This is a companion piece to Last Chance. It covers the reactions to four people who are hearing of Dick and Elle's relationship for the first time. Originally, I had it as its own story, but thought it would be more effective right here. *This is supposed to be chapter 59, but it takes a while for the change to show up where it is supposed to be. It is NOT supposed to be chapter 100, so if you see it there, imagine it is between 58 and 60. Takes about 30 minutes to accomplish, apparently.*
**The Wally West in this story is not the same Wally West of the YJ universe. This is pre-52 Wally who is married to Linda Parks-West and has twins.**
***Barbara Gordon's history with Dick Grayson is a part of MY AU. How closely this follows canon is only lightly . . . ***
Warning: Strong Language (Jason's reaction)
CLARK'S REACTION:
Clark walked into the bullpen to a ruckus over in the area that covered the Daily Planet's society section. It wasn't something that he was interested in unless he could occasionally get something on Bruce that he could tease the other man over. Bruce was nearly as stoic as his alter-ego, The Batman, but that didn't stop Clark from trying to get a reaction of some sort from him,
He moved to his desk, setting down his overcoat over the back of his chair. He had forgotten to put it on again that morning; carrying it from his and Lois' apartment over his arm the entire trip here. He shivered; attempting to appear cold. If Lois was not on assignment, she would have reminded him. He hadn't been this feather-brained before marrying, and yet whenever Lois was traveling, he would inevitably do something airheaded like forgetting to wear his coat in the middle of a snowstorm.
He brushed the melting snow off of his shoulders and hair. He moved to sit down, and the noise in the society section rose once more in fervor. He was beginning to get a little curious. Seldom did they get this worked up without an out of wedlock pregnancy or adultery scandal or Bruce Wayne found himself a new girlfriend.
Hm . . . Maybe he should go over and have a look.
He decided to listen in instead.
"Oh my goodness, did he grow up nicely!"
"She's divine as well. I think Brady said he met her once at some charity dinner. Said she was a real sweetheart, sharp as a tack, and had a voice like a song."
"Well, he is definitely scrumptious! Does anyone know what he's doing now?"
"I don't know. He kind of fell off the radar for the past few years. Would only show up once in a while at his old man's request."
Clark began unpacking his briefcase; losing interest. This didn't sound like Bruce . . .
"I think I remember reading something about them in the paper a couple of months back."
"Both of them? Have they been together that long?"
"From Halloween. That shootout on the bridge between Gotham and Bludhaven. It made the papers in Chicago because of her."
Gotham? That caught his attention again. He craned his neck to look over the partition, but couldn't see anything of interest with everyone gathered around. Clark glanced around him, and then slipped off his glasses on the pretense of cleaning them and allowed his X-ray vision do the rest.
"Well, we need to see what we can dig up on the couple. She's an heiress to millions and he's an heir to billions."
"What does it matter to us? This is Metropolis; not Gotham or Chicago."
Looking through a half dozen partitions and at least three bodies, Clark caught his first glimpse of the newspaper everyone was ogling. The front page of the Chicago Tribune . . .
A Match Made In Fort Knox? Clark frowned at the headline. Everyone knew the government no longer kept gold in Fort Knox, but still, he supposed, people would still associate the fort with big money.
Money Can Buy You Love . . . The headline declared from the Chicago Herald. What the hell?
Finally, someone was holding a copy of the Gotham Gazette. Rags To Riches To Riches: Is Wayne's Heir To Marry?
What?!
Clark jumped to his feet in his shock; knocking his chair back with such force the partition behind him tipped and nearly collapsed the entire row of cubicles at his back. He grabbed the errant half-wall, only to punch his fingers through the fabric covered particle board.
Hiding his movements as best he could, Clark shoved the partition back into place. He had somehow snapped the connections. He held up the section and, with a glance around for privacy, he released a small, measured burst of heat vision; welding the temporary structure into place. He hoped he wouldn't have to explain that to anyone. With luck, no one would notice it for years. The working environment of the Daily Planet wasn't in danger of getting a makeover any time soon.
Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Clark moved to join the crowd.
