She hadn't been planning for him to leave her.
Hanging upside down by her ankles, trussed in rope from head to foot, her hands cuffed behind her back, Diana could see what Robin had meant by "hard-core." This escape would be a challenge, she knew, and she welcomed it. She'd surprised Batman in escaping from the container, and just now in dragging him across the floor. Diana looked forward to surprising him again.
Then he surprised her: he walked away.
Diana was so stunned she couldn't get words out of her mouth for a moment. When she did, her choice was uninspired.
"Hey!" said Diana sharply. "Where do you think you're going?"
"I told you," Batman said. "I have things to do."
"You also told me it was important to have a spotter. For safety reasons. Remember?"
"Robin or Batgirl will be along shortly," he said. "I don't think you'll get into any trouble in the next few minutes. Besides, I have every confidence in you. You'll get out -- " she could swear the bastard grinned " -- eventually."
Diana swallowed her anger. It wouldn't do her any good in making the escape. She took deep, long breaths, and relaxed as best she could. This was a test. She could beat it. By the time any sidekicks arrived, Diana would be sitting in the big chair by the computer, rearranging all of Batman's meticulously arranged preference settings at random. She concentrated on breathing in through her nose, then out her mouth. Yes, she thought. Calmness was the key. Her anger drifted away.
Then he switched off the lights.
I will kill him, thought Diana. I will wait for him by the cave entrance and I'll pound the Batmobile into scrap and then I'll tear him out of the wreckage and then I'll *really* get mad. For all her earlier thoughts about breaking down walls, what she really wanted to do now was put Batman through one.
First things first, though. She had to get out of these handcuffs.
Diana would have to pick both the locks. Because of the rope ties, just undoing one binding wouldn't get her strength back. Batman, of course, had placed the handcuffs with the keyholes pointing down. The short chain made the hand position terribly difficult. And, of course, she was fighting gravity.
Testing the limits of her bonds, Diana carefully reached for her bracelet, where she'd secured her pick. One of her picks. After her experience in the shipping container, she'd invested in multiple lockpicks and secreted them all over her body. One in her boot. One in a bracelet. One in her tiara. One, even, in her bustier (though she might have to reconsider that; it poked her uncomfortably from time to time). The bracelet was the only one she could reach. Diana slid a finger between her bracelet and wrist and probed.
The pick wasn't there.
After the initial moment of shock, Diana probed at the other end. Then she switched hands; maybe she'd put it in the wrong bracelet. No such luck. She racked her brain, trying to imagine what had become of it. She couldn't have left it in the Watchtower. She distinctly remembered putting it in just before she left her quarters to get into the transporter, before she'd teleported into the Batcave --
-- *before Batman had grabbed her wrist.*
Now it was official. She had to kill him.
Diana dangled, grinding her teeth, and considered her next move. She couldn't think of one. She could work on the ropes, a little, but they went *through* the links on the handcuff chain. And Diana didn't feel up to breaking her hand again. Not to mention that she didn't have anything to do it *with.*
Then she heard the sound of a motorcycle's engine. Someone was in the cave.
The engine cut off. Diana waited patiently. In short order, a small figure emerged from the parking bay and made its way toward the desk and the workout area. The newcomer was grumbling in a light soprano. Wonder Woman wasn't sure, but she thought she made out, "Rassenfrassen rich-as-hell vigilante, too cheap to put a lightswitch in the parking bay, he's gonna make me buy him a friggin' Clapper for Christmas, the dirty rotten..."
"Hello there," said Diana.
"Gaaahhhh!!!" screamed the newcomer. The small figure -- Batgirl, it had to be Batgirl -- jumped nearly a foot in the air, then staggered back, clutching her chest.
"Sorry," Diana said.
"God!" Batgirl bent over, hyperventilating. "I thought you were a new punching bag!"
"It only feels like it, sometimes," said Diana. "Hello. I'm Diana."
"Hi, I'm --" Batgirl paused. "Diana? As in *Wonder Woman,* Diana?"
"Not much of a wonder at the moment, I'm afraid."
Batgirl's mouth fell open. "Wow. Um, I mean... wow. Hi. I... wow."
"He didn't -- " No, of course Batman wouldn't have. "*Robin* didn't tell you?"
"No," said Batgirl mildly and deliberately. "No, he didn't." There was an unspoken *and he is so getting an ass-kicking for that* appended, Diana sensed. "Um. Hi. Again. It's really an honor to meet you. Really. I admire you a lot. Which is probably why Robin set me up like this. Which is why I must kill him. Er, I mean... hi."
"I don't suppose you could give me a hand," said Diana hopefully.
Batgirl's face wrinkled sympathetically. "Sorry," she said. "I don't think I can. If it's any consolation, he did the same thing to me." A sour expression. "Many, many times."
"I understand," said Diana. "Normally, I wouldn't have asked. It just seems that my pick has gone missing."
"Ooh," said Batgirl. "I hate it when he does that. I wish I could help." She sounded honestly disappointed that she couldn't. "He's probably watching on the video cameras right now, though. In case you haven't noticed, the man redefines paranoia -- hey, wait a minute."
"You have an idea?"
"He can't blame me for making an honest mistake. I checked in on you, and you seemed okay, so I hit the showers. It should've been safe to leave my stuff here. There's no way you could have known that I keep a spare pick in my glove."
"I owe you," said Diana with feeling.
Batgirl grinned. She peeled off her gloves and tossed them onto the corner of the desk, just within Diana's reach, if she swung her weight and bent just right at the waist. The cape was next; she tossed that over a chair. Then came the mask, revealing a young woman with red hair and a light spray of freckles across her nose. She was older than Robin, and Flash, but not by much. Early twenties, Diana guessed. Batgirl sat on the floor to remove her yellow boots, then peeled off the leggings and shirt. She tossed those onto the chair, too, leaving her in a sports bra and boxer briefs. Then she stood up, draped her utility belt over her shoulder, and regarded Diana solemnly. "Yep," she said. "Everything seems secure here. I'm off to the showers."
"You're a very kind person, Batgirl," Diana said.
Batgirl smiled. She took a few steps away, then turned back. "You know who, uh...?"
Diana understood: she was being asked if she was in on the secret. She nodded as best she could. "Bruce," she said.
"My name's Barbara," Batgirl said.
"You're a very kind person, Barbara," said Diana.
Barbara grinned at her, then dashed off for the showers.
Diana waited until she heard the water running to start swinging the rope in the direction of the desk and the pick in Barbara's glove.
+++
"He thinks a lot of you, you know," Barbara said.
It had taken some time for the conversation to reach this point. Barbara -- who, it turned out, had been a classics major -- had been bursting with questions about the Amazons and Themyscira. She'd also asked for advice on dealing with the vagaries of male superheroes. There Wonder Woman was of little help. Diana wouldn't have traded away her Amazon upbringing for the world, but it did leave her at a disadvantage when trying to deal with half the human race. Barbara had more insight into men than Diana did. Which brought the conversation around, of course, to Batman.
