A/N: Thank you for the reviews! Here's some more of a love interest who isn't Kal!
And when you're out there,
Without care,
Yeah, I was out of touch,
But it wasn't because I didn't know enough,
I just knew too much,
Does that make me crazy?
Does that make me crazy?
Does that make me crazy?
Probably
Gnarls Barkley—Crazy
Chapter Eleven
"I have to admit," Michael said, pouring wine into her glass in a Manhattan restaurant three days later, "I didn't expect to be hearing from you again, Alexandra."
"No?"
"No. I had the impression I was missing something."
"Not at all," she smiled. "I had a lot on my mind that evening. Cleaning up one of my brother's many messes."
"Ah, in that case all is forgiven."
"Thank you. How's the campaign going?" she asked as the amuse-bouche arrived. "Won the hearts of the people of New York yet?"
"Some of them, perhaps. The working classes are behind us, which isn't surprising given our planned reforms, but the upper classes … They're proving a little harder to convince."
"Unsurprising. The rich rarely like change."
"Yet here you are."
"I'm not a conventional rich girl."
"I can only agree," he smiled, titling his wine glass to her.
Alexa sighed. "When did we become a class society anyway? America, land of the free … some joke."
Simply put, the oil had run dry. And while there were systems in place by then for life to carry on as it always had, those technologies had been suppressed and starved of funding for far too long—in those dark days, it was only the rich able to afford prices of petrol, oil etc. In desperation, the government had allowed wealthy individuals to take over vital industries. Similar to what had happened in Russia after the collapse of the USSR, oligarchs emerged. A new upper class. But it had not been in charge for centuries, only decades. People still remembered—and wanted—an equal America. Michael would have to tread a fine line. He needed the money of the super-rich, but he was preparing to take most of their power from them, if not their privilege. Most donations to his campaign came from the average Joe, or from families of 'old money', like Alexa's.
"We can be as we should be again," Michael said. "With the right people in charge."
"Does top-down change really work though?"
"It won't be. It'll be the government pushing things down and the people pushing things up. The oligarchs will change or they'll be squashed."
He spoke with a certain amount of bitterness; Alexa remembered he was from a working class background, educated at Yale through a scholarship. She wondered how long he'd had to endure the ridicule of his peers. Happily, Michael changed the subject, and the rest of the meal passed with much enjoyment for both of them. He flirted, she flirted, they talked about serious things, about whimsical things—and parted that evening with an agreement that Michael would be her date to the opening of the opera house the next night.
When they arrived in a dark limo, the chauffeur opened up the door for them, and they were immediately assaulted by camera flashbulbs popping off, and a roar of excitement from the paparazzi. Michael, while used to TV cameras, seemed a little less at home when confronted with people like these. Alexa was far more used to it though, and only took his arm.
"Don't leave me," he muttered.
She laughed. "Deal. Come on."
After about ten minutes on the red carpet, they managed to get inside the opera house, where they were handed chilled champagne and enveloped by the smiles and inane chat of the art-fanatics surrounding them.
At about half past eight, one of the opera house staff said, "Ladies and gentlemen, if you would like to take your seats, Madame Butterfly is about to begin."
"God I hate these things," Michael said to her as they took their seats. "I hate the people at these things," he added, proving that her guess had been right, the night before.
"Just think of all their votes," she whispered, "and all their donations."
Michael looked slightly happier as the music started, and by the time the opera closed—many, many hours later—he was ready to continue hobnobbing with the well-to-do. It was about one in the morning by the time they left, the car there to take Alexa back to her hotel.
"So did you like Madame Butterfly?" Michael asked on the ride back.
"The company sang it beautifully, but it's a little too tragic for my tastes. Not that I can think of a cheerful opera, but even so."
"Which is your favourite composer?"
"Puccini, though my favourite opera is not one of his."
"Oh?"
"Carmen. First one I ever saw, and I thought it was wonderful. Been in love with it ever since."
"Still no happy ending though."
"No. I think the first person who writes one should get a Nobel prize."
"Well, winning a Nobel prize is one of my ambitions," Michael said.
"Really? Though I guess not for music. Peace prize?"
"Yeah. Seems stupid, I know-"
"It's no stupider than wanting to be President," she grinned. "And you seem pretty close to doing that. Besides, Obama did both didn't he?"
"That was a long time ago."
"Then it's about time it happened again."
She extended her stay in New York for as long as Michael did, going with him to the various rallies and visits and dinners he had. She had to admit, she was impressed. As an orator he had a verve and empathy she'd rarely seen in politicians before. Hostile audiences did not remain so for long once he began to speak. At their various dinners just the two of them, he was witty and charming and handsome. She liked him.
