Story Time (part 2)
Sadly, the story was a teensy bit too big. Here's part 2:
“Roll.”
“Me? I thought it was Ubu’s turn.”
“Ah, by the suns of the…”
“Alright! I’ll roll, already.”
For the fourth time, I land in jail. God, I’m starting to hate Monopoly. Ra’s happens to be racking up the property, though.
“Aha! You cleverly think you can escape the harrowing taxes from my impregnable empire by hiding safely away in a guarded prison cell, but I have news for you, friend, you cannot stay for long. Your sanctuary is temporary: too swiftly will your three lost turns go by, and then…” he tents his fingers and leans back, “Then, you are at my mercy.”
“It’s your turn, Ra’s” I say, holding back a laugh.
“Is it? Oh, I see.” He straightens up and starts shaking the dice in his hands, scrutinizing the board as he did so. “Let’s see now, what enterprise shall I deem worthy to conquer next? I do own Pacific Railroad though the utilities seem particularly enticing…”
The door opens and a well-built masked man in typical minion wear interrupts in a wavering voice, “excuse me, Master…”
“What is it, man?” Ra’s sweeps around and booms, giving the lackey a horrifying glare. “Can’t you see I’m busy!” The lackey flinches as Ra’s nearly throws the dice at him.
“My apologies, Sir. My apologies. I’m most humbly sorry…it’s just that… as your grace has so wisely suggested… I’m here to tell you…my apologies…that, that someone has recently infiltrated the farthest border.” He attempts to calm himself and says in a more concise voice, “He’s here, sir.”
“Excellent!” Ra’s drops the dice carelessly on the board and springs from his chair. He remembers himself, “If you’ll excuse me, Gwendolyn-”
“-Wendy.”
“-Yes. I must leave you now. As you might guess I have other matters to attend to. For now.” He bows to me, then turns to his servant who is the current owner of the coveted Madison Gardens, “Ubu. See to it that our guest is as comfortable and secure in her confinement as possible, then join me in the control room.”
Ubu put a fist to his chest and bows. “Master.”
“Lead the way, underling.”
A few quick strides and the nervous soldier and his master are gone. Ubu and I sit back in the after math, looking at the half played monopoly board. Ubu starts picking up the game. I help him.
The bald man shakes his head as he picks up the hotels.
“What?”
He winces than says, “It’s nothing. I just can’t help feeling that this could be avoided if…”
“He had someone to talk to?”
“You got that, too?”
“He almost cried when I said I don’t mind monopoly.”
Ubu nods his head, noting that he noticed that, too. “It’s just with Talia gone doing her own thing, I can’t say that he misses her specifically, but it seems he regrets losing the female aspect.”
“Does Ra’s like women?”
He looks up with surprise from putting the lid on the box. “Of course. I mean, I can imagine it’s been a long time since he…knew one, but he’s definitely got the… potential. It’s hard to meet women in the world domination kind of work, you know? The point is he’s lonely.” Keith stows away the board and puts his hands on his hips with finality.
“Ah.” Ubu asks me if I need anything, another root beer, maybe? Or anything else before he leaves. I wave away his offerings, still stuck on the previous idea. “He’s lonely, you say?” Ra’s-rich, intelligent, environmentally aware, tolerably attractive (and believe me, I know)-is looking for a girlfriend… “How does he feel about curvy women?”
Ubu turned to my question with interest, but is called out of the room, before he can answer.
I’m eating another chocolate (my god, I’m going to make myself sick) and finishing the People magazine when I hear a strange clatter coming from outside my room. There are a few abruptly ended outbursts, a couple shots fired and cries of pain, and the doors swing open.
“WENDY!” Bruce’s voice cries out raspy and full of rage as he holds both doors open with his outstretched bare, cut up arms. He’s wet and bare chested, the rest of his costume is hanging on by a thread; he is covered in scrapes and bruises and soot. He searches the room frantically with his eyes, almost missing my head above the couch I was sitting in. “WE-”
“Over here, Bruce!” I wave and get up. I fling the People magazine away; we both almost run to each other. Bruce has hard expression of deep consternation that is focused directly on me, but I have just enough time to watch the doors swing close on a scene of piles of soldiers slumped on the ground, still moaning, twitching. I have a vague hope that Bruce hasn’t killed them until I’m distracted from it by meeting up with him.
“Wendy! All you all-” Approaching me with a momentum that would suggest flinging himself at me, he suddenly stops a few inches from me, finally noticing my outfit. The concern is almost swept completely from his still masked face as he takes a second to observe my harem girl garb. He almost smiles. His arms that were outstretched to grab me at my shoulders are now dropped at his side. “Are you alright?” he asks, finding it hard to keep his expression somber.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I take my time observing his state, noticing the peculiar but strangely appealing wardrobe choice of wearing the bottom half of his costume and cowl but leaving his chest unprotected. Kinky. “Where’d your shirt go?”
“Crocodile pit.” Bruce says simply, as if that explains everything. He’s taking another long look down my body; he can hardly hide his smirk now. Finally he comes back up to my eyes, “nice outfit.”
I, too, observe my excessive cleavage and flowy fabric, hardly able to contain my laughter. “I know.”
I smile but Bruce’s expression crumples into something more serious. His brow pulls up in the middle, he reaches towards me slowly, “Wendy, I was so…”
The doors swing open. For a second we both turn to see McKenzie in similar disrepair, holding the doors open with her mouth gaping. McKenzie and I meet each other’s gaze, she notices my state, and she closes the doors immediately. There is the distinct sound of McKenzie’s loud, uncontrollable laughter outside the room. It takes a full minute to calm down. One of the doors opens a crack and we see McKenzie peep around again. She can’t even close it this time before laughing hysterically.
I get progressively more impatient and red with embarrassment. Bruce is unsure what to do. Eventually, he calls her name in a short bark. “McKenzie.”
