Part 2, by DC LADY

Thank you, Djinn for the beta.

"You want me to marry Batman?"

"Not exactly.  You'll be marrying Bruce Wayne."  Clark guided Diana to a chair in a private corner of the commissary.  "I know this is probably not the type of marriage you've envisioned, but at the moment it's our only solution."

"I'm from an island of women.  I never had visions of marriage.  At least not with a man." 

"Oh." Clark blushed, cleared his throat.  "So you'll consider it?"

"What does Bruce have to say about this?  He hasn't been receptive to any of my flirtations let alone marriage." 

So she was interested in Bruce, after all.  And if his suspicions were correct…. "He didn't say no."

She raised her eyebrow.  "But he didn't say yes."

"He said he'd consider it."

"Why?"

Clark averted his eyes from her intense gaze.

"Clark, why would he even consider marrying me?"

He looked down at the floor.  It was a nice floor. 

"You blackmailed him, didn't you?"

"Yes.  But this would be to his advantage, too.  He won't have to spend as much time solidifying his reputation as a womanizer and therefore could spend more time as Batman."

She paused, leaned in closer.  "Will this marriage be consummated?"

Superman was getting really tired of blushing.  "Um.  That's something you and Bruce would have to discuss."

As if on cue, Bruce entered the commissary, heading their way.

"If we both agree, when will this marriage take place?"

"The sooner the better," Bruce said, reaching the table.  "My sources tell me that Cadmus is planning to make a move soon.  There's no time to waste."

Clark stood.  "So you're agreeing to marry Diana?"

"Yes."

"Good.  I better let the others know.  We can't afford any leaks to Cadmus."

"Wait.  I believe it's customary for the man to actually ask the woman if she is willing to become his wife."  Diana faced Bruce with a smirk.

"Diana, this is an arranged marriage to keep you in the United States.  Nothing more."

"Nothing more?  Won't we have to keep up pretenses once we're married?"

"Yes, but--"

 "Won't my life, and yours, be changed if we are married?"

"Yes--"

"I'm not good at living under pretense, Bruce."

"There's not much of a choice."

"Yes there is.  I will become your wife under certain conditions."

Clark rolled his eyes.  "What are your conditions, Diana?"

She turned to Bruce.  "You've ignored my advances, but I know that you find me attractive.  It takes a lot of energy to pretend you don't care, Bruce.  We'll be seeing a lot more of each other.  You can't contain that type of attraction for very long."

Crimson was becoming Clark's color of choice.  Why was he still here anyway?  "I think I'll leave you two to discuss …"

"No," Bruce nearly shouted.  "I mean, we still need to make plans--"

"I propose that we make this marriage work.  We can begin to date, see what develops.  If it doesn't work out, we get a divorce, once Cadmus is no longer a threat that is."

"So you want to get married then begin a dating relationship?" Superman grinned.  "Sounds reasonable to me."

"I told you before my reasons for not dating, Diana."

"Yes, you did.  And in case you haven't been paying attention, you and I will be married.  Your reasons no longer apply."

Clark chuckled, which garnered a glare from Bruce.  Diana definitely won this round.

Diana turned on her heel, looked over her shoulder as she spoke.  "Why don't you gentlemen go and make the necessary arrangements?  I have a wedding to get ready for."

Clark took a stunned Bruce by the shoulder, leading him down the corridor. 

"This was not what I envisioned."

Superman grinned, patting his friend's shoulder.  "There, there, Bruce, I think you and Diana are going to be very happy together."

Part 4, by JOSEPH CONNELL

Needless to say, it wasn't that easy.

The frenzy of spending and ‘arrangements’ his operatives engaged in notwithstanding, 

there was the more mundane - though significantly more vital matter - of procuring the 

necessary paperwork to ensure it wasn’t all a wasted effort.

Diana’s citizenship had been a matter of legal debate since the League first came together 

all those years ago. Themyscira wasn’t actually recognized by the UN and maintained no 

embassy or consulate anywhere, and Diana’s status as ‘ambassador’ had always been more 

honorary than legal.  Add to that the unspoken acknowledgement that her ‘birth’ wasn’t...conventional 

in any sense of the term...

Ever the strategist, Batman had long foreseen there might come a point when members of the League 

would come under scrutiny and face possible extradition or expulsion; their basing on the Watchtower 

was an interim solution at best.  Fortunately there were some very friendly members of the bench 

(local, State, and Federal) who had issued an emergency ruling or two in the past, and who could be 

called upon in a pinch to provide a very special, very limited waiver for purposes of contingencies like 

this.

Even so, none of those contingencies or protocols foresaw something like this. Not the attempt to 

remove Wonder Woman, per se; her very public profile and stances made her the most likely target 

for such a move. No, he just never figured he’d have to play a part in this.

His muddled feelings towards the Princess in question – equal parts exasperation, admiration, irritation, 

and a sense of protectiveness that (on the rare instance he acknowledged it) went far beyond her being 

simply another teammate – didn’t help matters.

Rather than risk paralysis trying to analyze those feelings or the likely consequences of all this, he 

focused on getting the more public and legal ends of this madness established.

The ‘cover story’ could attend to itself; he knew full well how much gossip columnists were paid and 

how extensive their web of contacts was.  Better to allow the cover to evolve on its own, prompting it 

with a few, select appearances in public.

This meant it was off to the Gotham County Courthouse, where all prospective wedding parties would 

have to stand patiently in line to get and fill out the necessary forms.  When the other would-be couples 

and otherwise bored clerks noticed a less-than-well disguised Bruce Wayne, in the company of an 

equally less-than-perfectly disguised Princess Diana, standing in line to procure a wedding license...well, 

the normally quiet, almost sedate atmosphere of the Clerk's office became abuzz with whispers and 

excitement.

Both members of the party in question bore it all with the enviable grace and dignity, although Bruce 

played his own part to perfection, trying without success to pay the $50 license fee with his Platinum 

VISA card, being rescued from further embarrassment when the Princess handed over a simple money 

order for the requisite amount (doing so with a dramatic sigh that spoke volumes of her expectations of 

her future spouse) along with the single-sheet waiver provided by the State Supreme Court.

* * *

The Society Pages naturally picked up the story from there.  Past functions and events were suddenly 

cast in a new light, speculation running rampant over how long they’d been involved as every known 

interaction between Gotham’s most eligible fop and the foreign Princess was scrutinized.  The society 

matrons, those self-appointed guardians of the upper crust, were all a-clucking, only further adding to 

the background noise.

By the following day, the papers had grabbed the story and run with it.  The legend-writers out of Langley,

who spun elaborate covers and life histories for their spies overseas, couldn’t have done a better job.

It took another day before various dailies in other cities got the story, whether over the wire or by 

word-of-mouth.  The ‘respectable’ ones devoted at best a single column to the impending nuptials in 

their Styles section; the hot sheets did everything from full-page spreads to manufacturing “exclusive” 

exposes, none of them detailing anything remotely close to reality.

Despite this, plus more than a few surprise spots on television announcing the engagement, it was a 

full 72 hours before the news actually made it to certain select parties in Washington.  Not a few hurried 

conferences were called amongst the same parties, none of whom could agree on anything other than 

“this is most unexpected” and wondering "is this a bad thing?"

Amanda Waller was in a Lear owned and operated by the US Park Service before anyone knew it, 

landing at Gotham International Airport by the time the first light-bulbs in Langley, Fort George Meade, 

and underneath the Pentagon got together in their secure locations.

Before anyone could blink, she had a late-night meeting with the nominal head of the Wayne 

Foundation in his penthouse office.

Part 5, by HEYBATS

Dana Richards arguably had the easiest job at WayneTech. She served
as Bruce's personal secretary. She was used to long absences, short
days, and meeting some of the world's most rich and powerful (and
occasionally some of the most famous) people.

None of them had ever made her feel quite so small as Amanda Waller. 
The woman had been waiting for five minutes, seated in the leather
chair in the lobby across from her desk, steadily boring holes with
her stare. Dana literally felt a trickle of sweat start at the small
of her back, a typical response in a fight or flight situation.

The intercom next to her desk thankfully rang seconds later, and Dana
ushered Amanda Waller into his office.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Bruce made a point of greeting her affably, making a deliberate point
to portray the bon vivant playboy in front of his secretary. Dana
poured them both a fresh mug of coffee, then Bruce motioned for her
to lock the door and arm the anti-surveillance devices that kept
corporate espionage to a minimum at WayneTech. As soon as the door
closed behind her, the affable countenance of Bruce Wayne suddenly
transformed into the menace of the Bat. Amanda had never seen Batman
without the cowl on, and even she found the experience unsettling.

She squirmed in her chair for a moment, then tried to regain the
advantage.

"You've managed to surprise me at almost every turn these last few
months, Rich Boy, but this one takes the cake."

"We're not about to roll over and allow one of our most powerful
members to be deported, Amanda. Besides, it's not as if your spin-
control machine has managed to turn public opinion against us.
Exposing Cadmus as Luthor's pawn turned public opinion back in our
favor. I've already hired a few public relations firm to attack your
latest campaign."

"Do your best, Rich Boy. Illegal immigration is a hot topic these
days, or hadn't you noticed?"

"I read the paper."

"Does Diana read the paper, or should I ask CAN she read the paper?"

"Diana's smarter than you think."

"That's not saying much, especially if she's desperate enough to
marry the likes of you."

"She's not desperate. Diana's a remarkable woman. I've watched her
stand toe to toe with Mongol.  I doubt she's too worried about a few
agents from the INS."

"Then why bother marrying her at all?  Can't you just keep her locked
up there in the Watchtower?  If she doesn't get involved in any
missions in the U.S., then what do you have to worry about?"

"A princess locked up in a tower? Really, Amanda, I'd thought more of
you than to suggest some sort of fairy tale ending. What next, do you
suggest she grow her hair long and wait for somebody to scale the
walls and save her?"

"Isn't that what you're doing right now? Only in your version of the
story, it's a 150 year old manor perched on a cliff."

"You can do better than that, Waller. Why are you really here?"

