"Yeah, hi, what on your menu has the most calories?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Your menu," Jo slowed down her speech. "What item has the most calories?"
The waiter laughed. "Ma'am, we don't keep calorie counts. This is a Michelin-starred restaurant. Might I suggest the Subway three blocks over instead?"
She blinked, and Luke cringed. "Oh, Buddy…" he pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. "You're going to want a do-over."
Jo smiled placidly up at the waiter. "You must be new here."
"It's—uh—it's my second week," he said, glancing between she and Luke, unsure of what exactly was going on.
"Mm, well, this table has been permanently reserved for the Wayne family," she informed him. "My sitting here should have been your first clue. Followed by the obscenely large diamond on my finger," she held up her left hand to illustrate. "And also the chef personally coming out to welcome us and calling me 'Mrs. Wayne'. In retrospect, that one was the real doozy. Now, knowing that, would you still like me to take my business to the Subway three blocks over? Because—actually—a meatball sub doesn't sound half bad right about now. What do you think, Luke?"
He shrugged. "I could go for a turkey breast, but you're buying."
Jo chuckled, moving her chair backwards from the table to stand up. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
"Wait! No, Mrs. Wayne, I'm so sorry," the waiter looked mortified. "Please, I just—he's not your husband—I didn't recognize…"
"Dude, quit digging!" Luke was laughing by this point.
"You're right," Jo acknowledged. "This isn't my husband—this is Lucas Fox, the CEO of Wayne Enterprises. And I'm terribly sorry I'm unrecognizable when I'm not hanging off my husband's arm. Now please go to the kitchen and tell Mateo to make me something with copious amounts of butter, bread and…I don't know, duck or something."
"And I'll take the Coq au vin," Luke told him. "Thanks."
The waiter nodded mutely, his face beet red as he left them, tail between his legs, heading straight for the kitchen.
Jo sat down in a huff. "I'm sorry, things have just been…it's rare for me to be in a good mood these days. Been a rough month."
"Well, the service was beautiful," he assured her. "He meant so much to so many people. Separate of the company, even, the Wayne Foundation has inspired so much positive change in this city. I feel grateful just to have known him, and working for him all these years was an absolute dream. I know my Father got my foot in the door, but Bruce saw something in me, and I can't…I can't ever repay him for the opportunities he afforded me."
"He was lucky to have you, Luke," Jo smiled. "We all are, really. Damian…"
"Yeah, how is Damian?"
Jo pursed her lips before admitting: "he's having a hard time. Made a few decisions he's having difficulty living with—as predicted. He and Selina aren't really talking, he's…I don't know, he's working through his grief in his own way and it's been hard on everyone. Understandable, but exceedingly shitty."
Luke nodded. "He can be stubborn."
"Yeah," Jo agreed, tapping her fingers on her water glass. "Yeah."
"So…do you want to wait until the food arrives to tell me what this meeting is about?" Luke wondered. "You're a good friend of mine, Jo, and I'm glad we're catching up, but a solo lunch date seems like a new step for us."
Jo sighed. "Honestly, I was hoping you'd distract me from my reality for a second, but I guess I already took that out on our waiter." She bit her lip, leaning back in her chair to decide how best to phrase her proposal. "Your sister, Tiffany…" she began.
"15 years old already, can you believe it?" Luke smiled proudly.
"Time really does fly," Jo kindly mimicked his expression. "Tiffany has a skillset that I find intriguing. I know you're—umm—aware of a certain…pastime my family partakes in."
Luke nodded slowly. "Bruce told me himself the day he named me to my position at the company. Said it was a secret my Father helped keep for years, and now it was my turn."
"Good," Jo cleared her throat. "Well, with Bruce's passing, my Mother's advanced age, and Damian's current…unavailability—recruitment is my job, and…I want Tiffany."
Luke looked confused. "What do you mean?"
"I mean your sister's a fantastic gymnast, a brilliant student…and we've got a position open that I would like her to fill," Jo elaborated. "I came to you first rather than her because I know she has parents, and I know she has you. The rest of us are orphans or had parents who were participants themselves. I didn't want to step on any toes."
The waiter returned with their food before Luke could respond, asking: "Anything else I can do for you?" though he was unable to make direct eye-contact with Jo.
