Chapter 7- Closure?
To his immense frustration, Clark Kent was up against a story deadline. He checked the clock on his desk, which beeped, reminding him that he only had another five minutes to e-mail the story to his boss. Unfortunately, his progress was slower than he was used to. The facts of the murder case he was writing about were not in dispute, but for the life of him, he couldn't seem to pull the details together in a cogent manner. It wasn't the first time he'd had writer's block, but today represented yet another instance in the past few months where he was failing to deliver up to his usual professional standard.
By trade, a conscientious reporter for the Daily Planet, personal events in the life of his alter ego had taken their toll on his performance at his day job. The story staring back at him on the computer screen normally would have taken him an hour or two to write. Typically he was unaffected by the cacophony of ringing phones, shouted interviews and frantic pleas of reporters, begging editors for extensions to complete their work. Lately however, he was easily distracted by everyone and everything in the office. He spent the day idly listening to conversations with his enhanced hearing, perusing the Internet, anything to fill the time. He'd managed to procrastinate finishing the story for the balance of the day. Perry White, his editor, had shown remarkable patience to date, but even he was growing more and more exasperated with Clark's recent work product.
Dissatisfied with the opening paragraph, Clark was contemplating requesting another extension when Perry rushed up to his desk.
"Done yet, Kent?" the older man barked.
"It's not quite ready, Mr. White."
"It's as ready as its going to be, Kent. Go ahead and send it. I'll do the copy editing so it will make the deadline."
"I'd really prefer that you wait until I'm done with the story, Mr. White," Clark protested.
"I'd really prefer that you finish the assignments that I give you on time," the editor parroted back. Seeing that he'd struck a nerve, the older man settled into the chair across from Clark. "Seriously, Kent. What is wrong with you lately? You're missing deadlines, your facts and background details, including your references, are frankly shoddy at best. At the current rate, I'll have to hire a copy editor to shadow you all day. What happened to my next Pulitzer Prize winning writer?"
"I think she moved to Gotham a year ago," Clark replied lamely.
"Is that what's been bothering you for so long now?" Perry White's eyes twinkled with understanding. "Well, maybe a little more proximity to Lois would help snap you out of your funk."
"I have no interest in moving to Gotham," Clark replied with a dismissive wave.
"Who said anything about moving to Gotham?" Perry replied with a grin. "I just got off the phone with her an hour ago. Lois is moving back here."
Lois Lane was exhausted. When she'd moved to Gotham over a year before, Bruce had hired a moving company to box up her stuff at her apartment in Metropolis and unpack in the penthouse he'd bought her in Gotham. As she re-packed it, she realized that somewhere in her twenties, she'd turned into a pack-rat. There were boxes of five-inch floppy discs filled with background information on stories that she'd written over ten years before. Problem was, she hadn't used a computer with a compatible drive for those discs in five years.
Since she'd gained employment with the Planet, Lois had repeatedly told herself that she was going to get organized at some point, but there was always another story waiting around the corner for her to pursue. She wasn't much of a homemaker, so she just kept accumulating more and more stuff without bothering to take stock if it was important or worth saving.
Now that she had the time to sort through her life, Lois had no interest in clinging to things that were clearly in the past. She'd divided her living room into piles of boxes worth keeping and the ones destined to be thrown out.
The trash pile was three times the size of what she was keeping. She'd started at eight in the morning. Nearing midnight, she finally finished the task. Covered with sweat and dust and feeling more than a little grimy, she perched on a barstool and rewarded herself with a glass of Merlot. A small breeze wafted over her neck. Normally she wouldn't have noticed the change, but the sweat still damp on her skin made her more sensitive to her surroundings than she otherwise would have been.
"Come to help me pack?" she asked the shadows in her darkened bedroom.
"I didn't realize you were leaving," Batman replied, still shrouded in the darkness. "When were you planning on telling me? After the plane touched down in Metropolis?"
"Frankly I didn't think there was much left to say," Lois muttered with the glass of wine perched at her lips. "I have independence issues and you – well let's just say you have more issues than your average superhero."
"I don't know many average superheroes," Batman replied grimly. "The population seems to be firmly divided between metas and the rest of us. I apologize for not being able to offer you more on that front."
"I don't need for you to leap tall buildings in a single bound - "
" – but it wouldn't hurt -"
"- I just need you to trust me," Lois replied, irritated by the interruption. She took another long pull of the glass of wine, then settled it on the table. Her fingers moved the glass around in circles, watching distractedly as the tannins in the wine clung to the edge of the glass before settling again. "I thought about us all night and I reached a conclusion this morning that didn't make me happy."
"Which is?"
"We're both too high maintenance," she blurted, then smiled weakly when his eyeslits narrowed – his sign of consternation. "I adore you, Bruce. I really do. You're handsome, dashing, rich, and really good in the sack, but I'm kind of a trouble-maker. I need a man who calms the storms in my life. You only provide more chaos."
He opened his mouth as if to protest, but stopped.
She smiled, understanding all too well the demons that were wrestling inside the man before her, then decided to ease the tension between them. Lois walked over, then gently placed her head against his chest so she wouldn't have to look at him. She felt his arms rise a moment, then he dropped them back at his sides, unable to provide the comfort she desired.
"When I moved to Gotham to be with you, I resolved Batman would be a hobby, like golf, do you remember?"