"As a representative of your government, I just thought you'd like to
know that the INS doesn't take kindly to U.S. citizens lending their
citizenship to foreigners in order to procure a green card for them.
I'd venture to guess that if you try to divorce her before a five-
year standstill period, the INS will pull her green card, and you'll
be back in the same boat. Or at least, she will."

"I can think of worse ways to spend the next five years." He growled.

"I'm sure playing house with the Princess will be every bit as
satisfying as you hope it will be," Waller smirked. "You can expect
your first interview with the INS in two days. They'll be stopping by
to ensure that it's not just a marriage of convenience. Better have
your stories straight, or this dog won't hunt."

"Spoken like a woman from East St. Louis. If you're done, there's the
door."

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"Five years? You can't be serious?" Diana exploded. "And how are we 
supposed to convince the INS that our marriage isn't a sham?"

"We have to learn some personal, intimate details about each other
that will convince them the marriage is real."

"Being involved with the world's most emotionally unavailable man
isn't exactly going to help my cause here, is it?"

"I thought Orion took that title away from me."

"He's Genosian," she retorted. "He gets a pass. Wait, did you just
make a joke?"

"I'm trying."

"Hera help me," She allowed herself a long, calming stare at the
ceiling of the den in the Manor. Diana took a deep breath, then
decided to make the best of it. "Okay, when and where are they coming
to interview us?"

"The Manor. Three o'clock on Thursday."

"That gives us tonight and all day tomorrow, as well as most of
Thursday.  Are you available?"

"I've been working on a few companies that are ripe candidates for
acquisition -"

"Don't even start - "

"- But I can put them on hold for a few days. What's a few extra
million dollars in lawyer's fees, anyway?"

"Better," Diana grimaced. "So I'm assuming that I'll need to be
familiar with the house and its history - "

"- As well as some relevant details about my social calendar, hobbies
and other things."

"Do you have any hobbies, other than ejecting out of high speed plane
crashes?"

"Funny. I play polo once a month. Golf about once every four months
at the club to maintain appearances."

"You'll have to take me golfing sometime," Diana replied with a warm
smile. "I like some of the outfits that I've seen."

"I'll open an account for you at the club. I'd lend you my credit
cards, but Nightwing and Batgirl already borrowed them to pay for our
bachelor and bachelorette parties."

"Shouldn't we call them Dick and Barbara while we're in the Manor?"

"Point taken. Let's start at the beginning, and then work our way to
here.  How did we meet?"

"You hit on me in Paris a year ago. I flirted back. We danced.
There's photos to prove it." That much was true. Some of the more
enterprising newspapers in Paris had scoured their photo archives and
managed to locate a few pictures of them dancing at the opening of
the Paris Air & Space Museum. The photos had been splashed across
almost every major newspaper for the past three days since then, as
no others were available.

"How much contact since then? There's no public record of us in the
same place since that night."

"A few dinner dates here at the Manor?" She suggested. "Alfred can
always back-fill your calendar with the few open nights that you
weren't out whoring in Gotham."

"Nice. Just for the record, I haven't been out whoring since I was a
teenager."

She deliberately ignored him. "So what do we do besides eat? Screw
each other silly as soon as Alfred clears the table?"

"If the interviewer is a man and heterosexual, he won't have any
trouble buying that."

"I think there's a hint of a compliment in there," Diana
allowed, "But we'll have to assume that a woman will ask about what
kind of TV shows and movies we watch."

"I don't watch much TV except the news. As for movies, well, not
since I was young."

Diana cringed at the _expression on his face. She'd researched enough
about his public persona to know how and where his parents had been
murdered. "So we have a good, and more importantly, real, excuse as
to why we don't watch movies, but we have to be able to sell them on
how we spend our downtime when we're not doing the `Around the World'
in the Manor."

"What does `Around the World' mean?"

"You really never have been in a relationship, have you?" Diana
muttered. "When a couple first starts having sex, aren't they
supposed to have sex in every room of the house?"

"Have you been reading Flash's subscription to Maxim?"

"Maybe."

"I think adventurous couples might try the `Around the World', the
boring ones just turn out the lights in their bedrooms and knock it
out."

"How very passe. Let's say we're adventurous. How many rooms are
there in the Manor?"

"Fifty-Three."

"Not including the Cave?"

"Correct."

"Pick a number between one and fifty-three."

"Twenty-two. We're halfway there."

"That's true in almost every aspect of our relationship. So when
we're not opening bedroom doors that haven't seen the light of day in
years, what do we do to pass the time?"

"Cards? Backgammon? Cribbage?"

"I like cribbage and backgammon. We play both on Themyscira. Who
wins?"

"I do."

"In your dreams, Wayne." Her eyes twinkled.

"Let's play after dinner. Loser washes the dishes."

"Done. Back to TV. What sports do you watch? Football? Baseball?"

"I have season tickets to the Gotham Knights football team. I give
them away to employees as a perk."

"What about your favorite foods?"

"I tend to drink a lot of energy shakes that Alfred makes for me," he
replied sheepishly. "I don't have much time for sit down meals."

"Steaks? Pastas? Fish? What about breakfast"

"All are fine.  Medium rare if I have time to sit down. White sauces
rather than reds. Shellfish before fish, but grilled salmon is a
favorite. Ham and eggs in the morning."

"Ditto for me, only with coffee or lattes. What do you drink?"

"Besides shakes? Water?"

She shook her head. "No, I mean wine, beer, whatever."

"Not much beer.  An occasional glass of red with dinner, mostly
merlots and pinot noirs. Some cabernets.  I try to like martinis at
cocktail parties, but the effects take too long to work off later on."

"Fine. What side of the bed do you sleep on when you've had your way
with me?"

"Left."

"Last book you gave me to read because you liked it so much?"

"Da Vinci Code? Too obvious?"

"Not for me. It was escapist in a fun way."

"I thought so too."

Neither one of them noticed that Alfred had been standing in the
doorway for a few minutes. He'd been following their rapid-fire
exchanges with amusement, but he cleared his throat to finally alert
them to his presence.

"Pardon me, Miss Diana, Master Bruce. But dinner is served."
 

Part Seven, by JOSEPH CONNELL

In a secure location somewhere, men of power met to discuss…the situation.

“Is this really a…well, bad thing?”

“I can’t wait to hear this one.”

“I mean, if she’s a US citizen, we’ll be able to pressure her a lot more effectively.”

“First, she’ll have access to everything Wayne has, including his lawyers.”

“Anyone here really think Justice stands a chance against Kev Lomax or Frank Nelson?”

“I say we just punt the whole thing over to the DDI and let them deal with it.”

“The DDI?  C’mon.  They haven’t been able to deal with that lone tree-hugger down in Louisiana and her kid.  You think they’ll be any more effective?”

“Well we can’t just trust that INS will actually find something usable!”

“My point exactly!  We need to get pro-active with this.”

“What, more manufacturing evidence?”

“It worked taking down Luthor, didn’t it?”

“I’m not touching that one with a ten-foot pole.  But you’re right.  We can’t leave it to just INS.”

“What about the IRS?”

“Fox makes sure the books are so clean they shine.  What, you think we didn’t try that direction before?”

“What about personal staff we can pressure?”

“The butler is an old family employee.  He doesn’t have anyone else close by.”

“Kinda weird.  You think…?”

“We looked into that avenue, too.  No such luck.  The old man and Wayne are straight as steel bars.”

“Too bad.  What about the Princess?”

“Nothing.  Literally, nothing.  A couple informal contacts with the Kasnian royal family,  but that’s it.  No friends outside the League we can find, no contacts she keeps regularly, zip nadda un nuthin’!”

“Big surprise there, eh?”

“Waller’s saying it’s genuine.”

“Yer kidding?”

“Based on what?  A five minute confab with Wayne?”

“When’s the last time the fat lady was wrong about anything?”

“Bringing in Luthor, attacking the Watchtower with U-men, not destroying the Uber-serum, not securing the Dark Heart material properly, not shutting Eiling out of the system before he went off the deep end…”

“Okay, so she’s lousy on follow-up.  But she’s got solid instincts, right?”

“No argument.  You want to leave it on her say-so?”

“I’m inclined.”

“Ditto.”

“Well I’m not.  Geez.  What is it with you guys?”

“Caseload.”

“Paperwork.”

“Up for appropriations review.”

“Pending lawsuit.”

“Divorce hearings…what?  I’ve got a life, y’know.”

“I still say we punt it over to the DDI and stay out of it.”

“Okay, okay.  Look, no one here wants this, right?  Am I right?”

“Right.”

“Korrect, mein herr.”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, yeah.  Look, can we finish up?  I’ve got to oversee a bombing run scheduled to hit Qurac in twenty minutes.”

“Sure, go on.  Guess we’ll give it over to the DDI and see what they do with it.  Everyone cool with that?”

“Fine.  Maybe they’ll have more luck with her than the tree-hugger.”

“Just remember, the trees hug her back.”

(a no-prize to anyone who can catch all the DC and movie references here)

Part Eight, "Cards on the Table"

by ATHENA PHOENIX

Bruce dusted off the cribbage board and placed it on the coffee table. Even though the security camera footage

hadn't proved that Diana had cheated at backgammon the previous night, he thought a different game would be 

in order. He really didn't want to wash dishes two nights in a row, especially since he'd seen the lasagna-coated 

baking pan soaking in the sink. He grimaced, thinking of the specks of spinach floating in the dishwater.

Diana came in and sat down on the sofa. She picked up the deck of cards and began to shuffle them.

He took the pegs out of their compartment inside the board and set them up; the straight pegs for him, the 

curved ones, appropriately, for her. "You never told me how you learned to play backgammon and cribbage."

"You'd be surprised at what washes up on Themyscira," she replied, spreading the shuffled cards on the table. 

"We found a small suitcase with all sorts of things, including backgammon and cribbage boards, cards, and 

amazingly enough, a copy of Hoyle's Rules for Games. It seemed like a gift from the gods since 'Bullets and 

Bracelets', archery contests, and the like were getting old." They each took a card. His was a jack of clubs, 

hers a five of diamonds. Her deal.