As he came up to the nearest person with a paper, Clark asked, "What's going on?"
The woman handed him a copy of the Tribune. There in astounding color was a man and woman staring into each other's eyes in the middle of what looked like a dance floor.
"Bruce Wayne's adopted son, Richard, is apparently very chummy with Chicago Magnet, Cedric Hamilton's daughter," she told him.
The fellow to his left handed him a copy of the Gotham Gazette. "Very chummy, it looks like," he said, laughing.
Clark saw a small collection of photos on the left side of the page showing a very young, extremely-traumatized, Dick Grayson standing outside of a circus tent with the police and Bruce hovering nearby. Beneath it was a picture of a Dick in his high school graduation cap and gown. There was a slightly larger picture of Dick fresh out of the police academy in his dress blues. However, it was the large picture to the right that caught and held Clark's attention.
Dick at a fancy society party kissing a young woman in the middle of the dance floor! An extremely intent kiss, he thought, by the looks of it. This was apparently more than a normal 'date'. Bruce taught Dick better than to make a spectacle out of himself while at these parties.
Not that Bruce was the pillar of exemplary behavior, considering his playboy status, but enough to not create long-lasting scandals that could affect his status on the police force!
"May I borrow this?"
"Sure, we have a dozen copies of the Gazette over here," the fellow on his left said.
Clark was already heading back to his desk. Bruce had likely already been dragged from bed and shown this by Alfred. He would give him a call and see what the low-down was on this. He would have to keep his voice down so that the others wouldn't realize his connection to Bruce. He'd never get anything done if he had to field requests for interviews for the crime-fighting billionaire.
Clark glanced at the newspaper again as he dialed the number by memory. It was a very chummy kiss, he decided, and thought that from the bit he could see, they appeared a very handsome couple. His eyes scanned the article and he sat back in his chair, smiling as the phone began to ring. Dick had definitely grown up, he thought warmly, as he remembered the tiny bundle of constant energy the young man had been the first time Clark had been privileged to meet him; able to topple full-grown men with his acrobatics and specialized martial arts techniques that Bruce had helped him create.
Dick and the young woman looked good together. He thought of the depression Dick had suffered through after Barbara Gordon had dumped him. He hoped, for Dick's sake, that this woman would not only satisfy his requirements, but remain loyal to him. Gotham and Bludhaven were no picnics at the park. Dick needed to find someone who could love him with the same passion that he carried around in him.
This young woman looked like she just might fit the bill . . .
"Wayne residence . . ."
"Alfred," Clark belted out, gleefully. "Is Bruce there? Let me talk to him, if you would, please!"
"I take it you've seen the papers, sir?"
"Indeed, I have! Indeed, I have," Clark smiled into the phone. "Drag him out of his cave and hand him the phone. I'm wondering if congratulations are in order."
"Very good, Master Kent. It should only take a moment."
Clark propped his feet up on his desk. He should call Lois after this, he thought as his eyes were drawn once again to the picture of that passionate kiss. Better yet, maybe he would fly over to see her personally. He glanced out at the winter sun peeking through the clouds.
It was going to be a beautiful day . . .
WALLY'S REACTION:
Wally West stumbled down the stairs, still half asleep, but even stumbling it didn't take him more than seconds to get downstairs and find his chair at the kitchen table. Linda smiled and kissed the top of his head as she poured him a cup of coffee.
"Breakfast is coming right up," she told him. "Why don't you read the paper while you wait? There was some interesting news, I noticed, happening in Chicago that made it into the Chronicle."
"Hm," Wally hummed. He wasn't doing anything before inhaling a cup of coffee.
"Section D," Linda called out over her shoulder as she shoveled a pound of sausage from the skillet to a plate. "Page one . . . Top of the page."
"Coffee," Wally mumbled. "More coffee." But he opened one eye and glared at the Central City Chronicle where it lay where his breakfast was supposed to go.
Linda poured him more coffee, tossing in several spoonful's of sugar to get her oddly, slow-moving husband going this morning. She tapped the paper several times with her finger, before moving back to the stove.
