Author's Note: I'm rushing this one to get it posted before I go offline for the weekend, so I hope I've weeded out the typoes, but I apologize if I haven't. I know it was a long wait; I didn't mean for it to be. At one point, I cleverly managed to lose the flash drive with the latest draft on it . . . followed by getting very sick for a few days. I assure you the last two chapters won't take so long as this one did; partial rough drafts are already written.

Sixth Conversation: Bruce and Diana

Amazons didn't get sick.

Wounded in battle? Always possible, but Themyscira had seen precious little warfare in the last three thousand years or so. (Something to do with the outside world not even knowing where Themyscira was . . .)

Injured in accidents? Occasionally.

Transformed into statues by a ruthless sorcerer? This had also been known to happen.

But infected with a disease, or allergic reaction, or otherwise left feeling debilitated for days at a time, all over, instead of just having aches and pains in a specific portion of the body? Never. An extremely rugged immune system was one of the side effects of the divine gift of immortality. So was the ability to heal from physical trauma much faster than the average mortal.

Such being the case, years ago Diana had arrived in Man's World with no practical knowledge of how you were supposed to behave when visiting a truly sick friend. But she had subsequently read up on the subject. The usual guidelines included: Don't insist on endless conversation when the patient is already fatigued, don't dwell on controversial subjects which raise stress levels, stay as upbeat and sympathetic as possible . . . all of which she had meant to put into effect when Bruce first awoke while she was on watch.

In that instance, the patient hadn't exactly helped when he started out by questioning why she was in the Batcave at all—she'd thought the answer was blindingly obvious—but he hadn't actually gotten around to ordering her to leave, either.

Not that she'd given him much time to think of it. After providing a drink of water, Diana had volunteered to go alert Alfred that his "Master Bruce" was conscious at last. Then she had stayed up in the house so that whatever Bruce said to his butler—regarding recent dosage levels, for instance?—would be strictly private.

Not wanting to feel that she was taking advantage of a sick mortal, Diana had postponed any serious conversation with the Dark Knight for another couple of days. She waited until after he was spending much of his time up in the Manor, in civilian clothes. In her heart, she didn't really believe "Bruce Wayne" and "Batman" were two separate personalities residing in the same skull and taking turns in the driver's seat. She merely believed that the owner of that skull was bound and determined to act as if such were the case . . . which, from an outside observer's perspective, amounted to nearly the same thing!

And she definitely preferred to have a certain conversation with this man when he was in "Bruce Wayne Mode."

So she made arrangements with Alfred to usher her into "Master Bruce's" presence in the dining room just after he had finished his breakfast. She knew better than to offer Alfred a "generous tip" or "gratuity" (or anything a small-minded person might call a "bribe"), but simply explained what she wanted and found him surprisingly cooperative.

Alfred said, "The lady wishes to speak with you, Master Bruce," and then tactfully left the room so they could speak freely.

Bruce looked up from the newspaper in his hands (three other papers were scattered on the dining table) and asked, "Something on your mind?"

"You don't treat that man right," she said without preamble, and watched him blink. Whatever he'd expected to hear, this wasn't it.

After a moment: "You mean Alfred?"

"He didn't want to leave you alone down there in the Cave for hours at a time with nothing but those gadgets to monitor your condition. And you'd ordered your protégés to keep their distance, which left it all on his shoulders. Alfred was sleeping in a chair by your bed when I found him. Every hour on the hour, a timer would wake him up to double-check your vitals and then he'd try to fall asleep again. In the chair. I don't think he trusted himself to wake up right away if he were stretched out on another cot." She paused to let her audience of one visualize that, then hammered the point home: "This would have gone on for days if I hadn't come along and announced I was taking the next shift."

Bruce hesitated before finally saying: "That wasn't quite what I had in mind when I told him to keep the kids out of my hair. If I'd thought I needed a nurse watching me around the clock, I wouldn't have expected Alfred to do it all by himself. I'd have. . ." His voice trailed off.

