Batman/West Wing snippets
Yeah, you read that right.
Sigh. Some people's crack is improbable porn. My crack is improbable crossovers.
'toonverse. Set a few months after "The Dogs of War" for TWW and a few years after "Return of Joker" for DC.
I. The Harriet Lane Sitting Room
While Bruce is talking to someone from one of the budget committees, Tim lifts a bottle of something from one of the bars and sneaks into what he thinks is a coatroom.
There's a girl sitting on an antique-looking couch (a chaise, Alfred says in his head), hugging her knees.
Tim is suddenly very aware of the way his tie is coming undone, his rumpled shirt, and the bottle of J & B in his hand. "I- thought this was the coatroom," he says lamely.
"It's the Harriet Lane Sitting Room," the girl says. "Harriet Lane used to sit here."
Tim nods. Bruce has weirder places. "Well- I guess I'm gonna go find the coatroom, and, you know." He sort of waves the scotch. Lately, drunken teenage heir has played very well, and he figures he has a few months before people start saying he never stopped being crazy. He plans to use every one of them.
The girl nods, and doesn't move as Tim turns to go. "Wait," she says suddenly as he reaches for the door. Tim turns. "Can I have some of that?" she asks.
Tim looks at her for a moment. She isn't a girl, really; she looks older than him. Drunken, debaucherous teenage heir, he thinks, and instantly feels guilty. She looks a little snapped. A little jumpy, like he knows he still does sometimes. "Sure," he says, finally.
She shifts on the couch and folds her legs under her, making room for him. He sits next to her and twists the bottle open. "So," he says as he passes it to her, "did Harriet Lane sit, like, right here? Where I'm sitting?"
The girl nods solemnly, then makes a face as she swallows some of the scotch. "They say- oh, that burns, why do people drink that?- they say she was the best hostess the White House ever had."
Tim nods, wishing he knew who Harriet Lane was. "I'm Tim," he says, taking the bottle when she offers it.
"I'm Zoey," the girl replies.
Tim blinks a little, placing the name, and the girl shoves his shoulder, hard. "Don't do that," she demands, "people always do that-" she sounds like she's going to cry.
"People do that to me, too," Tim says, before he stops to think about it. "In Gotham, I mean." Now she blinks a little and Tim takes a quick swig from the bottle to keep from having to look at her.
She doesn't say anything when she reaches for the bottle, and they pass it back and forth for a long time, listening to the muffled sounds of the party outside.
"This is my favorite place to come hide," she says finally, abruptly, when the bottle is almost empty. "No one ever comes in here. No one even knows who Harriet Lane is."
Tim nods. "At- in Gotham, there's this- we have a library, I guess, I mean, it has shelves, and-"
"That's where you go to hide?" Zoey asks. Tim nods again. The library is the only quiet dark place he's allowed to go anymore.
"I got kidnapped," she says. "And I have to I hide sometimes."
"I got kidnapped, too," Tim says.
"We never talk about it," she tells him. "Not even my father talks about it."
"No," Tim replies. "Neither does mine."
comicsverse. set sixth season for TWW, I-don't-know-when for DC.
II. Head Over Heels
Margaret meets her as she's leaving Josh's bullpen. "He's in my office right now?" CJ asks. "He's- right now, he's sitting in my office?" Margaret nods.
"You know," CJ continues, "this is why- when people talk about privilege and favoring the wealthy and patronage, this, this is what they're talking about- you couldn't have him wait in the lobby for a while?"
"He was very persuasive," Margaret says quickly as they pass the East Room.
"He wasn't persuasive, his six billion dollars were persuasive, and if any one of a number of bored newspaper writers saw him come in and breeze through the West Wing like he owned it, which I think he is actually wealthy enough to do, that's going to be the story for the next week, and all of a sudden we aren't talking about immigration, we're talking about, you know, people who have six billion dollars being able to-" CJ breaks off, sighing. "Is there a quote? Someone said something about a quote?"
Margaret nods. " 'I will move to Montpelier and marry my butler before I let the INS deport him.'"
"It's a little weird that you did that verbatim," CJ says blandly. "Was he serious? Does anyone know if he's ever serious? How the hell did his butler end up on the list anyway?"
"CJ," Margaret says carefully, "before you go in there-"
"His butler's about ninety-seven thousand years old. He's from-" CJ takes the memo Margaret offers and consults it briefly- "Surrey, he's old and he's from Surrey and we're worried he's a terrorist? Has there ever been a terrorist from Surrey?"
Margaret swallows hard and keeps talking. "CJ, before you go in there, you need to know-"
"And obviously I can't tell him I'm going to take the butler off the list, because then it really is like his six billion dollars are a thing- oh, God, he didn't give us any money, did he?" CJ asks, suddenly worried.
"No," Margaret says, "but CJ, it's very important- very important- that you know, when you walk in-"
CJ drops her briefing books on Margaret's desk. "You're sure, during the campaigns, he didn't, you know? Or one of his companies? Because if he did, I have to-"
Margaret shakes her head. "I'm sure." She pulls the immigration memo off the top of the pile and gives it back to CJ, who stares at it. "You need it," she says quickly, "and please listen now, because I never had to do this for Leo, but I think you need to be prepared-"
CJ pauses as she opens the door to her office. "Margaret, what?" she asks.
"It's just that he's the best looking man I've ever seen in real life," Margaret blurts finally as CJ gets her first glimpse of the man leaning on her desk.
"You- well, I guess you just fell through the doorway," Bruce Wayne says evenly, watching as she catches herself on the bookshelf.
"Well," CJ says, looking at him while she straightens her skirt. "Margaret was right, and I'm still a little surprised every time that happens. Let's talk about the INS, shall we?"