The door sways a little as we hear a strange wheezing in between her giggling. The large breaths become more frequent and it sounds like she’s finally calming down. McKenzie reappears in the doorway, holding her stomach and breathing through her mouth. She looks at me, purses her lips over a smile and says, “Wendy!” she throws up her hands “We’re here to rescue you!” The last part of her sentence wavers into a laugh, and she begins laughing again.
“McKenzie!” Bruce barks with more severity. McKenzie straightens and approaches us.
“Hi, Wendy.” I can tell she’s consciously avoiding glancing at my cleavage.
“Hi, McKenzie.”
“I like your…” she couldn’t finish.
“I know. It’s cool, isn’t it?”
McKenzie winces, observing my state with less and less seriousness. She’s preparing to state an objection. “You couldn’t…” she winces again, “you couldn’t at least take the veil off?”
I, myself am having a hard time keeping from smiling. “I tried, but it’s stapled on or something. I couldn’t detach it from my hair.” My next line, “it’s not that uncomfortable” couldn’t be heard over McKenzie’s redoubled laughter.
“Oh, Wendy.” She places a hand on my shoulder after straightening from laughing with her hands on her knees. Her eyes have tears. “I’m glad to see you’re okay.”
“Thanks.”
“We need to start moving.” Bruce impatiently straightens the one glove he has left. “Nightwing should almost be done with securing the southern end where Robin is waiting with the jet…”
“Tim is here? You brought the whole gang? For me?”
Bruce’s jaw softens as he says, “Of course.” Then, “we need to get moving, before…”
“FOOLS!” Ra’s bursts in through the doors, accusatory finger high in the air. It seems that he has dressed up for the occasion; he’s wearing a more elaborate cape than what he was wearing before, and boots and gold earrings. Ubu trails him quickly behind in an over-beaded vest. Bruce’s expression immediately darkens; McKenzie rolls her eyes. “You think you can infiltrate my fortress so easily. But there must be retribution for your heinous crimes. There must be…”
Ra’s can’t finish, mainly because he is being held up against the wall by his throat by Batman. “What.” Batman seethes. There are choking sounds from the old man as he struggles to get out, and Ubu is vainly trying to release Batman’s hand. “What could I have possibly done for you to disrespect me in such a way.” Bruce’s brow darkens. Ubu has resorted to kicking him. “What you have done…” his jaw clenches,“I can’t…”
I realize that something must be done in calming him. I see the folder a few feet away, and quickly stride to reach Bruce. “Bruce, it’s this. These are our ‘crimes.’” With difficulty, I persuade Bruce to let go of Ra’s to take the folder. While Bruce flips quickly through the evidence I keep a hand on his arm to remind that yes, I’m alive, and he doesn’t have to kill anyone for me. It seems to have calmed him a little on a basic level. Ra’s is quickly escorted farther away by Ubu; he stands protectively in front of Ra’s while Ra’s rubs his own neck and tries to regain some of his imposing demeanor.
After only a few moments of sifting through the evidence, Batman speaks, still looking at the folder. “I know this case. Ricardo “Ricky” Velasquez, age 67, is in the early stages of Alzheimer’s. He came to us earlier to ask if we would buy out his business so that he could pay for his medication. Wayne Enterprises has bought the store, but as a Wayne Enterprises employee, he now gets his medication free of charge, full benefits, and dental. The money from the sale went towards his retirement fund, any luxuries he would like to enjoy in his few years left of sanity, and inheritance for his underprivileged descendents. Despite all this, Ricky has expressed interest to live out his remaining days just as he has for the past forty years: working at the store he has built from his own sweat and blood. Wayne Enterprises allows this to happen as long as his infirmity doesn’t interfere, and he is being monitored to make sure that that doesn’t happen. He has been doing pretty well as of late; the medication has been helping; the deterioration is minimal. To increase his chances, Wayne Foundations is spearheading a national effort to find a cure and better methods of treatment for Alzheimers. The “Ricky Velasquez Foundation” has reached funds to the millions and the heads of the project are optimistic of finding an outcome. In the meantime, however, Ricky still shows small signs of his unfortunate disease from time to time, especially occasionally forgetting to turn off the porch lights of his store. Wayne Enterprises fully recognizes the magnitude of such an act at the crucial time for the hawksbill flatback hatchlings indigenous to the area and are at this moment installing a better, more efficient automated porch light that would fix this problem.”
Batman snaps the folder close and tosses it on the ground. He didn’t look at it once during the speech; it was all from his memory. Ra’s sputters for a moment. Batman turns around, takes my arm, and starts walking me towards the door.
“You cannot leave! You must pay for your crimes! Ubu!” He gestures towards his servant.
The hulking man nods and charges towards Batman. “Infidel!” He cries in a thick Arabian accent.
I am pushed harshly to the side. A mere second later, Ubu is taking a shot at Batman. The pilates instructor is fast, but Bruce is not playing games. In nearly one movement, Bruce blocks, twists, and sends Ubu sliding across the floor, all without turning. There was the sound of a break somewhere in the middle; Keith is crying out in pain on the floor.
“Bruce!” He turns back quickly to catch my distressed look. He remembers: he must be nice. There’s a moment when he takes some kind of Chi breath to calm down, and then he holds out his hand to me. “Let’s go home.”
I take his hand and he pulls me close to lead me out. “You didn’t have to do that, you know. He’s a really nice guy.” I whisper while he’s trying to shuffle me out. He rolls his eyes.
“No! This is not acceptable! We need to finish this.”
“I am done here.”
“I will not stop in seeking justice. The crimes… sea turtles…”
I lay a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “Bruce…” I say quietly, giving him a look, “…he’s lonely.” He clenches his jaw.