He nodded as Lois looked up into his eyes.
"I just didn't understand the extent that Batman has taken a hold of your life. You are Batman; Bruce Wayne is just a front. Asking you to give that up is not even a remote possibility. But I can't continue to pretend to be happy with you when his shadow is lurking around every corner, waiting to take over full time."
The controlled darkness of his expression almost wavered for a moment, then he regained his composure when he realized how serious she was. "I understand," he replied calmly. "When are you leaving?"
Lois smiled at the sense of déjà vu she was experiencing. They'd had this same conversation on the tarmac in Metropolis a year before, but her impulsive flight to Gotham had prolonged their relationship to this final breaking point. "Tomorrow at noon. Come see me off at the airport?" Lois asked hopefully, staring up at the eyes that still looked so foreign, covered as they were by the cowl.
He shook his head, then backed away, heading for the balcony. "Can't. Heading to Paris." He opened the door, spilling the cool night air into the room, then turned to face her again. He nodded almost imperceptibly, paused a moment, struggling to say something that might provide some closure, then dismissing the attempt, launched a grapple at the opposite roof.
She opened her mouth to tell him goodbye, but a box perched on the edge of the sofa suddenly upended, spilling its contents onto the floor. Lois crouched down to straighten the mess, but when she looked up, he was gone. She shook her head with exasperation then ran to the balcony to watch him swing across the Gotham rooftops. She waved, not expecting a reply. She was amazed that a relationship that had showed so much promise at one point could be over so quickly. A tear made its way down her face as he disappeared into the steel canyons. Shivering in the night air, she finally closed the doors.
Leafing through the most recent copy of The New Republic, Clark perched on a barstool over his kitchen counter. He wasn't that interested in the column's insider whisperings on the goings on in D.C., but it beat the alternative of flipping on late night TV. It was the fourth magazine he'd gone through in as many hours, and the lack of activity made him restless.
Normally he'd be out on patrol or taking a Monitor Duty shift on the Watchtower, but tonight was date-night, so he'd patiently waited for Diana's arrival. Early in their relationship, due to the strains on their time, he and Diana had made a pact to meet at his apartment on Wednesday nights no matter what – each of them eventually showing up no matter how late the hour had grown. She'd been detained occasionally before, but Diana had never shown up later than nine p.m. It wasn't that they didn't get together for quick dalliances at other times, but the sanctity of Wednesday nights had provided a welcome respite for both of them.
Spying a slight movement on the building rooftop across the street, he debated calling her on the comm. link, but the motivation just wasn't there. She would either come or she wouldn't, he decided. He knew her well enough to know that Diana wasn't a woman who would be summoned.
In their own way, they were both very proud - and very stubborn - people. As such, their argument after the incident with Darkseid had cast a cloud over their relationship. Neither one of them seemed to know how to take the next step. They'd studiously avoided each other for the past week, but he hadn't thought she would ignore their regularly scheduled get-together.
Fed up waiting for her to appear, at half past midnight, Clark decided to throw in the towel. He clicked off the light in the kitchen, then turned to walk to the bathroom to brush his teeth. His enhanced hearing picked up the footfalls on the balcony a moment later, then Diana walked into the room. Clark didn't bother turning on the light.
"Hey there, stranger," he called out in the darkness. "Where you been?"
"Sorry I'm late," Diana replied, absently looking away from him. "I got…hung up."
"On top of the building across the street you mean?" he asked. Diana frowned with embarrassment, realizing she'd been caught in a lie. He tapped his glasses lightly. "Enhanced vision, remember? You've been up there for more than an hour."
"I needed some time to think," Diana replied defensively. "I was trying to figure out a way to come over without getting into another argument."
"We don't argue that much, do we?" Clark replied, visibly surprised.
"To be honest, we don't do a lot of anything," Diana replied, obliquely referring to their alarming decrease in sexual activity.
"I've been distracted lately," he replied with an apologetic shrug. "I can't seem to get a thing done at work. Guess I have a lot on my mind."
"We seem to have a lot on our minds these days. Work. The League. Darkseid. Us," Diana replied, finally meeting his gaze for the first time since she'd arrived.
A heavy silence hung thick between them, then simultaneously they both said, "We need to talk."
The air hung heavy between them, as each waited for the other to continue. Clark tried an assuring smile, but it felt forced, unfamiliar. By the look on Diana's face, his smile probably looked worse. He settled back onto his perch on the barstool. "We're in trouble, aren't we?"
"I'm glad you said it first, but yes, we are in trouble," Diana replied, her face twisted with confusion. "You are a great man. You've been so helpful in teaching me the ways of Man's World. I can't exactly put my finger on it, but I honestly think that we're just too different to pretend that this…relationship…is ever going to go further than this -." She stopped, pausing to find the right word.
"Affair?" he suggested.
"Exactly!" Diana replied.
"And all along I've been thinking that we're too much alike," Clark replied. "We're too proud to admit when the other one is right. It's killing us."
"It already killed us," Diana replied wanly. "I don't want this to end ugly, Clark. I really don't. We're teammates in the League, and I don't want us avoiding each other because we couldn't make this work. What we do is too important to let some petty jealousies come between us."
"I know," Clark replied softly. On impulse, he walked over and put his arms around her. It was a gesture of friendship – not a pass – and she returned it as such.