They played a few rounds and had both turned the corner onto Second Street, having gone one-quarter of the 

way through the board. Since Bruce hadn't played cribbage in years, he was gratified to realize that he 

remembered the old English game's odd rules and terms. He even remembered the difference between "nobs," 

when a jack in one's hand is the same suit as the starter card and gives the holder one point, and "nibs", when a 

jack is the starter card and gives the dealer two points.

Diana counted her hand: a six, eight, nine, and ten of clubs. Adding the starter, a five of diamonds, gave her 

fifteen-two, fifteen-four, and a run of three, totaling seven.  She pegged her points and looked expectantly for 

him to count his hand and the crib.

"You missed your flush - four clubs for four points. " Smirking, he pegged the points she'd neglected to include 

in her total.

"Wait a minute! You never said we were doing muggins?"

"House rules, Princess. Alfred and I always played that way. I picked up the rules pretty fast when he got to 

count all of the points I missed."

"That's not fair! And it's my house too, now." She glanced around the room, now chock-full of strategically 

placed photos that they'd spent the whole day staging.  "Do you really think this will work?"

"By itself? No." Bruce laid his cards on the table and arranged them. "As part of the whole package, yes." 

After pegging the ten points in his hand, he turned over the crib. Fortunately, he'd given himself a ten of hearts 

and a jack of spades, and Diana had given him a jack of diamonds and a three of hearts. He counted his total, 

"Fifteen-two, fifteen-four, fifteen-six, a pair for eight, and nobs for nine," and pegged an additional nine points. 

He now had a comfortable lead of twenty holes.

"It seems to me that we've left out an important part of this package. We haven't discussed my favorite foods, 

hobbies, drinks or what have you. Do you even know what they are?"

"You're not trying to distract me, are you?"

"No, and I resent your implication. Amazons don't cheat!"

"So what do you call what you were doing last night? You can't tell me you were raising your arms over your 

head and sticking your chest out just because you were stretching.

"As a matter of fact, I was. I can't help it if you stare."

"If the INS were to see the two of you squabbling right now," Alfred said, entering the room, "they'd think you 

were already married."

"Does this mean we should stage an argument?" Diana asked.

Alfred gave her a fatherly smile. "Given the stress you'll both be under shortly, I have a feeling you won't have 

to." And he left, closing the door behind him.

Bruce leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. "Favorite foods: fish, feta cheese, and that 

salad you make with chickpeas. Hobbies: martial arts, cards, listening to music – yes, I heard about all the CDs 

you've been borrowing from League members. Alcoholic drinks: wine, mostly – chardonnay, merlot, sauvignon 

blanc. Otherwise, you like water, milk, or orange juice. Satisfied?"

"I can't believe you know all this!"

"Just using my resources."

"You mean The Question? I thought he'd quit snooping through everyone's trash."

"That's just what he told everyone. It's an addiction."

"I suppose." Diana looked down at the table, gathering the cards and shuffling them once, then again.

Finally, she spoke, "I never told you how much I appreciate your doing this for me, Bruce. I know this isn't 

what you wanted, what you planned."

He wasn't sure how to answer her. On one hand, she was right; since Andrea Beaumont, he'd never even 

considered marriage to be an option for him. Still, the idea was starting to grow on him. Avoiding obligatory 

dates with empty-headed socialites was only one of the idea's merits.

But how could Wonder Woman operate in Gotham City with Batman without giving away his identity? And if 

she didn't share his nightly forays, would they ever see each other? How could they make this marriage work?

Did he want to make this marriage work?

Diana was watching him, waiting for his answer. He saw her disappointment at his hesitation. Now or never, he 

thought.

"We've both been through a lot that we didn't plan or didn't want," he began, pulling the small velvet box out of 

his shirt pocket. 

He opened the lid and showed her the contents. "But now I want to give this to you. May I?"

She nodded, seemingly unable to speak, eyes fixed on the ring.

He took her hand and slid his mother's diamond ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly.

She looked up, gazing deeply into his eyes.

The grandfather clock ticked, then sounded once. Diana glanced over at it. "9:45. Guess we'd better finish this 

game before you go out." 

The diamond glinted on her hand as she dealt.

Part Nine, "The Interview"

by JENNIFER LARISSA

It wasn’t his intention to sleep until after the INS interview was over, but he couldn’t seem to help the fact that his lids had become unbearably heavy. His body may have been asleep on the piles of notes he had taken from the book Green Card Interviews: Dos and Don’ts but his mind was racing with information he had to exchange with Diana before three o’clock. He wasn’t sure what the brand of the dvd players in the Manor had to do with marriage, but it was a potential question according to the book. Alfred had tried to convince him that the process was similar to when he was studying to adopt Dick, but the simple fact that he only had two days to prepare made his slumber a luxury he could not afford.

Papers crinkled as he rolled over and opened a single eye in the direction of the alarm clock. 3:33 p.m.

Bruce sprang out of bed and ran to the library without bothering to grab a robe.

Why didn’t Alfred or Diana wake me?

He reached the doorway just in time to see a man in an expensive black suit pull out a big rubber stamp and press it onto her forehead. The word “DEPORT” was emblazoned on her perfect brow. She gave Bruce a small, sad smile as the man dragged her out of the Manor and towards the cliffs. He blew on her and she floated like a feather off the edge of the cliffs. Banished from her homeland and now her adopted home, there was nowhere for Diana to go but down into the icy depths…

Bruce gasped and sat straight up in bed as the back of his bedroom door slammed against the wall.

“Where is the remote? Damnit, man, where is the remote for your television?” Diana spoke loudly in a barely controlled panic, “Never mind…I’ll change it manually. Channel six hundred? I need to get to channel five, damnit!”

He managed a sigh of relief at the realization that he was only dreaming before the Amazon finished frantically pushing the buttons on his television and jumped onto the bed, landing on his notes.

“When was my last menstrual cycle? What the hell do you need to know that for?” She grumbled as she read the page she had sat on.

“It’s now, isn’t it?”

“Why do all men presume that a woman has PMS when agitated?”

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Maybe… Look!” She frantically pointed at the television, which was playing ‘Rise and Shine, Gotham’, a fluffy hybrid of morning news and tabloid television.

“Coming to our featured story, did Bruce and Diana’s love kill countless people during the Thanegarian invasion?”

The perky hostess was replaced on the screen by the grainy black and white image of a woman in a headband, too beautiful to be anyone except Diana, leaning across a small table and pulling an equally recognizable Bruce Wayne in for a passionate kiss just before a Thanegarian soldier entered the frame.

“What the hell?” Bruce muttered. He didn’t recall seeing any security cameras in that Indian restaurant, but, then again, they were too busy trying to momentarily hide from the soldiers to really look, “Who the hell would keep footage that old?”

As if on cue, an elderly Indian man appeared on the screen next to the hostess.

“Mr. Prasad Shah is the owner of Sitar, the restaurant where this remarkable footage was taken. Tell us, Mr. Shah, what prompted you to keep this video all this time?”

“Well, it seemed like a very important piece of history. I wanted to be able to show my grandchildren what the invasion was like on a personal level. It was not until I saw the pictures in the paper of Mr. Wayne and Wonder Woman dancing that I remembered the couple that came in that night.”

“So you were there that night?”

“Oh, yes, yes. You can’t see me because I am off camera, but when they first came in, running from the soldiers, I spoke to them. Wonder Woman begged me to help her protect her beloved. She wanted to hide him someplace safe, but the soldiers were near, so we sat them at a table in the back. I heard her say, ‘No matter what happens, I will always love you’ before kissing him.”

“That isn’t what happened! He wasn’t even there!!!”

“I know that, Princess. I was there, remember?”

“That’s when the soldiers came in?”

“Yes, and I had instructed my employees to lie to the soldiers because Wonder Woman could not help the rest of us until she felt sure Mr. Wayne was safe. Once they left, we ushered them into the alley and I let Mr. Wayne into our basement to hide until the invasion was over.”

“And what was Bruce Wayne like throughout this ordeal?”

“Oh, he was very worried, but mostly about Wonder Woman. He begged her to stay and hide with him, but she would not. She thanked be most profusely for protecting her beloved while she saved the world with the rest of the Justice League.”

“Well, at least no one thinks I’m anyone other than Bruce Wayne. Of course, I'm now a chicken hiding in basements while my girlfriend goes out and kicks ass...”

“A very compelling story Mr. Shah,” the hostess smiled, “But one has to wonder how many people died because Wonder Woman felt that Bruce Wayne was more important. We’re opening up the phone lines after the break. Tell us what you think, Gotham. Is it fair to expect a superhero to chose to save thousands of innocent people instead one person who is close to her heart? And will that difficult choice happen on a frequent basis now that Wonder Woman has displayed a weakness in her heart for Bruce Wayne? Will villains now target Bruce to get at Diana? Your thoughts after the break.”

“See? I told you emotional attachments were bad in our line of business.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t mind seeing you get ruffed up.”

“Well, you won’t be seeing anything in this country if we don’t go over these questions…”

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

They stood side by side and watched the battered Camry pull up to the Manor from the window of Diana’s new bedroom.

“Hera, I’ve felt more confident marching into Hades.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve faced much greater challenges than a government paper pusher. Besides, I’ve just spent the past hour interrogating you and would completely believe that you aren’t just marrying me for citizenship if I didn’t know any better.”

“While this is hardly an ideal situation, it has never been a secret that I have genuine affection for you. Does it rise to the level of love? I don’t know because you won’t let me get close enough to find out. What I’m worried about is how you’ll come off. Helping ‘a valued and respected teammate’ is hardly love.”

“I’ve been convincing people that I’m a reckless playboy for years Princess. This is no different.”

“You’ve been convincing people that you like to have a good time for years. Love is much more complicated.”

“I’m willing to bet that the majority of the women I’ve dated were convinced that I loved them. Convincing this guy that I love you should be infinitely easier.”

“You’ve spent so much time deceiving yourself and others. What happens when you really fall in love?”

“I’ve yet to encounter that problem, Princess. Let’s go.”