Meanwhile, McKenzie, who has been disinterestedly pilfering the contents of my palatial prison, is suddenly excited. Though I can tell no difference in the clatter coming from outside of the room, she seems to now deem it worthy of yelping excitedly and running towards the door. The brawl outside comes close to the door and it is burst open by the sliding body of a minion. Nightwing, shirtless, fighting off the last handful of minions still clinging onto his arms and back, comes in smiling.
“What… uhn… is taking you guys so long?” Right as the last of the clingers-on is dislodged and unconscious, McKenzie throws herself onto to him in almost the same fashion. Nightwing doesn’t seem to mind the change.
“Hey, Nightwing.” He shifts McKenzie to look towards me. He’s better than the others: he stifles his laughter at my appearance extremely quickly.
“Wendy, ya’lright there?”
“Just fine. I always like vacations.”
“Enough.” Ra’s breaks in, “We shall settle this. Take up arms, Detective, and I…” Ra’s unsheathes a curved sword from his belt and swings it around menacingly, “I will have my retribution.”
I hear the slightest sigh from my husband. He looks to Nightwing and McKenzie who are attached but otherwise seemingly ready for action. He looks back at me. I shrug. “I’m fine.”
“Nightwing.” Bruce nods in my direction. Dick responds with a short nod that carries equal solemnity. Batman reluctantly and carefully gives my hand that he was holding to Dick, passing me off as some expensive object. Dick accepts it without any embarrassment. I’m a little disgusted by the exchange. Bruce moves off only after McKenzie flanks me on the other side, her back almost pressed into me as she stays vigilant to the exit. “Take her to safety,” he says over my head, “I’ll deal with him.”
Batman turns his back to us and unsheathes a sword that was lying nearby. The two stand with their swords ready, feet spread slightly apart, silent: western face-off style. Before there is a first strike, Nightwing and McKenzie start pushing me towards the door.
“Can’t we watch them? I haven’t seen a good sword fight since Princess Bride.”
Dick stops, questioning the orders for the first time. “I suppose we can watch. Everyone else is incapacitated, and even if there were stragglers they wouldn’t be anything McKenzie or I can’t handle.”
“And it’s not like Ra’s is going to be a problem.” McKenzie jerks her thumb towards Ra’s who is still squaring off with Batman; they are slowly circling now.
“Ra’s isn’t better than Batman, is he?” I look doubtfully to a man who has hundreds of years to hone his fighting skills, and to another who has a hundred times more drive to learn.
Dick’s smile lines mold around the edges of his mask. “Ra’s is going to get his ass kicked.”
The first strike: Ra’s lunges. Batman is too quick and the swords clang. The fight starts and their expert skills result in many near misses and artful maneuvers. The three of us become enthralled at watching the fight. Dick drops my hand, which is good, because it was becoming increasingly uncomfortable for everyone, involved or not. We stare open mouthed at the fight, the debate on leaving completely erased from our minds.
Ra’s slices a pillow clean in half in effort to take off Batman’s arm. Batman springs back and counters. “You know,” I cross my arms (awkwardly: the cleavage), “now that I think of it, the sword fight in Pirates of the Caribbean was pretty good too.”
Batman vaults over a low sofa. “Eh.” McKenzie shrugs, not taking her eye off the fight. “Felt too staged. The originality was overshadowed by its lack of spontaneity.”
Ra’s lunges with his sword so that Batman nearly falls over in dodging it. It seems to have grazed him lightly on the stomach. “I have a love-hate relationship with that part where Orlando gets doused with dirt. On the one hand, he’s dirty. On the other, he’s ugly in dirt. The wig especially makes it unpleasant.”
Batman swipes at Ras’ leg. “Orlando is ugly in anything. That guy is so repulsive; I don’t know why anyone likes him.”
Ra’s takes a cheap shot and kicks while their swords are locked. Batman recovers. “Too true. He is really unattractive. And really bad at acting, too. I was so disappointed when he came out of his Legolas costume.”
“He really should have stopped there.”
“Remember Troy? Blah. Disgusting.”
“Nauseating.”
“Hideous.”
“I don’t think he’s that bad.”
We both turn around to stare blankly at Nightwing.
“I mean, I wouldn’t marry him or anything, but I liked him as Legolas.”
I roll my eyes. “Everyone liked him as Legolas.” McKenzie continues to stare. “That’s where the whole problem started.” McKenzie is still staring, still at a loss for words. Her lip curls and she hits him. Another near miss calls us back to the fight.
The fight progresses through the large marble room. Statues are tipped in the direction of the foe, pillows thrown and sliced, furniture stepped on and overturned. Batman deflects three maroon pillows while advancing on Ra’s.
“This doesn’t make really make sense. Batman doesn’t kill people; why is he dueling with a sword?” Batman makes a lunge that if it wasn’t deflected would certainly vitally injure Ra’s.
“They do this all the time,” Nightwing says, as if it’s an explanation. “It’s kind of required when you go against Ra’s.”
“He seems to be particular about quite a lot of things.” I sourly look down at my outfit.
“I’ll say.” The swords cross and the two men, arms shaking, struggle to push the swords one way or the other.
I wonder at the similarity of undress between Dick and Bruce. “Dick, how did you lose your shirt?”
Nightwing looks down at his chest, almost in surprise. “Oh. There was an explosion.” The swords are dangerously close to Batman’s face.
“A shirt-taking-off explosion?” It’s probably a rule in Ra’s house that you have to take off your shirt if you are male and… “McKenzie. Did you lose your shirt?” I finally notice that the tank top she is wearing is the cloth one she usually wears under her costume.
She looks down at her chest in the same way as Dick. “Uh huh.” The swords nearly touch Ras’ neck.
“How?”
She shrugs. “It’s really hot out there.” She makes a squinched up face, and shakes out her limbs “I was sticky.”