"Still friends?" she asked, searching his eyes.
"Always," he replied warmly, adding a gentle squeeze to emphasize his words. He escorted her to the balcony door, a gentle hand of reassurance still placed on her arm.
"Headed back to the Watchtower?" he asked. "I'm on Monitor Duty tomorrow night. Maybe I'll see you there."
"I'll be in Paris until Friday," she replied. "It's supposed to be lovely this time of year."
"Enjoy the time off," Clark said with a heartfelt smile. "You deserve it."
TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTThe monotony of Robin's silent vigil over the ship moored at Pier 37 was finally interrupted by the soft footfalls of his mentor. Robin knew better than to take his eyes off the cargo freighter that two hours before had docked after a five-day journey from its homeport at Cartagena, Colombia. A lapse in concentration would mean sparking Batman's wrath – something Tim Drake desperately wanted to avoid.
"Where you been?" he asked casually.
"Lois's apartment." Came the clipped reply.
"What's she up to?"
"Packing."
"Packing for where? Another overnight in Metropolis?" Tim asked hopefully. Based on recent history, a Lois trip to Metropolis meant a night off for him as Batman usually elected to follow her to that 'other' city of skyscrapers on the East Coast.
"No. It's permanent."
Robin's eyes bulged inside the binoculars he was using to survey the ship. Slowly, he swiveled his head until he could see the expression on Batman's face. Tim was hoping that his mentor had decided to lighten up for the first time since he'd known him, but as usual Batman's face was a mask of concentration. Tim considered his options, trying to figure out a way to extract more information without being too obvious, but nothing obvious came to mind. He finally decided that sympathy might be the best approach.
"She couldn't deal with the life, huh?"
"Something like that."
"It's not your fault, Batman." Tim rationalized with a sympathetic shrug, then turned back to survey the building. "That's why it works for Dick and Barbara. They know the life. Lois never would have figured it out. Better she left now than have you guys do something stupid like knock out a couple of kids, you know?"
The eyeslits of the cowl narrowed ominously, then Robin felt a chill wash down his spine as the larger man leaned into his space.
"Robin?"
"Yeah, Batman?"
"No more psychoanalyzing my relationships on patrol, got it?" he growled.
"Got it," the younger man gulped. He refocused the lenses on his binoculars, cursing them under his breath. They were working just fine, but he was hoping the distraction would provide a moment of respite from the stress in the air.
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Lois felt queasy when she got on the plane, wondering why her stomach felt so upset. As she settled into her first class seat, she declined the flight attendant's offer of a pre-flight soda. As the plane clawed for altitude after take-off, the airframe shuddered through a layer of turbulence. Her pelvis tightened into eye-watering cramps with each tremble of the wing, but even the smoother air at the higher altitudes did little to dispel the pain. She wondered what could be troubling her so much, then smacked her forehead, exasperated by her choice to buy a gyro from the street vendor in front of her condo. She'd run late packing, then grabbed a bite from the mobile vendor just before she jumped into the taxi to the airport.
'That explains it,' she thought smugly, but continued to shift uncomfortably in her seat for the rest of the flight as the cramps roiled her stomach. Lois let out a sigh of relief when the wheels touched down at Metropolis International an hour later, then she ducked into the nearest bathroom in the terminal as soon as the jetway pulled up to the plane. Squatting down to pull down her panties, she was mortified to see a large stain of blood had seeped into the protective cotton layer of the undergarment.
She blew out a breath of resigned irritation, then rhetorically muttered "Haven't done that since I got my first period when I was twelve!" at the walls. She stood up, carefully peeled the underwear off, cleaned herself up, then realized with a start that her period wasn't due to start for another two weeks. Opening her travel case, she slipped on another pair of panties then joined the crowds in the terminal.
Five minutes later, she settled into the back seat of a taxi. As the driver pulled away from the terminal, she wracked her brain, trying to think of any alternative other than the unthinkable one that roared in her brain like a police siren.
None came.
Two blocks away from the furnished apartment the Daily Planet had loaned her until she could find a place of her own, she hopped out of the cab at a drugstore. She bought her usual assortment of feminine hygiene products with one notable exception: an EPT kit.
Upstairs in the new apartment five minutes later, she almost collapsed on the floor of her bathroom when the "+" registered in blue.
TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTDiana's arrival in at the Ritz Carlton in Paris was more eventful than she would have ordinarily preferred, but in the year she'd been in Man's World, she'd learned to tolerate the initial crush of people who clamored for her attention. Luckily, the Ritz tended to attract a sophisticated level of clientele, so the guests who witnessed her arrival in the lobby quickly managed to recover from their initial shock at seeing the "Amazing Amazon". Most of them immediately went back to their business, intent on pretending that they weren't impressed.
Unsure of what to next, Diana waited awkwardly in the check-in line with the rest of the guests. She could feel every eye in the lobby staring right at her, but there appeared to be no alternative but to wait. Luckily, Claude Formage, the hotel's manager, appeared to be used to dealing with the requirements of high profile celebrities, politicians and executives who demanded anonymity. He greeted her politely in the check in line, then whisked her into his office behind the check-in counter, closing the doors so the gawkers wouldn't have a view of his newest celebrity. There'd been a number of them, judging by the number of autographed pictures Claude had hung behind his desk. His first order of business was to inquire what codename she wanted to be known as, in case other guests or paparazzi were inclined to find her room.
