A/N: Hello, hello! This is just a quick, short chapter--just for the LOLs...more angsty stuff coming next time, hope you enjoy! Thank you so much to everyone for the reviews, and thank you for reading!!!

Seds

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Bruce Wayne, the dark-haired, dark-eyed billionaire, was sitting on the living room couch staring at the invitation to the Wayne Foundation charity dinner taking place that night. He sighed heavily. It had completely slipped his mind.

He pondered the upcoming evening's dilemma with disgust. His annoyance was, on the surface, aimed at the mysterious external forces that seemed to constantly conspire to thwart him from doing what he wanted to do. He was quite good at assigning blame to things--other people, circumstances beyond his control, and, honestly, it was true--so many expectations, so many demands on his time...but, in reality, he was just put out with himself.

It was funny--this big event that he was ostensibly responsible for had had absolutely nothing to do with him, other than giving his approval for it's existence months ago. Things like this went on all the time, with nothing more required of him than a signature and a couple of hours out of his life. Had it not been for the fact that he had put himself on his own mailing list, he would have forgotten all about it. He wouldn't have even remembered which particular charity this one was for.

But, it mattered. It mattered a whole lot to a bunch of South American orphans, and it mattered to a large group of Gotham City's charitable do-gooders. And, because of all that, he supposed, it mattered to him, or at least, it should.

He was just about to enter phase two of self-recrimination and mental flagellation when Alfred Pennyworth, his butler, walked in to pick up Master Wayne's used coffee cup and saucer. The older gentleman stopped short upon seeing his employer's expression of distress, and softly cleared his throat to get the man's attention.

"Something wrong, Master Wayne?"

"Oh, I did something stupid. Again."

"What's that, sir?"

"It seems I've gotten myself two dates for tonight." How in the world he thought he would be able to accomplish anything in the world of crime fighting when he couldn't even keep a simple social calendar straight was beyond him.

"Seems to me you've done that before, sir, and quite on purpose."

"Yeah, well, this isn't like that. There are...business implications, in this particular situation, lots of money at stake. International implications, too."

"Good heavens. Sounds like quite a complex problem. Why don't you give me a rundown, perhaps that will help you sort it out?"

"Ok. I made a date with Catherine Matorina, the Russian supermodel, about a month ago. This is the only time she'll be in this area, and she's leaving tomorrow. If I blow her off, not only she, but the Russian industrialist sponsoring her trip, will be pissed, and who knows what reverberations that will have." Bruce tossed the invitation onto the coffee table and pursed his lips in thought.

"Then, last week, forgetting all about Catherine and this stupid dinner, I asked Celeste, Ted Broder's executive assistant, to go to out with me tonight. I'm about to meet with him on Monday to hear a proposal for a partnership involving his tech company, and I need to know what kind of man I'm dealing with. So, I not only need to get some, uh, quiet time with Celeste so I can get the inside scoop, but I can't afford to piss her off either, or I'll lose a valuable resource for the future."

Bruce shifted in his seat and looked up at the gray-haired man.

"So, there you have it, what do you advise?"

"See them both tonight."

"Both?"

"Certainly, sir. Take the supermodel to the dinner and be your usual utterly charming and delightful self. I'll call you at, say, nine o'clock, and you can tell her an emergency has arisen, and that you have to leave. You can send her a lovely thank you gift afterward, and I'm sure she'll graciously forgive you." The butler stared up to the ceiling in thought.

"In the meanwhile, you can tell the executive assistant that something terribly urgent came up and plead with her to meet you at nine-thirty for a drink, all the while being your most adorable and apologetic self, and parlay that into an evening of romance. A marvelous gift will be in order there as well, I would think."

"Jewelry?"

"Lingerie. That will show you were thinking of her ahead of time, offer a softer, more, oh, personalized touch. She'll feel wonderful, and be in a far more forgiving--and talkative--mood, I would imagine. But, that's just a suggestion, sir."

"Mmm, I think you're right."

"Shall I go out and pick up something?"

"No, no, I have to go out anyway, and if I'm going to pretend to care what she thinks, I should probably at least put that much thought into it, myself. Thanks for the offer, though."

"Of course, sir. I'll have your tux ready for you by the time you get back."

"Perfect. See you later, Alfred."

Bruce gathered his keys and wallet, and, feeling slightly less doomed, headed out to the lingerie store.

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Bruce parked, casually strolled into the lingerie shop and was immediately besieged by three eager sales girls.

"What can I show you, Mr. Wayne?" asked a particularly buxom brunette, making a point of pushing her breasts forward.