With a final burst of strength, Ra’s pushes Batman off of him. They begin circling again. Batman strikes, Ra’s counters, but Bruce does a tricky move that sends Ra’s sword flying from his hand. Ra’s trips over an ornate footstool and scrambles to get up. He can’t. Batman has the tip of his sword at Ra’s neck. He breathes heavily, and in his low, scratchy voice says “Yield.”
Ra’s swallows and catches his breath. “Yes. It is true: you have once again bested me with steel, Detective. It would be a grievous lie to…”
Without letting Ra’s finish his monologue, Batman throws the sword to the side. He marches quickly towards me, ignoring Ra’s sputtering protestations, and grabs my arm. Our starts moving quickly in a body, me in the middle though I am having trouble keeping up with Bruce’s long stride. Ra’s trails behind yelling half formed soliloquies about “honor” and “prowess.”
“Thanks for the hospitality!” I yell back at Ra’s through my army. “It was a pleasure being kidnapped by you!” Ra’s can only wave. I remember something else. “Say goodbye to Keith for me!”
“Wendy.” Bruce clamps down harder on my arm. We’re moving faster than before, and Batman is steaming.
“Keith…?” McKenzie starts to ask, but Nightwing shushes her.
I hardly know where we go or what the other places look like. I am practically carried out of the door. McKenzie or Nightwing once in a while break rank and I catch a glimpse of another marble hallway while the muffled sound of a throw-down is behind me. Finally we get outside; my feet touch sand. We rush to a passenger jet nearby and we all strap in.
Bruce takes the controls and everyone else buckles up in the back. I get to hear what everyone had to do to get me, which was a lot, and their personal adventures. There is a lot of talk of near-deaths and explosions, not to mention traversing halfway across the world. I’m a little amazed at the extent they had to go to get me back, and even more that they don’t seem to begrudge the adventure at all.
“But don’t you guys feel bad about spending useful hours and many millions of dollars just getting me from a kidnapping?”
They all shrug. “I’d say it was a worthy investment,” Dick says, trailing his eyes to the cockpit. I look up there, too.
I decide to visit Bruce in the cockpit. Though the others have changed, washed, or at least dried off a little, Bruce is still in the same condition he was when we left Ra’s palace. The pilot head gear a looks a little funny on top of the cowl.
He probably hears me coming because of the bells on my feet ornaments, but he doesn’t seem to acknowledge it. I sit down in the co-pilot seat next to him, folding a leg under and crossing my arms. Bruce doesn’t say anything; in fact, he hasn’t said a word since we exited the palace. This doesn’t bother me; I don’t say anything for a while either.
After a moment, I sigh. Then I say, “Well, that was fun.”
Bruce looks to me and suddenly he’s flicking switches very rapidly. He gets up; I assume he put the jet on autopilot. Without a word he towers over me, and then roughly picks up my arm. He twists it from side to side, grazing it with his other hand, pushing up my stupid fluffy sleeves. He drops my arm and picks up my other one, doing to the same quick and harsh process.
“Hey, hey, hey! What are you doing?”
“Have you been hurt? Was he abusive? Do you feel woozy at all?” He barks at me in his full blown Batman voice, twisting my neck in odd directions and peering closely at it.
“No, I’m fine. Quit it!”
He doesn’t stop. “Did he inject you with anything? Did he ask you weird questions? Did he mention anything that seemed out of place?” He lifts a leg to examine it. I can only imagine what that must look like from the passenger area.
“No, no, no. We played Monopoly.” I’m momentarily blinded by a sharp small light shown in my pupils.
He stops. “You played Monopoly?”
“Yeah. I don’t think he planned anything nefarious, Bruce.” I rub my eyes to get rid of the spots. “I think kidnapping was it.”
For a moment there’s no more interrogation and I concentrate on rubbing my eyes. When I open them, however, it’s because Bruce is no longer standing, but has buried his face in my lap, arms clasped tightly around my legs. I am surprised but mainly because he chose to show this kind of vulnerability around the family, which he doesn’t usually do, and because it was unexpected as it always is. I lay a hand on the back of his cowl and wait. I can feel him breathe through the fabric, but he doesn’t say anything.
Eventually I feel short bursts of air and his shoulders shake. He starts making a low, rhythmic noise that is getting louder. I start worrying about who is going to land the plane if Bruce is incapacitated with crying. He lifts his head; he’s smiling and laughing.
“What?”
“…This outfit…” he touches the gauzy fabric and laughs again.
“Okay, I have had just about enough of everyone making fun my clothes. I didn’t pick out, you know, so I shouldn’t have…”
“No.” He sits back on his heels and trails a hand up my leg, gently this time. “I’m saying that I like it.”
“You do?” Our eyes lock, and I know from experience that it is definitely not a joking gaze.
“Yes.” He starts to sit up and he continues to trail his hand all the way up the seam of the dress. “We don’t have that many costumes” he reaches my neck and kisses it, “for you.”
Ooh. So the trip wasn’t such a waste after all. “You see? Ra’s is not such a bad guy.”
He pulls back. “Aside from the genocide.”
“Yes. Aside from that.” I grin, thinking about my new plan. My sister Katy has been bugging me to set her up with someone from my vast connections. I’ve been looking half-heartedly, but all I know are lazy, rich charity slobs, the kind of real-life Bruce Wayne’s. But someone who is passionate, intelligent, environmentally active… I can just imagine pitching it. “Katy: how do you feel about evil men?” Ubu and I have exchanged email addresses and I’m supposed to notify him if it’s a go. I can’t tell Bruce; I’m sure he’d be thrilled at the idea of his mortal enemy dating his sister in law. But then again, it may never go anywhere.
Bruce sits back in his seat and flicks autopilot off, quickly reaching his usual silent serene. I relax back, too, and we chat about what we might do when we get home or later in the week, the children making noise in the background, asking loudly if we “are close to home yet?”
