I neither own nor created Bruce Wayne/Batman, Alfred Pennyworth, Leslie Thompkins, Amanda Waller, Deadshot/Floyd Lawton, or Fredrick. I did create Madge.

This story is for entertainment purposes only. So, please read and be entertained. :)

Bruce entered the tea-shop. A bell sounded over the door. He froze. His grey eyes scanned the sky-blue walls, yellow doors, and flowers dominating the decor. At 9:30 AM, the breakfast crowd had left. The lunch-seekers had yet to arrive. Bruce's gaze settled on the only other person there.

Amanda Waller stared back at him. She dwarfed the table she sat at. Every strand of her hair laid flat in its place being bound into a tight bun behind her head. A frilly blouse beneath a dark jacket with a matching skirt gave her business attire some femininity. She noted his clothes in return.

His navy-blue turtleneck and dark jeans gave Bruce a drab appearance in their cheery surroundings. He was sans-disguise. Only his adopted family knew he was home. Few Gothamites should recognize the once wiry, 5' 2'' teenager of eight years ago. Having met him in Africa just five years before, Waller did recognize him.

His 6' 2" frame stood straight and rigid as a gun-barrel. Dark circles cradled his eyes. Muscles like Kevlar lay under smooth skin. This and certain facial dimensions showed he was in his mid-twenties. The young man's gaze was attentive, but his face was otherwise expressionless. He strode up to her table and nodded. "Waller."

A smile lit her face. Warmth came into her voice as she greeted him. "Nice to see you again, young man."

Bruce looked to the chair across from her. "May I?"

Amanda Waller grinned. "Of course."

He sat. They both leaned forward Bruce placing his arms upon the table's cream tablecloth. Waller kept her grin in place. "I've been looking for something and recently learned you acquired it."

"What are you paying?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You're going to make me pay?"

"That depends."

Waller lifted both eyebrows at him. They lowered back into their places as she leaned over further. "What condition is the merchandise in?"

"Undamaged."

Waller lifted just one eyebrow before leaning back. "Impressive."

"It was a group effort."

A soft voice interrupted them. "Excuse me ..."

Both customers turned their gazes up. The waitress who'd left the kitchen to sand beside their table turned her head to smile first at Waller and then Bruce. "Are you both ready to order?"

Waller nodded, but her tone became more clipped and chill. "Just tea for now."

The waitress turned to Bruce. "Is that all you want too, sir?"

Bruce lifted a bright smile to the young woman. His tone was warm and liquid as the beverage he requested. "Yes, Chamomile please."

Waller spoke again while staring at Bruce. "English Grey for me."

The waitress grinned and scribbled on her note-pad. "I'll be out with your orders in a jiff."

Bruce's smile became a grin. "Thank you."

The waitress blushed before turning and striding back into the kitchen. Waller turned to watch the younger woman pull open a door with pink roses painted on it. Waller also watched it shut behind her with a soft thud. The older woman then turned her gaze back to Bruce. "Chamomile?"

He turned his gaze from the door and back to her as well. His smile had vanished, but some of its softness remained. "It's a relaxing beverage."

Waller lifted an eyebrow. "Do you need to be relaxed?"

"Don't you?"

Her eyes glinted as a corner of her mouth curled up. "You might find more time to relax if you begin working with a larger team."

"Not interested."

"You've only just realized you don't have the resources to make use of your recent acquisition."

"I have no desire to do so."

"No one 'wants' to do everything that has to get done."

"We've never disagreed on the mission, Waller, just the means."

"Yet, here you are."

The waitress pushed through the door. She held a tray in one hand. She set it upon their table and poured the hot water. After glancing at both her customers, she rushed back into the kitchen.

Bruce picked his cup up with a slow, smooth movement. He lifted it to his lips and blew steam away. Then he sipped before speaking again. "Actually, I did leave my acquisition with someone capable of 'liquidating' it for me."

Waller's eyebrows lowered. Her jaw moved to set at an angle. "If you were capable of doing that, you'd already be working for me."

Bruce shook his head while staring into the liquid he now swirled. "Not me, him. He knows I wouldn't approve. But I don't keep as tight a rein on my employees as some." Bruce lifted his gaze to meet Waller's before taking another sip.

Amanda stared at him. Silence lengthened between them. She broke it first. "What do you want?"

Something flashed in his grey eyes. He lowered the teacup to the table. His stare never left hers nor did it blink. "Them."

Waller's brow furrowed. Her gaze clouded a moment before clearing. Her eyebrows flew upwards. "You can't be serious."

Now Bruce stared at her in silence.

Waller's brows furrowed again. "They're busy."

"I made promises to them. They were gone before I got to keep them."

"Then what makes you think they'll listen to you again?"

"I want a chance to make a case while we're alone just the five of us. Then 'we'll both' let them make their own decisions, and we'll 'both' honor those decisions."

Waller's brows rose again. "That's it, just a meeting, so you can make a case?"

"Alone … and you honor their decisions, even if they want to leave."

Waller shook her head. "It won't work Bruce. They're too used to the lifestyle."

"We'll see."

Waller leaned over the table slightly. She studied the man for a few moments. Then she leaned back in her chair and picked up her cup. "Agreed."

"Good."

Bruce rose from the table. He lifted the cup to his lips, downed its contents, and pulled a few bills from his wallet. He slid them to the center of the table. "For my bill and the tip." Then he turned and strode out the door without another glance at her. Waller stared after him without blinking sipping from her own cup.

. . .