She thought the request strange until he explained the necessity of the codename, then proceeded to drop some suggestions her way. Diana didn't think much of Barbie or Brigitte (the reference to Bardot was lost on her), so she wracked her brain for an alternative. Nothing easy came to mind, so she finally scrawled 'Xena' on the card. The manager seemed disappointed in her creativity when he read the name, but happily swiped the debit card that Batman had provided to each member of the League to pay for miscellaneous expenses. She wasn't sure if he'd be happy paying $800 per night for her room, but Diana had more important things to worry about at the moment.
The manager personally escorted her to a freight elevator then showed her the suite he'd assigned her when she'd e-mailed her reservation a few days before.
"As you requested, this room has its own balcony. Will it suffice?"
"Thank you, Claude," she replied warmly. "The room will be fine."
"Do you have any bags or clothing you wish for us to unpack?" he asked helpfully.
"I usually only wear my uniform," she replied, puzzled. "Is that not appropriate to wear for the ball tonight?"
"Mon dieu!" Claude replied, horrified as he pictured the public's reaction to Diana strolling around a black-tie party in her battle armor. He bent down, picked up the phone, then in his native tongue barked a series of orders to the concierge downstairs. He replaced the phone in the cradle a moment later, then flashed her a warm smile.
"I hope the Madame might be open to the owner of Courreges boutique stopping by in an hour to show off some of her latest designs?"
Diana pondered the suggestion for a few moments, then shrugged her shoulders in feeble agreement. "I don't keep up on Paris fashions, so have her bring whatever you think best, Claude. I'll rely on your judgment." "A wise move, to be sure," the man sniffed, then spun on his heels, determined to make sure the transformation from warrior to high society debutante went smoothly.
Two hours later, Diana selected a black, floor-length, spaghetti-strap dress that the tailor modified to accommodate her generous bust and slim waist. When she emerged from the bathroom, Claude's eyes bugged out in disbelief.
"That dress is going to cause more commotion tonight than I had intended," he observed with a grin.
"Thank you," Diana replied with a slow nod. "That's just what I was hoping for."
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The cramps in Lois's stomach were growing more painful by the minute. Worse, the maxi-pad she'd secured to her panties an hour before was saturated. She discarded the old one, secured a new pad to her panties, then lay down on the couch. She'd popped a Midol a few minutes before to deal with the cramps, but nothing was helping her situation. Her cellphone rang a few feet away, buried deep in her purse on the floor. She groaned in misery, then scooted over on the couch until she could reach her purse.
"Lane here."
"Lois. It's Perry. Where are you?"
"At the apartment."
"The apartment? I thought you were coming here straight from the airport."
"Change of plans, Chief," she replied. "I don't feel so hot."
"What's wrong with you, Lane?" the voice teased over the phone. "A year in Gotham make you soft?"
"Something like that," she replied in a whisper as another wave of pain shot through her gut.
"Anything I can do?" Perry asked sympathetically.
"Shoot me to put me out of my misery," Lois murmured with a groan. "On second thought, send over a delivery boy with something to settle an upset stomach."
"I'll see what I can do."
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As dusk settled over the Eiffel Tower, fifteen miles west of Paris, the Batwing settled easily into hover mode as the thrust vector systems deflected the jet exhaust downward instead of out the tailpipe. Stripped of forward momentum, the plane quickly descended a hundred meters above the parking lot onto the concrete, dropped its landing gear, then rolled forward again as soon as the wheels met the pavement. A moment later the black jet slipped between two huge doors into a large industrial building that had once housed a distribution operation for a WayneTech car parts subsidiary. Vacant for a year since that operation had been centralized in neighboring Luxembourg, the building's size, large doors and proximity to Paris made it a perfect place to warehouse the plane.
Ten minutes later, clad in a Hugo Boss tuxedo, Bruce Wayne emerged from the building. A four-door Bentley was waiting in the parking lot, a delivery service having parked it there an hour earlier. He threw his bags into the trunk, then put the car in gear. He glanced at his watch, debating whether or not he had enough time to check into his suite at the Peninsula Hotel, then decided against it. He had one more task to accomplish before he attended the opening of the Paris Air & Space Museum.
"Batman to the Watchtower," he muttered, triggering the comm. link while simultaneously merging onto the freeway that ringed the outskirts of Paris.
"Go ahead." J'onn's voice rang back clearly.
"I'll be in Paris for a day or two," Batman informed him casually. "Let me know if there's any activity in the vicinity which might require my attention."
"I assume you wish to coordinate your activities with Diana?" J'onn replied in his standard monotone.
"Why?" Bruce replied cryptically, slipping through traffic at a speed well above the posted limit.
"She has elected to take a few days of leave in that city," J'onn replied. "Her status is reserve-active."
"I'll contact her if I need assistance. Batman out."
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Clark Kent was starting to grow worried. He'd been banging on the door to the apartment Lois was using for a few minutes with no answer. An hour before, Perry White had informed him that Lois wasn't coming into work, and Clark had immediately started worrying. In the five years they'd worked together, he'd never known her to take a sick day. He skipped lunch to put the finishing touches on his article, e-mailed it to Perry, then flagged a cab over to her apartment. Famished, Clark allowed himself the luxury of snagging some takeout from a Chinese restaurant he'd frequented a few times, then headed up to the 17th floor where she was staying.