"There's a great picture with the article," she told him, conversationally. "Full color spread. They really pulled all the stops out for this one."
She took out the eight pieces of toast from the two four-slotted toasters and added them to the sausages, before flipping the pancakes that were on the griddle.
After his second cup, Wally could finally open his eyes enough to contemplate the newspaper that his wife kept harassing him about. Linda took a pitcher of juice from the refrigerator and a bowl of diced melons and set them on the table with a bottle of maple syrup. She paused long enough to pull section D out from the other sections. She set it back in front of him and took the rest of the newspaper back with her to the counter.
Wally frowned. "Seriously? This is the society section!"
"Quit complaining and open it up! Read the headline! You'll be glad you did," she laughed at him.
Placing the dozen pancakes on a separate plate. She turned the temperature down on the griddle and began to crack eggs. Wally preferred eighteen of them with his breakfast. She picked up the sausages, the toast, and the pancakes for her husband to start on.
She would normally be snapping at his stubbornness by this time, Wally thought. There must be something really worthwhile for her to be this insistent and yet still this happy about it.
"I want to cut it out later, so try not to get syrup or grease on the paper, please!"
Wally picked up a sausage to munch on as he opened the folded paper and spread it out.
A Merger Made In Heaven?
What was this? Wally's eyes went straight to the photos. Two photos were posted. One of a couple kissing hot and heavy on a dance floor and the other . . . Holy Crap! That was Dick! And some other woman. His gaze flew to the subtitles beneath the pictures. Adopted heir to the Wayne fortune in a serious romance with Chicago tycoon's reclusive daughter.
He returned to the picture of Dick smiling happily at the dark-haired beauty by his side. Happily . . . He could see it even in the picture. Dick was happy! And the woman was returning his gaze with a look of adoration.
Wally smiled. "Go for it, buddy," he said softly. "You deserve it."
Linda set his eggs down in front of him.
"You know," she said, wrapping her arms around him and leaning her face against the side of his. "He called yesterday afternoon. You were gone and you didn't get back until so late, I decided to wait until this morning to tell you about it."
"Dick called? Why didn't you tell me as soon as I got up?" Wally asked this around a mouthful of eggs.
Linda made a face and pushed his mouth closed with one hand. She moved around to sit beside him and poured herself a glass of juice.
"Because first of all, you probably wouldn't have heard a thing I said until your second cup of coffee, and secondly, I saw the article," she took a sip of juice. "I thought it would make better sense if you saw the photos first and then told you his request."
"Request?" Wally remembered his manners belatedly and struggled to swallow. He took a swig of his coffee. "What request?"
"He asked if we could come to Bludhaven next Friday night," she told him.
Wally frowned. "Did he say why?"
If he needed help for a bust, why was he inviting Linda to come with him?
"For dinner and a show, he said."
"He's inviting us to go on a double date, do you think?" Wally mused.
Linda smiled. "Something like that."
"Do you think he wants us to meet this woman he's seeing?" Wally picked up the paper and scanned the page for a name. "Arabella Hamilton?"
Linda hopped back up at the sound of crying. The twins were awake. She set down her glass and kissed Wally on top of his ginger hair.
"I'll ask my parents to babysit," she said moving towards the stairs.
Wally grinned as he spread the paper out so that he could better read the article while he ate. He glanced again at the two pictures of the couple.
A brunette . . . Wally nodded sagely, remembering the advice he had given Dick a few months back. Good job, dude, he thought with a whistle. You did good.
JASON'S REACTION:
Jason Peter Todd rolled out of bed and glanced blearily at the clock.
God! Twelve-thirty? He hadn't crawled into bed until seven a.m.! Five and a half hours of sleep. He'd be good if he had gotten any sleep at all in the past three days! As it was, he still felt disconnected from his body. He stumbled to the front door and picked up the three newspapers that had been collecting there since Thursday last. He might have picked them up when he came home, except he had entered his apartment through the window in his bathroom that morning.
He yawned and scratched his bare stomach as he glanced around the hallway outside his front door. He was wearing only a pair of boxers that had seen better days. He really needed to do laundry. He rubbed a hand over his scrubby face. And shave, he thought.