"No, thank you. This is fine," she waved him off.
"Jolene…" Luke started as soon as they were alone again. "I can't just…that shit's dangerous."
"It is."
"She's my little sister, what do you want me to say? Yeah, sure, have her, let her spend her nights on the streets hunting criminals?" he shook his head. "Jesus, she's just a kid."
"My nephew has been working for us since he was 10, he's 14 now. She won't be alone. I was 15 when I started, Damian was basically born with a batarang in his hand…look," Jo exhaled, gathering herself. "I think she's fantastic. Have for a while, and now…the timing was right, and until my husband gets his shit together and my kids age another two years at least, I'm drowning here. Tiffany's already got the skills to succeed, I know you taught her how to box—that's exactly the foundation we're looking for. I just think she'd be a great fit."
Luke sighed, swallowing his first bite of food. "I don't know, Jo…that's a bell that can't be un-rung, and she's got a bright future ahead of her…"
Jo leaned over the table conspiratorially. "Can I tell you a secret?"
He shrugged as he chewed. "Shoot."
"You ever heard of the superhero known as Bumblebee? Works for the league."
"I have," he acknowledged.
"Well, you've got her on your payroll," Jo revealed. "She's got a husband, a kid, and a fulfilling career outside of her suit. It's all possible, Luke. From what I've seen, Tiffany is capable of spectacular things. Don't define her limits, that's just putting a cap on her potential."
Luke watched her a moment, his eyes narrowing critically before he burst out laughing. "Why you gotta do me like that? All inspiring and shit…"
Jo laughed. "I'm putting this on the company card, and as my job description is 'look hot, give speeches', I had to check both boxes. So there ya go," she tipped her imaginary cap. "Look, if you're comfortable with it, I'd love to just talk to her about it. I'm not in the business of twisting kids' arms, so if she's interested—great. If not, I'll back off. You have my word."
/
Selina wasn't sure how long she'd been standing there.
Long enough to forget, it seemed.
Long enough not to care.
"Bruce Wayne…The Bat himself," she chuckled, examining the suit proudly displayed behind recently cleaned glass. "A prince whose shirks his seamless silk sheets to serve his subjects." She looked over her shoulder to where he stood watching her, his arms crossed over his muscular chest as he leaned casually against the rock wall of the cave. "I'm almost impressed."
He raised a dark eyebrow. "Almost?"
"I find your selflessness nauseating," she told him. "But I'm enjoying my look behind the curtain."
The suit was empty now, as was the cave. And the house, despite it being full of Bruce's children, felt much the same.
If she were to look over her shoulder now, she wouldn't find Bruce standing there. Never again would she feel his eyes on her, watching, learning, gathering information. The man had been a detective from the day he was born until the day he died, of that she was sure. At the beginning, she'd wondered if there was truly affection at the root of their game—their chase, or if she was just another mystery for him to solve, something slightly more unattainable than the others. She also wondered if that's what she wanted, or needed, probably. That's what it had started as, after all—a contest, a battle of wills, of minds and abilities.
And now what? What had become of them?
Bruce was gone and Selina was alone. No more counter moves. No more rooftop races or rendezvous. No more galas or gallery openings. No more conversations over coffee…no more teasing, no more arguments…no more relationship. No more Bruce…and no more Bruce and Selina.
"Yeah, I always liked the classic," Dick remarked, leaning against that same wall. "Though I changed mine up for a reason."
"That was probably a good call," Selina acknowledged, though her delivery lacked her usual humor.
The sound of Dick's shoes on the stone floor reverberated through the cavernous room as he came to stand beside her. Gazing into the glass case in front of them, he said: "There will never be another Batman like him."
Selina nodded in agreeance, adding, her voice barely audible in a space that was used to echoing their every word: "Not another man, either."
/
Carrie smiled (one of the few genuine smiles she'd allowed herself since Bruce had passed) when a pair of gloved hands wrapped around her to set a cup of coffee on the desk in front of her.
"Got you a few extra pumps of chocolate syrup so it would be as sweet as you," Jo giggled into her ear.
And Carrie blushed despite herself, saying: "you didn't have to do that…" as she reached for the cup.