Impatient and fraught with worry, he'd finally resolved to slip his glasses low enough on his nose to employ his x-ray vision when a disheveled Lois finally opened the door. She was wearing sweatpants and a bathrobe, but her eyes were puffy. Streaks of mascara were still evident on her face, a sure sign she'd been crying.
"Hey, Smallville," she whispered softly, "What are you doing here?"
"Checking up on you," he replied. "Perry said you weren't feeling so well, so I thought I'd drop off some hot and sour soup."
"That is very thoughtful," she replied, then her face contorted with pain as a spasm swept through her body. He reached out to steady her, then she gingerly collapsed onto the couch a few feet away.
Clark stood in the doorway, dumbfounded as to what he should do next, then stepped into the living room. He closed the door behind him, then stowed the takeout in the refrigerator. He snagged a box of tissues from an adjacent bathroom, then his jaw dropped to the floor when he spied the EPT strip with a positive sign sitting on the sink. Feeling like he'd been punched in the gut by Darkseid, he approached Lois in the living room. Still sniffling, she attempted a weak smile of gratitude as she yanked a handful of tissues out of the box.
"Bad day?" he offered helpfully, quietly slipping onto the opposite end of the couch.
She laughed scornfully, then cleared her throat. "More like a bad week. I ended it with Bruce two days ago, then on the plane I started spotting. I thought it was just an early period – my cycle has never been that regular – but the cramps and the pain were off the charts. I grabbed some stuff at the drugstore and realized it might be something else. Came back here and found out that I was pregnant."
Clark's worst fears were confirmed, but he betrayed no show of emotion. "That must have come as quite a shock."
"Hell yes it came as a shock," Lois replied sarcastically, "Especially considering I was using the Patch."
"What happened?" Clark mused. "Forget to change it out?"
"Do I seem like the type who would conveniently forget to use birth control in the hopes of having somebody's kid?" she snorted. " I sat here for an hour in shock, trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do, then nature in its infinite wisdom decided to take the wheel."
"What does that mean?"
"The spotting was a sign of a miscarriage," Lois replied matter-of-factly. "I just came back from the ER when you knocked. Ultrasound confirmed I was pregnant, but I miscarried. The doctor said that the hormones from the Patch make it difficult for the pregnancy to take hold, so ninety-nine percent of these cases end up in a miscarriage."
"Are you all right?"
"It's been a helluva week, that much is certain," Lois replied. "Physically I'm fine. I'm still having some cramps, but those should be gone in another day or so. Emotionally it's a different story."
"Are you going to tell Bruce?" Clark inquired.
"What's to tell?" Lois muttered. "Can you imagine that conversation? 'Hi Bruce, its me, Lois. You were going to be a Dad but now you're not.' He and I didn't exactly part on great terms, you know?"
"I didn't know," Clark replied with a shrug. "It's not like we've talked in awhile."
"About that," Lois started, then stopped. She wasn't much for apologies, but even Lois had to admit she hadn't exactly made a point of being a full-time friend to Clark after she'd left for Gotham. "I really am sorry if I treated you badly. Maybe hanging out with the rich and famous made me bitchier than before."
"I should be the one to apologize," Clark offered helpfully. "I might have been a little out of line when I said some of those things."
"Well, maybe just a little out of line," Lois chortled, but the smile on her face stayed there after the moment passed. "I missed teasing you, Smallville. Those people in Gotham just don't have a sense of humor."
"You know us farmboys," he replied with a grin. "We always aim to please. If abusing me helps you pass the time, then fire away."
"It really is nice to see a friendly face," Lois noted ruefully. "You're one of my best friends, Clark. Really. I missed hanging out with you."
"Ditto."
They stared at each other for a moment, the air suddenly heavy with emotion. It made Lois uncomfortable, and she looked for a topic of conversation not related to her relationships with men. "That take out still warm?" Lois inquired, twisting on the couch towards the kitchen. "Suddenly some hot and sour soup sounds good."
"I'll see what I can do," he replied. He motioned for her to stay put on the couch. "Want some Kung Pao Chicken? I got the white-meat only, the way you like it."
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Bruce Wayne was bored beyond belief. In order to maintain his public image as an international playboy, it made sense for him to attend the opening of the Museum. He'd found it strange that scores of both European and American paparazzi were planted on the red carpet. As he waited in line, he eavesdropped on two supermodels whom were bitterly complaining that the museum opening had turned into an impromptu coming out party for Princess Audrey from Kasnia. He knew the princess had earned a reputation as a European equivalent to Paris Hilton, but knew little else.
Bruce had shown up to the Museum dateless, but the paparazzi presented an opportunity to cut the evening even shorter than he'd planned. He grabbed the two models, then spent a few minutes shamelessly flirting with them in broken French. As they warmed up to him, Bruce played the game of celebrity photo-posing. Dozens of flashbulbs went off as some of the American paparazzi recognized him, ensuring that his picture would show up somewhere in the tabloids. Satisfied that he'd done justice to his rakish reputation, Bruce escorted the two of them into the Museum. Out of a sense of obligation, he flirted with the models for a few minutes. Weary of the sheer vapidity of the conversation, five minutes later he stole away with an excuse about needing to hit the bathroom for a much needed pee stop.