"Definitely need a shave," he mumbled to himself.
The door across the hall opened and Mrs. Maldini stepped out before she saw him there. She caught a look at him and yelped, scampering back into her apartment and slamming the door. Jason might have been offended if he didn't know her to be eighty-two years old. Although he had done nothing to instill this fear into her, Mrs. Maldini always yelped and slammed her door at the sight of him; dressed or undressed, it didn't matter.
"Good morning, Mrs. Maldini," he called after her.
There was an answering thump against the door that indicated he had startled her. He laughed, and walked back into his apartment; kicking the door closed with his heel. He tossed the newspapers on the table and walked into the kitchen for something to drink.
Jason pulled out a bottle of milk. Yawning again, he set it on the table and turned away to wash a glass. Unfortunately, the bottle tipped and fell over; cracking the neck. Milk began to pour out all over the table and run off onto the floor.
"Damn it," he yelped, leaping back out of the way to keep his feet dry.
He tossed a hand towel onto the mess, but it wasn't up to the job. He looked around the kitchen frantically, only to discover that he had run out of paper towels.
"Well, shit. Fuck this," he muttered and grabbed the newspapers in hopes of soaking up some of the mess.
Jason knelt, cursing again when his knee landed in the milk. He began spreading out the papers over the growing puddle. Damn, he should have started with the table first, as the milk continue to dribble off the side and add to the problem on the floor. He stood up and spread the last couple of sections of the paper on the table.
He was standing there in a daze, watching as the paper turned dark gray as it grew wet when the name Wayne caught his eye. He jerked the section up in hopes of salvaging enough to understand what he was reading.
Rags to Riches to Riches: Is Wayne Heir To Marry?
What the . . .? He couldn't think of a word foul enough. The photo layout drew his attention. Holy . . . Fuck! That was Dick! Most of the pictures plastered over the front of the paper he had seen before. How the hell did they get Dick's graduation photo?
Never mind, he thought. Most of those shown were public record anyway, but damn, that was disturbing what the press could get ahold of and print. His eyes moved over to the two largest and newest pictures. These he hadn't seen before.
Dick and a beautiful brunette . . . How the hell did he always manage to do it? Jason bet that bastard never had a date with a bowser in his life. He had, of course, although it was usually the result of drinking liquids better equipped for cleaning the crud off of car batteries than helping him to forget . . . He sighed. To just forget.
The other photo was . . . Wow! Okay. Get a room, dude! Bruce was probably having a cow, right about now. Wonder how much Bruce would have to spend to get Dickiebird out of this mess. He looked back at the first photo of the two of them facing the camera, and pursed his lips.
They don't look drunk, he thought wonderingly. In fact, they looked pretty into one another to him. His gaze was drawn inexorably back to the kiss. Yup! They couldn't get much more into one another without becoming X-rated in the process.
Jason pulled a dry chair out and sat down. Actually, Dickiebird looks pretty darned happy, he thought. He began to wonder if maybe the tabloids had something with this headline, after all. He shook his head. Nah! This was Dick they were talking about. The man was a player and didn't even realize it. Women were always throwing themselves at him. This chick was probably the current flavor of the month.
His cellphone buzzed. Shaking the milk off of that section of the paper, Jason tossed it over his couch, as he picked up his cellphone. It got a little milky, too, but he didn't think it would hurt it. It wasn't as if he had dropped it into the toilet again. He checked the caller ID and blinked in surprise.
Speak of the devil . . .
"Hey, Dick . . . I was just thinking about you," Jason answered casually, like he and his 'brother' chatted it up all the time.
They didn't. Jason hadn't spoken to Dick in months and even then they had both been lucky to walk away from that conversation without assistance. "So, what's new with you?"
Jason listened to what Dick was asking him. He knew what his answer to his 'brother's' question would be, but just to mess with him, determined to let the other man spend a little time trying to convince him.
"You want me to do what?"