"I figured we could all use a boost." Jo was wearing her suit, though her mask remained off, as it usually did until she was officially on the clock. "And for you…" she set a cup down in front of Damian where he sat beside Carrie. "Black coffee because…umm…" she bit her lip to think.
"I'm boring?" Damian guessed.
"I was going to say 'effective'. We've gotta work on that self-esteem, Babe," she leaned, giving him a quick peck on the lips. "You ready to go?"
"After I finish my coffee," Damian had yet to change out of his slacks—which Carrie noticed were wrinkled, a definite first for Damian. He liked everything crisp, she'd learned that a long time ago. Once, she'd caught a glimpse of their family's dry-cleaning bill, and was pretty sure it was close to what her birth parents used to pay in rent.
It was little things like wrinkled slacks that told Carrie Damian was not OK.
"Where were you today?" Damian was asking Jo.
"I, uhh…went to lunch with Luke," she answered, sounding distracted as she enabled the solar layer of her suit.
"You talked to him on the phone last night, too." Damian pointed out.
"Yeah…to schedule lunch." Jo started past them towards the locker of ignition keys…but from the way Damian's eyes followed her, Carrie knew she was walking into a trap.
There was venom in his tone as he asked: "How long until you fuck him and tell me you just needed to blow off some steam?"
And…there it was. Carrie knew it was coming. Seemed a conversation with Damian was impossible these days without it ending with some variation of a blatantly shitty comment like that...though this type of attack was new.
Jo stopped in her tracks, straightening up with her back towards them. After a moment of bated silence, she slowly turned around, running her tongue along the inside of her cheek, shaking her head as she did. "Insecurity really isn't a good look on you."
Damian shrugged, pretending this exchange was somehow casual. "It's a simple question."
"OK, well, next time you want to lob some heinous shit at me, how about you do it in private?" Jo suggested, and not too kindly. "I'm sorry, Carrie," she apologized. "And I'm sorry your Dad died, Damian. I really am. I miss him too. But, Bitch, try that shit again and I will drag your ass to couples therapy so fast…Duke!" she called over to the boy who was sitting sheepishly in the corner, pretending he hadn't been listening. "Let's go. You're with me tonight. Uncle Damian needs some alone time."
"You sound a little defensive," Damian pointed out, attempting to sound smug, though, in reality, it just sounded…sad. Not his tone, that didn't come off remorseful, but his line of attack appeared rather desperate.
"Honey," Jo sneered, taking a step forward to fully engage him. "When I offered to be your punching bag, the conditions were that you talk to your Dad before he died. That offer has now been rescinded. And—regardless of the circumstances—after 15 years, I expect to be treated with a little more respect. I'm all for being a shoulder to cry on, but I'm not doing this, especially not in front of my Nephew and Sister-in-law."
"Wow," Damian nodded like he was working to process her request. "Those are some mighty intimidating big-girl words…"
In one motion, Jo grabbed the coffee she'd brought him from the desk and opened the lid, spilling all 16oz of the piping hot liquid onto his lap. "Better put a call into my Mother before that scars," she recommended as he jumped up with a yelp, wiping madly at his pants. "I'm sure she'd be more than happy to help you out with your genital burns at 11pm."
Then she angrily spun on her heels, shouting: "Duke!" over her shoulder.
"Sorry, sorry," the boy apologized, scrambling to his feet and scurrying after her.
Carrie waited until the sound of the Batmobile's engine had disappeared before turning her attention back to Damian, who had his hand in a vise-grip on the edge of the table and his teeth gritted in pain.
Sighing, Carrie stood up. "You don't actually have to call Ivy, there's ointment in the kit."
She took her time retrieving it, not because she liked seeing Damian in pain, more just she really didn't like seeing Jo in pain, and anyway, Carrie wasn't totally sure she could ever actually forgive him for not talking to Bruce.
"He asked for you, ya know…" Carrie told him as she sat back down, holding out the ointment to him. "When I was saying goodbye, he asked if he could talk to you next."
Damian snatched the bottle away from her, turning around to apply it so Carrie wouldn't be subjected to the full Monty. "He made his choice, I made mine," he gritted.