He hovered out of their eyesight on the opposite side of the room, making polite small-talk with a few faces that he recognized around the room. Before he'd arrived, Bruce had promised himself to stay for at least an hour. Forty minutes into his promise, Bruce had almost reached the limits of his endurance. Luckily, a commotion at the front entrance attracted the attention of the attendees, allowing him to break away from a German politician who was extolling the virtues of his country's near-socialist pension system. From his new position near the bar, Bruce felt his jaw drop open with surprise when he saw Diana stroll into the room. The dress was stunning – not so stunning that he could forget the vision of her in her birthday suit coming out of the lake on Themyscira – but stunning nevertheless.
A number of possibilities entered his mind with respect to whether or not he should even approach her. He sifted through the possibilities, then finally decided against even talking to her. Bored as he was, there was no point in jeopardizing his identity with a teammate just for the thrill of it. He'd decided to use her entrance as an excuse to steal away from the event, but he changed his mind when he saw a look of desperation cross her face. In a flash, she was surrounded by a large, curious crowd who had no compunction about asking whatever was on their mind.
"Are you really from an island of women?"
"What is Superman like?"
"Where do you live in Man's World?"
The questions were being shouted so quickly that she didn't have time to respond. Exasperated, Diana desperately looked for an opportunity to escape when a firm, masculine hand reached out and grabbed her by the hand.
"Excuse me," he said. "May I have this dance?"
TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT"Yes!" Diana answered, gleefully escaping the crowd. She trailed him hand-in-hand to the dance floor. "Thank you, Mr…?"
"Wayne," he finished. "Bruce Wayne."
A multitude of thoughts cascaded in her mind, but, trying not to betray the surge of adrenaline that shot through her body as she realized that Batman was asking her to dance, Diana politely replied, "I appreciate the rescue."
His hand slipped around her waist as they began a waltz. She wasn't experienced in this style of dance, but he was an excellent lead, always providing subtle hints of where he wanted her to move next.
As they started to dance, she didn't want to betray that she knew his secret - not right here on the dance floor anyway. When Clark had told her a year before about Lois moving to Gotham to pursue a relationship with Batman, it had only taken a quick search on the Internet to find pictures of Superman's ex-girlfriend being squired around Gotham City by Bruce Wayne. She'd read articles about him in the local Gotham papers, most of which were unflattering portrayals of a bored playboy who's only interests were expanding his business empire or bedding attractive socialites. At the time, Diana was intrigued with the clever ruse Bruce Wayne had so cleverly constructed to conceal his true self, but her interest in that subject had waned as her relationship with Clark had deepened.
Now that she was dancing with Batman's alter ego, she was amazed that he was able to carry off the act so easily.
He's playing a dangerous game, she thought as they moved in lockstep across the floor. Clark and I have only been broken up for a day or two. There's no way he could know we ended it already.
She stared hard at him, trying to determine what kind of game he was playing, but even without the cowl his eyes betrayed nothing. "I'm surprised to see you here," he observed in a nonchalant tone that Diana found intriguing. "From what I've heard, this really isn't your sort of affair."
"I've decided to get out more. Have a little fun," she replied, flirting with her eyes and body as she said it. Diana was intent on trying to elicit some sort of reaction from him. If that meant dirty dancing, she was prepared to take the next step. He was playing a high stakes game, and she was ready to call his bluff.
"Enjoying yourself so far?" he asked with a lilt in his voice, then upped the ante again by lightly pressing against her as he spun her back into him.
"More than I expected," she said, surprised to find that her heart was racing loudly in her ears. She took a deep breath then continued. "What about you? What brings you to the City of Lights?"
"I never miss a good party," he replied with a devilish leer down the front of her dress. Diana tried not to betray her surprise at his deliberate provocation. Without a misstep, she took an opportunity on the next spin to deliberately drag her breasts against his arm, hoping the physical contact would elicit a response.
His eyes betrayed nothing. "I may also have to attend to some business while I'm in town," he continued evenly.
She stared hard back at him, trying to determine the next move in this game. Each time they spun in and out of proximity to the other, she took the opportunity to run her hands over his shoulders and back. The hard muscle underneath confirmed her initial suspicions. That's a lot of muscle for a Gotham playboy' she thought. Her discovery was overshadowed by the subsequent pleasure she took in their dance. Hera, help me but he's handsome.
As their dance continued she wondered if he would continue to play the role of aggressor. A primitive part of her responded to the fact that he was confident enough to presume her willingness to be led onto the dance floor. Most men were intimidated to such an extent that they could hardly do anything other than stare at her breasts and mumble incoherently. While it was admittedly his alter ego with whom she was dancing, Diana enjoyed the fact that he displayed his desire for her so openly. Steve Trevor had displayed the same type of brazen demeanor during their mission to capture Vandal Savage during World War II, and she had been amazed by her response, nay arousal was more like it, to that kind of confidence.
Distracted by their dance, neither of them noticed the sound of the helicopter hovering overhead until the commandos had punched through the domed glass cupola in the ceiling. They stopped dancing, but Diana stayed close to him, her breasts deliberately - and pleasantly - pushed against his chest. They stared in open-mouthed shock as the commandos secured Princess Audrey with a rope.
"Excuse me," each of them finally muttered, resigned to dealing with the attack in their own way. Bruce started for a staircase that looked like it might provide a place for a quick change of uniforms, but before he'd made it past the desert bar, Diana had torn her dress in half below the knee, allowing her the freedom to assault the kidnappers.