Diana lounged on the sofa in a comfortable tracksuit that Barbara had raided from Batman's -- Bruce's -- closet. They'd moved upstairs to the manor quite a while ago. Diana wasn't sure Batman would have been so inviting. Not that she hadn't known his identity, the stunt with the blindfold aside. But being sprawled across his sofa, wearing his cast-offs, eating a bowl of his popcorn supplied by Alfred, his butler, somehow made it more official.
Barbara, lying on her stomach on the rug in front of the fire, propped her head on one hand and gestured with the other as she spoke. "While you were in the shower," she said, "I compared notes with Alfred. And Dick -- that's Robin, Dick Grayson -- fessed up, under threat of dire wedgie."
"Wedgie?"
"Yeah, it's where you -- um. Could we maybe discuss vengeance involving Boy Wonder's Underoos later? 'cause I really look up to you and I figured if I ever met you my first impression wouldn't revolve around being the woman who initiated Diana, Princess of Themyscira, into the mysteries of the wedgie."
"All right," said Diana, who was still trying to puzzle out what Underoos were.
"Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, your being around really explains a lot."
"It does?"
Barbara stared at Diana as if she'd grown another head. "How else do you explain Batman being in such a good mood recently?"
This was news to Diana. "He's in a good mood?"
Barbara looked embarrassed. "...well, yeah," she said. "For him. Look, I know that sounds scary, considering the creep trussed you up, abandoned you, and left you hanging like a sack of meat, but hear me out." Barbara raised one finger after another, ticking off points as she spoke. "Yesterday morning, Alfred caught him whistling. *Whistling!* Weird, but not unprecedented. Then, last night, after your whole escape-from-shipping-container stunt -- and that was very cool, by the way -- he didn't go on patrol. Seriously weird. Especially because he was just sitting in the Batcave, staring into space and looking like the cat who got the canary. Oh, and this afternoon -- he took Robin fishing. Now *that* was downright disturbing."
"It was?"
"Have you ever watched Batman try to play 'real people?' It's *creepy.*" Barbara shuddered. "Brrrrr."
"He seems real enough to me," said Diana quietly.
Barbara cocked her head and looked at Diana. "Have you ever met Bruce Wayne?" she said.
"Only briefly," said Diana. "We shared half a dance, in Paris. Then gunmen showed up."
"Ha," said Barbara mirthlessly. "If I only had a nickel for every time *that's* happened." She sighed, then moved from the rug to sit next to Diana on the sofa. Barbara gently rested a hand on Diana's shoulder. "Batman... Bruce... he's all about his masks. He puts one on when he's fighting crime. He puts another one on when he's being a playboy. I think he doesn't really know how to take them off. But he's gotten used to it. I think he even kind of likes it that way. Anything that gives him more control."
Control that Diana had taken from him, with a flick of her lasso and a few well-chosen words. If Barbara only knew. Diana looked into Barbara's face, where the firelight was reflected. For a moment, she felt as if she were back on Themyscira, in the company of her Amazon sisters. "So what would you do, if you were me?" she said.
Barbara bit her lip. "I think you're really good for him," she said after a moment. "At least, you would be. I just don't think he'll let himself admit it."
Except, Diana knew, Bruce didn't have a choice.
The sound of the heavy front door opening startled Diana. She turned reflexively. When she turned back -- the study door was closed; had she expected Bruce to just... what, *materialize?* -- Barbara was grinning at her. Diana shot Barbara the best imitation-Batman glare she could come up with on the spur of the moment. It didn't work. Then again, Barbara probably spent a fair amount of time on the receiving end of the real thing.
The study door flew open.
Batman entered a room in one of two ways: either so quietly you didn't know he was there, or with a cape-swirling flair that drew your attention. Bruce Wayne, by contrast... staggered.
He was rumpled, beaming, and extremely drunk. Lipstick was conspicuous on his face and neck, and his left arm was wrapped around a slim blonde woman with a short, expensively arranged hairdo. The woman froze when she saw Diana.
"Brucie?" said the blonde. "Who's this?"
Bruce Wayne looked over Diana with wide, blinking eyes. "Huh," he said, in the tones of a man who was confused, but not unpleasantly surprised. "Well -- " he brushed a lock of hair behind the blonde's ear and grinned " -- she sure isn't you, babe." He waggled his eyebrows. "Hey, I know!" he said excitedly. "Why don't you just nip into the kitchen and fetch us some Kristal?"
Bruce pointed nonchalantly to the swinging door in the far wall. The blonde shot him a dubious look, but obeyed. Bruce slapped her backside as she left the room, and, instantly sober, turned back as the swinging door closed to face Diana.
She was laughing at him.
He glared, and she knew he'd keep glaring at her at regular intervals for weeks, but she couldn't help it. She only laughed harder.
"Your mask slipped, in Paris," she said. She wiped a tear from her eye. "Goodness. I've never actually seen you do 'Brucie' before. It's... it's..."
"Convincing?"
"*Bizarre.*"
"Thank you."
"So, 'Brucie,'" said Barbara, "who's the bimbo of the week?"
"Alina Montressori," said Bruce.
Barbara whistled. "Nice." She turned to Diana. "Montressori Senior owns an international security company," she said by way of explanation. "Mucho bucks. Only the best. So, Bruce, tell us: you contemplating a merger?"
"She is," said Bruce. "Aggressively."
Barbara snickered. "Don't let him fool you," she said to Diana. "He may pretend that he hates it, but the truth is... he really, *really* hates it." Bruce glared at her. Barbara ignored him. "All for the sake of that playboy reputation," she confided.
"Really?" said Diana. She was fascinated; the complexities of Batman's secret identity had never occurred to her.
The door opened again and Alina returned with a bottle of champagne and only two glasses. She handed one glass to Bruce and kept another for herself, then turned to face Diana and Barbara. "I don't think I caught your name," she said. "Either of you."
The cattiness in Alina's voice was plain. Diana considered possible strategies -- then decided, why not? and elected to see it and raise. "Our names are for our customers," she said archly. She paused long enough to let that sink in, then added, "Unless she's included in the festivities, Brucie."
As Alina Montressori went white, Diana ran a lock of Barbara Gordon's hair between two fingers. She raised the lock to her face, closed her eyes, and inhaled Barbara's scent deeply through her nose. Then she looked up and stared meaningfully into Alina's eyes.
