A/N WOOT! 412 reviews! Thank you, thank you to everyone who wrote after the last chapter! I think we might hit 500 by the end! huggles self
Thanks to my beta, IcyWaters, who made some really excellent suggestions for this chapter. Bet you can't tell which bits are hers :)
Disclaimer Choose any previous.
Acknowledgment Every Christmas romance novel I've ever read.
Chapter 31
I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus
Underneath the mistletoe last night…
- T. Connor
Rachel hung up the phone for the first time in two hours and realized that she had once again forgotten to eat lunch. She hopefully poked through her desk drawers, but she'd eaten the last of her emergency rations last night. It would have to be the break room vending machine. Sighing, she began digging in her purse for change.
"Miss Dawes?" her receptionist's voice buzzed over the intercom. "Dick Grayson is on line two."
Rachel abandoned her purse and picked up the phone. "Hello, Dick."
"Hi, Rachel!"
"What's up?"
He sighed breathily. "I'm bored. Bruce has been in a meeting all day, and I'm stuck here."
"At Wayne tower?"
"Yeah. Can I come visit you?" he asked hopefully.
Rachel glanced at her watch and decided she could spare an hour. "Have you had lunch yet?"
"No, we had a late breakfast because Alfred's on a trip and Bruce burned the pancakes."
Rachel laughed. "Somehow that doesn't surprise me. I haven't eaten either, so why don't I come over there and we can have lunch together?"
"All right!" Dick exclaimed. "Can we get hotdogs at the food court?"
Rachel shuddered. "Whatever you want."
Fifteen minutes later she had left her car in the Tower parking garage, collected Dick from Lucius Fox's receptionist, and was walking briskly through the skyways to the large food court that serviced Wayne Tower and several other large office complexes.
"I wish we had something like this near my office," she said, sniffing appreciatively at the mingled smells of pizza and gyros that drifted past them. "I get tired of peanut M&Ms out of the machine." She helped Dick buy his hotdog from the A&W stand, then left him waiting for his order while she went two restaurants over for a chicken parmesan salad.
The food court was nearly deserted, but as she stood waiting for her food and keeping a wary eye on her young charge, two women drifted over to stand in line behind her.
"I can't believe the meeting was cancelled again!" one of them complained. Rachel raised an eyebrow at the woman's attire. She was dressed in a short gray suit skirt that was about two sizes too small for her generous hips. How does she sit down in that?
"What happened this time?" her friend, a peroxide blonde, asked sympathetically.
"Cornell and half the board have been closeted all morning with Fox and the big boy himself."
"Bruce Wayne is in the building?" the blond demanded, a note of excitement creeping into her voice.
"Oh yeah, they always include him in big board meetings. I've heard he spends half his time sleeping and the other half flirting with the stenographer."
The blond sighed wistfully. "I knew I should never have let my mother talk me out of secretary school. 'Go into computers,' she said, 'that's where the money is.' But if she'd seen the way Bruce Wayne throws money at his dates, she might have thought twice."
"But he doesn't date secretaries," tight skirt protested. "Just those models who look like they've been flattened out like pie crust."
"He does too! You know Brenda Jordan who does data entry down on one of the sublevels? He took her to some high society party – just swooped down there one day and asked if she'd like to go out for the evening. And you should have seen the bracelet she was wearing the next day."
"But she looks like a model – long straight hair, long straight body."
The blond tossed her head. "He should try dating a real woman for a change. He might find he likes it."
"Yeah," her friend agreed, "like me. I wouldn't mind a chance to catch some of that cash he's always tossing around."
The blond sighed again. "Who needs money when you've got a face like his?"
"Who needs a face when you've got money?" her friend retorted, and they both dissolved into giggles.
Grinding her teeth, Rachel snatched up her food that had finally come and stalked away. She wanted nothing more than to tell those two women exactly what she thought of them for talking about Bruce like…like…a mouse they could trap with the right bait, but she didn't want to make a scene in front of Dick. Leeches, she thought furiously as she stormed toward the exit. Slimy, bloodsucking, disease-ridden leeches.
"Hey, Rachel," Dick panted, jogging to keep up. "Aren't we going to eat here?"
