A/N Woot! I made another chapter deadline! Thank you all so much for your encouraging reviews. Sadly, I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up because I'm moving halfway across the country on Monday. I am setting a tentative deadline of August 10. Hopefully it will be sooner, but it will be by then at the latest. Also, I'm not certain when review responses will go out (I already spent all day writing instead of packing), but hopefully they'll get written within the next week.
The Dark Knight was awesome! I won't comment on it here since I'm sure quite a few people haven't had a chance to see it yet, but I'll just say that I was quite content with what they did with Rachel Dawes' character.
Also, I have two exciting announcements about this chapter! First, I had intended to write out all the second part of Ari's birthday party in the last chapter. However, I ran out of time and I decided it wasn't exactly necessary to the plot. SO, as a special reward for everyone who reviews this chapter, I will PM them the deleted scene, which does answer the popular question, Where is Hector? (If you want it, be sure you're signed in when you review.) Second, beginning this chapter and continuing into the next, I have adopted and adapted a plot device from a very old and very famous English poem. The first reviewer who can identify both the poem and the part of the plot I stole will receive a very special prize. (If no one gets it this chapter, I'll give a hint in the next one.)
Again because of time constraints, this chapter was not beta'd. Embrace the typos!
Disclaimer See Chapter 1.
Chapter 12
Matchmaker, matchmaker maybe I've learned
Playing with matches, a girl can get burned
Fiddler on the Roof
Bruce's eyes flickered open in the dim hotel room, and he lay still, listening, trying to remember what had awakened him. But perfect silence permeated the suite, and he decided it had been a click in the heating system. Yawning, he rolled over and tried to doze. He never slept soundly away from the security of the Manor, but sleep with one eye open was better than no sleep at all. His eyes were just drifting closed when he caught a shadow of movement through the archway into the next room. His sense instantly on full alert, he shut his eyes all but the merest slit and waited. A moment later, Selina Kyle stepped through the door.
She glided silently over to the bed, and he could feel her standing over him, watching. then she slipped over to the window and he heard the soft rasp of the rods as she opened the drapes to let in the weak winter sunlight. A moment later, the mattress shifted as she settled herself on the bed beside him. Clearly, she wanted him to wake up, and the only way to find out what else she wanted was to comply.
The decision made, he shifted his breathing pattern and slowly opened eyes, yawned, rolled over, and pretended surprise when he saw Selina. She sat curled at the head of the bed, the blue silk of her robe casually slipping back to reveal one smooth leg.
Bruce smiled slowly. "This is a good dream."
"It had better be," she replied. "This is the only free time I have all day, so be appreciative."
"I am. Definitely." He sat up, letting the covers fall from his chest, thankful that for once there were no awkward bruises to explain away, particularly since it was not polo season. "How did I get so lucky?"
"You weren't." He looked blank, so she explained, "You weren't lucky last night. You weren't anything, in fact, because, as I found out, you didn't play. Bruce, you can't spend the weekend at a casino and not gamble." She leaned forward so that her lips were only inches from his and whispered, "It's against the rules."
She clearly expected him to try and kiss her, so he only smiled and settled back into his pillows. "Lex's rules?"
"House rules," she said coolly, drawing back until she could lean against the headboard. "Customer satisfaction is everything, of course, so I've come to find out what the matter is. Was there a game you wanted to play that we didn't offer? Couldn't you find any people you'd be willing to lose money to?"
"May I be honest?"
"Oh, please don't. Can't you make up an exciting lie instead?"
He ignored her. "Gambling is boring."
She sighed and slipped down so that her face lay on the pillows next to his. "Of course it is. After all, what have you got to win? Nevertheless, it is my job to see that you play."
"Sorry."
"I doubt that."
She lay on her side, watching him, and he could smell the rich fragrance of her perfume, became increasingly aware of her body stretched out beside him. Focus, he ordered himself.
"What if you played for something you don't already have?"
"Like what?" he asked, suddenly cautious.
"I am Lex's personal assistant, after all. I know all about upcoming contracts, the plans he's got for Gotham. If you win, I'll do you one favor. Anything you like, within reason, of course. And if I win, you give me the same."
"Within reason?" he asked.
She laughed and propped herself up on one elbow. "No assassinations and no company takeovers."
"Sounds fair enough."
"Good." Selina reached over to the bedside table and pulled a new pack of cards out of the drawer. "What do you want to play?" she asked, tearing the plastic off the box.
"How about Go Fish?"