Alina gulped and took two steps back. She opened and closed her mouth like a fish, then turned and slapped Bruce Wayne hard in the face. Then she was out of the room, storming down the hall to the front door. In the process, she nearly ran over Dick Grayson, whose face was caught in a titanic struggle between his attempt to feign complete innocence of eavesdropping and his all too natural deer-in-headlights expression. His eyes, Diana realized, were locked on the sofa, where Diana still held Barbara's hair between her fingers.
Diana would have laughed, but something in Barbara's scent struck her as familiar. Then she placed it: the blindfold. That whiff of a woman as Batman had fastened it and stepped away.
"He blindfolded you, too," she said. It wasn't a question, but if it had been Barbara's look would have been all the reply Diana needed. Diana shook her head sadly and rose. Then another thought occurred to her. "Does he actually gas women?" she said.
Barbara nodded. "He gassed me."
"No wonder you have trouble keeping dates," Diana said to Bruce. Then she turned and offered the other two a winning smile. "Goodnight, Barbara. It was lovely meeting you. 'night, Dick."
Still frozen in the doorway, Dick Grayson managed a strangled "Erwmgmp."
Barbara waved a hand. "We *have* to do this again sometime," she said, through a far-too-evil grin.
Diana grinned back, then turned to smile winningly at Bruce, who was still holding his jaw. "'night, Brucie," she said.
She slapped his backside on the way out.
+++
Batman caught up to her in the hallway. Even out of costume, there was no mistaking him for Bruce Wayne. Diana didn't break stride. Let him hurry, if he wanted to keep up.
"Somebody's gunning for you," he said.
"Really?" she said. The front door was fast approaching. "What was your first clue? That I got tied up and nearly killed two fights in a row?"
"I thought it was dumb luck on the part of the robot's crew," he said. "'The first time was an accident,' isn't that what you said?" Diana opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. "There's no room for assumptions in this business. Detective work means covering *all* your bases, Princess."
"Oh," said Diana, "is that what you were doing?"
"The man who put handcuffs on you that first night was a convicted felon," he said.
Diana stopped dead in her tracks.
"I found his fingerprints on the cuffs," Batman said.
He'd stopped before she did, confident his words would hold her in place. And damn him, Diana thought, it worked. "You *kept* those?" she said. It was the only thing she could think of to say.
"I keep everything," he said.
Diana leaned against the wall. She folded her arms and met his gaze. "All right," she said. "Tell me."
"Alina's father's company provides the uniformed guards for the Gotham warehouse we had that fight in," Batman said. "Alina was kind enough to invite me to a party at the Montressori estate. I took an opportunity to upload her father's personnel files to the Batcomputer. All his employees are bonded. They're fingerprinted and photographed, given background checks. No felon would get through that. Our man didn't. He didn't even try. And his photograph and assumed name didn't match any of Montressori's records, which means he didn't get the job with a false identity. Which means the guard was an imposter. Which means he's part of the robot's crew. Which means whoever was running the robot knew about your weakness from day one, and this whole scheme has been about one person. You. The gems, the statues, all of it -- it's a fraud. You're being targeted."
That was more -- far more -- than Diana had expected. It was a moment before she found her voice.
"Someone's trying to kill me?" she said.
"No," he said. "If somebody were trying to kill you, you'd be dead already."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"Confidence has nothing to do with it," said Batman. "It's physics. I stay well away from that robot because one sweep of its arm would turn me into strawberry jam. Once you were rendered powerless, the slightest blow from it should have killed you instantly. It didn't. The only possible conclusion is that it deliberately tried not to."
"I nearly drowned in the shipping container, the second time we fought it," Diana pointed out. "That doesn't exactly fit into your scenario."
"Because you escaped," said Batman. "Whoever did it wasn't counting on that. The container would have kept you safe enough, for a time. Superman would easily have found you with his X-ray vision before your air ran out. But you'd have had a scare. And needed rescuing again."
"Who? Why?" A disturbing thought occurred to Diana. If Batman was right, then whoever it was had known her weakness from the beginning. "An Amazon?" she said. Aresia was dead. Wasn't she?
"Somebody who enjoys seeing you humiliated," said Batman. "Rescued by men. So my guess is it's not an Amazon." He paused. "Or maybe it's someone who wants to prove you're an inferior one."
Ugh, thought Diana. That would be just like Aresia. But she couldn't see where the robot came in. Or how Aresia (who was *dead!*) would have beaten Luthor's security to steal it. Then she realized something else. "You could have told me your suspicions earlier," she said.
He didn't reply immediately. He glanced down at his feet. Then he raised his head and looked into her eyes. "I wasn't sure," he said. "But if I was right, then you were in no danger. I thought I'd have a chance to see how well my lessons took."
Diana could have sworn she was hallucinating. The words were typical Batman -- smug, arrogant, and smug again -- but the tone in his voice was something she'd never heard before. He actually sounded... *apologetic.*
"How'd I do?" she said.
Batman opened his mouth, then closed it and swallowed. He cleared his throat. "You made me proud," he said quietly.
His voice was husky with emotion. Diana looked at him, and saw a man struggling with his masks. She didn't let him turn away. When he tried, she stepped forward, closing the distance between them. "And tonight?" she said.
"The pick?" he asked. "Or Alina?"
"Did you think either of those would drive me away?" she said. "Or shock me?"
"I don't know," he said very softly.
He wasn't Batman any more. Nor was he "Brucie." Diana saw something she'd caught glimpses of before. Only now she understood. This was Bruce Wayne, with his masks off and nowhere to run.
"You don't have to shock me, Bruce," she said. "All you have to do is make up your own mind."
"I know," he said. His voice had a level of melancholy she'd never heard, and her heart ached for him. Her earlier anger had melted away, and all she wanted was to give him comfort.
"I wasn't," she said gently. "Shocked, you know."
Bruce looked up from his shoes to face her. "So why *did* you pull that stunt with Alina?" he said.
Diana grinned. "What's the matter?" she said. "Don't I get any points for adding to your playboy reputation?"
He smiled at that. It was a softer smile than the Batman's: shy, boyish, and a little nervous. And, in the oddest way, clumsy. As if he'd seen it done, but was terribly out of practice.
"Do you really want to add to my playboy reputation?" he said.
+++
The evening gown fit splendidly, but the high heels were a little -- awkward.
"These shoes make my bottom sway from side to side when I walk," said Diana.
"That's sort of the point," Bruce said.
She considered that as she slid into the back of the car. Bruce followed her, and Alfred closed the door behind them, then climbed into the driver's seat, where a dark partition separated him from his passengers.
Glancing out the window, Diana saw Barbara and Dick peering out the study window at them. Barbara gave Diana an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Dick, shaking his head at Barbara's exuberance, waved to catch Diana's eye. He pointed at Barbara, then himself, and mouthed "Thank you." Evidently, time spent in the manor alone with his crush was a cherished commodity. Even if Barbara did seem to view Dick as more of a little brother than a potential suitor.