BARBARA'S REACTION:
Barbara Gordon was busy. She had research to do on three cases that had to be completed yesterday! As such, her attention was focused into a narrow beam of what she needed to know and what could wait until later. If all went well for one of her cases, she knew that Batman would be able to bring the men in responsible for transporting illegal drugs into Gotham City. She knew there were still shipments coming into Gotham from at least four other suppliers, but this one would go down.
If she worked it correctly, she might even be able to track those drugs down to the source, and that could stop the drugs from this particular supplier from reaching, not only Gotham, but other cities across the U.S. as well. She was working with contacts within the DEA, the Drug Enforcement Agency, and ICE, the US Immigration and Customs Enforcement, in their narcotics enforcement task force that specializes in shutting down smuggling rings.
This affected Gotham, but was also much bigger than Gotham.
So, it was a surprise when her phone rang and she looked up at the clock. It was already two in the afternoon. Breakfast today had been a bagel that she had eaten at the computer, and apparently she had worked through lunch as well. Her stomach, as if suddenly aware of its neglect now that she knew the time, protested loudly as she picked up the call.
"Babs? How you doing, sweetheart."
Pressing speaker, Barbara laid the phone in her lap as she wheeled herself into the kitchen. She smiled at the caller even though he couldn't see her. It didn't matter, however, since it was a fact that people could tell whether or not you were smiling through the sound of your voice.
"Hi, Dad," she grinned. "Just grabbing a late lunch. Work's real heavy right now, but I have a promising lead that, if it pans out and I think it will, should make your job a little easier for a while."
"Now, there's some news I'm delighted to hear," Jim Gordon's voice came through so well, it was almost like he was in the room with her.
Barbara frowned. There was something in her dad's voice and the words he chose . . .
"As opposed to news that you didn't want to hear," she asked. "What's up, dad? Why do I get the feeling that you're calling me for a reason?"
Jim's sigh came through loud and clear.
"Have you seen the paper today?"
Barbara blinked. "No. I had a lot of work, so I didn't take time to read it. Is it bad news?"
"Depends on what you would define as bad, I suppose. You might not even care," he told her.
"Why don't you just tell me what it is and save me the trouble of looking," Barbara suggested, pulling out the makings of a sandwich and transferring them to the cutting board on her counter.
But she had already located the neatly-folded and neglected newspaper on her kitchen table. She ignored it in favor of her sandwich. Any bad news would still be there when she was finished eating. If it the news were bad enough, reading it first might steal away her appetite. Better to eat first, she decided.
"By this time, I'm pretty sure it's even on the television," he murmured.
"Dad, what's going on? Did someone die," she asked frustrated. Her dad never worked so hard at beating a bush.
"No! No, nothing like that," he was quick to assure her. "In fact, depending on how you look at it, it might even be considered good news."
Babs set down the knife and grabbed the hand towel. She could hardly ignore that cryptic bit of information.
"So, it might be good news or it might be bad news, depending on how I decide to look at it," she said as she wheeled herself over to the table and the fateful newspaper.
She unfolded it and glanced at the headline. Something about the new mayor's plan once he took office, she read. The Riddler's botched escape. The East Side was experiencing sewer backup.
None of that fit the bill as either good news or bad news unless you were the Riddler or living on the East Side, and none of that directly affected her. As far as Gotham news went, it was a pretty uneventful day.
"I'm looking at the paper now, Dad, but I don't see what it is you're referring to."
"I'm actually surprised it isn't front page news," he said. "All considering. That only tells me that the headline itself is unverifiable and unsubstantiated. I could be calling you over nothing . . . except that . . ." his voice trailed off.
"Except that . . .?" Barbara encouraged. "Where is it located, Dad? I could at least narrow it down to the right section."
"There are pictures," he said. "The pictures make for a pretty good story."
"Dad . . ."
"Society section. You'll see it right away," her father told her.
Society section? Confused now, she dropped away all the sections back on the table that weren't what she wanted. Armed with the correct section, she shook it out and . . . Gasped.
"What . . .?" If her voice came out a little weak, it could be forgiven her. The headlines were somewhat dramatic.
Is Wayne Heir to Marry?