Diana’s heart was just a dull ache and she limply placed he hand in that of her savior and blindly followed him down the stairs. What a stupid time to have that conversation. She chided herself and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. She knew he didn’t love her, but her girlish dreams led her to believe that maybe-just maybe- something special would come from this marriage of convenience. Now she wondered if she would ever be able to believe him if he did say those three magic words.

Bruce stopped just short of the library where the INS agent awaited their arrival.

“Hey,” he whispered, lifting her chin to meet his gaze, “Try to look like you’re happy to be with me.”

“Sorry,” she muttered, “I just want to be alone right now.”

“Not going to happen just yet. Listen,” he sighed, “I wouldn’t do this for just anyone.”

“Sure you would. You’re very noble like that.”

“No, I wouldn’t. You couldn’t make me marry J’onn or Clark no matter what.”

Diana giggled at the mental image of a cake topper staring a groom in a tuxedo and a green Martian in a wedding dress.

“That’s better,” he smiled, “Now lets go show this paper pusher why I’ve chosen you to be my wife.”

They snaked their arms around each others’ waists as they entered the library and greeted the INS agent.

“Mr. Wayne, your highness, my name is Phillip Owens and I will be conducting today’s interview and probably a majority of the future ones as well.”

“Future interviews?” Bruce kept his left arm protectively around Diana’s waist as he shook the agent’s hand, “It was my understanding that this matter would be over if we satisfied your requirements.”

“Normally, you would be correct, but there are those in Washington who believe that your situation warrants extra attention.”

“Are those the same individuals who have you coming to my home to question us even though we haven’t filled out any paperwork or gotten married yet?”

“Bruce, please, the man is only doing his job.”

“No, he has a right to ask,” the agent said coldly, “The simple fact of the matter is that every year 252,193 immigrants are brought into this country through marrying a U.S. citizen, the vast majority of which are based on improper motives. We need to show these people that such behavior is not condoned and what better deterrent than to show that Wonder Woman and a billionaire and not above the law? I feel sorry for the poor who attempt to make a better life here, but I have no sympathies for the rich and the powerful. You have no extra rights where I’m concerned.”

“Nor do we expect any,” Diana said warmly, “Sweetheart, could you please relax your grip, I’m afraid you’re going to crack a rib.”

Bruce shook his head and released his death grip on the princess’ side. He understood from his conversation with Amanda Waller that this was not going to be an easy process, but he didn’t think that they would become the poster children for illegal immigration tactics. Taking his cue from Agent Owens, Bruce sat down, allowing his hand to side down Diana’s side and briefly squeeze her buttocks before pulling away. Diana’s eyes went wide and she began to blush furiously as she shook her head at him.

Owens was furiously scribbling away in his notebook as he began the interview, “When did you two first meet?”

“A few years ago in Paris. I was speaking with a number of dignitaries when Bruce asked me to dance.”

“Best decision I ever made. Just wish it lasted longer.”

“Did you exchange phone numbers or emails at that time?”

“Not immediately. She left rather quickly, so I found out where her hotel room was and showed up with a bottle of bubbly later. Can you believe she wouldn’t let me in?”

“Your reputation preceded you. I was not about to be another notch on your bedpost.”

“At least not right away,” Bruce smirked.

“I made you work for it,” Diana laughed, “Anyway, Bruce stopped by with breakfast for two in the morning. I accepted the food, but not the company. However, he managed to slip his card in one of the trays. I had to give him points for trying, so I called him at the Manor a week later.”

“I see and when did you meet next?”

“Not for another two weeks. It took a lot of time to convince her that I didn’t just want to bed her. Of course, that was a lie, but the more I spoke to her, the more I felt compelled to be with her. She is the ultimate challenge. Diana never backs down and always forces me to rise to her level. It is as infuriating as it is compelling. I hope that never changes,” he smiled as he mentally kicked himself. That wasn’t in the script. Why is the smile in her eyes like her damn lasso around my soul?

“And where have you gone on dates since your initial meeting?”

“Primarily the Manor, although we have spent a couple of weekends at my place in Maine. We wanted to avoid the spotlight while things were new.”

“Interesting, you haven’t seemed to avoid the spotlight during this time with other women, Mr. Wayne.”

“An act. If I simply disappeared from the social scene, rumors would fly and the paparazzi would continue to dig until they found out why.”

“Yet you looked awfully close to a number of these women…”

“Nothing untoward happened, I assure you. My butler, Alfred would often be in attendance as Diana’s personal spy.”

“It was to make sure the women didn’t try anything. I trust you. Besides, I would know if you cheated on me.”

“How’s that?”

“Well,” Diana fidgeted in her seat, “The game ‘Truth or Dare’ takes on a whole new meaning for us.”  

“She likes to tie me up with her lasso,“ Bruce laughed, as both Diana and Owens looked embarrassed.

“Yes, well… when did things start to turn romantic?”

“There was always a certain connection between us, but no actual professions of love were made until the Thanegarian invasion. You could read about all in today’s paper. Surprisingly accurate, for a change.”

Bruce held up the latest copy of the Gotham Gazette, which held the same grainy surveillance photo of his first, and only, kiss with the princess at the Indian restaurant as was shown on television that morning, below the headline “TRUE LOVE.”  The paper’s inserts spilled onto the ground as he handed it over. Owens was too absorbed in examining the caption under the photograph to notice the post it note that fluttered to the ground next to the inserts. Bruce gathered the papers and palmed the note, which read:

“Dear Freddie and Daphne,

Now I know why you two always partner up on missions and leave Scooby and the rest of us schmoes to solve the mystery. See you at tonight’s meeting.

-Flash”

He made a mental note to come up with a new way to kill Flash as he slipped the note in his blazer pocket.

“You highness-“

“Diana, please.”

“Diana, when is Bruce’s birthday?”

“May 27^th. I hope it is as beautiful out this year as it was last year.”

“Looking forward to sharing a sleeping bag with me again, Princess? We can go camping any time you like.”

“It’s too cold for you now.”

“I’m sure you can keep me warm…”

The agent cleared his throat before continuing, “And do you know the princess’ date of birth, Mr. Wayne?”

“I wish I did, but seeing as how she wasn’t conventionally born and the Amazons don’t follow the western calendar, I’m stuck having to celebrate the anniversary of her arrival in man’s world, November 17, 2001.”

“What did you get her for her last birthday?”

“I arranged to have a number of rose bushes that are native to Themyscria shipped here. I figured that since she couldn’t go home, I would bring home to her. They’re currently planted in our greenhouse.”

“I thought men weren’t permitted on Themyscria.”

“They aren’t. I had a female pilot bring my son’s girlfriend to the island to pick them up.”

“Speaking of Mr. Wayne’s son, how do you get along with him?”

“Dick’s a wonderful young man. I wish he was around more so I could get to know him better, but he definitely picked up on Bruce’s mischievous nature. He’s very lucky to have such a loving child.”

“Are children in your future?”

“I’m not quite ready to share my princess, but we’ll have two or three strong boys to carry on the family name in a few years.”

“Boys? You have to be kidding me. We’re going to raise strong, intelligent girls, who can choose to carry on your family name if they wish.”

“There is no way I will ever be prepared to deal with the day boys come looking for my daughters. Especially if they are as beautiful as their mother. Nope, I’m going to instruct my guys to swim straight and give me sons. In the mean time, I’m going to get all the practice in I can get,” Bruce leered as his hand rested on Diana’s thigh. Diana chuckled and gave Agent Owens a merry look that seemed to say “See what I have to put up with?” as she placed her hand in Bruce’s.

“So you are using birth control now?”

“I’m currently on the pill.”

“Where do you normally have relations?”

“Well, the Manor has lots of hidden treasures. We’ve managed to christen twenty-three rooms-“

“Only twenty-two, dear.”

“Twenty-two? Are you sure?”

“The walk-in closet between the bedroom and the bathroom doesn’t count as a room,” Diana murmured, staring absently at the ring on her left hand.

“Sure it does. That’s beside the point, anyway. There’s no usual place at the moment, but one of my favorite times took place right about where you’re sitting now, Agent Owens,” Bruce smirked as the man shifted over a cushion on the couch.

“Ah, yes, perhaps we should discuss the household. What day of the week is the rubbish normally collected?”

“Don’t know. You’d have to ask Alfred.”

“Who carries the garage door opener?”

“Alfred.”

“Who does most of the cooking?”

“Alfred again.”

“Who uses the camera during family functions?”

“Alfred.”

"What is your favorite photograph of the two of you together?"

"Can't show you those. They're kept locked in the safe, if you know what I mean..."

"Mine is that one on the mantel of our profiles at sunset."

"May I have a copy of that for my records?"

"Of course."

“Who does the yard work?”

“Alfred or someone he hires.”

"Who makes the beds?"

"Alfred."

“Grocery shopping?”

“Alfred.”

“Let me guess, Alfred also washes the dishes.”

“Sometimes, but that honor normally goes to whoever loses at cribbage or backgammon. So, normally Bruce.”

“That’s because you cheat.”

“I do not!”

“Do too. ‘Oh, it is so hot in here. Let me unbutton my blouse,’” Bruce cried in falsetto, as he fanned himself off.

“Lying jerk,” Diana laughed as she punched his arm.

“Ow! What it, warrior princess. Not all of us are as tough as Superman.”

“Have you met Superman and the rest of the Justice League?”

“I’ve met Superman a number of times at different charitable events in Metropolis and the League in general once or twice. I’d be nervous leaving my girl with them, except she’s not Superman’s type, if you know what I mean.”

“Are you saying Superman is a homosexual?”

“He is not!”

“Sure he is darling- not that there is anything wrong with that- I’ve seen the way he looks at Flash from behind. Maybe he just hasn’t come out of the closet yet.”

“You’re wrong and you know it.”

“Do I?” he smirked. Threaten to tell the papers I like men, will you Kent?

“What kind of toothpaste does Bruce prefer to use?”

“Arm and Hammer Baking Soda plus Peroxide, but Alfred bought Mentadent because I expressed a preference for it.”

“Diana’s favorite perfume?”