A small sound from Bruce caught Diana's attention. She turned to see him lean forward, reach around behind him, then pulled something hard and flat out of a back pocket. He tossed it onto the far seat. Diana glanced after it curiously.
Oh, she realized. A little black book; Flash had talked about those. That's where he keeps his lists of women. Alina Montressori was in there, somewhere between the covers, under the gold filigree. When she looked back at Bruce, she saw he was glaring sullenly at the book, as if it were a small, yappy dog that might do something to stain the upholstery.
"Do you ever feel that you're a prisoner of all this?" said Diana.
Bruce shrugged. "A lot of people have jobs they don't like very much. My job is just to pretend I'm the happiest man in the world."
He smiled fleetingly, putting on his "Brucie" face. Now that she'd seen Bruce Wayne for real, Brucie didn't strike her as comical. Far from it.
"I've made things difficult for you, haven't I?" Diana said.
"Things were difficult for me before I ever met you," said Bruce.
"Have I asked so much?"
"You haven't asked at all," he said.
True. She'd ordered. Diana felt another twinge of guilt. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm not proud of it. Quite the opposite, in fact. I -- it --" She realized her hands were groping air, on her lap, as she tried in vain for words. Diana gripped her knees, and hoped she looked less foolish. "You're a very difficult man to deal with," she said.
"I know," he said. He had the good grace to sound embarrassed, at least.
"Do you want me to ask?" she said.
He seemed unsettled at the thought. "No," he said. "If you ask, then I'll have to answer you."
"Are you afraid that I won't like your answer?" she said. "Or that you won't?"
Bruce didn't say anything for a long minute, and she worried he might not say anything at all. Then, finally, he took a deep breath and spoke quietly. "I made a decision about my life a very long time ago," he said. "It was a hard choice, but I made up my mind to live with it. I didn't expect that I'd ever have to make it all over again."
Because she'd forced him to. "Should I leave?" Diana said.
Bruce hesitated, then shook his head. "No," he said. "Not yet. Let's... let's try to be happy, for a little while."
"Why?" said Diana. "Are you sure it's not going to be a vain exercise?"
"No," he said. "But as you said once, we never got to finish our dance."
+++
She'd forgotten that he was a graceful dancer.
She'd forgotten that his arms were strong, but gentle; that he telegraphed his motions precisely; that his bare hand was rough against hers, incongruously so given the perfection of his manicure. She'd forgotten that he moved on the dance floor with the same elegance with which he fought. And she'd forgotten how good he looked doing it.
This time, Diana thought, she would remember. Very carefully.
Napoleon was Gotham City's finest elite club -- the place to see and be seen, Bruce had said. Diana hadn't seen much other than him, though she supposed she'd been seen enough. Being recognized was common enough, even on those occasions that she donned civilian garb. But she'd never been in a situation in which she was expected to recognize people back.
"Don't look," said Bruce, "but you've just created a small earthquake in the entertainment industry's economy."
"Hm?" said Diana. She was halfway through a twirl, which was no small feat in her new shoes.
"The cell phones are out," said Bruce. He placed his hand on the small of her back and gracefully sidestepped an elderly Gotham society matron. "I expect that two recording stars and an award-winning actress are firing their publicists as we speak."
"That seems excessive," said Diana. "Just because I'd never heard of them?"
"It's not you personally," said Bruce. "They fire their publicists every time it's brought to their attention that there's *anybody* who's never heard of them."
"Oh," said Diana. She arched her back as Bruce lowered her into a dip. "Well, I'm doing my part for the economy, I suppose. 'The business of America is business.'"
"Calvin Coolidge?" he said. "I take it you're reading history now."
"I can't remain wholly ignorant of Man's World, if I'm living in it," Diana said. She smiled. "Although perhaps I should take my nose out of your books long enough to see a film or attend a concert every now and then. If only for the sake of those poor publicists."
Bruce opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by applause from the other dancers as the band finished its tune. He stepped back from Diana and clapped politely.
The next song was much slower. Diana noticed that several of the other women had placed their hands around their partners' necks. She copied the fashion. Bruce's hands met in the small of her back. Oh, she thought. That is nice. Then Bruce's head moved forward and his cheek came to rest against hers.
They weren't doing much of anything but stepping back and forth while moving in a small circle, Diana realized. She didn't mind.
"I like this," she said very quietly into Bruce's ear.
"So do I," he said as softly.
His breath was warm against her skin. It was nothing like the horror Diana had imagined, growing up, that being so close to a man would be. "You *gave this up?*" she said.
"All but the appearance," he said. "I made my choice. It wasn't easy."
"But the masks make it easier to deal with."
"Yes." He sounded surprised that she understood.
"Bruce..." said Diana. She closed her eyes. It was easier to say if she didn't look at him.
"I'm excited when you bind me," she said. "It gives a certain freedom. In my mind. My universe becomes very small. There's the problem." She took her hands away from his chest, briefly, and raised her crossed wrists, miming bonds. "And then there's you."
He didn't say anything, but she felt the intensity of his gaze increase. His hand tightened on her back. Diana drew closer to him. Their bodies pressed together.
"But I know that it's a game," she said. Her fingers lightly traced the outline of his collar. "You can't go about in bondage all the time."
Bruce closed his eyes. "I can't change the way I am, Diana," he said.
"I know," she said. "I wouldn't want you to."
"You're not tempted to give me any further orders?" he said.
"Only one," she said, then wished she hadn't.
He waited. She didn't want to say it. She couldn't say it. She *shouldn't* --
"More than anything else in the world," Diana said quietly, "I wish I could wrap my lasso around you and tell you to be happy."
Her voice shook as she spoke, and she was embarrassed. Then she looked up and saw Bruce's face. His lips parted, but no words came out. Bruce's eyes reflected the light with a softness he tried to blink away.
Then he glanced over her shoulder.
"Photographers," he said, stepping back.
"It's all right," Diana said. "We were photographed together in Paris, weren't we?"
"Not like this," he said. "I don't want to damage your reputation."
Diana tightened her grip on his neck and looked into his eyes. "I'll worry about my reputation," she said.
It occurred to her that he might kiss her. She didn't know what she'd do if he did. Diana realized that one way to circumvent that problem would be to kiss him first. That doesn't make any sense at all, objected one part of her brain. Oh, shut up, said most of the rest. She interlaced her fingers on his neck and tilted her head slightly --
"Hit me," Bruce said.
"What?"
"Hit me," he repeated. "In the face. With the palm of your hand."
Was that his plan all along? To put on a public show? "I'm not going to hit you for no reason," she said.
His response wasn't what she expected. He grinned, the stupid "Brucie" grin. And then slid his hand down *inside her backless dress* and took a firm grip on her bare rear end.
She decked him.
As he landed in the punchbowl, Diana realized that flashbulbs were going off.