Diana gave him plenty of time to figure out how he intended to finish that sentence. What would he have done? Called an employment service and hired three nurses, all strangers, to come tend him in the Batcave? Or had Alfred drag him upstairs to Bruce Wayne's master suite, and then hope the nurses wouldn't wonder how the patient had been exposed to a specially bred super-allergen?

Then Bruce surprised her by saying: "Taken my chances in the Tower's infirmary after all."

His tone would have hurt the feelings of the Tower's medical staff if they'd been within earshot; it carried all the enthusiasm of a man talking about being skinned alive in the near future. She didn't directly address that point, though. "I love the way you make it clear that what the rest of us do routinely, when injured on the job, is only an option of last resort as far as you're concerned. Until then, if your faithful butler doesn't complain, you figure there's no problem with placing everything on his shoulders? Just when was the last time he did complain about his working conditions?"

As Bruce opened his mouth, she raised a palm. "Before you answer: I mean major complaints; not just little witticisms about the many strange tasks which are expected of Batman's butler."

"Um . . ."

"I'm serious about this, Bruce," she said, pressing her advantage. It wasn't every day that you managed to put this man on the defensive. "Alfred Pennyworth is too proud to say this to you, but he isn't as young as he used to be. He isn't even as middle-aged as he used to be. Yet you still expect him to single-handedly take care of everything in this huge house, every day of the year. Tell me: How will you handle it if he ever has to retire? "

"I wouldn't try to stop him," Bruce said defensively. "Alfred could quit tomorrow morning on any terms he pleased. If he wants me to lease a castle in Merry Old England and fill it with servants to wait on him for a change so that he can live like a duke in his declining years, he only has to say so. Or if he'd rather have a nice warm island in the Caribbean, I'll buy him one!"

Her mouth quirked. "Not quite what I meant. I'm sure Alfred would get by, but what would you do without him? Who would cook your meals, clean your carpets, stitch up your wounds, handle your laundry, make plausible excuses for 'Bruce' whenever 'Batman' was away on a case, and even change the oil in the Batmobile?'

"I can do my own oil changes!"

"Really?"

"Well . . . Alfred showed me once. I'm sure I could do it again if I had to."

"And you'd also cook your own food?" Diana had tasted several samples of Alfred's cooking over the last few days, and strongly doubted that Bruce Wayne could do half as well on the best day of his life. Even if he were willing to take that much time out of his crimefighting schedule and spend it in the kitchen instead.

Bruce hesitated, glancing down at the crumbs on the plate still in front of him. "I admit I'd . . . rather not."

"So what would you eat if Alfred quit, or something else happened? Please don't tell me that you, of all people, have no fallback plan."

"They're doing wonderful things with robotics nowadays," Bruce pointed out. "Look at our teammate Red Tornado."

Diana took a few seconds to assimilate that. "So your plan would be to end up with a house full of cutting-edge robots doing the cooking, cleaning, laundering, maintenance and repairs . . . and what with Dick Grayson having already moved out, and Tim bound to want a place of his own, sooner or later—you'd become the only living thing under this roof? Perhaps for decades?"

"'Plan' is a strong word," Bruce objected. "It's an option to be considered when the time comes. Besides, I could always get a Great Dane or a German Shepherd to keep me company. I like a well-behaved dog. Unlike people, they don't gossip about their friends."

She had precious little experience with canines, but supposed that was true. "One dog and a bunch of robots. All meekly doing whatever you said, I suppose, instead of offering any critical feedback. Were you planning to start buying the robots today?"

"No."

"Bruce, I think we've drifted from my main point. I wasn't just talking about how you would cope if Alfred retired a few years from now. I was saying that you're overworking him now. If he doesn't want to retire, then he still deserves some help so he doesn't wear himself out trying to be the entire support staff for the World's Greatest Detective."