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Bruce stood transfixed by her sudden change of attire – if the quick glimpse he'd gotten was accurate, Diana had elected to go commando under her dress as well – then decided to help himself to the selection of hors d'oeveres while Diana dispensed a major butt-kicking on the commandos. He slipped outside to watch her take out the last men on the helicopter, then slipped unnoticed from the museum grounds. He'd gotten a tip that there was going to be a break-in at a weapons laboratory owned by one of France's most high-tech aerospace manufacturers, and he didn't want to get caught up in a long-winded police debriefing of all of the eyewitnesses.
TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTObligated to keep the commandos in custody until the gendarme could arrive, Diana had spent the few seconds she could searching the crowd of onlookers for the man who'd waltzed her on the floor just minutes before. The party had ended quickly as the museum was now a police scene. Downcast that Bruce had disappeared so quickly and without any plans for the rest of the evening, Diana had reluctantly agreed to chaperone Audrey for the rest of the night.
She enjoyed buying the new dresses with Audrey. While Diana wasn't a slave by any means to the fashion whims of Man's World, even she could recognize there was a more feminine side of her personality that occasionally needed to be shown to her teammates – if not the world. The club hopping that ensued after their escape from Audrey's bodyguard was fun, but Audrey's procurement of two handsome men did little to distract Diana's thoughts away from the man that had danced with her at the Museum.
When she finally got back to her hotel room at sunrise, Diana was shocked to find Batman seated in the chair opposite her bed. Ensconced in the shadows of the corner, his voice suddenly floated over to her as she peeled off her shoes.
"You're keeping late hours," he observed evenly.
Surprised by the voice emerging from the darkness, Diana paused in mid-stride. A small smile of relief formed in the corners of her mouth The same man who had rescued her last night from the crush of admirers was suddenly switching gears, accusing her of partying until the wee hours as if on a whim.
She declined to rise to the bait.
"You should talk," she responded coyly, then smiled at him flirtatiously while defiantly placing her hands on her hips. "Keeping an eye on me?"
"Not hardly," he replied evenly, but his expression betrayed the surprise he'd experienced hearing the flirtatious challenge in her tone and carriage. Accustomed to the verbal sparring matches they usually engaged in since she'd started dating Superman, her flirting was sending a signal that she was willing to play the game for as long as he wanted. He elected to continue on his original path to warn her away from the Kasnian Princess. "I captured a Kasnian special-forces soldier last night trying to steal some top-secret equipment from a weapons plant outside the city."
"Your point?"
"The point is, you've been running in some rarefied circles," he observed, then pointed to some pictures of her and Audrey the paparazzi had snapped for the morning tabloids. "Those people aren't always who they appear to be."
She waved her hand at him dismissively. "Don't you have somebody else to worry about, Bruce?" She purred, walking towards him with a sway of her hips that the male heterosexual population found captivating. She stopped a few feet away "After all, you're playing a pretty dangerous game. Isn't Lois going to get jealous? Or did you not tell her about the time you kissed me on Themyscira?"
"I don't know what you're talking about. He growled back. He was maintaining a poker face, but a bead of sweat that plopped from the cowl onto his lip betrayed him.
Diana grinned that she'd finally gotten the upper hand in this game. "Suit yourself," she replied as she pulled off the high heels Audrey had bought her the previous evening. "But when we've figured out what's going on with Audrey, you're still taking me dancing."
That finally got the reaction she'd been trying to provoke all night. The cowl bunched up above his eyebrows as he gaped in disbelief. "You're playing a dangerous game, Diana," he replied. "Superman might not be happy."
"We broke up, or hadn't you heard?" she replied with a flippant toss of her hair. Her expression remained defiant however, her eyes asking him whether he was up to the challenge of romancing an Amazon Princess.
He raised himself up from the chair, then striding to the opposite side of the room, dexterously managed to bring the cape around to hide the sudden pup tent that had pitched in his trousers. "By your body language alone, I knew you two were having problems. Is it going to affect the League?"
"We decided to remain good friends," Diana replied, collapsing onto the bed with a flourish. "What about you? How come you didn't bring along Lois? Not often a girl gets a chance to dress to the nines in Paris."
His eyes narrowed again, but, taking her cue from before, he declined to rise to the bait. "We've got bigger problems than your love-life. Think about it. Some Kasnian rebels try to kidnap the heir to the throne, while ten miles away a group of special-forces operatives are stealing arms equipment. A political crisis connected to an arms race means something is going on in Kasnia that we need to look into. "
The harshness in his tone was a final signal that he wasn't interested in anymore flirting. She yawned, considering the gravity of what he'd learned that evening, but the urge to sleep was too inviting to pass up. Her eyelids closed heavily, then she opened them one more time. "I'm supposed to see Audrey tonight. I'll look into the Kasnian connection."
He turned to leave her room. "Do that."
"Batman?" she called as he strode to the balcony. He paused mid-stride, waiting for her to talk.
"When we get done with this mission, you're still taking me dancing."
TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTClark Kent had spent the entire morning on the phone tracking down some background information on a corruption story he'd been investigating for a few weeks. It wasn't until Lois tapped him on the shoulder and made a motion about eating something that he realized it was already past his usual twelve-thirty lunch hour. He hurried through the rest of the interview he was conducting on the phone. Lois waited at his desk impatiently, rolling her eyes each time he asked another question. He considered her expression, then hurriedly wrapped up the interview before she strangled him with the phone cord.
They walked over and grabbed a booth at a diner they'd frequented before she'd moved to Gotham, each ordering by rote memory instead of looking at the menu. The waitress went to retrieve their drink orders, giving them enough privacy for Clark to inquire about her health.
"Better," came her clipped reply.
"Shouldn't you have stayed home one more day?" he asked with concern. "I mean, it seemed like it was somewhat traumatic."
"It was traumatic," Lois replied, nodding in agreement. "The whole week's been kind of traumatic, to be honest. But I just couldn't take another day staring at the walls of that apartment. I needed to get out, and what better place to get your mind off your personal life than work?"
"Point well taken," he noted dryly. "These days all I seem to have is work."
"No recent conquests for Smallville in the big city?" she teased, but there was a little more interest in her eyes about his personal life than he might have seen a year before.
"No long term commitments," he commented. " Sometimes I wonder if I'm compatible with anybody long term."
"You're preaching to the choir, Smallville." Lois commiserated, then thanked the waitress when she brought their orders.
"So what happened in Gotham?" he asked evenly, desperately trying not to betray his anxiety at walking the fine line he'd undertaken. After all, he was asking both as Clark and as Superman. "I mean, how come it didn't work out?"
Lois put her cheeseburger down on the plate and paused, trying to find the right words. She watched a young mother pushing an infant in a stroller down the opposite sidewalk, then finally Lois cleared her throat to speak. "It's kind of complicated. Bruce did it for me on a lot of levels, I'll admit, but bottom line, we were just incompatible."
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Diana woke up at three in the afternoon. After Batman left, she'd stayed on the bed, drowsily contemplating the two disparate halves of his personality.
Batman was the Dark Knight, cloaked in shadows and mystery. His demeanor allowed as much subtlety as a bull elephant in must.
Bruce Wayne was the just the opposite – suave, sophisticated, and openly flirtatious.
She wondered about the sanity of maintaining such a contrasted lifestyle, then smiled when she remembered how he succumbed to the tranquility of Themyscira. Quiet and withdrawn unless provoked, Batman had maintained a noticeable distance from her since that day. She wondered if he ignored her or treated her rudely because of her relationship with Clark, but that answer didn't fit the riddle that he posed.
Her meandering thoughts led her to the inevitable comparison to Superman.
They couldn't be more different, she thought. After Darkseid had turned him against Earth, Clark had become almost consumed with a public relations campaign to regain the trust of Earth's populace. He attended as many public charity functions as he could, always willing to shake another hand or pose for another picture. Diana understood the desire to be accepted, but she'd always thought it was a little too much of a compulsion for Clark.
On the opposite extreme there was Batman - or was it Bruce, she wondered? He lived in shadows, conducted his business with little or no care as to how his teammates viewed him. He didn't care if they liked him, hated him, or viewed him indifferently, as long as they understood he was there to execute his mission. He was abrasive to an extreme, but the rest of the team held him in esteem nevertheless, always in awe of what he was able to accomplish as the only non-powered member of the team.
Now that she wasn't involved with Clark, Diana ruefully admitted to herself that while initially she'd been more attracted to Superman's awesome power and rugged good looks, Batman had always intrigued her. Now that she'd met Bruce Wayne firsthand, she could understand Lois's attraction to the Dark Knight. There was a rogue element to him that was attractive in a dangerous way. He was unpredictable, and that made him exciting.
She slept until five in the afternoon, then, after a quick shower, impulsively picked up the phone. Diana dialed Clark Kent's office number at the Daily Planet. She'd only called him there once in the six months they'd dated, but the circumstances - and her confusion about what she wanted – fueled her desire to talk to a friendly, familiar voice.
"Clark Kent's line," an unfamiliar female voice intoned. "How may I help you?"
"Is he in, please?"
"I think he stepped away for lunch, let me check."
Diana heard the phone being fumbled around for a few seconds then heard the woman loudly inquiring across the sea of cubicles as to Mr. Kent's location. Diana's mouth dropped in shock when she heard a male voice clearly ring out that he'd seen Clark leave for lunch with Lois a few minutes before.
The woman confirmed what Diana had heard a second later. "Apparently Mr. Kent stepped out to lunch. May I take a message?"
Diana's eyes narrowed with wounded pride as she considered her reply. She debated for a moment about whether to hang up, but decided to glean some additional information out of the assistant. "Is Lois in town for a meeting? Maybe I can drop in and say hello."
"He and Lois usually eat at the diner across the street," the woman replied helpfully. "But she just returned to the Metropolis bureau this morning. They might have gone someplace nicer on her first day back. Can I tell him that you called in case you miss him, or do you have his cell number?"
"No message necessary," Diana replied, suddenly certain of her next step. She replaced the receiver in the cradle, then allowed herself a laugh at the irony of the situation. "No wonder Bruce didn't bring her to Paris."
To be continued…
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Author's Note: I apologize for the delay in getting this story re-started. I got distracted on some RL things, and had some serious writer's block about the next phase of the story. I hope to get the next few chapters out with a bit more alacrity than I've demonstrated to date… HB