Hanging upside down by her ankles, trussed in rope from head to foot, her hands cuffed behind her back, Diana could see what Robin had meant by "hard-core." This escape would be a challenge, she knew, and she welcomed it. She'd surprised Batman in escaping from the container, and just now in dragging him across the floor. Diana looked forward to surprising him again.
Then he surprised her: he walked away.
Diana was so stunned she couldn't get words out of her mouth for a moment. When she did, her choice was uninspired.
"Hey!" said Diana sharply. "Where do you think you're going?"
"I told you," Batman said. "I have things to do."
"You also told me it was important to have a spotter. For safety reasons. Remember?"
"Robin or Batgirl will be along shortly," he said. "I don't think you'll get into any trouble in the next few minutes. Besides, I have every confidence in you. You'll get out -- " she could swear the bastard grinned " -- eventually."
Diana swallowed her anger. It wouldn't do her any good in making the escape. She took deep, long breaths, and relaxed as best she could. This was a test. She could beat it. By the time any sidekicks arrived, Diana would be sitting in the big chair by the computer, rearranging all of Batman's meticulously arranged preference settings at random. She concentrated on breathing in through her nose, then out her mouth. Yes, she thought. Calmness was the key. Her anger drifted away.
Then he switched off the lights.
I will kill him, thought Diana. I will wait for him by the cave entrance and I'll pound the Batmobile into scrap and then I'll tear him out of the wreckage and then I'll *really* get mad. For all her earlier thoughts about breaking down walls, what she really wanted to do now was put Batman through one.
First things first, though. She had to get out of these handcuffs.
Diana would have to pick both the locks. Because of the rope ties, just undoing one binding wouldn't get her strength back. Batman, of course, had placed the handcuffs with the keyholes pointing down. The short chain made the hand position terribly difficult. And, of course, she was fighting gravity.
Testing the limits of her bonds, Diana carefully reached for her bracelet, where she'd secured her pick. One of her picks. After her experience in the shipping container, she'd invested in multiple lockpicks and secreted them all over her body. One in her boot. One in a bracelet. One in her tiara. One, even, in her bustier (though she might have to reconsider that; it poked her uncomfortably from time to time). The bracelet was the only one she could reach. Diana slid a finger between her bracelet and wrist and probed.
The pick wasn't there.
After the initial moment of shock, Diana probed at the other end. Then she switched hands; maybe she'd put it in the wrong bracelet. No such luck. She racked her brain, trying to imagine what had become of it. She couldn't have left it in the Watchtower. She distinctly remembered putting it in just before she left her quarters to get into the transporter, before she'd teleported into the Batcave --
-- *before Batman had grabbed her wrist.*
Now it was official. She had to kill him.
Diana dangled, grinding her teeth, and considered her next move. She couldn't think of one. She could work on the ropes, a little, but they went *through* the links on the handcuff chain. And Diana didn't feel up to breaking her hand again. Not to mention that she didn't have anything to do it *with.*
Then she heard the sound of a motorcycle's engine. Someone was in the cave.
The engine cut off. Diana waited patiently. In short order, a small figure emerged from the parking bay and made its way toward the desk and the workout area. The newcomer was grumbling in a light soprano. Wonder Woman wasn't sure, but she thought she made out, "Rassenfrassen rich-as-hell vigilante, too cheap to put a lightswitch in the parking bay, he's gonna make me buy him a friggin' Clapper for Christmas, the dirty rotten..."
"Hello there," said Diana.
"Gaaahhhh!!!" screamed the newcomer. The small figure -- Batgirl, it had to be Batgirl -- jumped nearly a foot in the air, then staggered back, clutching her chest.
"Sorry," Diana said.
"God!" Batgirl bent over, hyperventilating. "I thought you were a new punching bag!"
"It only feels like it, sometimes," said Diana. "Hello. I'm Diana."
"Hi, I'm --" Batgirl paused. "Diana? As in *Wonder Woman,* Diana?"
"Not much of a wonder at the moment, I'm afraid."
Batgirl's mouth fell open. "Wow. Um, I mean... wow. Hi. I... wow."
"He didn't -- " No, of course Batman wouldn't have. "*Robin* didn't tell you?"
"No," said Batgirl mildly and deliberately. "No, he didn't." There was an unspoken *and he is so getting an ass-kicking for that* appended, Diana sensed. "Um. Hi. Again. It's really an honor to meet you. Really. I admire you a lot. Which is probably why Robin set me up like this. Which is why I must kill him. Er, I mean... hi."
"I don't suppose you could give me a hand," said Diana hopefully.
Batgirl's face wrinkled sympathetically. "Sorry," she said. "I don't think I can. If it's any consolation, he did the same thing to me." A sour expression. "Many, many times."
"I understand," said Diana. "Normally, I wouldn't have asked. It just seems that my pick has gone missing."
"Ooh," said Batgirl. "I hate it when he does that. I wish I could help." She sounded honestly disappointed that she couldn't. "He's probably watching on the video cameras right now, though. In case you haven't noticed, the man redefines paranoia -- hey, wait a minute."
"You have an idea?"
"He can't blame me for making an honest mistake. I checked in on you, and you seemed okay, so I hit the showers. It should've been safe to leave my stuff here. There's no way you could have known that I keep a spare pick in my glove."
"I owe you," said Diana with feeling.
Batgirl grinned. She peeled off her gloves and tossed them onto the corner of the desk, just within Diana's reach, if she swung her weight and bent just right at the waist. The cape was next; she tossed that over a chair. Then came the mask, revealing a young woman with red hair and a light spray of freckles across her nose. She was older than Robin, and Flash, but not by much. Early twenties, Diana guessed. Batgirl sat on the floor to remove her yellow boots, then peeled off the leggings and shirt. She tossed those onto the chair, too, leaving her in a sports bra and boxer briefs. Then she stood up, draped her utility belt over her shoulder, and regarded Diana solemnly. "Yep," she said. "Everything seems secure here. I'm off to the showers."
"You're a very kind person, Batgirl," Diana said.
Batgirl smiled. She took a few steps away, then turned back. "You know who, uh...?"
Diana understood: she was being asked if she was in on the secret. She nodded as best she could. "Bruce," she said.
"My name's Barbara," Batgirl said.
"You're a very kind person, Barbara," said Diana.
Barbara grinned at her, then dashed off for the showers.
Diana waited until she heard the water running to start swinging the rope in the direction of the desk and the pick in Barbara's glove.
+++
"He thinks a lot of you, you know," Barbara said.
It had taken some time for the conversation to reach this point. Barbara -- who, it turned out, had been a classics major -- had been bursting with questions about the Amazons and Themyscira. She'd also asked for advice on dealing with the vagaries of male superheroes. There Wonder Woman was of little help. Diana wouldn't have traded away her Amazon upbringing for the world, but it did leave her at a disadvantage when trying to deal with half the human race. Barbara had more insight into men than Diana did. Which brought the conversation around, of course, to Batman.