Down here in the barn with the cows? "No," she said brightly, "I thought we could go to that nice lunchroom." Technically it was an executive lounge, for those in the Tower who made a minimum of six figures, and it would certainly be free of vampires. Undead, fanged, lascivious…
The lounge was decorated for the season with holly branches, bright red bows, and a Christmas tree in one corner. Rachel and Dick settled themselves at a glass topped table with a trumpeting angel for a centerpiece. The only other people in the lounge were three Armani-clad men talking in low, serious tones over their cappuccinos.
Dick had demolished his hotdog and fries, and Rachel had calmed down enough to eat most of her salad, when a buzz of voices in the hallway heralded new arrivals.
Dick waved a greasy hand as a trio of newcomers walked through the doorway. "Hello, Bruce, hello, Mr. Fox, hello, Mrs. Gladys."
"Hello, yourself." Bruce walked over to the table. "What did you have for lunch?"
Rachel pushed back her chair and stood. "Mr. Fox, it's nice to see you."
"It's always a pleasure, Counselor Dawes. May I introduce you to my invaluable assistant, Mrs. Gladys Trotsky?"
Rachel smiled at the older woman. "We met earlier."
Gladys nodded. "Thank you so much for taking Dick to lunch. He was going a bit stir crazy in my office."
"It was completely my pleasure," Rachel assured her, then glanced at her watch. "But I'm afraid my lunch break is over."
"No rest for the wicked or those who prosecute them," Fox said with a laugh.
Rachel turned to reach for her coat and found Bruce holding it for her. She thanked him and slid her arms into its silky lining.
"Don't thank me too quickly. I may have an ulterior motive," he said mischievously.
She turned to look at him, puzzled, and caught sight of Gladys pointing a finger at the ceiling. Rachel lifted her eyes, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw the bunch of mistletoe hanging from the light fixture. Surely he wouldn't…
Before her thought could progress any further, Bruce wrapped an arm around her shoulders and planted a firm kiss on her mouth. It wasn't a long kiss; in fact, it was over before she could properly register what was happening, but nonetheless, Rachel's face, particularly her mouth, felt like it was flaming. She was acutely aware of Gladys and Fox's laughter, Richard's curious stare, andthe amused looks of the three men across the room. She couldn't quite bring herself to look Bruce in the face.
"You were right," she said, with an attempt at flippancy. "I'll take back the thank you. Goodbye, everybody." Trying not to walk too fast, she headed for the door and breathed a sigh of relief as she exited into the deserted hallway.
It didn't mean anything, she told herself firmly as she strode toward the elevators. There were witnesses. Bruce Wayne, the playboy, would never pass up a chance like that. But despite her logical argument, she couldn't seem to stop her heart from beating in a funny, skip-beat way.
She was almost to the parking garage when she heard rapid footsteps behind her, and a voice called, "Rachel, wait!"
She reluctantly stopped and waited for Bruce to run up beside her. "Rachel," he said, looking down at her, his breathing not at all bothered by the running. "Rachel," he repeated, "don't be mad." His expression was part pleading, part guilt, andall sincerity, underlined by something she wanted to call innocence. It was the same expression that, years ago, had made her adore him.
"I'm not mad," she said softly.
"Good," he whispered.
There was a long moment in which she wanted to turn away and couldn't. Then he pulled her close and kissed her. The kiss beneath the mistletoe had been brief, light, almost detached. This was much more personal. Helpless, her eyes fluttered closed, and she felt herself melting against him, yielding to the pressure of his mouth. They teetered on the brink of an intensity that both frightened and exhilarated her, and then he pulled away. She kept her eyes shut, trying to regain some semblance of composure, but when she at last opened them, he was gone.
Coward, she thought, not sure whether she meant him for leaving or herself for being glad she didn't have to face him. Don't be mad, Rachel. And she wasn't, she thought miserably as she all but ran for her car. Not even a little bit.
- - - - - -
Bruce scooped a few grains of rice out of the pot and blew to coolthem before tasting. Perfect. Pancakes – and other American dishes – might be beyond him, but rice he could do. The phone rang, and he made sure to pull the pot off the heat before answering – no need to repeat the morning's unpleasant episode. "Hello?"
"Hello, Master Wayne."
"Alfred, I expected you home by now."
"I'm afraid we've been grounded by a snowstorm."
"Really? The weather here's been great."
"Did Master Dick get his lunch?"
Bruce rolled his eyes. "Yes, he got lunch. And I just finished making dinner."