Carrie pursed her lips, absently watching his back muscles flex below his t-shirt as he performed his task. "He said he was happy we stayed."
"I don't care what he said."
"He said he was glad we helped make this house a home again," Carrie continued, disregarding Damian's dismissal. "And that getting to see your kids reminded him of when he was a boy, before his parents died, before everything changed. He said he was glad to get to see children's lives be somewhat simple again."
This time, Damian didn't respond at all, just quietly set the now empty bottle down on the desk, though he remained standing, his back still towards her.
"He suggested maybe me and Courtney should adopt," Carrie smiled to herself. "Said there were a lot of incredible kids out there looking for a purpose and for somebody to care about who cares about them. And—uh—I know he was mostly talking about me and Dick and Tim and Cass and Steph…but I think you were kinda an orphan too, in a way. Your Mom didn't want you, your Dad didn't help make you…and you had to come to this brand new place with these brand new people that you were told was your family. You got a new Dad and a brand new Mom…" she trailed off briefly as he finally braved a look at her.
"I used to be so jealous of you," Carrie chuckled. "We all did. The True Wayne…we thought you had life a whole lot easier. This man, this smart, caring, good guy—the man who adopted us out of the kindness of his heart—he was your actual Dad! You got to be part Bruce! But now, I don't know," she shook her head. "Now I think maybe you had it harder. Bruce didn't have to see himself every time he looked at us, we were just things for him to love, but you…you're an extension of him. That's alotta pressure. And I think…maybe at the end he realized that." She sighed. "Guess I shouldn't be putting words in his mouth, but it seemed like…by the time he was ready to go, he'd learned to love all of us for who we were—separate of each other, separate of his charity…and I think his love for you was unique. And I don't—I'm not sure if your not talking to him made me sad because he was deprived of that goodbye or because you were…but I know for sure that the decision you made—it's final. You gotta live with it."
Damian's gaze fell to his lap, the brown stain of the coffee still wet on his pants.
"And Jo…Jo didn't make that decision," Carrie went on. "She said goodbye. She tried to convince you to do it too…but you didn't, and that's not her fault, and it's not Selina's fault either. Nor is it their fault or Ivy's fault that Bruce is dead. That one was his decision. So, I guess…" she squinted in thought. "I guess be mad at him if you have to. That's alright, it hurts that he's not here anymore, I get it. Pisses me off, too, and I don't even really get pissed. So be mad at him or be mad at yourself. But don't be mad at Selina, please. I think she's taking it harder than any of us. And don't be mad at Ivy because that's just…well, some sorta suicide mission. And Jo—Jo loves you, ya know? I mean, she feels terrible about this whole thing, I can see it. She's actually killed people before and I've never seen her look this guilty. And you know she met with Luke to talk about Tiffany, so can you just…quit being a dick? Before she actually burns yours off?"
Damian let a small smile slip and Carrie grinned, resting her hands on his thighs and encouraging him to look her in the eye.
"I love you, Bro," she told him. "Seriously, Man, I do. But Jo loves you too and I hate it when you guys treat each other like shit."
"That's just the way we talk to each other," Damian murmured.
"No…no it isn't." Carrie disagreed. "You think I haven't been around you guys enough to know the difference? Christ, Bro, I've walked in on you. I've seen it ALLLL…don't try to tell me I don't know the difference."
Damian sighed, slowly leaning his head back to look at the ceiling. "I wake up some days and it's like—just for a second—I forget. For that minute, right after I open my eyes, she's lying beside me, I know the kids are asleep just down the hall, and I think I'm gonna go downstairs and see him. The picture is so clear, he and Selina sitting at the kitchen table, drinking their coffee and eating their breakfast pastries, laughing together or…not saying anything at all just…being there. And it's—fuck, it's just a dream, Carrie. A beautiful lie. This fantasy that we can ever be whole again, that there are still perfect things, diamond absolutes. It's over. My Father is gone."
Carrie took his hand, squeezing gently. "Our Father."
He blinked, lowering his gaze to look at her once more, the gears in his head turning behind his eyes. "Our Father," he corrected. "Our Father is gone."
"Yeah," Carrie acknowledged, that now familiar sadness creeping into her expression. "Yeah, he is."