Diana lounged on the sofa in a comfortable tracksuit that Barbara had raided from Batman's -- Bruce's -- closet. They'd moved upstairs to the manor quite a while ago. Diana wasn't sure Batman would have been so inviting. Not that she hadn't known his identity, the stunt with the blindfold aside. But being sprawled across his sofa, wearing his cast-offs, eating a bowl of his popcorn supplied by Alfred, his butler, somehow made it more official.
Barbara, lying on her stomach on the rug in front of the fire, propped her head on one hand and gestured with the other as she spoke. "While you were in the shower," she said, "I compared notes with Alfred. And Dick -- that's Robin, Dick Grayson -- fessed up, under threat of dire wedgie."
"Wedgie?"
"Yeah, it's where you -- um. Could we maybe discuss vengeance involving Boy Wonder's Underoos later? 'cause I really look up to you and I figured if I ever met you my first impression wouldn't revolve around being the woman who initiated Diana, Princess of Themyscira, into the mysteries of the wedgie."
"All right," said Diana, who was still trying to puzzle out what Underoos were.
"Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, your being around really explains a lot."
"It does?"
Barbara stared at Diana as if she'd grown another head. "How else do you explain Batman being in such a good mood recently?"
This was news to Diana. "He's in a good mood?"
Barbara looked embarrassed. "...well, yeah," she said. "For him. Look, I know that sounds scary, considering the creep trussed you up, abandoned you, and left you hanging like a sack of meat, but hear me out." Barbara raised one finger after another, ticking off points as she spoke. "Yesterday morning, Alfred caught him whistling. *Whistling!* Weird, but not unprecedented. Then, last night, after your whole escape-from-shipping-container stunt -- and that was very cool, by the way -- he didn't go on patrol. Seriously weird. Especially because he was just sitting in the Batcave, staring into space and looking like the cat who got the canary. Oh, and this afternoon -- he took Robin fishing. Now *that* was downright disturbing."
"It was?"
"Have you ever watched Batman try to play 'real people?' It's *creepy.*" Barbara shuddered. "Brrrrr."
"He seems real enough to me," said Diana quietly.
Barbara cocked her head and looked at Diana. "Have you ever met Bruce Wayne?" she said.
"Only briefly," said Diana. "We shared half a dance, in Paris. Then gunmen showed up."
"Ha," said Barbara mirthlessly. "If I only had a nickel for every time *that's* happened." She sighed, then moved from the rug to sit next to Diana on the sofa. Barbara gently rested a hand on Diana's shoulder. "Batman... Bruce... he's all about his masks. He puts one on when he's fighting crime. He puts another one on when he's being a playboy. I think he doesn't really know how to take them off. But he's gotten used to it. I think he even kind of likes it that way. Anything that gives him more control."
Control that Diana had taken from him, with a flick of her lasso and a few well-chosen words. If Barbara only knew. Diana looked into Barbara's face, where the firelight was reflected. For a moment, she felt as if she were back on Themyscira, in the company of her Amazon sisters. "So what would you do, if you were me?" she said.
Barbara bit her lip. "I think you're really good for him," she said after a moment. "At least, you would be. I just don't think he'll let himself admit it."
Except, Diana knew, Bruce didn't have a choice.
The sound of the heavy front door opening startled Diana. She turned reflexively. When she turned back -- the study door was closed; had she expected Bruce to just... what, *materialize?* -- Barbara was grinning at her. Diana shot Barbara the best imitation-Batman glare she could come up with on the spur of the moment. It didn't work. Then again, Barbara probably spent a fair amount of time on the receiving end of the real thing.
The study door flew open.
Batman entered a room in one of two ways: either so quietly you didn't know he was there, or with a cape-swirling flair that drew your attention. Bruce Wayne, by contrast... staggered.
He was rumpled, beaming, and extremely drunk. Lipstick was conspicuous on his face and neck, and his left arm was wrapped around a slim blonde woman with a short, expensively arranged hairdo. The woman froze when she saw Diana.
"Brucie?" said the blonde. "Who's this?"
Bruce Wayne looked over Diana with wide, blinking eyes. "Huh," he said, in the tones of a man who was confused, but not unpleasantly surprised. "Well -- " he brushed a lock of hair behind the blonde's ear and grinned " -- she sure isn't you, babe." He waggled his eyebrows. "Hey, I know!" he said excitedly. "Why don't you just nip into the kitchen and fetch us some Kristal?"
Bruce pointed nonchalantly to the swinging door in the far wall. The blonde shot him a dubious look, but obeyed. Bruce slapped her backside as she left the room, and, instantly sober, turned back as the swinging door closed to face Diana.
She was laughing at him.
He glared, and she knew he'd keep glaring at her at regular intervals for weeks, but she couldn't help it. She only laughed harder.
"Your mask slipped, in Paris," she said. She wiped a tear from her eye. "Goodness. I've never actually seen you do 'Brucie' before. It's... it's..."
"Convincing?"
"*Bizarre.*"
"Thank you."
"So, 'Brucie,'" said Barbara, "who's the bimbo of the week?"
"Alina Montressori," said Bruce.
Barbara whistled. "Nice." She turned to Diana. "Montressori Senior owns an international security company," she said by way of explanation. "Mucho bucks. Only the best. So, Bruce, tell us: you contemplating a merger?"
"She is," said Bruce. "Aggressively."
Barbara snickered. "Don't let him fool you," she said to Diana. "He may pretend that he hates it, but the truth is... he really, *really* hates it." Bruce glared at her. Barbara ignored him. "All for the sake of that playboy reputation," she confided.
"Really?" said Diana. She was fascinated; the complexities of Batman's secret identity had never occurred to her.
The door opened again and Alina returned with a bottle of champagne and only two glasses. She handed one glass to Bruce and kept another for herself, then turned to face Diana and Barbara. "I don't think I caught your name," she said. "Either of you."
The cattiness in Alina's voice was plain. Diana considered possible strategies -- then decided, why not? and elected to see it and raise. "Our names are for our customers," she said archly. She paused long enough to let that sink in, then added, "Unless she's included in the festivities, Brucie."
As Alina Montressori went white, Diana ran a lock of Barbara Gordon's hair between two fingers. She raised the lock to her face, closed her eyes, and inhaled Barbara's scent deeply through her nose. Then she looked up and stared meaningfully into Alina's eyes.
Alina gulped and took two steps back. She opened and closed her mouth like a fish, then turned and slapped Bruce Wayne hard in the face. Then she was out of the room, storming down the hall to the front door. In the process, she nearly ran over Dick Grayson, whose face was caught in a titanic struggle between his attempt to feign complete innocence of eavesdropping and his all too natural deer-in-headlights expression. His eyes, Diana realized, were locked on the sofa, where Diana still held Barbara's hair between her fingers.