“Roll.”
“Me? I thought it was Ubu’s turn.”
“Ah, by the suns of the…”
“Alright! I’ll roll, already.”
For the fourth time, I land in jail. God, I’m starting to hate Monopoly. Ra’s happens to be racking up the property, though.
“Aha! You cleverly think you can escape the harrowing taxes from my impregnable empire by hiding safely away in a guarded prison cell, but I have news for you, friend, you cannot stay for long. Your sanctuary is temporary: too swiftly will your three lost turns go by, and then…” he tents his fingers and leans back, “Then, you are at my mercy.”
“It’s your turn, Ra’s” I say, holding back a laugh.
“Is it? Oh, I see.” He straightens up and starts shaking the dice in his hands, scrutinizing the board as he did so. “Let’s see now, what enterprise shall I deem worthy to conquer next? I do own Pacific Railroad though the utilities seem particularly enticing…”
The door opens and a well-built masked man in typical minion wear interrupts in a wavering voice, “excuse me, Master…”
“What is it, man?” Ra’s sweeps around and booms, giving the lackey a horrifying glare. “Can’t you see I’m busy!” The lackey flinches as Ra’s nearly throws the dice at him.
“My apologies, Sir. My apologies. I’m most humbly sorry…it’s just that… as your grace has so wisely suggested… I’m here to tell you…my apologies…that, that someone has recently infiltrated the farthest border.” He attempts to calm himself and says in a more concise voice, “He’s here, sir.”
“Excellent!” Ra’s drops the dice carelessly on the board and springs from his chair. He remembers himself, “If you’ll excuse me, Gwendolyn-”
“-Wendy.”
“-Yes. I must leave you now. As you might guess I have other matters to attend to. For now.” He bows to me, then turns to his servant who is the current owner of the coveted Madison Gardens, “Ubu. See to it that our guest is as comfortable and secure in her confinement as possible, then join me in the control room.”
Ubu put a fist to his chest and bows. “Master.”
“Lead the way, underling.”
A few quick strides and the nervous soldier and his master are gone. Ubu and I sit back in the after math, looking at the half played monopoly board. Ubu starts picking up the game. I help him.
The bald man shakes his head as he picks up the hotels.
“What?”
He winces than says, “It’s nothing. I just can’t help feeling that this could be avoided if…”
“He had someone to talk to?”
“You got that, too?”
“He almost cried when I said I don’t mind monopoly.”
Ubu nods his head, noting that he noticed that, too. “It’s just with Talia gone doing her own thing, I can’t say that he misses her specifically, but it seems he regrets losing the female aspect.”
“Does Ra’s like women?”
He looks up with surprise from putting the lid on the box. “Of course. I mean, I can imagine it’s been a long time since he…knew one, but he’s definitely got the… potential. It’s hard to meet women in the world domination kind of work, you know? The point is he’s lonely.” Keith stows away the board and puts his hands on his hips with finality.
“Ah.” Ubu asks me if I need anything, another root beer, maybe? Or anything else before he leaves. I wave away his offerings, still stuck on the previous idea. “He’s lonely, you say?” Ra’s-rich, intelligent, environmentally aware, tolerably attractive (and believe me, I know)-is looking for a girlfriend… “How does he feel about curvy women?”
Ubu turned to my question with interest, but is called out of the room, before he can answer.
I’m eating another chocolate (my god, I’m going to make myself sick) and finishing the People magazine when I hear a strange clatter coming from outside my room. There are a few abruptly ended outbursts, a couple shots fired and cries of pain, and the doors swing open.
“WENDY!” Bruce’s voice cries out raspy and full of rage as he holds both doors open with his outstretched bare, cut up arms. He’s wet and bare chested, the rest of his costume is hanging on by a thread; he is covered in scrapes and bruises and soot. He searches the room frantically with his eyes, almost missing my head above the couch I was sitting in. “WE-”
“Over here, Bruce!” I wave and get up. I fling the People magazine away; we both almost run to each other. Bruce has hard expression of deep consternation that is focused directly on me, but I have just enough time to watch the doors swing close on a scene of piles of soldiers slumped on the ground, still moaning, twitching. I have a vague hope that Bruce hasn’t killed them until I’m distracted from it by meeting up with him.
“Wendy! All you all-” Approaching me with a momentum that would suggest flinging himself at me, he suddenly stops a few inches from me, finally noticing my outfit. The concern is almost swept completely from his still masked face as he takes a second to observe my harem girl garb. He almost smiles. His arms that were outstretched to grab me at my shoulders are now dropped at his side. “Are you alright?” he asks, finding it hard to keep his expression somber.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I take my time observing his state, noticing the peculiar but strangely appealing wardrobe choice of wearing the bottom half of his costume and cowl but leaving his chest unprotected. Kinky. “Where’d your shirt go?”
“Crocodile pit.” Bruce says simply, as if that explains everything. He’s taking another long look down my body; he can hardly hide his smirk now. Finally he comes back up to my eyes, “nice outfit.”
I, too, observe my excessive cleavage and flowy fabric, hardly able to contain my laughter. “I know.”
I smile but Bruce’s expression crumples into something more serious. His brow pulls up in the middle, he reaches towards me slowly, “Wendy, I was so…”
The doors swing open. For a second we both turn to see McKenzie in similar disrepair, holding the doors open with her mouth gaping. McKenzie and I meet each other’s gaze, she notices my state, and she closes the doors immediately. There is the distinct sound of McKenzie’s loud, uncontrollable laughter outside the room. It takes a full minute to calm down. One of the doors opens a crack and we see McKenzie peep around again. She can’t even close it this time before laughing hysterically.
I get progressively more impatient and red with embarrassment. Bruce is unsure what to do. Eventually, he calls her name in a short bark. “McKenzie.”