“She doesn’t normally wear any, but rose oil on special occasions.”

“Color of the kitchen curtains?”

“Yellow with green ribbon on the bottom.”

“What color are your bathroom towels?”

“Navy blue and white.”

“How does Diana take her coffee?”

“Light and extra sweet.”

“Bruce’s favorite desert?”

“Key lime pie.”

“Number of televisions in the house?”

“I think thirty-six, but you’d have to check with Alfred to be sure.”

“What size is your bed?”

“California king.”

“What kind of mattress do you sleep on?”

“We just bought a memory foam mattress. It’s fantastic.”

“Are there lamps next to the bed?”

“Only on Diana’s side. She likes to read before going to sleep, but I tend to just crash.”

“What color are the sheets on your bed right now?”

“Black satin.”

“How many pillows does Bruce use at night?”

“Under his head? None, but he does tend to put one over his head to block out my reading light.”

“Okay, just a few more questions. When did you two get engaged?”

“About six months ago. I gave her the ring as a consolation prize for losing a game of cribbage,” he laughed, “No dishes were washed that night.”

“Then I suppose you wouldn’t mind producing the receipt for the ring.”

“I would love to, but I don’t know if we have it anymore.”

“How convenient.”

“You see, it was my mother’s ring. We must have some sort of insurance rider for it that details when it was bought though. I’ll have Alfred look for it.”

“That would be appreciated.”

Diana was lost in a strange fog. Her heart was threatening to to pound out of her chest. The only thing she could see clearly was the diamond on her finger.

“I had no idea it is your mother’s ring,” she murmured.

Aphrodite, tell me what this is supposed to mean.

“You didn’t know the ring belonged to his mother?” The agent scribbled something down and licked his lips, as if preparing to feast.

“No,” she whispered, “Bruce, it must have been so hard to give up something that belonged to her.”

“Not as hard as you would think,” he sounded vaguely strangled and looked distinctly embarrassed to be having the conversation at all, never mind in front of the INS agent, yet there was something mingled with the sadness in his eyes that left Diana with the overwhelming urge to hold her fiancé, “My father gave that ring to the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. I’m just following his lead. That ring asked to be given to you. It is now yours and so am I.”

Their eyes locked upon each other for what felt like an eternity to Diana, only to have the gaze broken by Bruce’s hand brushing an errant lock of hair out of her face. Impulsively, she turned her head and kissed the palm of his hand. A tender smile seems to cross his lips just before he pressed them to her forehead.

This is how he fools women into believing that he loves them. Hera, forgive me, but I am content to be fooled for a moment.

“Well, I’m finished for the time being. I’m giving you the green light to file the paperwork. As I stated before, someone believes you two warrant extra attention, so this won’t be the last you see from INS. If you fooled me today, rest assured that you will be caught sometime within the next five years.”

“Thank you for your time, Agent Owens. Alfred will show you the way out,” Bruce rose and gestured to the door. Diana rose and grasped onto his arm, leading him to the window where the agent could see them watch his departure.

“Was I better than you feared?”

“Much, thank you, Bruce.”

“No need for thanks, the League can’t go on without you.”

The League. Idiot. I know she feels like a burden and yet I don’t do anything to soothe her, other than fill her head with mixed signals?

“I see,” she said flatly, “About the ring…”

“I didn’t know it belonged to my mother until after I had chosen to give it to you.”

I’m an idiot with diarrhea of the mouth. Why not tell her that what I said before was true? That the ring sang to my soul-begged for me to place it on her finger. The only thing wrong about giving her that ring is how right it feels.

“Hmph…Well, I just want to assure you that when your obligation is complete and we can obtain a divorce, I intend on giving it back to you, as it is a family heirloom.”

“Thank you,” he rasped as he watched her fly out the window and into the clouds.

Big. Fat. Idiot.

*********Author's notes:

1. Sorry this was so long. There were so many other questions I left out.

2. I didn't know if there was an official statement on their birthdays, so I used the air date of the first JLA episode as the anniversary of Diana's coming to man's world and Batman's first appearance was in the May issue (#27) of Detective Comice, hence the May 27th birthdate. Please feel free to correct me if anyone knows of better dates.

3. I know a lot of us, including me, like to write Diana as infertile, but my muse asked for the other direction this time.

 4. Bruce Wayne is still a fugitive!!! www.usdoj.gov/dea/fugitives/atlanta/wayne.htm

Part Ten, "Of Knights 'n Men"

by BATMAN WOLVERINE  

Part Eleven, "The Bachelor Party"

by HEYBATS 

"So where do we stand on place settings?"

"Please, Master Bruce. Do be a good fellow and try to keep up. Miss
Diana and I took care of the wedding details yesterday."

Bruce gave him `The Glare' , but Alfred remained unfazed. They stared
at each other until the butler finally relented.

"As you wish. The invitations have all been hand delivered. Since the
wedding is Saturday it will be safe to assume that a third of the
invitees already have other plans and will give their regrets. Given
the difficulties of arranging an appropriate venue, the wedding will
be held at the Manor at five in the afternoon, with drinks and dinner
to be served shortly thereafter out on the lawn."

"Flowers, cake, band, chairs, tables, caterer, wedding dress,
tuxedos, honeymoon?"

"All taken care of with the exception of the honeymoon.  You and
Diana really should decide that one together."

"Thank you Alfred," Bruce murmured as he picked up the phone,
punching in the numbers by memory as he spoke. "We couldn't have done
it without you."

"Even if it is, which I highly doubt, a marriage of convenience, it
is both my honor and privilege to ensure that any wedding here at the
estate be worthy of the memory of your parents."

Bruce nodded thoughtfully, then spoke as soon as the other line
picked up. "Gail, Bruce Wayne here. How's my favorite travel agent
doing? Got any good suggestions on a last minute honeymoon spot?"

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"So where are we going, Vegas?" Bruce asked as Dick drove them out
the driveway in his BMW sedan.

"Naw, too obvious.  Why take the party to Vegas when you can bring
Vegas to the party?"

"Spoken like a man with some experience in these matters."

"I'm somewhat of a connoisseur of these things. I've had nine
colleagues at work get married in the last few years. Firsthand
experience has given me a unique perspective on what works and what
doesn't work at bachelor parties."

"What works?"

"When was the last time you went to a bachelor party, anyway?"

"I threw one for Harvey Dent two days before Two-Face took over for
good. Back then, he was still District Attorney, so we all got
together for a quiet night on the town. Needless to say, the wedding
never happened."

"There's a nice, warm memory to fall back on." Dick sighed. "We'll
try to have fun at this one instead. You asked what works? Three
things: Lots of booze, private suites and most important, well-
compensated entertainers who know how to keep their mouths shut."

"I have a hard time believing that Bludhaven cops are allowed much
leeway regarding the entertainment aspect of these things. I hear
that good strippers don't come cheap."

"Are you kidding me?" Dick chuckled. "Think about it.  Your average
strip club gets busted about once a month when the girls start
getting out of line - "

"Where's the line?"

"Compared what goes on in the rest of Bludhaven, its pretty harmless
stuff, but illegal nonetheless. Most of the arrests involve girls
snorting lines of coke in the VIP rooms with their customers, or
turning the odd lap dance into a mutual heavy petting session."

"Your point?"

"Some of these girls are more than happy to work a cop's bachelor
party for free because they know the guys in Vice will look the other
way for awhile. The strippers probably breakeven in the first week
since they know they aren't going to get busted for doing anything
they think is harmless fun."

"Just so we're clear, strippers, or exotic dancers, or whatever you
have planned for this evening, are fine. But don't turn it into a
three-ring circus, okay?"

"Way ahead of you."

"So back to the original question. Where are we going?"

"Well, your dual identity poses certain logistical challenges," Dick
admitted with a chuckle. "I couldn't figure out a way to mix the
capes and the non-capes, so I decided to have two different parties."

"Ingenious. Who's up first?"

"The boys from the Gotham Country Club," Dick replied. "I rented out
the Jockey Club at Gotham Downs for this afternoon's races."

"Lots of booze and a private suite," Bruce observed with a nod. "What
about the well compensated entertainment?"

"Leave that to me."

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"So Wayne, you can't really be serious about this Amazon can you?  I
mean, to be perfectly blunt, I could stare at her rack all day long,
but have you seen her temper? I saw a video where she punched out a
tank. A TANK for chrissakes!"

Bruce felt a surge of adrenaline flood through his system in anger
when he heard the comment about Diana's ample bust line, but he
laughed off Thomas Pendleton's inebriated slight of his bride-to-be
with his trademark playboy smirk. "You've hit the nail on the head,
Tommy. I just wanted to see that rack once in my life so that I could
die a happy man."

"But seriously Bruce, are they worth it?"

"More than you'll ever know," Bruce replied with a wink.

"What about the man-hating thing? Are you sure she's not a lesbian?"

"If she is, I'll just ask if I can watch."

Pendleton laughed, then patted him on the shoulder. "Same old Bruce.
It's not going to be the same with you off the market. Half of the
single women in this town are already in mourning."

"Then you'll just have to man up and take care of them for me," Bruce
replied cheerfully, then glanced at the television monitor overhead
that showed the horses approaching the starting gate for the fifth
race. "Sorry old chum, I've got to place my bet before the flag goes
up."

"Try the 3-8 exacta," Tommy slurred. "It's a sure thing."

"Done," Bruce replied, then sauntered away toward the window. Dick
spied him walking over to the window and cheerfully deposited a fresh
gin and tonic in his hand. Bruce downed a large gulp gratefully.

"Having a good time?" Dick asked with a grin.

"There's nothing like talking about your future wife's breast size
for two and a half hours non-stop," Bruce groused. "As if that's all
that matters."

"They're just jealous," Dick replied affably. "Most of their wives
have had numerous augmentations and they still can't measure up to
Diana."

"She's sets the bar pretty high," Bruce admitted, then handed a
twenty-dollar bill to the attendant at the betting window. "Give me
the $10 exacta box on the 2 and the 9."