She stared at him and shook her head. "I'll admit we didn't have that one on the floor last night. But as you like." She shuffled, dealt, and swirled the rest of the deck out on the bed.
"Got any sevens?" Bruce asked, grinning.
"Go fish."
He picked up a card. "Hey, I got one! Must be my lucky day." He laid down the pair and asked, "How about threes? Got any threes?" She handed over a card, and then he had to go fishing for jacks.
"Aces?"
"Sorry, sweetheart," he said in his best Bronx accent. "Go fishin', or you'll be swimmin' with 'em."
She groaned. "Do you stay awake at night and dream up stupid things to say?"
"Beats counting sheep. Fours?"
"Go fish," she said coolly.
They played quietly for a while, and then he asked, "So if you win, what are you going to ask for?"
"I am going to ask you … Sixes? (he shook his head) … about that top secret plane Wayne Enterprises started working on last year."
"We have a top secret plane?" he asked in surprise. "Fox never tells me anything. Kings?"
"No. And surely it must have come up at one or two board meetings."
"Must have been one of the ones I slept through."
"Hypnosis has proven very effective at helping people recall sounds they heard while sleeping."
"You do you hypnosis? Like, where we stare deeply into each other's eyes and you tell me to relax? Go fish."
"Something like that." She drew the last card and handed it to him. "There's your last match. You win."
"Excellent." He gathered up the cards and put them back in the box.
"Make your request."
"I don't know, it's a big decision. Want to sit in the Jacuzzi while I think about? Since you gave it to me after all."
She looked over at the clock. "How disappointing, I'm afraid I don't have time," she said with mock regret. "Now make your request before you lose your window of opportunity."
"Ok, ok. Kiss me."
She stared at him. "What?"
"Kiss me. Right now. And make it good, will you?"
"You're hopelessly cliché, Bruce, has anyone ever told you that?"
He smiled. "You're stalling. You said anything I wanted within reason."
"Of course, you are the guy whose big dream is to own MacGyver's leather jacket."
He reached over and caught her jaw in his fingers. "Kiss me, Selina."
Fury flashed through her eyes, and she batted his hand aside, then swiftly leaned down and crushed her mouth against his. Before she could pull away he slipped one arm around her neck and the other around her waist. For a moment, she resisted, and then her frustration disappeared and she came willingly, melting provocatively against his chest, and coaxing her way past his lips in a manner calculated to send his temperature through the roof.
Just as he decided he could afford to give up breathing entirely, she lifted her face away, flushed but smug. "Well, how do I rate?"
Bruce made a tremendous effort and evened out his breathing. "Oh …" A wicked smile curved his mouth. "About four and a half."
For a moment he thought she would smile back, but she only raised one delicately arched brow and said, "I'm sorry our service is so unsatisfactory. We shall have to try to do better. Although next time …" She trailed a finger along his jaw line, and he had to stop himself from catching her hand and pressing a kiss into her palm. "It might help if you shaved." She tapped his chin and slipped off the bed.
"Going so soon?"
"Some of us actually have work to do. I'll see you later."
"Promise?" he asked, offering his most engaging smile.
An expression he couldn't quite read crossed her face. "I never go back on my word," she said, and left.
Bruce collapsed back onto his pillows and let out a long, slow breath. He tried to clear his mind and figure out what she had really come for, but in the end he gave up and lay grinning at the ceiling. If this is four and a half, I can't wait to see ten.
Alfred sat alone in the Batcave, his fingers poised over the computer keyboard. With Richard at school and Bruce stuck in Luthor's hotel, he would never have a better opportunity to do what he needed to do. But still he hesitated, reluctant, because although he had done a lot of investigating over the years, much of it on his own initiative, he had never before felt like he was prying into his employer's personal business.
Shaking off his guilt induced paralysis, Alfred opened the master search program, the one connected to all of the databases which they had purchased access to or hacked into or built themselves. Selecting the ones he wanted to check first, he uploaded a snapshot taken at a reception the previous week and typed in 'Selina Kyle.'
The computers hummed as they began flashing through millions of gigabytes of information, and Alfred went upstairs to make himself a cup of tea while they worked. It wasn't that he was unhappy about the advent of Selina, he reflected as he waited for the kettle to whistle. In fact, he had been wishing for several years that someone like her would happen along, because Bruce needed … something. Something to inspire him to take more than a clinical interest in life. In the beginning, Alfred had hoped that the billionaire turned crime fighter might actually have fun with the playboy masquerade, that the partying and the scandals would serve as a release. But instead it remained only a chore, another source of tension. The only part of the life Bruce seemed to have taken to with enthusiasm was car collecting, and even with that, Alfred sometimes wondered if Bruce was only pretending for his sake.
