll be set free."  He put one arm around Mardi's waist and grabbed onto the rope with the other, yanking firmly on it.  A grinding noise could be heard from above and they slowly began to rise.

            "I'm not going anywhere with you!" Mardi cried out and started struggling.  Her flailing arm smashed into the thief's face.  Stunned, he released his grip on her, and she dropped with a heavy thud.  Without another glance back he continued his ascent.  Mardi looked up at her little Robin and nodded.  A Batarang flew high and severed the rope.  The thief came tumbling down, landing on his back hard enough to knock the wind out of him.  The painting was removed and he was trussed up with the rest of his cohorts.

            "Oh my God!  Thank you so much!" Millicent Fontaine exclaimed as she came rushing forward, picking up the priceless canvas and hugging it to her breast.  "You are so wonderful!"  She leaned forward as if to plant a kiss on the top of Robin's head, but the child was too quick and stepped back.

            "No problem, Ma'am," she muttered then walked over to where Mardi still lay on the floor.  "Are you okay, Mom?" she asked softly.

            "Just a little shaken up, thank you."  Mardi wanted to grab her into a fierce hug, but remained nonchalant as she was helped to her feet.  "You did a wonderful job…Robin."

            The sounds of police pounding up the stairs demanded everyone's attention. "I'd better get out of here before there's too many questions."  Mardi simply nodded, understanding how the police might react to a pint-sized vigilante.  Robin shot a grapple through a skylight and rose quickly towards the rooftop.

            As she glanced down one last time, Mardi mouthed the word, "Home."  She gave a terse nod of comprehension and was lost in the darkness.



            Robin rode her new motorcycle into the Batcave, cutting off the engine with a grim finality.  She removed her helmet and then her mask.  Bruce watched skeptically.  He could read her body language like a billboard, but he said nothing.

            She walked over to him.  "Well how did I do?" she asked nervously.

            "You did very well, all things considered."

            "Can you believe that old bag was only interested in her stupid painting?  People could have died."  She frowned.  "Mom could have died."

            "She didn't.  You did exactly what you were supposed to do."  Grace shrugged.  "What is it?" he asked.

            She chewed on her lip for a moment, and then said quietly, "You did this every night for most of your life?"

            "Yes?" he replied.

            "Did you ever wonder what you'd have been like if you hadn't?"

            He touched his fingertips together thoughtfully.  "I don't think I would have liked that person very much," he finally replied honestly.  "It filled a certain void in my life, that otherwise might have been filled by self-destructive behavior and a lack of focus."

            She plucked at the edge of her cape.  "But what if you don't have a void to fill?  Or even an insane desire to kick butt every night?" she asked hesitantly.

            "You've never been expected to follow in my footsteps."

            "Isabella did," she muttered.  "Does it perfectly too."

            "Your sister has a strong sense of justice."

            "And I don't," she responded with a hurt voice.

            "It wasn't meant as an insult.  Grace, you have your own talents and you can only ever be who you are.  This isn't something to do if you're not going to give it a hundred percent.  You'll put yourself, and others, at risk.  What do you want to do?  It's a question only you can answer."

            "I don't think I can, then."  He waited silently for her to continue.  "I've always seemed to know that I wasn't like you or Bella or even Terry, it's like I'm missing something, because I don't feel it, in here," she pointed to her heart.  "I'm just not Bat material.  I'm sorry."

            "Sorry for what?"

            "I hate to disappoint you."

            He waited for a beat then smiled.  "You could never disappoint me.  Your place in this family, and in my heart, is assured, no matter what you do."  She blushed and then grinned in relief and threw her arms around his neck.  "I love you Grace," he whispered into her ear.

            "I love you too Daddy," she replied hoarsely and when she stood back, he saw her wipe the tears from her cheeks.

            "Now get to bed."

            She nodded and ran full-tilt up the stairs.  Bruce went back to his work, and in less than an hour was joined by his wife.  "Well?" she asked.

            "Well what?"

            Her lips spread out into a huge smile.  "How did I do?" she asked, unaware she'd echoed her own daughter's words.

            "Aside from the flirting?"

            "You're not going to start that again are you?"  She crossed her arms.  "How's Grace?"

            "She's reevaluating her priorities."

            "Huh?"

            "Let's just say she'll have plenty of time to study now."

            "Well that is good news."  She smiled slyly and reached down to grab his hand, tugging at it.  "Come on," she coaxed.

            "What?"

            "It's late, there's nothing left for you to do, and I really don't want to spend the night alone.  Plus I can show you just how much I do not need to flirt with another man.  Come on," she whispered seductively.  "I won't hurt you."

            It occurred to him that she hadn't been this playful in years as he allowed himself to be pulled out of the chair. Together they mounted the steps and as they reached the study he said, "What did you have in mind?"

            "What's the matter, you don't trust me?  Don't worry, if you die, it'll be with a smile on your face."  She grinned wickedly.

            "I knew it.  All this time you've been waiting for the right moment.  You're just after my money."

            She narrowed her eyes.  "Ha!  Shows what you know.  If I'd wanted your money I would have taken it years ago when I was young and beautiful and could still enjoy it."

            "Don't kid yourself," he contradicted with a growl and as expected she rose to the bait.  Her eyebrows shot up and she opened her mouth, but he interrupted, saying tenderly, "You're still as beautiful as the day I met you."

            She processed his words and then threw her head back and laughed.  "Now there's the Bruce Wayne charm I've heard so much about."  She hooked her arm around his waist, nuzzling against his neck.  It felt so good to just hold her, feel her heart beat counter to his own.  He reached up and removed the clip holding her hair back, running his fingers through it, the other hand caressing the luxurious fabric that covered her hip.  "Oh Bruce," she muttered against the skin of his throat, causing a shiver down his spine, "I love you so much."

            Then there was the soft rhythmic thump of running feet.  "Hey Mom, are you home….oh my god!" Grace cried out as she reached the doorway, slapping her hands over her eyes.  "You're not doing what I think you're doing!"

            "What is that, dear?" Mardi asked giddily, still wrapped in Bruce's arms.

            "Argh!" she grimaced.  "I'm scarred for life!"

            Mardi pulled away, walked over, and put her hand on Grace's shoulder.  "I think you'll survive."  She smiled.  "After tonight I think you could survive anything."

            She looked so tiny standing there in her long cotton nightgown with its pattern of blue roses, so much different than the Kevlar and spandex Robin suit.  "Well that's what I came down to see you for," she said with a deep breath.  "I told Dad I wasn't going to do the Bat thing anymore."

            "He mentioned something about that. Any specific reason?"

            Grace lifted a shoulder.  "It seemed like the right thing to do.  And besides, I'd rather concentrate on art.  Are you okay with it?"

            "Of course.  I'm delighted that I've given birth to one sane child."  She bent down and kissed her on the cheek.

            "Great.  Well goodnight."  She looked over to her father with a worried look.  "Just…be careful okay?"

            Mardi's laughter filled the room.