They slept together on their final night in the city, Alexa making the decision to invite him up to her hotel room. His kisses were warm and made her shiver in the pleasantest way, his hands the same. He used flirting and technique to turn her on. No, it wasn't the raw passion she felt with Kal but made her respond in kind, bringing pleasure and taking it—and she managed not to let her thoughts stray too far from the man beneath her. He showed surprising energy—said she brought it out of him—and the tinge of dawn was appearing on the eastern skyline before they stopped. Alexa stretched languidly; her skin was glowing with sweat and everything still had that slightly fuzzy glow to it.
The edge had been taken off and she felt sublime. It really had been too long.
Michael grinned at the expression on her face. "Still got it then."
She chuckled. "And then some."
"You're not so bad yourself." He took her into his arms and kissed her gently, smoothed sweaty hair from her face. "Alexa, I have to go."
She frowned. "Go?"
"I have to bee on a flight to Houston in less than two hours."
She stared at him for a second, then sat up sharply and reached for her dress. "I see."
He sat up too, putting his arms around her and stilling her hands. "No, I really don't think you do," he smiled, kissing her shoulder blade. "I'm on the campaign trail, Alexa. I can't spend too long in any city. No matter how much I want to."
She looked at him, eyebrow raised. "So you do want to then?"
"Oh God yes." He smiled, kissed her. "Will you come with me?"
"To Texas? I don't really do the South, Michael. Besides, I can't. I've been away from Gotham too long already—my brother will have burned the manor down already, I need to go and make sure he doesn't melt the ashes."
He laughed and nodded but looked a little disappointed. "I'm in LA on Wednesday. Think you can manage West?"
She grinned. "Yes."
Within three days of Alexa and Michael arriving in L.A., the newspapers were once again full of her name. It annoyed her in the usual way, but it amused her too, to see tabloids and magazines wondering if she would make a good First Lady. Not that the election was by any means certain, but it looked good for Michael—and so did having her on his arm. Despite having to play the socialite, Alexa was more often than not known for cleaning up the escapades of her man-whore brother, so fairly sensible as far as socialites went. For Michael, it earned him more standing with the upper classes. For Alexa, it meant that she could get good publicity without acting the idiot. The prospect of her becoming the First Lady caused several thousand pairs of raised eyebrows, but no alarm.
Thankfully, both Michael and Alexa thought it was funny more than anything. They were both having fun—Michael went from strength to strength politically, and each time he won a debate or went up in the polls, Alexa definitely felt the benefits. She didn't need to fake anything, from smiles to orgasms. The press called it a 'Whirlwind Romance', which was both true and not. They followed one another from city to city (Alexa on the campaign trail, and Michael going to Gotham when he could), and as far as everyone knew, apart from Thomas, she was falling fast, and falling hard. But there were no surprises in their relationship. Nothing that she could say overly intrigued her. Michael wasn't boring, far from it. He was still as interesting as he had been when they met, and she was discovering that he could be genuinely tender and kind, while his mind be always rapacious and searching. He was exactly the kind of man who should be President, and Alexa felt he would be a good one. She didn't think he'd be able to achieve everything he set out to, especially if he couldn't get Congress behind his ideas, but she enjoyed hearing him talk about it. Politics was always about compromise. It was either that, or deceit. And probably some of both.
She did not love him. She was unsure if she ever would. Maybe, if she didn't feel the way she did about Kal (which was something she wouldn't let herself define), maybe she would have fallen for Michael. He was certainly the kind of man a woman like her could love. She didn't feel guilty for not loving him; he didn't love her. He liked her, pleasured her, treated her with respect and affection—but not much in the way of real or lasting passion. Passion had been around in bucket-loads, physically. And it was that which helped her continue on with her life with respect to everything else. With Kal, really. She still felt the pull between them, that spark, the chemistry that often left her breathless, but now she didn't feel the need to express anything of that nature towards him. She didn't have to worry about how fast her heart was beating, or that she would have to go home full of desire with only her own body to satisfy her. Michael helped to satisfy her now, or at the very least he took the edge off her sexual frustration. He didn't make her completely happy, didn't meet her in all the ways she knew she could be met. But she tried not to think about that. Hippolyta had advised her to have fun. To be patient—therefore she would.
She and Michael had been dating for about three months when it became clear that while she was treating it all very lightly, Michael was not. They had been in Gotham, attending a fundraising concert organised by the Wayne Foundation to stop the development of the land the children's home sat on, or one of the homes, anyway.
At the end of the evening, it was Alexa's turn to make a speech. She wasn't nervous, and she'd even picked up a fair few tips from watching Michael talk to the huge crowds who turned out to see him. He kissed her just before she went up the stage.
"Knock 'em dead."
She grinned. "You know, I think I will."
"Ladies and gentlemen, I can't tell you how completely overwhelmed I am by your generosity. It's been a long time since our city was the garbage dump of America, and it's too easy to think Gotham doesn't need kindness like this anymore. Our past is sullied; our present is clearing, and thanks to all of you, our future is bright. And we need to make sure it stays that way. It isn't just one children's home. Until every child in Gotham lives without hunger, without tears, the Wayne Foundation will continue to try and help them. And that goal just got a little bit closer, with your help. Thank you. Thank you so much."