Diana would have laughed, but something in Barbara's scent struck her as familiar. Then she placed it: the blindfold. That whiff of a woman as Batman had fastened it and stepped away.
"He blindfolded you, too," she said. It wasn't a question, but if it had been Barbara's look would have been all the reply Diana needed. Diana shook her head sadly and rose. Then another thought occurred to her. "Does he actually gas women?" she said.
Barbara nodded. "He gassed me."
"No wonder you have trouble keeping dates," Diana said to Bruce. Then she turned and offered the other two a winning smile. "Goodnight, Barbara. It was lovely meeting you. 'night, Dick."
Still frozen in the doorway, Dick Grayson managed a strangled "Erwmgmp."
Barbara waved a hand. "We *have* to do this again sometime," she said, through a far-too-evil grin.
Diana grinned back, then turned to smile winningly at Bruce, who was still holding his jaw. "'night, Brucie," she said.
She slapped his backside on the way out.
+++
Batman caught up to her in the hallway. Even out of costume, there was no mistaking him for Bruce Wayne. Diana didn't break stride. Let him hurry, if he wanted to keep up.
"Somebody's gunning for you," he said.
"Really?" she said. The front door was fast approaching. "What was your first clue? That I got tied up and nearly killed two fights in a row?"
"I thought it was dumb luck on the part of the robot's crew," he said. "'The first time was an accident,' isn't that what you said?" Diana opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. "There's no room for assumptions in this business. Detective work means covering *all* your bases, Princess."
"Oh," said Diana, "is that what you were doing?"
"The man who put handcuffs on you that first night was a convicted felon," he said.
Diana stopped dead in her tracks.
"I found his fingerprints on the cuffs," Batman said.
He'd stopped before she did, confident his words would hold her in place. And damn him, Diana thought, it worked. "You *kept* those?" she said. It was the only thing she could think of to say.
"I keep everything," he said.
Diana leaned against the wall. She folded her arms and met his gaze. "All right," she said. "Tell me."
"Alina's father's company provides the uniformed guards for the Gotham warehouse we had that fight in," Batman said. "Alina was kind enough to invite me to a party at the Montressori estate. I took an opportunity to upload her father's personnel files to the Batcomputer. All his employees are bonded. They're fingerprinted and photographed, given background checks. No felon would get through that. Our man didn't. He didn't even try. And his photograph and assumed name didn't match any of Montressori's records, which means he didn't get the job with a false identity. Which means the guard was an imposter. Which means he's part of the robot's crew. Which means whoever was running the robot knew about your weakness from day one, and this whole scheme has been about one person. You. The gems, the statues, all of it -- it's a fraud. You're being targeted."
That was more -- far more -- than Diana had expected. It was a moment before she found her voice.
"Someone's trying to kill me?" she said.
"No," he said. "If somebody were trying to kill you, you'd be dead already."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"Confidence has nothing to do with it," said Batman. "It's physics. I stay well away from that robot because one sweep of its arm would turn me into strawberry jam. Once you were rendered powerless, the slightest blow from it should have killed you instantly. It didn't. The only possible conclusion is that it deliberately tried not to."
"I nearly drowned in the shipping container, the second time we fought it," Diana pointed out. "That doesn't exactly fit into your scenario."
"Because you escaped," said Batman. "Whoever did it wasn't counting on that. The container would have kept you safe enough, for a time. Superman would easily have found you with his X-ray vision before your air ran out. But you'd have had a scare. And needed rescuing again."
"Who? Why?" A disturbing thought occurred to Diana. If Batman was right, then whoever it was had known her weakness from the beginning. "An Amazon?" she said. Aresia was dead. Wasn't she?
"Somebody who enjoys seeing you humiliated," said Batman. "Rescued by men. So my guess is it's not an Amazon." He paused. "Or maybe it's someone who wants to prove you're an inferior one."
Ugh, thought Diana. That would be just like Aresia. But she couldn't see where the robot came in. Or how Aresia (who was *dead!*) would have beaten Luthor's security to steal it. Then she realized something else. "You could have told me your suspicions earlier," she said.
He didn't reply immediately. He glanced down at his feet. Then he raised his head and looked into her eyes. "I wasn't sure," he said. "But if I was right, then you were in no danger. I thought I'd have a chance to see how well my lessons took."
Diana could have sworn she was hallucinating. The words were typical Batman -- smug, arrogant, and smug again -- but the tone in his voice was something she'd never heard before. He actually sounded... *apologetic.*
"How'd I do?" she said.
Batman opened his mouth, then closed it and swallowed. He cleared his throat. "You made me proud," he said quietly.
His voice was husky with emotion. Diana looked at him, and saw a man struggling with his masks. She didn't let him turn away. When he tried, she stepped forward, closing the distance between them. "And tonight?" she said.
"The pick?" he asked. "Or Alina?"
"Did you think either of those would drive me away?" she said. "Or shock me?"
"I don't know," he said very softly.
He wasn't Batman any more. Nor was he "Brucie." Diana saw something she'd caught glimpses of before. Only now she understood. This was Bruce Wayne, with his masks off and nowhere to run.
"You don't have to shock me, Bruce," she said. "All you have to do is make up your own mind."
"I know," he said. His voice had a level of melancholy she'd never heard, and her heart ached for him. Her earlier anger had melted away, and all she wanted was to give him comfort.
"I wasn't," she said gently. "Shocked, you know."
Bruce looked up from his shoes to face her. "So why *did* you pull that stunt with Alina?" he said.
Diana grinned. "What's the matter?" she said. "Don't I get any points for adding to your playboy reputation?"
He smiled at that. It was a softer smile than the Batman's: shy, boyish, and a little nervous. And, in the oddest way, clumsy. As if he'd seen it done, but was terribly out of practice.
"Do you really want to add to my playboy reputation?" he said.
+++
The evening gown fit splendidly, but the high heels were a little -- awkward.
"These shoes make my bottom sway from side to side when I walk," said Diana.
"That's sort of the point," Bruce said.
She considered that as she slid into the back of the car. Bruce followed her, and Alfred closed the door behind them, then climbed into the driver's seat, where a dark partition separated him from his passengers.
Glancing out the window, Diana saw Barbara and Dick peering out the study window at them. Barbara gave Diana an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Dick, shaking his head at Barbara's exuberance, waved to catch Diana's eye. He pointed at Barbara, then himself, and mouthed "Thank you." Evidently, time spent in the manor alone with his crush was a cherished commodity. Even if Barbara did seem to view Dick as more of a little brother than a potential suitor.