Bruce Wayne cut right to the chase. "But you don't like the 'robot servant' idea, so where do you suggest I start looking for other people I can trust as much as Alfred? Or should I bring in servants who are total strangers, and end up with a 'home environment' where I can't even speak freely about my plans for the night whenever I'm up here instead of down there?" He jerked a thumb toward the floor to indicate the hidden Batcave.

"I don't see you going for that second option," she admitted. "But some civilians are more dependable than others."

"If Alfred vouched for a nephew or niece who wanted a career in domestic service, I'd risk it," he conceded. "But failing that . . ."

"Other good people have families too," she pointed out. "A fair number of our friends in the League aren't wealthy. Several must have energetic younger siblings or other relatives who'd appreciate a chance to work their way through college. If they don't run off at the mouth about the secret identities of their own flesh and blood, you can figure they won't blow the whistle on a relative's teammate, either."

Bruce was already shaking his head. "True, many of our colleagues don't come from 'old money.' But I don't rub their noses in the fact."

Her face must have showed some confusion; Bruce quickly clarified his point. "Diana, most of our fellow Leaguers don't realize that 'Batman' is also the richest man in Gotham. They treat me as just one more guy hanging around the clubhouse. Grim at times, but still a 'social equal.' That's the way I like it. Reduces the risk of, say, Vibe or Plastic Man trying to hit me up for 'loans' which they will be in no hurry to repay since they know I won't suffer if they don't.

"But suppose I take the risk of letting dozens of additional people know my secrets, and asking them to help me find reliable help. So I end up hiring, let's say, two girls to work as part-time maids under Alfred's supervision. What happens if one of the new hires does something that deserves getting fired, and I hesitate because I don't want to start a feud with her big brother? Or what if a bunch of us Leaguers are out in the field together and there's an argument over what to do next? I don't want people reflexively taking my side—or simply being afraid to contradict me with an honest opinion—just because they're worried about whom I might fire if I feel offended. My two lives really shouldn't be mixed."

Diana had never tried to maintain a "secret identity." All her life, everyone around her had known she was the one and only princess of Themyscira. She wasn't accustomed to thinking in terms of concealing your wealth and social status from your own friends. (Nor from anyone, really, but especially not from the same people whom you trusted with your life when it was time to go save the world again!)

But by the same token, Amazons on Themyscira helped each other without needing any "national currency" as a way to keep score of how well anyone was doing. Had there ever been a famine on the island, Queen Hippolyta would not have gorged herself each night while most of her subjects went to bed hungry. If someone's residence were knocked down by a storm, dozens of other Amazons would join forces to build a new one without expecting "wages" for their trouble. Of course, everyone knew everyone else on their island. In the outside world, there were simply too many people for that sense of solidarity to bind them all together. How could you feel that kindly towards billions of people you'd never seen or heard of?

While she'd pondered the differences between his native culture and hers where "socioeconomic classes" were concerned, Bruce had been watching her face intently. She didn't know what he'd seen there, but he gave her time to sort out her thoughts before he spoke again.

"Let me give you an example of how much trouble other people's concerns about my fortune can cause. Once upon a time I thought I was going to get married, and the whole 'finding ways to fight crime' thing would just have to be squeezed in around the framework of being, first and foremost, a husband who wanted to spend lots of time with his wife—and children, once they started arriving."

That was new information! She didn't say a word; fearing to make Bruce reconsider sharing this with her.

"You can see it didn't happen. My fiancée—Andrea Beaumont—broke up with me and vanished from Gotham. Do you know what drove her away?"

Diana shook her head.

"Lack of money."

She blinked.

His mouth twisted into something that might be called a very cynical smile. "Not my lack of it. Andrea's father was facing death unless he handed over a huge sum to a gangster named Valestra. Apparently he'd embezzled it and then invested overseas. He couldn't cash it all in as fast as Valestra wanted it—so he decided to flee the country and change his name, and take his daughter along for safekeeping." He paused, obviously inviting comment.