Dick's face stared back at her from the paper. She recognized three of the pictures used, having seen them so many times before. Her eyes slid to the two new photos; pictures taken . . . last night? Dick was gazing adoringly at a pretty brunette in it; both of them dressed for a formal affair.
Dick hates tuxes, was the first coherent thought that crossed her mind.
"Barbara, are you okay?" Her father's voice sounded concerned.
"I'll have to call you back, Dad," she said. "Don't worry, though. I'll be fine."
Barbara stared at the photograph. It was a really good picture, she thought. He looked good in it . . . No, she corrected herself; he looked great. He looked really fantastic. She hadn't seen him in so long that her eyes were greedy for the sight of him. But then attraction had never been the issue, had it?
Reluctantly, she looked at the woman on his arm now. She was pretty. No, she was more than pretty. She was a lot shorter than Barbara. Babs winced. Well, not so much anymore, but when she could stand, Barbara was five foot eleven. She'd been able to look most men in the eye, and was even taller than Dick himself by a full inch. This woman barely reached Dick's shoulder and Barbara had to assume she was wearing heels under that gown. She was curvier as well . . .
Oh, what was she doing? Why was she comparing herself to this other woman? It wasn't like she and Dick had any plans to get back together, and really, it had been her idea to break it off in the first place. The problems they had had as a couple were still relevant.
Thinking about the breakup was still a little painful though. Dick had sought her out and pursued her almost relentlessly for the first three months, until she had been cruel. Then they had avoided each other like the plague. She had heard from various sources that Dick had fallen into a depression after that. While it was wrong of her to wish him ill, it had been a bit flattering that he took their breakup so hard. But obviously not so hard that he was willing to fix the problems that she thought needed fixing before she would have allowed them to move on to the next level.
Her eyes drifted to the second photo and she winced again. That kiss looked . . . It looked like something one saw at the end of a fairy tale movie, when Prince Charming saves the Princess with true love's kiss. The woman, Babs searched the article for a name, Arabella Hamilton, looked to be just as taken with Dick as he was with her.
No, it would have never have worked out for the two of them, she thought. They had tried so many times and so many times it had ended, only for them to dig the romance back out of mothballs a few months or a year later. It would be great for a little while and then the arguments would return and then the whole thing would repeat itself; like a bad remake of 'Groundhog's Day', but without the laugh track or the hope of ever getting it right.
She stared at the couple in the picture once more. Her Dad was right. The paparazzi were assuming a lot from these two photos, but she could see where the idea might have come from. They certainly looked happy together, she thought. He looked happy . . . Happier than he had ever been with her, if she were honest; and Barbara was always brutally honest with herself.
She tucked the paper in beside her and returned to making her sandwich. The tiny twinge in the vicinity of her heart was easy to ignore. The rumble of her stomach, not so much.
Dick deserved to be happy.
And she was happy for him. Really, she was.
Now, if she could just manage the feat in her own life.
She picked up the sandwich and rolled back to her computer. She hesitated for only a moment, and then picked up the forgotten phone in her lap. Barbara was nothing if not decisive. She dialed her contact at the DEA and waited impatiently for him to answer.
"Lowell, here."
"Agent Lowell, this is Oracle."
"Oracle," he said. Barbara could hear the smile in his voice. "What a pleasant surprise! What have you got for me today?"
"A hot tip," she replied easily.
"Well, let's hear it," the agent said. "Go on; I'm ready for you?"
Barbara smiled. "Are you really? Well, set down your pen and pick up your car keys."
"This sounds interesting." And it must have, because it came through loud and clear over the phone. His smile sounded like it had gotten wider. "Where am I going?"
"A little restaurant called The Wharf. Ever heard of it?"
"I have. They have great clam chowder there."
"I'll meet you there in an hour with that hot tip I promised you," Babs grinned.
"Sounds like a plan," Lowell agreed. "How will I know you?"
"Don't worry," Barbara told him; dropping the society section in the garbage can by her desk. "I'll know you."
YOUR REACTIONS? Choose your favorite or remark on all four!
Remember this is my universe. It is not meant to be canon for all you purists out there . . . Of course, if you are a purist, you probably never made it this far to begin with. ;D