No. I don't know what I was thinking either.
Sigh. Some people's crack is improbable porn. My crack is improbable crossovers.
'toonverse. Set a few months after "The Dogs of War" for TWW and a few years after "Return of Joker" for DC.
I. The Harriet Lane Sitting Room
While Bruce is talking to someone from one of the budget committees, Tim lifts a bottle of something from one of the bars and sneaks into what he thinks is a coatroom.
There's a girl sitting on an antique-looking couch (a chaise, Alfred says in his head), hugging her knees.
Tim is suddenly very aware of the way his tie is coming undone, his rumpled shirt, and the bottle of J & B in his hand. "I- thought this was the coatroom," he says lamely.
"It's the Harriet Lane Sitting Room," the girl says. "Harriet Lane used to sit here."
Tim nods. Bruce has weirder places. "Well- I guess I'm gonna go find the coatroom, and, you know." He sort of waves the scotch. Lately, drunken teenage heir has played very well, and he figures he has a few months before people start saying he never stopped being crazy. He plans to use every one of them.
The girl nods, and doesn't move as Tim turns to go. "Wait," she says suddenly as he reaches for the door. Tim turns. "Can I have some of that?" she asks.
Tim looks at her for a moment. She isn't a girl, really; she looks older than him. Drunken, debaucherous teenage heir, he thinks, and instantly feels guilty. She looks a little snapped. A little jumpy, like he knows he still does sometimes. "Sure," he says, finally.
She shifts on the couch and folds her legs under her, making room for him. He sits next to her and twists the bottle open. "So," he says as he passes it to her, "did Harriet Lane sit, like, right here? Where I'm sitting?"
The girl nods solemnly, then makes a face as she swallows some of the scotch. "They say- oh, that burns, why do people drink that?- they say she was the best hostess the White House ever had."
Tim nods, wishing he knew who Harriet Lane was. "I'm Tim," he says, taking the bottle when she offers it.
"I'm Zoey," the girl replies.
Tim blinks a little, placing the name, and the girl shoves his shoulder, hard. "Don't do that," she demands, "people always do that-" she sounds like she's going to cry.
"People do that to me, too," Tim says, before he stops to think about it. "In Gotham, I mean." Now she blinks a little and Tim takes a quick swig from the bottle to keep from having to look at her.
She doesn't say anything when she reaches for the bottle, and they pass it back and forth for a long time, listening to the muffled sounds of the party outside.
"This is my favorite place to come hide," she says finally, abruptly, when the bottle is almost empty. "No one ever comes in here. No one even knows who Harriet Lane is."
Tim nods. "At- in Gotham, there's this- we have a library, I guess, I mean, it has shelves, and-"
"That's where you go to hide?" Zoey asks. Tim nods again. The library is the only quiet dark place he's allowed to go anymore.
"I got kidnapped," she says. "And I have to I hide sometimes."
"I got kidnapped, too," Tim says.
"We never talk about it," she tells him. "Not even my father talks about it."
"No," Tim replies. "Neither does mine."
comicsverse. set sixth season for TWW, I-don't-know-when for DC.
II. Head Over Heels
Margaret meets her as she's leaving Josh's bullpen. "He's in my office right now?" CJ asks. "He's- right now, he's sitting in my office?" Margaret nods.
"You know," CJ continues, "this is why- when people talk about privilege and favoring the wealthy and patronage, this, this is what they're talking about- you couldn't have him wait in the lobby for a while?"
"He was very persuasive," Margaret says quickly as they pass the East Room.
"He wasn't persuasive, his six billion dollars were persuasive, and if any one of a number of bored newspaper writers saw him come in and breeze through the West Wing like he owned it, which I think he is actually wealthy enough to do, that's going to be the story for the next week, and all of a sudden we aren't talking about immigration, we're talking about, you know, people who have six billion dollars being able to-" CJ breaks off, sighing. "Is there a quote? Someone said something about a quote?"
Margaret nods. " 'I will move to Montpelier and marry my butler before I let the INS deport him.'"
"It's a little weird that you did that verbatim," CJ says blandly. "Was he serious? Does anyone know if he's ever serious? How the hell did his butler end up on the list anyway?"
"CJ," Margaret says carefully, "before you go in there-"
"His butler's about ninety-seven thousand years old. He's from-" CJ takes the memo Margaret offers and consults it briefly- "Surrey, he's old and he's from Surrey and we're worried he's a terrorist? Has there ever been a terrorist from Surrey?"
Margaret swallows hard and keeps talking. "CJ, before you go in there, you need to know-"
"And obviously I can't tell him I'm going to take the butler off the list, because then it really is like his six billion dollars are a thing- oh, God, he didn't give us any money, did he?" CJ asks, suddenly worried.
"No," Margaret says, "but CJ, it's very important- very important- that you know, when you walk in-"
CJ drops her briefing books on Margaret's desk. "You're sure, during the campaigns, he didn't, you know? Or one of his companies? Because if he did, I have to-"
Margaret shakes her head. "I'm sure." She pulls the immigration memo off the top of the pile and gives it back to CJ, who stares at it. "You need it," she says quickly, "and please listen now, because I never had to do this for Leo, but I think you need to be prepared-"
CJ pauses as she opens the door to her office. "Margaret, what?" she asks.
"It's just that he's the best looking man I've ever seen in real life," Margaret blurts finally as CJ gets her first glimpse of the man leaning on her desk.
"You- well, I guess you just fell through the doorway," Bruce Wayne says evenly, watching as she catches herself on the bookshelf.
"Well," CJ says, looking at him while she straightens her skirt. "Margaret was right, and I'm still a little surprised every time that happens. Let's talk about the INS, shall we?"
No. I don't know what I was thinking either.