The door sways a little as we hear a strange wheezing in between her giggling. The large breaths become more frequent and it sounds like she’s finally calming down. McKenzie reappears in the doorway, holding her stomach and breathing through her mouth. She looks at me, purses her lips over a smile and says, “Wendy!” she throws up her hands “We’re here to rescue you!” The last part of her sentence wavers into a laugh, and she begins laughing again.
“McKenzie!” Bruce barks with more severity. McKenzie straightens and approaches us.
“Hi, Wendy.” I can tell she’s consciously avoiding glancing at my cleavage.
“Hi, McKenzie.”
“I like your…” she couldn’t finish.
“I know. It’s cool, isn’t it?”
McKenzie winces, observing my state with less and less seriousness. She’s preparing to state an objection. “You couldn’t…” she winces again, “you couldn’t at least take the veil off?”
I, myself am having a hard time keeping from smiling. “I tried, but it’s stapled on or something. I couldn’t detach it from my hair.” My next line, “it’s not that uncomfortable” couldn’t be heard over McKenzie’s redoubled laughter.
“Oh, Wendy.” She places a hand on my shoulder after straightening from laughing with her hands on her knees. Her eyes have tears. “I’m glad to see you’re okay.”
“Thanks.”
“We need to start moving.” Bruce impatiently straightens the one glove he has left. “Nightwing should almost be done with securing the southern end where Robin is waiting with the jet…”
“Tim is here? You brought the whole gang? For me?”
Bruce’s jaw softens as he says, “Of course.” Then, “we need to get moving, before…”
“FOOLS!” Ra’s bursts in through the doors, accusatory finger high in the air. It seems that he has dressed up for the occasion; he’s wearing a more elaborate cape than what he was wearing before, and boots and gold earrings. Ubu trails him quickly behind in an over-beaded vest. Bruce’s expression immediately darkens; McKenzie rolls her eyes. “You think you can infiltrate my fortress so easily. But there must be retribution for your heinous crimes. There must be…”
Ra’s can’t finish, mainly because he is being held up against the wall by his throat by Batman. “What.” Batman seethes. There are choking sounds from the old man as he struggles to get out, and Ubu is vainly trying to release Batman’s hand. “What could I have possibly done for you to disrespect me in such a way.” Bruce’s brow darkens. Ubu has resorted to kicking him. “What you have done…” his jaw clenches,“I can’t…”
I realize that something must be done in calming him. I see the folder a few feet away, and quickly stride to reach Bruce. “Bruce, it’s this. These are our ‘crimes.’” With difficulty, I persuade Bruce to let go of Ra’s to take the folder. While Bruce flips quickly through the evidence I keep a hand on his arm to remind that yes, I’m alive, and he doesn’t have to kill anyone for me. It seems to have calmed him a little on a basic level. Ra’s is quickly escorted farther away by Ubu; he stands protectively in front of Ra’s while Ra’s rubs his own neck and tries to regain some of his imposing demeanor.
After only a few moments of sifting through the evidence, Batman speaks, still looking at the folder. “I know this case. Ricardo “Ricky” Velasquez, age 67, is in the early stages of Alzheimer’s. He came to us earlier to ask if we would buy out his business so that he could pay for his medication. Wayne Enterprises has bought the store, but as a Wayne Enterprises employee, he now gets his medication free of charge, full benefits, and dental. The money from the sale went towards his retirement fund, any luxuries he would like to enjoy in his few years left of sanity, and inheritance for his underprivileged descendents. Despite all this, Ricky has expressed interest to live out his remaining days just as he has for the past forty years: working at the store he has built from his own sweat and blood. Wayne Enterprises allows this to happen as long as his infirmity doesn’t interfere, and he is being monitored to make sure that that doesn’t happen. He has been doing pretty well as of late; the medication has been helping; the deterioration is minimal. To increase his chances, Wayne Foundations is spearheading a national effort to find a cure and better methods of treatment for Alzheimers. The “Ricky Velasquez Foundation” has reached funds to the millions and the heads of the project are optimistic of finding an outcome. In the meantime, however, Ricky still shows small signs of his unfortunate disease from time to time, especially occasionally forgetting to turn off the porch lights of his store. Wayne Enterprises fully recognizes the magnitude of such an act at the crucial time for the hawksbill flatback hatchlings indigenous to the area and are at this moment installing a better, more efficient automated porch light that would fix this problem.”
Batman snaps the folder close and tosses it on the ground. He didn’t look at it once during the speech; it was all from his memory. Ra’s sputters for a moment. Batman turns around, takes my arm, and starts walking me towards the door.
“You cannot leave! You must pay for your crimes! Ubu!” He gestures towards his servant.
The hulking man nods and charges towards Batman. “Infidel!” He cries in a thick Arabian accent.
I am pushed harshly to the side. A mere second later, Ubu is taking a shot at Batman. The pilates instructor is fast, but Bruce is not playing games. In nearly one movement, Bruce blocks, twists, and sends Ubu sliding across the floor, all without turning. There was the sound of a break somewhere in the middle; Keith is crying out in pain on the floor.
“Bruce!” He turns back quickly to catch my distressed look. He remembers: he must be nice. There’s a moment when he takes some kind of Chi breath to calm down, and then he holds out his hand to me. “Let’s go home.”
I take his hand and he pulls me close to lead me out. “You didn’t have to do that, you know. He’s a really nice guy.” I whisper while he’s trying to shuffle me out. He rolls his eyes.
“No! This is not acceptable! We need to finish this.”
“I am done here.”
“I will not stop in seeking justice. The crimes… sea turtles…”
I lay a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “Bruce…” I say quietly, giving him a look, “…he’s lonely.” He clenches his jaw.