Dick made his own bet, then the two men wandered off to the side,
away from the thirty-odd blue bloods from Gotham's upper crust who
were in attendance. Bruce sipped his cocktail, making a mental note
to ask for more tonic in the next drink in order to slow down his
consumption. Given his hatred for an event like this, the drinks were
starting to make their way down his gullet all too easy. It was an
early warning sign he'd learned to heed as he'd grown older.

"How much longer do we need to be here?" he grumbled, "We've already
performed our public relations duty today."

That much was true. An hour before, Bruce and his party entourage had
taken photos after the third race with the winning jockey, horse and
its owner. It was a Grade I handicap. Given the national interest in
his impending nuptials, ESPN2 had picked up the feed for national
distribution.   By the time Bruce walked out to the paddock to
present the trophy, the crowd was roaring in adulation, providing a
standing ovation. The males in the crowd had been particularly
enthusiastic, yelling extended versions of `Bruuuuuuce' that made it
sound like a Springstein concert.

"Our excuse is scheduled to arrive at any minute," Dick replied with
a wink, then raised his binoculars to follow the race. Bruce turned
his attention to the opposite side of the track when the horses
sprang from the starting gate. The room went from background
conversation to instant din as the men exhorted their chosen horses
to the finish line – as if it would help from the private recesses of
the Jockey Club perched high over the grandstands at trackside below.

A minute later they both tore up their tickets –their horses having
finished far out of the money.  William De Bois, a third generation
principal in Gotham's largest money management firm, waggled a
winning ticket in front of Bruce's nose. "I'm on a roll today,
Wayne."

"Good for you, William," Bruce called back, then surveyed the empty
remains of his glass.

"Another?" Dick asked, motioning towards the bar.

Bruce debated the idea, initially deciding against it, then watched
with dismay as another one of his supposed friends told a joke
about `Wonder Melons' that got a huge roar from his audience. He
gritted his teeth in anger, but swallowed his pride again before his
_expression betrayed him.

"Couldn't hurt, could it?" 

"Of course not."

"Then yes."

Bruce spent the next few minutes making small talk with the attendees
about his terrible luck in picking horses that day and accepting the
occasional offer of congratulations.  He could feel the oncoming
pressure of an acute migraine when two uniformed female police
officers suddenly entered the room.

"Who rented this room?" the taller of the two demanded loudly.

Bruce stared at Dick, who replied with a noncommittal shrug. "Ummm…
technically it's in my name," Bruce replied, stunned at the
interruption. "Can I help you?"

"You can help by keeping your mouth shut," her companion
replied. "We've been getting complaints from other patrons about the
behavior of this party."

"What kind of complaints?" Bruce replied, an air of indignation clear
in his tone. "We haven't been doing anything except watching the
ponies and having a few cocktails."

"Public drunkenness, huh?" the taller one smirked. "I'm sorry Mr.
Wayne, but put your hands behind your back. You're under arrest."

"You've got to be kidding me," Bruce protested, then stared at Dick
as he turned around to make it easier for them to put on the
handcuffs. "Dick, show them your badge. Tell them I didn't do
anything wrong. Call Gordon. He'll vouch for me."

"There are reports of other violations." The smaller officer informed
him while the other grabbed a chair and gently pushed him down until
he was seated.

"What kind of violations?" Bruce asked, incredulous at the fact he'd
gotten arrested the day before his wedding.

"Public nudity," The taller woman answered, then stood side by side
her companion in front of him.

Bruce whipsawed his head around the room. "What are you talking
about? Nobody's naked in here."

The two women smiled in response, then, nodding at each other, gently
tugged at each other's uniforms, releasing velcro straps that kept
their uniforms in place. Moments later, both were gyrating naked to a
techno-beat emanating from a portable Bosa speaker system that Dick
powered up in the corner.

"Oh, I think somebody's definitely naked in here now, Mr. Wayne," the
taller one cooed into his ear as she straddled him on the chair.

Bruce turned to face Dick Grayson, who by now was doubled over in
laughter. "You're a dead man walking, Grayson."

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"So what did you think?" Dick asked as they drove downtown an hour
later.

"I think it was way too realistic," Bruce grumbled. "For a moment
there, I was trying to figure out how I could explain the whole thing
to Diana.  `Sorry Princess, but the wedding is off for twenty four
hours since I've been arrested for public indecency.'"

"Public drunkenness."

"Same difference."

"Amber and Tiffany really have that routine down," Dick
grinned. "Best part of it was that it gave us an excuse to make an
early exit."

"I'm not sure that having that group of men believe I am sexually
engaged with those two women on the night before my wedding is
necessarily a good thing," Bruce replied. It had been an interesting
hour as the two women had left him handcuffed to the chair for the
duration of their show, alternating between gyrating on his lap and
groping each other. As the two women had gotten more explicit by the
minute, the rest of the crowd threw piles of cash at their feet. Dick
had finally intervened long enough to convince them to free Bruce,
then strippers had immediately agreed to Dick's suggestion that they
accompany the groom back to a hotel to `continue the party'. Dick had
loaded the two women into a cab heading uptown, then he and Bruce had
jumped into his car heading downtown.

"What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas," Dick replied. "As long as
they believe we're doing something that we're not supposed to be
doing, then nobody will ask questions. Maintaining your cover as a
womanizer for one more night can't hurt, can it?"

"I guess not," Bruce replied. "Where to next?"

"The Gotham Embassy Hotel."

"Why are we going to a hotel that I own?"

"The room rates are compelling."

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"So how were the races?" Clark asked with a grin.

"Heard about that, did you?"

"Dick told us what he was planning yesterday. I hope you took
photos." John Stewart replied from the other side of the bar. He was
dressed in civilian gear, as were Wally West and J'onn, who'd taken
the human form of John Jones so they wouldn't attract any undue
attention.

Bruce surveyed the vast expanse of Wayne Suite, spying Orion, Scott
Free, Oliver Queen, Dr. Ray Allen and Jason Blood busily working
through the trays of catered food laid out in the corner. All were
similarly attired in civilian clothes, though Orion looked
uncomfortable in the button-down shirt and Docker pants Clark had
loaned him.

The Question stood next to them. He'd been told to appear as a
civilian, but nobody bothered to reprimand him for showing up in
costume since he specialized at sneaking in and out of places unseen.

"I didn't see any cameras," Bruce deadpanned, "But then again I spent
an hour with their boobs in my face, so it was kind of hard to tell."

The Leaguers burst out laughing at that image, then Dick slipped
another gin and tonic into his hand. Dick raised his own glass, then
called for silence in the room.

"Gentlemen, I ask you to raise your glass in tribute to Bruce Wayne,
the only man on this Earth courageous enough to woo the fair heart of
the maiden princess - "

"Is she maiden?" Wally interrupted in surprise. "Really?"

"Silence!" Dick roared in disapproval, then winked to show he wasn't
serious. "Where was I before I was so rudely interrupted? Oh, yes,
the courage to woo the fair heart of the maiden princess while at the
same time thumbing his nose at the Immigration and Naturalization
Service. All of which is being done, might I add, without a
prenuptial agreement."

"No prenup?" Oliver yelled. "Are you kidding me?"

Bruce shrugged in reply. "It's not as if she couldn't take my money
if she wanted it anyway."

"Good point," they murmured in assent.

Dick raised his glass again. "So I ask you once again, gentlemen. Who
will raise a glass with me and sing praises to the hero of the hour?"

"We will!"

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Bruce thumbed quietly through the last of the two hundred dollars in
chips stacked in front of him. Ray Allen stared quietly back at him,
another four hundred dollars in chips stacked on his side of the
table.  It was down to the two of them for the remaining jackpot.

They were playing Texas Hold'em, the poker de jour of late where each
player is dealt two cards, which were then paired up with five other
cards displayed in front of the dealer. J'onn served as dealer since
nobody wanted to play with a telepath. It had taken two hours, five
gin and tonics and two Cohiba Cuban cigars for Bruce and Ray to weed
out the worst players in the room, with Wally and Jason Blood exiting
early, followed by John Stewart, Dick, Orion, Clark, then Oliver. 
Dr. Palmer had just taken out the Question with a pair of pocket
fours, leaving him and Bruce to play for the remaining pot.

Bruce held a Ten and Six of Diamonds, respectively, in his lead-lined
card sleeve (none of them would agree to play poker with Clark unless
he provided them with some lead-lined sleeves in which to hide their
cards). He was trying for a flush as two more diamonds had come out
on the flop of the first three cards along with a Queen of Hearts at
the Turn. Ray was betting like he was holding Ace-high, but Bruce
also knew that unless he put pressure on Ray to convince him that he
already had something better than a short flush, then he was too
short of funds to make another comeback.

"All in." Bruce nodded, pushing in his remaining stack of chips.

Ray didn't respond, but simply knocked on the table to signify that
he was also putting all of his money at risk, then turned over two
Queens (Diamonds and Clubs) already in his hand.

"Three of a kind," J'onn observed. "Bruce needs a flush or four of a
kind to win."

Bruce sighed, then turned over his two diamonds. The rest of the men
murmured in appreciation, knowing that Bruce had taken a huge risk by
betting all of his chips on an empty flush.

One card remained to be dealt.

"If the River is a diamond, then Bruce wins, right?" Wally asked John
Stewart.

"Yep," Stewart replied, amazed that he still had to repeat the same
information about the rankings of different card combinations two
hours later.

J'onn flipped over a two of hearts. "No flush for Bruce. Three-of-a-
kind. Dr. Palmer wins."

"Nicely played," Bruce muttered, the hint of a slur evident in his
voice. He offered his hand, and Ray gladly shook it in return. 

"That was fun," Ray replied. "Maybe we should have poker night once a
week on the Watchtower."

"I think I'll pass," Bruce said with a wave. "Diana's been kicking my
ass at cribbage all week and I've been washing dishes as a result."

"So she's already got you trained ahead of the wedding, huh?" Scott
Free suddenly piped up. "Barda waited until we got married before she
started dropping the hammer on me. Did you know that she makes me
vacuum twice a week?"

"It's worse than that, isn't it Scott?" the Question chided from the
corner. "Do you want me to tell them what she makes you wear when
you're vacuuming? I have pictures."