Madge, age six, opened her eyes in bed. She didn't move otherwise. The house was still. Then she rose and dressed in a t-shirt and blue-jeans. She went to the kitchen and pushed a stool to the counter. She pulled the loaf of bread from a cabinet and stuck two slices in the toaster. Then she got down, went to the fridge, got out a carton and climbed the same stool to pour orange-juice into a glass.

Minutse later she was carrying the glass and toast down a hall. She set the glass on the floor to open a door. Then she bent her knees, picked up the glass, and slipped inside.

A form on a bed sat up. Red, curly hair like Madge's flew every direction. Eyes nearly as red stared at her. A freckled nose sniffed. "What are you doing, Honey?"

Madge shrugged. "Bringing you toast."

"That's sweet."

Madge walked over to the bed. She put the plate on its bedspread, and began climbing up. Her mother took the cup of juice from her partway. After delivering the food and drink, Madge climbed back down, sped across the floor, and shut and locked the door. Then she sped back over and onto the bed again.

The woman still there swallowed some of the juice. Then she offered a sip to Madge. She also offered bites of the toast spread with butter and marmalade. A more distant door slammed. The house shook. The girl and woman froze. Shouting, deep and male, broke the silence.

Madge glanced up into her mother's face. Their skin had gone paler beneath their freckles. The older woman's wrinkles had popped out. She tilted her head in the direction of a large, low window. "You go sweetheart. It'll probably be fine in a few hours. Go find somethin else to do with yourself until then. You're already dressed. Go on."

Madge crawled to the edge of the bed, before glancing at the closed and locked door and looking back to her ma-ma. After seeing a nod, Madge slipped off the bed. She tiptoed toward the window. Upon reaching it, she looked to the door and then to her ma-ma again, who nodded. Madge reached up, opened the window, pulled herself up, and flung a leg over. She looked one last time to the door. Her ma-ma who was already half-way to it. Now, the woman waved her daughter off.

Madge threw her other leg over the window sill and slid to the ground outside. Her mother managed to unlock and open the door just as Madge's father barreled into the room shouting. Her mother raised her voice in return.

Madge got into something resembling a sprinting stance beneath the window. Then she took off across the lawn. She climbed over her fence and headed down a little avenue between houses until she got to another house's back gate. She opened it, rushed up a path of stones, and into the house's back door.

She paused to pant in the kitchen. It was cleaner and better supplied than the one she'd made toast in. A nice smell was coming from the oven. A woman in pink robe, curlers, and spectacles stepped in and blinked at her. "Why Madge Dear, what are you doing here?"

Madge looked up from where she had bent over. Her face looked so red the freckles could barely be seen. "Miss Blue, could I stay with you for a few hours? Maybe I can finish painting my piece?"

The lady looked at her another moment. She tilted her head. Blue-grey eyes softening behind thick lenses. "I suppose so."

She shuffled in her slippers toward the oven, picking up and putting on an oven-mitt along the way. Madge sat down at the table. She watched Miss Blue open the appliance's door. Then she looked back to her young student. "Would you like a muffin?"

. . .

Madge, twenty-two, wound a strand of red hair around her finger while staring up at the ceiling of Leslie's home. Leslie had always reminded her more of her mum than Miss Blue. Last night though, that tired look, which made all the wrinkles show more had reminded Madge of her ma-ma more than ever. Her host had really gone through the ringer somewhere the day before.

Madge sat up and turned. She swung her feet over the side of the bed and slipped on a robe. Then she slipped out of her room. The door of the Doc's was still closed.

Madge crept by and down the stairs. She rolled up her robe's sleeves on the way and tossed her hair. Thanks to Teach, she could do better than toast and orange-juice now.

Madge reached the kitchen door, swung it open, and darted back out too late. The new guest turned. He grinned and spoke while continuing to pour steaming water into his teacup. "Ah, so you're up too then. You needn't depart for my benefit. You've just as much right here as me."

Madge pushed the door open again and poked her head in. She squinted at him. "How long are you staying?"

Fredrick looked down at his cup as he set the kettle back upon the stove-top. "Two years all right?"

At the expression on Madge's face, he set the cup down to laugh. "Ho-ho! The Doc isn't 'that' fond of me, Love. No, I expect I'll be heading out in less than a week. Course, I may stay in the manor a while. More excitement hereabouts than I've had in a while ... I'm not old enough to dislike excitement, yet."

Madge raised an eyebrow. "And what excitement 'did' you find here?"

Fredrick reached for his teacup. He lifted his gaze to hers. His smile softened. "Now Love, why don't you actually step in whiles I explain?"

Madge strode over the threshold, turned to face him, and crossed her arms over her chest. Fredrick raised his eyebrows and took a sip of his tea before speaking. "Leslie got into a bit'o trouble night before last. A bloke kidnapped her to get to a mutual friend'o ours. That friend pretended to take the bait. We freed her with no harm done to anyone, cept the kidnapper himself of course. And there wasn't much harm done to him either really."

The pink in Madge's cheeks turned white. "Where's this 'bloke' now?"

Fredrick bit his bottom lip and swirled the rest of his tea before answering. "Ah. Well. He's … having a rather refreshing rest somewheres. Enjoying the hospitality of a true gentleman whose also keeping him from causing anymore trouble. And it might just go better for us all if you ask no more questions." He gave her a wink and then set his cup down. "Now, there's still enough hot-water to make porridge. I think our good host would appreciate some, perhaps while remaining in her own bed. Don't you think?"

Reviews are much appreciated and often responded to.

God Bless

ScribeofHeroes