"What happened to the chef?" Alfred demanded.
"I gave him the night off."
"Master Wayne, you know how it upsets him to have his schedule suddenly rearranged."
"He didn't seem upset to me. I think he likes me."
"I understand he suffered from a high fever when a child."
"Ha, ha. How did things go?"
"Quite well," Alfred said cautiously. "As far as I can discover, things are just as we were told. I'm faxing over some information you should find interesting."
"All right," Bruce said slowly. So Somerville was (probably) telling the truth. That was interesting.
"What else?" Alfred asked abruptly.
"What else what?"
"What else are you making for dinner, besides rice, that is?"
"How did you know I was making rice?" Bruce knew Alfred was abnormally attuned to goings on at the Manor, but now he began to suspect witchcraft. Or cameras with satellite feed connected to the butler's wristwatch.
"I'm fully aware of the reach of your culinary skills, sir."
"Oh. Applesauce and chocolate milk. Have a nice flight, Alfred, bye." He hung up before the butler could express an opinion on the somewhat unorthodox menu. Besides, it did include three of the four major food groups.
- - - - - -
"You rang?"
Gordon was too depressed to feel proud of himself for not jumping. "There's been a break in the Williams case. We think we at least know why, if not who." He explained about Audrey and her father's safe. "The disks held what we think are shipping schedules, going back over ten years. They listed cities all over the world, but with a majority in South America. The ports are all places in which the Gladelands Corporation has legitimate business, but …
"You think drugs?"
"I think cocaine. The last date entered was about five months ago, shipping from Rio de Janeiro."
The Bat hissed. "Morales."
"What?'
"Carlos Morales, until recently of Bogotá, Colombia. Four months ago, he was busted as the head of one of the largest cartels in the country. He got away, but the Colombian government took down his operation. Crazy as it sounds, they think he was sending everything to one buyer."
Gordon gave a low whistle. "That would explain some things."
"See if you can trace any kind of a link between Morales and Williams."
"First thing in the morning," Gordon promised. "So you think Williams was the one controlling the drug flow in Gotham?"
"No."
"Why not? He's the best candidate we've had so far."
"Because he's dead. Whoever had him killed is the one controlling the money, which we haven't found. I doubt he was even in charge of in-city distribution."
"It's a lot of evidence to hide," Gordon agreed.
The Bat sounded thoughtful. "There's something else you should try. See if you can find a link between Williams and a Mr. Earle, lately of Wayne Enterprises."
- - - - - -
Gordon pulled off his shoes and tiptoed down the hall, trying to avoid the creaky spots. But when he eased open the bedroom door, he found that his caution had been unnecessary. Barbara was sitting on the window seat, her knees hugged to her chest. Gordon sighed and shut the door."Barbara…I'm really sorry about today."
"So am I," she responded. Her voice was husky and he knew she had been crying. "I didn't mean to get so mad, Jimmy. I was just so scared…"
He walked over and knelt next to her. "I should have thought. I didn't realize…" They'd been married for fifteen years, and he'd been a cop for all of them, but Barbara had never reacted like this before.
"I never know anymore what's happening to you," she whispered. "I never know where you are or when you'll come home. When you leave in the morning, will I see you again in eight hours or two days? At least before, you worked your shifts and came home. I know Flass was scum, but when you were with him, I felt safe about you. He knew the right people." Her voice broke and she buried her face in her knees.
Gordon gently patted her shoulder, but inside he felt stirrings of anger. What did she expect him to do, apologize for finally acting in a way that made him feel worthwhile? That gave meaning to getting up in the morning?
At last her sobs subsided. Gordon pulled a box of tissues off her nightstand and handed them to her. Barbara blew her nose violently before muttering, "You should go to bed. They'll probably want you bright and early at the station."
"All right," he agreed, without protest. He could think of nothing else to do.
To Be Continued…
A/N Well, gang, aside from Christian, we're a pretty scattered bunch when it comes to taste in actors. 11 people gave their top three. Of those, 4 mentioned Johnny Depp. Hugh Jackman was close behind with 3. And Josh Holloway, Cillian Murphy, and Hugh Laurie got 2 each. That means twenty different names were mentioned, yet here we all are, in the same fanfic forum. Isn't life, and the Internet in particular, peculiar?
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