Meanwhile, McKenzie, who has been disinterestedly pilfering the contents of my palatial prison, is suddenly excited. Though I can tell no difference in the clatter coming from outside of the room, she seems to now deem it worthy of yelping excitedly and running towards the door. The brawl outside comes close to the door and it is burst open by the sliding body of a minion. Nightwing, shirtless, fighting off the last handful of minions still clinging onto his arms and back, comes in smiling.
“What… uhn… is taking you guys so long?” Right as the last of the clingers-on is dislodged and unconscious, McKenzie throws herself onto to him in almost the same fashion. Nightwing doesn’t seem to mind the change.
“Hey, Nightwing.” He shifts McKenzie to look towards me. He’s better than the others: he stifles his laughter at my appearance extremely quickly.
“Wendy, ya’lright there?”
“Just fine. I always like vacations.”
“Enough.” Ra’s breaks in, “We shall settle this. Take up arms, Detective, and I…” Ra’s unsheathes a curved sword from his belt and swings it around menacingly, “I will have my retribution.”
I hear the slightest sigh from my husband. He looks to Nightwing and McKenzie who are attached but otherwise seemingly ready for action. He looks back at me. I shrug. “I’m fine.”
“Nightwing.” Bruce nods in my direction. Dick responds with a short nod that carries equal solemnity. Batman reluctantly and carefully gives my hand that he was holding to Dick, passing me off as some expensive object. Dick accepts it without any embarrassment. I’m a little disgusted by the exchange. Bruce moves off only after McKenzie flanks me on the other side, her back almost pressed into me as she stays vigilant to the exit. “Take her to safety,” he says over my head, “I’ll deal with him.”
Batman turns his back to us and unsheathes a sword that was lying nearby. The two stand with their swords ready, feet spread slightly apart, silent: western face-off style. Before there is a first strike, Nightwing and McKenzie start pushing me towards the door.
“Can’t we watch them? I haven’t seen a good sword fight since Princess Bride.”
Dick stops, questioning the orders for the first time. “I suppose we can watch. Everyone else is incapacitated, and even if there were stragglers they wouldn’t be anything McKenzie or I can’t handle.”
“And it’s not like Ra’s is going to be a problem.” McKenzie jerks her thumb towards Ra’s who is still squaring off with Batman; they are slowly circling now.
“Ra’s isn’t better than Batman, is he?” I look doubtfully to a man who has hundreds of years to hone his fighting skills, and to another who has a hundred times more drive to learn.
Dick’s smile lines mold around the edges of his mask. “Ra’s is going to get his ass kicked.”
The first strike: Ra’s lunges. Batman is too quick and the swords clang. The fight starts and their expert skills result in many near misses and artful maneuvers. The three of us become enthralled at watching the fight. Dick drops my hand, which is good, because it was becoming increasingly uncomfortable for everyone, involved or not. We stare open mouthed at the fight, the debate on leaving completely erased from our minds.
Ra’s slices a pillow clean in half in effort to take off Batman’s arm. Batman springs back and counters. “You know,” I cross my arms (awkwardly: the cleavage), “now that I think of it, the sword fight in Pirates of the Caribbean was pretty good too.”
Batman vaults over a low sofa. “Eh.” McKenzie shrugs, not taking her eye off the fight. “Felt too staged. The originality was overshadowed by its lack of spontaneity.”
Ra’s lunges with his sword so that Batman nearly falls over in dodging it. It seems to have grazed him lightly on the stomach. “I have a love-hate relationship with that part where Orlando gets doused with dirt. On the one hand, he’s dirty. On the other, he’s ugly in dirt. The wig especially makes it unpleasant.”
Batman swipes at Ras’ leg. “Orlando is ugly in anything. That guy is so repulsive; I don’t know why anyone likes him.”
Ra’s takes a cheap shot and kicks while their swords are locked. Batman recovers. “Too true. He is really unattractive. And really bad at acting, too. I was so disappointed when he came out of his Legolas costume.”
“He really should have stopped there.”
“Remember Troy? Blah. Disgusting.”
“Nauseating.”
“Hideous.”
“I don’t think he’s that bad.”
We both turn around to stare blankly at Nightwing.
“I mean, I wouldn’t marry him or anything, but I liked him as Legolas.”
I roll my eyes. “Everyone liked him as Legolas.” McKenzie continues to stare. “That’s where the whole problem started.” McKenzie is still staring, still at a loss for words. Her lip curls and she hits him. Another near miss calls us back to the fight.
The fight progresses through the large marble room. Statues are tipped in the direction of the foe, pillows thrown and sliced, furniture stepped on and overturned. Batman deflects three maroon pillows while advancing on Ra’s.
“This doesn’t make really make sense. Batman doesn’t kill people; why is he dueling with a sword?” Batman makes a lunge that if it wasn’t deflected would certainly vitally injure Ra’s.
“They do this all the time,” Nightwing says, as if it’s an explanation. “It’s kind of required when you go against Ra’s.”
“He seems to be particular about quite a lot of things.” I sourly look down at my outfit.
“I’ll say.” The swords cross and the two men, arms shaking, struggle to push the swords one way or the other.
I wonder at the similarity of undress between Dick and Bruce. “Dick, how did you lose your shirt?”
Nightwing looks down at his chest, almost in surprise. “Oh. There was an explosion.” The swords are dangerously close to Batman’s face.
“A shirt-taking-off explosion?” It’s probably a rule in Ra’s house that you have to take off your shirt if you are male and… “McKenzie. Did you lose your shirt?” I finally notice that the tank top she is wearing is the cloth one she usually wears under her costume.
She looks down at her chest in the same way as Dick. “Uh huh.” The swords nearly touch Ras’ neck.
“How?”
She shrugs. “It’s really hot out there.” She makes a squinched up face, and shakes out her limbs “I was sticky.”