"Please don't tell them," Scott replied, panic evident in his
voice. "She was the first of the Furies, for crying out loud!"

"Mr. Free vacuums the house wearing nothing but an apron," the
Question informed them.

"Barda thinks it's sexy," Scott explained meekly.

Collectively, the men of the League looked at the man they knew as
Mr. Miracle and burst out laughing.

"It's not funny," Scott complained, then stared at Bruce
directly. "You don't know what a woman like that is capable of doing.
I'm just saying be careful, is all."

The reality of their friend's predicament cast a sour mood over the
group. Oliver Queen decided to add some levity back to ease the
tension.

"Hey, why is a bride smiling when she walks down the aisle?" he asked.

They stared back at him, waiting for the punchline.

"Because she knows that she's already given her last blow-job!"

Laughter filled the room.

He continued. "Did any of you know that long ago some scientists were
able to formulate a food that wipes out a woman's sexual desire for
eternity?"

"No," Wally shouted. "What's it called?"

"Wedding cake!"

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Bruce was sitting on a patio chair outside on the balcony of the
suite when Scott Free walked out to join him in the adjacent chair.
They puffed on their lit cigars (Free opted for the Montecristo while
Bruce had opted for another Cohiba) for a few minutes before either
one of them spoke.

Inside the room, the rest of the Leaguers were watching video
outtakes of Diana since she'd joined the League. Their favorite part
was the time when, enraged about a television commentator's editorial
regarding how her outfit made her look like a stripper, she'd thrown
a chair through the Monitor station screen on the original
Watchtower. Bruce had watched most of the footage, allowing the rest
of the men to have a good laugh at his expense, but the intensity of
the manner in which she had destroyed the monitor had left him
unsettled, so he'd gone outside to enjoy his cigar in peace.

"It can't be that bad, can it?" Bruce suddenly asked, surprising
Scott. "Marriage, I mean. It can't be as bad as the jokes."

"Some days are better than others," Scott allowed with a baleful
grin. "I mean, I love Barda, don't get me wrong."

"Barda is a remarkable woman," Bruce observed. "She's probably the
only one that could stand toe to toe with Diana."

"That being said, a woman like that can be a handful," Scott noted
with a sigh. "She's used to dealing with people primarily on a
physical level, so when the toilet breaks or something simple like
that, she's more likely to just tear all of the plumbing out of the
wall."

"Or throw a chair through a monitor when she hears criticism that she
doesn't like?" Bruce suggested, nodding at the television replay
which continued to elicit huge guffaws inside the room.

"Exactly," Scott replied. "But I imagine you have more than enough
televisions in your house to weather the occasional meltdown, so
maybe it won't be a problem." He checked his watch with a start. "Uh-
oh. Midnight. I told Barda I'd be home by now. She's going to be
pissed."

"Just tell her that it's my fault. She doesn't like me anyway."

"It wouldn't help, believe me," Scott replied. "See you tomorrow at
the wedding?"

"It's a deal," Bruce said, then extended his hand. "Thanks. You've
certainly given me something to think about."

"No problem, Bruce. As a man who's been in your situation, I only
thought it fair to provide all of the facts at hand so that you go
into it with your eyes wide open.  You coming back inside?"

"No, I think I'll stay out here for awhile. The night air is helping
me clear my head."

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

The persistent knocking at the door finally roused Dick Grayson off
the floor. He'd passed out on the floor watching the Diana video
along with Wally, who was passed out drooling on the couch.

The rest of the men were not to be found. Dick turned the volume on
the video down then stumbled past the balcony. To his surprise, Bruce
was still sitting in the same chair, passed out and contentedly
snoring the night away. Dick debated whether he should throw a
blanket on him, then the rapping on the door grew more persistent. He
finally relented and opened the door, expecting one of his missing
comrades.

Diana stood in the doorway, a determined scowl on her face.

"Where's Bruce?"

"On the balcony," Dick replied with surprise, barely able to get out
of the way before Diana shoved him aside. "But don't wake him up.
He's passed out. Why are you here?"

"The ladies convinced me I should call it off," she replied, staring
at her intended through the glass door. Dick walked over and stood
next to her, peering down at his adopted father like he was in a zoo.

"Why?"

"Bruce isn't the marrying type, and it's not fair to force him into
something he doesn't want to do."

"Who says he doesn't want to marry you?"

"He's made that pretty clear over the last few days. I'd rather go
back to Themyscira then be the subject of ridicule of the League and
in Gotham City."

"Bruce would never allow that to happen."

"What's he going to do, glare at all of them until they stop talking
behind our backs?"

"He'll do whatever it takes to make you happy, if that's what you're
wondering about. I know him pretty well – better than anybody for
that matter. I can tell he likes the idea of being with you a lot
more than he's letting on."

"How so?"

"Just little things," Dick replied with a shrug. "His blood starts to
boil anytime somebody talks about you. He wouldn't do that if he
didn't care."

"But why can't he just come out and tell me that he cares?"

"You're talking about Bruce, right? He'd just as soon throw himself
onto a grenade rather than tell people that he cares. You just have
to understand that he's emotionally stunted. That part of him never
developed, but it might if you were around him to keep him in line."

Diana paused to consider the message Dick was trying to convey. "Did
you know that he gave me his mother's ring?"

"But he didn't tell you right?"

She nodded.

"That's Bruce for you in a nutshell. He'll do something really
sentimental and special, then pass it off as an everyday occurrence.
It's how he keeps people off balance so that they never get too
close."

"So in other words, you think he's a keeper?"

"I wish I could warn you off, Diana, but I can't. He's worth the
trouble."

Diana surprised him by pulling him a hug, which he gladly
returned. "Maybe you're right," she whispered.

"I usually am right. If I'm wrong, divorce him and take him for all
he's worth."

She smiled then, stepping back, nodded at the sleeping figure on the
balcony. "I know he prefers to spend his evenings staring down from
rooftops, but you weren't planning on leaving him out there all
night, were you?"

"I hadn't really thought about it," Dick admitted. "I'll throw him in
the bedroom."

"No, I'll do it," Diana interceded. "Just show me where to put him."

Part 12, by DC LADY

Takes place after The Bachelor Party.

The Morning After

Thank you, Djinn for the beta

Bruce's head throbbed and his stomach churned and he couldn't seem to open his eyes, which felt like they'd been weighed down with cement blocks.

He groaned.

"About time you woke up.  I was beginning to worry."

Her voice was entirely too cheerful. 

He groaned louder.

He turned his head ever so slowly in the direction of the too cheerful voice, and peered through an open eye, the only one that seemed to work. He shut it tight and rolled back onto his pillow with a sigh.

"Princess," he croaked.  Then he decided to risk lifting his too heavy head to take a look around the room. "Where are we?" 

"The Gotham Embassy Hotel. You had too much to drink at your bachelor party last night.  Must have been some party."

He felt the bed shift when she stood, heard her soft footfalls walk across the room, then grimaced as the sun's angry glare burned through his eyelids when she opened the curtains.

He squinted through his one eye to better see through the haze, and saw that she wore only an oversized white shirt—his shirt.  Oh no.

She sat next to him on the bed with an offered glass of water.  He took a few sips then sank back down.

"By the way, happy wedding day."

Her too cheerful voice was making his head hurt. "I didn't drink that much."

She giggled.  "Well, I think Dick might have made your drinks stronger than you'd anticipated."

"He's a dead man."

"He's your best man."

"After the wedding, he's a dead man."

She laughed, a sound that he had always found endearing.  Now it reverberated throughout the room, making his head spin. But that wasn't the least of his worries as his stomach decided it was time to expel the fermented contents that was causing it such distress.

He threw off the covers and ran to the bathroom, making it just in time to pay homage to the room's porcelain god.  Even through his hangover induced vomiting, he couldn't help but wonder if Diana had ever encountered this particular god.  Probably not.

He heard the water running, then felt a cool cloth pressed gently against the back of his neck as her hands rubbed his bare back, trying to ease the now dry heaving.

Bare back?

He looked down and sighed in relief.  At least he had his boxers on.

He collapsed against the bathtub. 

She just stood there.  Watching him.

"Diana, did we…I mean…what did we…"  Dammit he just couldn't get it out.  How do you tell a woman, an Amazon no less, that he couldn't remember if they'd made love? Evidently, Diana wasn't going to make it easy for him and just answer the question without him actually having to ask it.

"What is it?"

This would be much easier if she wasn't standing in front of him in only a shirt.  This was the stuff fantasies were made of.

"This can't be happening," he muttered.

"Bruce, if you're having second thoughts about the wedding…"

"No!" Damn, he answered that quickly.  "Why?  Are you?"

"Not anymore," she said and winked. 

Oh god, they did have sex. 

This was supposed to be a marriage of convenience, to help Diana garner a green card, and to uncomplicate Bruce Wayne's social calendar so that Batman could devote more time to Gotham.  He had to be strong, had to tell her where he stood.

"Diana, what happened between us last night, it can't get in the way of what this marriage is about."

She frowned.  "What are you talking about?"

"Last night?"  He raised his eyebrows, waiting for comprehension to dawn, but it didn't seem to take root.

"Sleeping together?" he prompted.

"Yes, we slept together.  I couldn't very well leave, the INS have been watching us. They might have gotten suspicious if I left."

"I'm talking about what we did in bed when we weren't sleeping."  Why couldn't he just come out and say it?

"What we did..."

And there it was.  Comprehension.  Finally.  It made him wonder if she'd ever had sex….  No.  He willed his mind not to go there.

She giggled again.  This time it didn't seem as irritating, although why was everything still so loud?

"You don't remember anything, do you?"

He lowered his head.  "Everything's still a bit hazy."

"Shall I give you a quick recap?"

"Why were you at my party?"

"Hawkgirl, Barbara, and Black Canary were talking about how stubborn you can be when you have your mind set on something.  And how determined you are to remain emotionally unattached.  I decided to march over to give you one last out, but found you passed out on the balcony."

Bruce sighed.  "Diana…"

"It's all right.  Dick helped me see things more clearly.  I've come to terms with it."