Alfred strongly suspected that the only thing Bruce really cared about outside of his activities as Batman was Richard. Oh, he knew Bruce cared deeply about him and a very small group of friends, but in the end, Richard was the only one who mattered, because it was Richard and being Richard's guardian that kept Bruce from becoming completely lost inside the symbol he'd created. And if anything ever happened to the boy, and Batman took over …
"Heaven help us all," Alfred muttered, and took his tea back downstairs.
Selina shut the door of her suite and leaned against it, her knees suddenly weak. She was furious with herself, but she couldn't help it. Every time she went near Bruce Wayne, she lost the edge of her control, said more than she meant to, kissed harder than she intended. A slow smile crept across her face as she remembered the hard contours of his chest beneath her, and then she banished the sensation and pushed away from the door. She had an appointment in fifteen minutes for which she was not dressed, and a list full of things to accomplish before noon. The phone rang. She picked it up on her way to the closet, but froze as she heard the voice on the other end.
"How are things?"
"Everything is according to plan."
"I'm pleased to hear it. Don't fail me."
"I won't—" she started to say, but the line had already gone dead. She stood for a moment with her fingers clenched around the receiver. I won't fail. I'm not failing, I'm falling. Falling in love. How can this be happening?
On Friday during lunch, Johnny Zorello made his bid for the Bailey title of all time practical joker. Rick was standing at the end of the lunch line when a hand grabbed his elbow and hauled him away.
"Rick, my friend, you won't want to be standing there in about thirty seconds," Johnny informed him, smiling from ear to ear. "Stand over here where you can watch history being made instead of participating in it."
Rick watched curiously as Johnny jumped up on the deserted lunch table, which bore a sign reading 'Glue Drying Keep Off,' and began feeling in the air over his head. His face lit as his hand closed around something invisible, and he brought his fist down sharply. A sudden clap of thunder from hidden speakers rolled across the cafeteria, causing startled students to break off conversations and look upwards.
"Ladies and Gentlemen of Bailey Prep," a voice boomed, "the weather is currently cloudy, with a chance of meatballs." This announcement was followed by another roll of thunder.
Johnny was looking expectantly at the ceiling over the lunch line and Rick followed his gaze, but when the ceiling tiles bulged, it was right over the table. Johnny looked up in sudden horror. "No. No!"
A gaping hole appeared in the ceiling as fifty pounds of cooked spaghetti, accompanied by tomato sauce and hundreds of meatballs, cascaded onto Johnny Zorello's head.
As the last meatball rolled to a stop, shocked silence pervaded the cafeteria, but it was quickly broken by snickers which escalated into an avalanche of laughter. "Hey Johnny," someone called out, "is that what the rich and famous are wearing these days?"
"Yeah, is spaghetti the new black?"
"Someone call Ralph Lauren!"
"Shame on you Johnny, don't you know there are children starving in Africa?"
"He should ship them these meatballs!"
"No, he should ship them to Ralph Lauren!"
As the taunts continued, Johnny sat down in the midst of the spaghetti and buried his head in his hands. "Weeks of planning, ruined!" he moaned. "I must have balanced it wrong so that it came down on the trigger instead of over the lunch line."
Rick didn't know whether to laugh or just start scraping off the sauce that had splashed all over his pants. But before he could do either, a new voice thundered through the cafeteria. "Enough!" Coach Bryant strode forward, reached out to grab Johnny, though better of it, and gripped Rick's sauce free shoulder instead. "Both of you come with me. March!"
They did double time out of the cafeteria and all the way to the principal's office, leaving a trail of red footprints and limp noodles. The secretary took one look at them and ran to find a towel to protect the carpet. Bryant pounded on a closed door and the principal emerged hurriedly. "What's all this?" he demanded, and then caught of the coach's prisoners. "What … please tell me there wasn't a food fight."
"Not exactly. I think it was a practical joke that backfired," the coach informed him. "But I'd better get back before it turns into a spaghetti war." He hurried out of the office.
Johnny said, "Sir, Rick didn't have anything to do with it. He just happened to be standing nearby."
"I see. So you, Mr. Zorello, are solely responsible for this … creative use of pasta?"