"But if you could have helped—"

Bruce shook his head. "I didn't even learn what the problem had been until ten years later. I just knew she sent back the engagement ring with a note saying 'forget about me' and then vanished. If Andrea had asked me for a few million dollars to save her father's skin, I would have written out the check in a heartbeat. But she didn't. Afraid to, I suppose."

"Afraid?" For a moment, Diana worried about the mental health of any woman who had gotten close enough to Bruce Wayne to be preparing to marry him, and yet feared he might get physically abusive over mere money—

"Afraid I would think she was setting a cash price on our 'love," Bruce clarified. "Andrea had her pride. She didn't want us to spend the rest of our lives staring at each other across the dinner table with me wondering if she'd have refused to marry me if I hadn't been willing to cough up big bucks for the sake of rescuing my foolish father-in-law-to-be from the consequences of his own mistakes."

Diana had to think that over. Historically, there had been plenty of male-dominated cultures in which wives were literally bought and paid for. If a cash transaction for a woman's body was only for a temporary liaison, it was called "prostitution," but if it supposedly marked the beginning of a lifetime contract, it was called "making proper marriage arrangements."

But modern Americans had little respect for those hairsplitting distinctions. They had more romantic ideas about marriage, and this young woman—Andrea—wouldn't have relished the thought of apparently trying to squeeze a large "down payment" out of her sweetheart before their wedding ceremony "closed the deal."

With an effort, Diana refrained from asking for follow-up on just what had happened to Andrea Beaumont and her father in the long run. If Bruce thought she needed to know, then he'd tell her, but the set of his jaw suggested this was a painful subject. That probably meant someone had died and he felt a sense of failure.

She finally said, "When you warned me that you were a rich kid with lots of issues, you didn't explain that the riches were responsible for some of the other issues!"

He shrugged. "Maybe I thought it was obvious. I like wealth better than I'd like poverty, but that doesn't mean it comes with no strings attached. Do you see why I prefer to keep my identities separate?"

Diana seized the opening. "I can see why you don't want everyone to equate 'Batman' with 'vast wealth.' But that doesn't prove that 'Batman' should never fraternize with anybody he meets in the League."

Bruce folded his arms and looked skeptical, but didn't take the bait. Of course he would think he knew where she was going with this, but she planned to go the long way around, laying a foundation for certain points she needed to establish. So she said: "Do you remember telling me that 'dating within the team always leads to disaster'?"

He nodded, and she pressed onward. "It's been a while. Things have changed since we had that little chat. People who obviously disagree with you on that point now include Flash and Fire, Green Arrow and Black Canary, and John Stewart and Vixen. Are you still convinced that those couples are doomed to see their romances crash and burn?"

"Shayera's thing with John certainly went down the tubes."

"But the big problem had nothing to do with both of them being in the League," Diana corrected. "Whatever they had was bound to fall apart after we realized Shayera had secretly been spying on Earth for the Thanagarian military."

"Of course, the discovery that she'd never mentioned the fiancé waiting back home didn't help her credibility either," Bruce observed drily.

"True—but again, that proves nothing about special risks facing teammates who start dating. Any woman whom John dated could have been equally dishonest about another man in her life!"

Bruce tacitly conceded the point . . . by not arguing it any further. Instead, he shifted ground. "Back to your question: I haven't noticed any of the people you named announcing a wedding date."

"At least two of them will," she said confidently. "Arrow and Canary. And I don't mean several years down the road."

He blinked. "Canary told you that?"

"She didn't have to. It's obvious that the only reason they haven't married yet is that she didn't feel ready to make the leap. But she isn't nearly as nervous about it as she used to be. Fairly soon, I expect her to make it clear to her boyfriend that it's about time for him to propose if he knows what's good for him!"

Bruce raised his eyebrows. "Is that how it's done?"