A small sound from Bruce caught Diana's attention. She turned to see him lean forward, reach around behind him, then pulled something hard and flat out of a back pocket. He tossed it onto the far seat. Diana glanced after it curiously.
Oh, she realized. A little black book; Flash had talked about those. That's where he keeps his lists of women. Alina Montressori was in there, somewhere between the covers, under the gold filigree. When she looked back at Bruce, she saw he was glaring sullenly at the book, as if it were a small, yappy dog that might do something to stain the upholstery.
"Do you ever feel that you're a prisoner of all this?" said Diana.
Bruce shrugged. "A lot of people have jobs they don't like very much. My job is just to pretend I'm the happiest man in the world."
He smiled fleetingly, putting on his "Brucie" face. Now that she'd seen Bruce Wayne for real, Brucie didn't strike her as comical. Far from it.
"I've made things difficult for you, haven't I?" Diana said.
"Things were difficult for me before I ever met you," said Bruce.
"Have I asked so much?"
"You haven't asked at all," he said.
True. She'd ordered. Diana felt another twinge of guilt. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm not proud of it. Quite the opposite, in fact. I -- it --" She realized her hands were groping air, on her lap, as she tried in vain for words. Diana gripped her knees, and hoped she looked less foolish. "You're a very difficult man to deal with," she said.
"I know," he said. He had the good grace to sound embarrassed, at least.
"Do you want me to ask?" she said.
He seemed unsettled at the thought. "No," he said. "If you ask, then I'll have to answer you."
"Are you afraid that I won't like your answer?" she said. "Or that you won't?"
Bruce didn't say anything for a long minute, and she worried he might not say anything at all. Then, finally, he took a deep breath and spoke quietly. "I made a decision about my life a very long time ago," he said. "It was a hard choice, but I made up my mind to live with it. I didn't expect that I'd ever have to make it all over again."
Because she'd forced him to. "Should I leave?" Diana said.
Bruce hesitated, then shook his head. "No," he said. "Not yet. Let's... let's try to be happy, for a little while."
"Why?" said Diana. "Are you sure it's not going to be a vain exercise?"
"No," he said. "But as you said once, we never got to finish our dance."
+++
She'd forgotten that he was a graceful dancer.
She'd forgotten that his arms were strong, but gentle; that he telegraphed his motions precisely; that his bare hand was rough against hers, incongruously so given the perfection of his manicure. She'd forgotten that he moved on the dance floor with the same elegance with which he fought. And she'd forgotten how good he looked doing it.
This time, Diana thought, she would remember. Very carefully.
Napoleon was Gotham City's finest elite club -- the place to see and be seen, Bruce had said. Diana hadn't seen much other than him, though she supposed she'd been seen enough. Being recognized was common enough, even on those occasions that she donned civilian garb. But she'd never been in a situation in which she was expected to recognize people back.
"Don't look," said Bruce, "but you've just created a small earthquake in the entertainment industry's economy."
"Hm?" said Diana. She was halfway through a twirl, which was no small feat in her new shoes.
"The cell phones are out," said Bruce. He placed his hand on the small of her back and gracefully sidestepped an elderly Gotham society matron. "I expect that two recording stars and an award-winning actress are firing their publicists as we speak."
"That seems excessive," said Diana. "Just because I'd never heard of them?"
"It's not you personally," said Bruce. "They fire their publicists every time it's brought to their attention that there's *anybody* who's never heard of them."
"Oh," said Diana. She arched her back as Bruce lowered her into a dip. "Well, I'm doing my part for the economy, I suppose. 'The business of America is business.'"
"Calvin Coolidge?" he said. "I take it you're reading history now."
"I can't remain wholly ignorant of Man's World, if I'm living in it," Diana said. She smiled. "Although perhaps I should take my nose out of your books long enough to see a film or attend a concert every now and then. If only for the sake of those poor publicists."
Bruce opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by applause from the other dancers as the band finished its tune. He stepped back from Diana and clapped politely.
The next song was much slower. Diana noticed that several of the other women had placed their hands around their partners' necks. She copied the fashion. Bruce's hands met in the small of her back. Oh, she thought. That is nice. Then Bruce's head moved forward and his cheek came to rest against hers.
They weren't doing much of anything but stepping back and forth while moving in a small circle, Diana realized. She didn't mind.
"I like this," she said very quietly into Bruce's ear.
"So do I," he said as softly.
His breath was warm against her skin. It was nothing like the horror Diana had imagined, growing up, that being so close to a man would be. "You *gave this up?*" she said.
"All but the appearance," he said. "I made my choice. It wasn't easy."
"But the masks make it easier to deal with."
"Yes." He sounded surprised that she understood.
"Bruce..." said Diana. She closed her eyes. It was easier to say if she didn't look at him.
"I'm excited when you bind me," she said. "It gives a certain freedom. In my mind. My universe becomes very small. There's the problem." She took her hands away from his chest, briefly, and raised her crossed wrists, miming bonds. "And then there's you."
He didn't say anything, but she felt the intensity of his gaze increase. His hand tightened on her back. Diana drew closer to him. Their bodies pressed together.
"But I know that it's a game," she said. Her fingers lightly traced the outline of his collar. "You can't go about in bondage all the time."
Bruce closed his eyes. "I can't change the way I am, Diana," he said.
"I know," she said. "I wouldn't want you to."
"You're not tempted to give me any further orders?" he said.
"Only one," she said, then wished she hadn't.
He waited. She didn't want to say it. She couldn't say it. She *shouldn't* --
"More than anything else in the world," Diana said quietly, "I wish I could wrap my lasso around you and tell you to be happy."
Her voice shook as she spoke, and she was embarrassed. Then she looked up and saw Bruce's face. His lips parted, but no words came out. Bruce's eyes reflected the light with a softness he tried to blink away.
Then he glanced over her shoulder.
"Photographers," he said, stepping back.
"It's all right," Diana said. "We were photographed together in Paris, weren't we?"
"Not like this," he said. "I don't want to damage your reputation."
Diana tightened her grip on his neck and looked into his eyes. "I'll worry about my reputation," she said.
It occurred to her that he might kiss her. She didn't know what she'd do if he did. Diana realized that one way to circumvent that problem would be to kiss him first. That doesn't make any sense at all, objected one part of her brain. Oh, shut up, said most of the rest. She interlaced her fingers on his neck and tilted her head slightly --
"Hit me," Bruce said.
"What?"
"Hit me," he repeated. "In the face. With the palm of your hand."
Was that his plan all along? To put on a public show? "I'm not going to hit you for no reason," she said.
His response wasn't what she expected. He grinned, the stupid "Brucie" grin. And then slid his hand down *inside her backless dress* and took a firm grip on her bare rear end.
She decked him.
As he landed in the punchbowl, Diana realized that flashbulbs were going off.