"Yes, sir."
"And will you tell me, please, why you felt the need to dump food on your head?"
"Well, sir, it wasn't supposed to fall on me."
Mr. Richardson glared. "I see. Well, it is fortunate for you that things did not go according to plan, if, that is, you wish to receive your diploma at the end of this year."
"Ah, Miss Aylmer," he greeted the secretary as she hurried up with a towel. "Find a spare uniform for Mr. Grayson to change into so that he can return to class. Mr. Zorello, I'm afraid you will be leaving early today. Stay there until I can get your father on the phone." Richardson stormed back into his office.
"They laughed at me," Johnny said bitterly as they stood oozing onto the carpet.
"That is kind of the point of a joke," Rick offered.
"Only if they're laughing at other people. And besides that's the least of it. The point of a practical joke is to make people respect you, maybe fear you a little. If I …" He broke off as Miss Aylmer reentered with a clean uniform for Rick and a pass excusing his tardiness.
By the time he got the spaghetti splatters rinsed out of his hair, Rick was nearly fifteen minutes to math. He found the class laboring individually over the never ending fractions, and Ms. Simpkins sitting with Carmen. They both looked relieved as he entered, and Ms. Simpkins accepted the pass without even reading it.
"Check the right lower drawer of my desk. Carmen seems to be a visual learner, and I think there are some tools for teaching fractions in there," she ordered before hurrying to the other side of the room where a student was impatiently waving his hand.
Rick tugged open the drawer and found it full of stacking blocks, plastic divisible fruit, and other math toys. Pulling out a couple that looked slightly more entertaining than the rest, he started to push the drawer shut, causing to shift and tumble. A single word suddenly glared out at him from the cover of a book: RIDDLES.
Glancing up to make certain Ms. Simpkins was still busy, he pulled it out and read the whole title: RIDDLES: The World's Greatest Unsolved Mathematical Mysteries. Flipping it open he saw that it contained chapters on such classics as Mass Gap Hypothesis and the Poincaré Conjecture. Shoving it hastily back into the drawer, he went over to take his seat next to Carmen, his mind spinning. So she's interested in math puzzles, she took the one I wrote for Alex, but that doesn't mean she's interested in other kinds of riddles, does it?
He decided to take an in-depth look at Ms. Simpkins file when he got home, and plunged into the intricacies of multiplying fractions with the aid of a Velcro enhanced plastic apple.
"Go shopping with Sarah, have some girl bonding time," Barbara muttered in irritation as she flung open her locker door after school. "No way is he paying me enough for this. What was I thinking?"
"You could still get out of it," Trevor suggested.
"He already gave me the money. And he'll be pretty mad if I back out at this point. It's not worth it. On the other hand," she continued as she shoved her homework into her bag, "I'll probably make him even madder when I go and end up fighting with her. Which I will. It's like I can't help myself! She just totally rubs me the wrong way, you know?"
"Uh huh," Trevor agreed absently, not really listening. He didn't have to. They had had the conversation before.
"She doesn't even like Batman! How am I supposed to get along with someone who doesn't like Batman? How can Dad date her? Does he not see the irony here?"
"So are you going or not?" Trevor asked as she zipped up her bag and slammed the locker shut.
"I'm going, I'm going. But if I don't see you tonight, it's because I've been arrested for assault." She glumly walked with him down the hall toward the front doors, and, since they were in public, kissed his cheek before running out to the waiting car.
"Hi Barbara!" Sarah greeted from behind the wheel.
"Hey," she returned unenthusiastically, throwing her books into the back seat and fastening her seatbelt.
"How was school?"
"Fine."
Sarah waited until she had turned onto the main road before replying, "Oh come on, something interesting must happened over the course of the day."
Barbara made a point of not looking away from the window as she answered, "Johnny Zorello tried to pull a prank and ended up dropping a ton of spaghetti on his own head."
"That sounds interesting," Sarah said encouragingly.
"Mostly it was annoying. They had to reroute the cafeteria line, and we barely had time to eat. Plus, my project partner was involved, but fortunately somehow avoided getting himself suspended." They drove in silence for a minute and then Barbara forced herself to ask, "So how was your day?"
"If I say fine, you'll tell me something interesting must have happened, right?" Sarah said, laughing.
Barbara only shrugged, not willing to admit she had been hoping for a chance to turn Sarah's line against her, accompanied by a little sarcasm.