"Ah...nothing, right now," Bruce grinned, appreciating the multiple choice offer. "I'd just like to look around for a bit, if that's all right?"

"Of course! If you need anything, anything at all...just...whistle." The cute girl winked seductively, and led her cohorts away to allow Bruce to shop in peace. The customer service in this store was excellent--they even knew when to leave you alone.

He sauntered to the camisole display and was a bit irritated to find a tall, slender young man with long, wavy blond hair and terrible facial scarring standing right where he wanted to browse.

The man turned to him with a puzzled frown.

"Hey, pal, you know anything about these damn slingshots? What the hell does this do?"

He picked up one of the more outrageous undergarments and held it up gingerly.

Bruce was not unfamiliar with such things, but he certainly didn't care to get into a discussion over their more unique features, especially with another man. However, he didn't want to be rude.

"Uh...I think that wraps around there, and snaps there. It's supposed to, um, provide support..."

"For tits?"

"Uh...yeah."

"Well, thanks. I never looked at this crazy stuff before, I gotta tell ya, most of the gals I date don't bother with underwear in the first place, heh heh...."

"I...can imagine."

"Yeah...but I've got this real cute girl I want to get somethin' nice for, you know, knock her socks off with somethin' special. Nothin' sleazy, you know? Say...you look like a classy guy, what would you recommend? 'Course, I'm assuming yer not shopping for yourself, right?"

"My...self? " Bruce was too stunned at the suggestion to be properly offended.

"Yeah, you know, you're not one of them cross-dressers or something, are ya? Not that there's anything wrong with that, but, listen, in this place? You're not gonna find anything in your size..." The blond man winked lasciviously, and chuckled to himself.

"Uh, no, no, it's for a girl...." Bruce assured his unwelcome inquisitor. He began looking around for a graceful way out of this uncomfortable conversation. Perhaps he could fake a coughing fit and go in search of a nice gender-neutral drink of water.

"Yeeeah, right, I knew that," Jack agreed dismissively, with a mock still-suspicious quirk of the eyebrow and a nasty, knowing grin.

Bruce really hated this guy. But he was aware that their exchange was being observed by the giggling corps of salesgirls, all of whom knew very well that he was Bruce Wayne, and he didn't want a trashy news piece to show up in the tabloids describing his rudeness to a complete stranger. He didn't intend to tarnish his hard-won image as a "nice guy".

So, he valiantly put aside his desire to punch the irritating little jerk right in the nose, and forced himself to consider the man's dreadful choice of gift.

"Well, to be honest, that one's a little, um, risque."

"It is?"

"Well, yes. Probably appropriate for, you know, an exotic dancer or cocktail waitress or some such thing....are you sure your girl will appreciate that? Since you're trying to get her something...'classy'?"

"What do you mean?" The man stared at Bruce with intense, dark eyes.

"I mean...she might be offended to think that you...consider her to be...uh..."

"A slut?"

"Well...yes."

"Huh, I never thought of that. Ok, what would you pick?"

"How about this?" Bruce held up a simple white camisole with a row of little satin bows decorating the front.

"You're kidding. I want to get her into bed, not a nunnery."

"Ok, something a little more...sexy? How about this?"

"This" was a black teddy with garters, puffy sleeves, and a sweetheart neckline.

"Naw, she's not seventy! Hey, how about this one?"

Jack held up a raucous red and black number with lace insets where the nipples would go.

Bruce was getting frustrated. How had he gotten himself into this situation?

"That...is terrible, look, maybe a sales girl could help...."

"Oh, God, no, I just shooed away about fifty of 'em, I don't need the distraction. Look, what would you choose for your girl?"

Bruce sighed, critically surveying the display, but it only took a moment for him to spot just the right thing. Maybe the creep would go away if he solved his problem for him....

"This."

Bruce held up a lovely black silk camisole with spaghetti straps, lace trim, and tiny flowers embroidered along the top.

"Aw, yeah! I see what you mean--classy, but sexy. Very good eye, big guy! I'll take it!" The skinny fellow in the tweed sport jacket smiled broadly, pulled the garment out of Bruce's hands and with a grateful nod of thanks, turned and headed toward the front counter.

Bruce watched him effortlessly charm the girls at the checkout as he accepted their offer of free gift wrap. He then took his purchase under his arm, and, whistling tunelessly, shambled out the door, apparently without a care in the world and a hot date on his mind.

Bruce shook his head with something like envy and turned back to the camisoles. It only took a brief shuffle through the stack of carefully folded items for Bruce to discover a simple, indisputable fact.

Dammit.

The weird guy had taken the last one in that size.

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