Alexa would have raised a fair amount of money alone, but Michael turning up had massively increased the press attention. Instead of the two million dollars needed, over ten had been donated. Enough to buy the land and renovate all the other children's homes in Gotham. Afterwards, she and Michael went back to the manor. Thomas took the hint and had gone out for the night, stumbling from one girl's bed to another. Or floating, really. He'd stay the night, or whatever was left of it, in the company penthouse.
After such a productive evening, Alexa was in a buoyant mood, and the sex was even better than usual, and lasted for hours, the two of them giving and receiving bodily pleasure. They did not cuddle afterwards, lying contented in the arms of their lover—but then they never had. Alexa regretted, in moments like this, that she did not love him. And, in that moment, she wondered why she didn't love him. She could not track any one thing Michael was lacking, or something about him that she didn't like. On paper he was a great match for her but love didn't fill her heart when she saw him. It probably didn't matter.
When rationality had returned to her, she rolled over to face Michael. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"Coming tonight. You really helped."
He kissed her briefly. "We make a good team."
"I agree. Things do seem to be accomplished more quickly with the two of us."
"Do you mean that?"
She frowned. "Yes. Why?"
"Because …" He got out of bed, still naked, and went to his jacket. He pulled out a small box that could only contain one thing, and knelt by her side of the bed. "Alexandra. Will you marry me?"
Her jaw dropped. "Michael…"
"I know it's sudden. But it's also the right thing to do. We make a great team, Alexa, you know that. And I think we could do even better things together in the future. Really we could."
She didn't ask if he loved her, conscious that he hadn't asked her either. And maybe that was for the best. If he did become President, time with him wasn't something she was going to get much of. But he was right—she'd cleaned up Gotham. As First Lady, wasn't it possible she could do even more? And it wasn't a completely cold decision; she liked him. She liked him a lot. Friendship made up for a lot, it was probably the most important part of a lasting marriage.
She would now eventually have to tell him the truth about herself, but that could be managed. And she believed she could be happy with him, or at least not lacking anything.
She nodded. "Yes. I'll marry you."
No one felt the good news was particularly good.
Thomas, for instance, laughed his head off. Until he saw the rock—and it was of considerable size—on her finger. Then the laughter stopped. "You're not serious? Gods above, Lexie!"
"Why wouldn't I be serious?" she asked.
"Because you've only known him twelve weeks!"
"I met him more than four months ago."
"You've only been officially dating for three of them!" Tom protested. "How can you possibly know him well enough to want to marry him?"
"Easily," she countered, not quite angry but beginning to feel defensive. "Michael is offering me an opportunity no one else is—no one else could."
"What? To play First Lady? Being a Gotham socialite and an Amazon princess isn't enough, you have to be queen of the damn castle?"
"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "The fact is, I can do more as First Lady –"
"You don't even know if he's going to win the election –"
"– than I could just in Gotham. Tommy, in a few years, Gotham won't need me anymore, in any capacity. What am I meant to do then?"
"I don't know—maybe be a member of the Justice League, like Warhawk or GL or Kal or any of us?"
"That's not enough," she said quietly. "I have forever, Tom. If you want to see this as a mistake then you go right ahead. But let this comfort you: if I am making a mistake, then at least I won't have to live with it."
For Bruce, it was the age thing.
"You're only twenty three years old, Alexa."
"Legally an adult in every country in the world."
"And he's forty nine. Twenty years is a large age gap. Too large."
"And remind me how many years there are between you and Mom?"
"Irrelevant."
"I don't think it is."
"Your mother was immortal when we met –"
"I'm immortal now."
"You're twenty-three!"
"And if I were fifty? Two hundred and fifty? What difference would it possibly make? I'd still be a child compared to Mom, compared to Hippolyta—I'm ageless, Dad. Twenty six years means nothing to me."
"And if he lives another fifty years—don't you think hell notice 'you're ageless'?" Bruce asked.
"I'll tell him."
"You can't take that risk."
"I trust him. He's a good man, Dad, and if he wasn't I wouldn't have said yes!"
"It's not just you you're risking! What about Thomas? Your mother and me, the League? Your grandmother and the Amazons?"
"I trust them to trust me! Hera, Dad, you trust my judgement when it comes to Gotham; you trust it when it comes to the League—trust me when it comes to myself, my future, and what's good for me."
Diana strongly objected to the idea of her daughter entering a loveless marriage. Very strongly. Alexa had to physically go to Isla Wayne to explain everything. When she had tried to on the phone, Diana had come out with, "I cannot believe you could make such a cold-hearted decision, Alexa. And I cannot deny how disappointed I am that you have done so."
A/N: I know that all happened really fast, but it was supposed to. Kal will be making an appearance in the next chapter, so don't fret. Review please!