With a final burst of strength, Ra’s pushes Batman off of him. They begin circling again. Batman strikes, Ra’s counters, but Bruce does a tricky move that sends Ra’s sword flying from his hand. Ra’s trips over an ornate footstool and scrambles to get up. He can’t. Batman has the tip of his sword at Ra’s neck. He breathes heavily, and in his low, scratchy voice says “Yield.”
Ra’s swallows and catches his breath. “Yes. It is true: you have once again bested me with steel, Detective. It would be a grievous lie to…”
Without letting Ra’s finish his monologue, Batman throws the sword to the side. He marches quickly towards me, ignoring Ra’s sputtering protestations, and grabs my arm. Our starts moving quickly in a body, me in the middle though I am having trouble keeping up with Bruce’s long stride. Ra’s trails behind yelling half formed soliloquies about “honor” and “prowess.”
“Thanks for the hospitality!” I yell back at Ra’s through my army. “It was a pleasure being kidnapped by you!” Ra’s can only wave. I remember something else. “Say goodbye to Keith for me!”
“Wendy.” Bruce clamps down harder on my arm. We’re moving faster than before, and Batman is steaming.
“Keith…?” McKenzie starts to ask, but Nightwing shushes her.
I hardly know where we go or what the other places look like. I am practically carried out of the door. McKenzie or Nightwing once in a while break rank and I catch a glimpse of another marble hallway while the muffled sound of a throw-down is behind me. Finally we get outside; my feet touch sand. We rush to a passenger jet nearby and we all strap in.
Bruce takes the controls and everyone else buckles up in the back. I get to hear what everyone had to do to get me, which was a lot, and their personal adventures. There is a lot of talk of near-deaths and explosions, not to mention traversing halfway across the world. I’m a little amazed at the extent they had to go to get me back, and even more that they don’t seem to begrudge the adventure at all.
“But don’t you guys feel bad about spending useful hours and many millions of dollars just getting me from a kidnapping?”
They all shrug. “I’d say it was a worthy investment,” Dick says, trailing his eyes to the cockpit. I look up there, too.
I decide to visit Bruce in the cockpit. Though the others have changed, washed, or at least dried off a little, Bruce is still in the same condition he was when we left Ra’s palace. The pilot head gear a looks a little funny on top of the cowl.
He probably hears me coming because of the bells on my feet ornaments, but he doesn’t seem to acknowledge it. I sit down in the co-pilot seat next to him, folding a leg under and crossing my arms. Bruce doesn’t say anything; in fact, he hasn’t said a word since we exited the palace. This doesn’t bother me; I don’t say anything for a while either.
After a moment, I sigh. Then I say, “Well, that was fun.”
Bruce looks to me and suddenly he’s flicking switches very rapidly. He gets up; I assume he put the jet on autopilot. Without a word he towers over me, and then roughly picks up my arm. He twists it from side to side, grazing it with his other hand, pushing up my stupid fluffy sleeves. He drops my arm and picks up my other one, doing to the same quick and harsh process.
“Hey, hey, hey! What are you doing?”
“Have you been hurt? Was he abusive? Do you feel woozy at all?” He barks at me in his full blown Batman voice, twisting my neck in odd directions and peering closely at it.
“No, I’m fine. Quit it!”
He doesn’t stop. “Did he inject you with anything? Did he ask you weird questions? Did he mention anything that seemed out of place?” He lifts a leg to examine it. I can only imagine what that must look like from the passenger area.
“No, no, no. We played Monopoly.” I’m momentarily blinded by a sharp small light shown in my pupils.
He stops. “You played Monopoly?”
“Yeah. I don’t think he planned anything nefarious, Bruce.” I rub my eyes to get rid of the spots. “I think kidnapping was it.”
For a moment there’s no more interrogation and I concentrate on rubbing my eyes. When I open them, however, it’s because Bruce is no longer standing, but has buried his face in my lap, arms clasped tightly around my legs. I am surprised but mainly because he chose to show this kind of vulnerability around the family, which he doesn’t usually do, and because it was unexpected as it always is. I lay a hand on the back of his cowl and wait. I can feel him breathe through the fabric, but he doesn’t say anything.
Eventually I feel short bursts of air and his shoulders shake. He starts making a low, rhythmic noise that is getting louder. I start worrying about who is going to land the plane if Bruce is incapacitated with crying. He lifts his head; he’s smiling and laughing.
“What?”
“…This outfit…” he touches the gauzy fabric and laughs again.
“Okay, I have had just about enough of everyone making fun my clothes. I didn’t pick out, you know, so I shouldn’t have…”
“No.” He sits back on his heels and trails a hand up my leg, gently this time. “I’m saying that I like it.”
“You do?” Our eyes lock, and I know from experience that it is definitely not a joking gaze.
“Yes.” He starts to sit up and he continues to trail his hand all the way up the seam of the dress. “We don’t have that many costumes” he reaches my neck and kisses it, “for you.”
Ooh. So the trip wasn’t such a waste after all. “You see? Ra’s is not such a bad guy.”
He pulls back. “Aside from the genocide.”
“Yes. Aside from that.” I grin, thinking about my new plan. My sister Katy has been bugging me to set her up with someone from my vast connections. I’ve been looking half-heartedly, but all I know are lazy, rich charity slobs, the kind of real-life Bruce Wayne’s. But someone who is passionate, intelligent, environmentally active… I can just imagine pitching it. “Katy: how do you feel about evil men?” Ubu and I have exchanged email addresses and I’m supposed to notify him if it’s a go. I can’t tell Bruce; I’m sure he’d be thrilled at the idea of his mortal enemy dating his sister in law. But then again, it may never go anywhere.
Bruce sits back in his seat and flicks autopilot off, quickly reaching his usual silent serene. I relax back, too, and we chat about what we might do when we get home or later in the week, the children making noise in the background, asking loudly if we “are close to home yet?”