"Well, let's see. I booked a couple of guys for possession this morning, then let them out again this afternoon, but that really wasn't interesting. Oh, I know! The vending machine in the break room broke and dropped fifteen packages of those chocolate covered mini donuts. So we had a party. Was that interesting enough?"
"Sure," Babs muttered, and they spent the rest of the ride to Gladelands in silence.
They had to park on the very top level of the garage, and it was as they were standing in line for the elevator that Barbara suddenly realized her perpetual police shadows had disappeared. Suddenly nervous, she glanced around once again and whispered to Sarah, "You don't see guards my dad insists I need anywhere, do you?"
"They're not here. Jim told me how much they'd been getting on your nerves, so I talked him into letting them off duty for one afternoon. After all, you are shopping with a cop." She offered another of the ultra-friendly smiles she seemed to reserve especially for Barbara. Barbara knew she should say thank you, but the elevator arrived before she could work herself up to it, and in the flurry of movement the moment passed.
The aisles of Gladelands were packed, as they always were for major sales, and Sarah clung to the shoulder of Barbara's jacket to keep them from getting separated as they wormed their way through the crowd to the juniors formal wear.
"What kind of dress are you looking for?" Sarah asked as they pushed out of the mainstream of customers and stumbled against a half empty rack of rather limp looking dresses.
Barbara shrugged. "I don't know, just something new. Grab anything in a size four."
The two women loaded their arms with dresses and then fought their way over to the changing rooms where they had to stand in line for twenty-five minutes before they could get a stall. Sarah stood outside and rehung the rejected dresses as Barbara threw them over the top of the door. Finally the red head called out, "This one might be ok."
"Let me see," Sarah requested, shifting her armload of slippery fabric to keep it from slipping to the floor.
The stall door swung back and Barbara appeared in a strapless white silk dress that fell to just above her knees. A scarlet sash emphasized her slender waist and the length of her legs while the sheer white of the neckline made her green eyes and auburn hair seem startlingly vivid. Sarah, who had only ever seen Barbara in her school uniform or street clothes, was taken aback.
"You look great," she managed, suddenly feeling grubby in the jeans and sweater she had thrown on after her shift. "And with the red it's perfect for Valentines."
Barbara wrinkled her nose and looked at the price tag. "With Dad's contribution I guess I can afford it. Ok, let's go stand in line for half an hour." She ducked into the stall to change back to her own clothes while Sarah disposed of the unwanted dresses.
"Jim is helping you buy the dress?" Sarah asked as they forced a path to the cash registers. "That's sweet of him."
"Didn't he tell you?" Barbara replied, malicious amusement dancing in her eyes. "He didn't want to take me himself, so he bribed me into going with you."
Sarah's mouth opened in shock but before she could reply Barbara darted into line, just ahead of a woman with a shopping cart full of discounted socks. Sarah made her way around to the far side of the registers and waited. Half an hour later, as Barbara had predicted, she was finally through the line and ready to go. Miraculously, they got an elevator car all to themselves, and as they rose to the top level of the garage, Sarah finally spoke. "Look, Barbara, I know it's not easy for you to accept that your dad and I are seeing each other, but I promise you that I am not in any way trying to replace your mom …"
Barbara spun so fast the ends of her hair whipped out and caught Sarah on the cheek. "Replace my mom? That's what you think I'm worried about? Listen, Sarah, there's no way that you could ever replace my mother for one second. If I have a problem with you, it's because you're so completely below her it's pathetic. You may be Daddy's little squeeze right now, but the truth is that everyone is laughing at you because you're so completely out of your league."
The elevator doors opened, and a crowd of anxious shoppers began to shove their way in. Sarah, her face red with anger and humiliation, pushed out at the last second. Silently, the two women walked to the car and just as wordlessly drove home.
Gordon and Jimmy were hiding in the kitchen from the last of Jane's guests, eating leftover chicken salad sandwiches, when Barbara came in through the backdoor. "Is Grandma's club still here?" she asked, untying her scarf.
"Yeah, but they didn't eat all the sandwiches," Jimmy informed her holding out the plate. "Want one?"
"Sure." Barbara grabbed one and took a bite, still dangling her shopping bag in one hand.
Gordon watched cautiously. "So … good shopping trip?"
"Totally. I got the cutest dress! You'll just die when you see it!" She winked at him.
He smiled widely. "I can't wait!" Mentally, he patted himself on the back. A little girls' time was just what they needed.
To Be Continued
A/N Fifty-one pages down, forty-nine to go!