She ignored that question. "When they wed, will you admit that sometimes intra-team dating works out fine?"

"Lots of marriages end in divorce," Bruce argued. "Even if Ollie and Dinah 'make it legal,' that won't prove they did a wise thing by getting involved in the first place. If their marriage turns into a train wreck, at least one will have to quit the team while tempers cool."

Diana folded her arms. "Are you serious? I suppose that after they've been happily married for two years, you'll claim they can't last five, and after five, you'll suggest they won't make it to ten, and so forth? And the same endless pessimism for any other superhero couples who tie the knot? Anything but admit that you were wrong when you pretended it was a natural law that dating a teammate will 'never' work out?"

That was when something buzzed in the pocket of his yellow shirt.

Bruce hauled out his Justice League comm link and shoved it into his ear, while Diana realized she'd missed a trick. She'd made sure hers was turned off before commencing this conversation, but now she wished she'd found a way to ensure his wouldn't interrupt them either.

It was creepy to hear Batman's voice suddenly coming from Bruce's unmasked face. She didn't glean much from the side of the conversation she could hear—mostly "yes" and "no" and other terse remarks—but when it was over, Bruce looked across the table at her and said, "Duty calls. I'm not back to one hundred percent yet, but Mister Terrific says that Doctor Light is begging for help in analyzing the M.O. of a super-powered killer in Tokyo. She figures she can handle the rough stuff herself if I can deduce where to find him."

Diana did not actually grind her teeth together, but it was a close call. If there was one thing she knew about the man she loved, it was that she'd be shooting herself in the foot if she tried to distract him from his "duty" by suggesting he linger long enough to finish a personal conversation before he went hunting a murderer.

"But first I want to ask you a special question. One I've never asked a woman before."

"Yes?"

"Will you keep an eye on my city until I get back?"

She wanted to say yes, but remembered another obligation. "I need to fly to Themyscira today to help my mother with something. Hopefully, it will all be wrapped up before sunset, Eastern Daylight Time. If so, I can patrol Gotham tonight."

"I appreciate that," he said fervently. "The kids have been doing well, but sooner or later someone is going to realize Batman isn't out on the streets at night, perhaps even notice I'm in Japan, and then the sky's the limit." He got a faraway look in his eye. "Let's see . . . what do you need to know? Concentrate on the hours of darkness—that's when the vermin come out to play. Get plenty of rest in the daytime. Remember that some of my foes wouldn't hesitate to firebomb a building on the north side of town to create a diversion before they hit the real target on the south side." He glanced at her golden lasso. "You will want to carry some extra ropes, expendable ones, so that after you tie up one gang of thugs, you needn't wait for the police to arrive before you can depart the scene to go after the next gang . . ."

Author's Note: For anyone who wasn't sure, I will explain a few references.

The good Doctor Light is a Japanese woman who was part of the DCAU's Justice League, but got very little dialogue and character development. She should not be confused with the bad Doctor Light, a white guy with a goatee who was a recurring villain in the Teen Titans animated series around the same time. (They have similar costumes and powers.) Whenever I mention the good one in a fanfic, I explain this for the benefit of those readers who only remember the bad guy when they see the name "Doctor Light."

Young Bruce Wayne's short-lived engagement to Andrea Beaumont was presented in flashback scenes in the animated film Batman: Mask of the Phantasm. When she broke his heart by sending back the engagement ring and disappearing, he decided there was nothing to do for it but spend the rest of his life dressing up each night in a scary Bat-costume and going out on the dark streets in search of an excuse to beat somebody up. (Let's face it: some men just don't handle rejection well.) As I had him state here, it was only a decade later that he finally learned what Andrea's real problem had been!

Batman's statement to Wonder Woman that "I'm a rich kid with issues. Lots of issues" occurred in the Justice League Unlimited episode "This Little Piggy." It was in that same conversation that he claimed "dating within the team always leads to disaster."