Bruce watched her leave the room, but then she turned slightly, looked over her shoulder and gave him an evil smirk.  Yes, Bruce knew evils smirks when he saw them, and this was an evil smirk.

"Everything will work out for the best.  I'm sure of it."  She sounded almost giddy.  "Why don't you get cleaned up and I'll order room service.  Then we can discuss our big day."

He stared after her in disbelief.  Why did he suddenly feel like he had no control over the situation?

Part 13 , by JOSEPH CONNELL

Bruce was still in the bathroom, groaning and moaning at the appropriate
moments, when Diana’s sharp hearing heard the gentle knock at the suite’s
double-doors.

Satisfied her nominal fiancée and teammate wasn’t in any condition to jump
ship or do anything drastic to escape his impending plunge (Dick’s earlier
assertions notwithstanding, she couldn’t help but still harbor a tiny bit of
doubt there), Diana went to answer it.  Propriety reared its quadrangular
head as she reached for the door-knob, leading her to peek through the
spy-hole first.  “Yes?” she called.

“Open up!  We gotta talk!” Amanda Waller declared loudly enough to elicit
another groan from the bathroom.

Diana took a moment to debate the relative merits of admitting Waller
access…without opening the doors first.  Propriety won out again and she
undid the locks and opened the door sufficiently that Waller could squeeze
past.  Whatever she was about to say, presumably none of it nice, was lost
as the former professor of U of St. Louis immediately found herself regarded
with a look that made frozen helium look fiery.  Arms that could bend
20-inch steel plates like paper were folded beneath a bosom that by rights
should be registered as lethal distractions.

“Mrs. Waller?” Diana greeted her politely, every word freezing the air
between them.  “Come to change the sheets?”

Normally an intimidating presence by any measure, Waller found herself
stuttering “Have…er…you two…”

“Hmmm?”  A single eyebrow was raised, at once inviting and warning against
further inquiry.

Waller quickly cleared her throat and tried again.  “I need to speak with…”

“I’m right here,” Bruce growled as he exited the bathroom, now wearing one
of the hotel’s terrycloth robes and looking more than mildly annoyed.  His
early bout of nausea apparently had subsided, although his face and neck
were still flushed and eyes a bit bloodshot.

“Er…” was all the unflappable Amanda Waller could think to say trying to
process it all.  She could only stare as the Princess sauntered over to take
Wayne’s arm in a way that just screamed “mine”.

“Mrs. Waller,” Bruce said in his calmest, violence-threatening voice.
“I…we…have had a very, very active night and have a very, very long day
ahead of us.  If you want to discuss Foundation business…”

“Hold it,” Waller said holding up a hand.  She retrieved a small pen-like
device from her jacket pocket and pressed on it.  Diana winced ever so
slightly at the ultrasonic pulse emanating the device.  “There.  That should
give us some privacy.  And believe it or not, I didn’t come here to threaten
you.”

“Surprising,” Bruce said after a moment.  “So why are you here?”

Waller looked between them for a moment, as if expecting Diana to excuse
herself and leave the ‘grow-up talk’ to them.  Bruce’s already blank
expression became blanker still, his voice dipping to absolute zero.
“Anything you have to say, you say to both of us.  Otherwise, leave, now.”

“Fine,” Waller nodded calmly, apparently over her surprise.  “I felt you
should know something: it isn’t Cadmus pushing this…issue.”

Diana felt Bruce stiffen ever so slightly at this, the closest thing to
surprise he would show.  “You’re certain?”

“As certain as I can be,” the older woman shrugged.  “And it’s not the CIA,
DIA, NSA, or any of the other alphabet soup spy shops, at least so far as I
can tell.”

“General Eling?” Bruce suggested after a moment’s thought.

“You kidding?  We’ve got a bigger net out for him than we did for Grundy.”

“Luthor striking from the grave?”

“First thing I thought of, but no.  Actually, all signs point to, well, the
INS.”  She looked at Diana directly.  “You really should have gotten UN
backing when you first got here, Your Highness.”

Bruce refused to let the conversation drift however.  “The INS is actually
pushing this?”

“Hard to believe, eh?  I wish to God there was someone else pulling strings
on this…”  Waller actually sounded mildly offended at the prospect of
someone other than herself doing such a thing.  She shook her head and
regarded them both evenly.  “I should also warn you this has been punted
over to the DDI.  Damned if I know what they hope to accomplish, though.”

A tense and uncertain silence stretched between them all for a moment.

“Is that all?” Diana finally asked.

“You guys still going through with this today?” Waller dared to ask.

“Absolutely,” they answered simultaneously, much to their mutual (if well
hidden) surprise.  Waller nodded, suddenly looking very old and very tired.

“I hope you’ve got a Plan B ready,” was her only response before she
deactivated her sonic ‘pen’, turned on her heel, and let herself out before
either could ask what she meant.

They stayed that way, arm in arm, staring at the door for several minutes
after she left.  It was Bruce who broke the moment, gently pulling his arm
away and saying in a distracted tone “We should get ready.”

“Yes, yes.  We should,” Diana answered, sounding equally distracted.

Part 14 , by JOSEPH CONNELL

4:01pm

Tim entered the library quietly, where the various groomsmen and guests had
gathered, and made a beeline for Bruce himself.  It was clear he had
something on his mind, given how he nearly knocked Oliver and John aside in
his haste.  Clark and J’onn watched this is surprise, and attended what
happened next carefully.

“We have a small problem,” Tim whispered to Bruce.

Of all the words one dreads, yet fully expects, to hear just before
ceremonies such as this, none are more dreaded yet expected than those five
words.  The actual size of the ‘problem’ in question can usually be judged
as the perfect inverse of how much emphasis is placed on the word “small”.

Needless to say, the fact Tim practically whispered it set off more mental
alarm bells than a mass break-out at Arkham would warrant.  Closing his eyes
against the pounding headache this brought on, Bruce went utterly still and
whispered back in his Bat voice “What it is?”

“Judge McAllistar has been…well…”  Tim was actually struggling to get the
words out.

“What?” Bruce prompted through ground teeth.

“He’s been…deported.”

From across the room, Clark’s head snapped around in surprise and J’onn
winced, clearly discomforted by the literal explosion of explanatives
erupting from Bruce’s thoughts.

“What for?” Bruce asked with remarkable calm, a studied contrast to the pain
he was unconsciously inflicting on his teammate across the room.  ‘Sorry,
J’onn,’ he apologized silently, realizing he was probably causing the
Martian one devil of a migraine and quickly stilled his thoughts, focusing
on his youngest ward.

“Apparently Homeland Security suddenly found, er, ‘evidence’ that McAllistar
had links to the IRA.”  At the looks Bruce and Dick were both giving him,
Tim could only shrug and say “Hey, I don’t believe it either.  But the fact
is His Honor is presently on a plane heading for Dublin.”

“Wonderful,” Dick muttered uselessly.  “I don’t suppose there are any other
County Judges who’d be willing…”

“Plenty,” Tim quickly cut him off.  “But none available.  I mean literally,
every one of ‘em are either on vacation, in court, or otherwise detained.”

“That’s what she meant about a ‘Plan B’,” Bruce muttered to himself.
“Brilliant.”

“Bruce?”

“Nothing,” the would-be groom replied, shaking his head.  “Something Waller
said to Diana and I this morning.”

Eight pairs of eyes stared at him, agog.  “Wha…when was this?” Oliver
demanded.

“It doesn’t matter,” Bruce sighed.  “It so obvious, none of us saw it
coming.”

“I could…” J’onn, still in human form, began to offer only to be quickly
silenced by an upraised hand.

“Not a chance.  We don’t need to give the INS any more avenues to exploit.”

“Um,” Wally put his hand up.  “I’m due to get some certificate from a Church
I help out as.  Maybe I can act…”  His offered died away when it was clear
no-one was actively listening.

Bruce sighed again and stared at the floor.  “I’d better go tell Diana.”
Walking into Arkham, naked and unarmed, sounded like a more appealing chore
right then.

“You calling it off?” Oliver asked.

“Did I say that?  I’m just going to tell her we’ve had a…complication.”
Before anyone could protest further, Bruce slipped out of the dressing room
and down the hall, his mind snapping through options and having to discard
each, one after the other.


4:12pm

He’d lingered as long as he’d dared, running through as many options as he
could think of as plausible.  His hand felt as if it were weighed down as he
rapped twice on the fitting room’s closed door.  Some small, almost cowardly
part of him fervently hoped no-one would answer.

Unfortunately, no sooner had his knuckles tapped the wood than the door was
opened a crack and the gorgeous if disapproving features of Dinah Lance
looked out.  “We’re still fitting her,” she said, as if this alone were
reason enough for him to keep a distance.

“I need to speak with her,” Bruce replied, and with far greater calm than he
actually felt, nudged the door open further.

“C’mon,” Dinah hissed, firmly holding the line.  “You know its mondo bad
luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony.”

“I’ll keep my eyes closed.  But I am coming in and speaking with her.”
These last words were delivered with the same force the Batman would use to
‘entice’ the wicked and corrupt into confessing their many sins (and
possibly inventing a few more).

Dinah, not being stupid, bowed to the inevitable and quickly called out
“Intruder alert!  Get her behind the screen!”  Bruce was momentarily taken
aback, so much so that he didn’t think to stop Dinah from slamming the door
on him.   Rather than give into the urge to simply kick the door off its
hinges, Bruce calmed himself by mentally counting to ten.  Backwards.  In
Swahilli.

Twice.

Then twice again.

4:14pm

He’d studiously ignored the giggling and sounds of furniture being shifted
on the other side of the door, and didn’t so much as flinch when the door
was opened once more.  “C’mon in,” Dinah invited cheerily.  “And keep your
damned eyes closed!”

Bruce sighed and covered both eyes with his hand, Dinah guiding him into the
room by the other.

He heard Diana call from nearby “Bruce?  What exactly is going on?”

“I’m sure Mari or Dinah can explain the whole ‘bad luck’ concept better than
I can,” he sighed in reply.  “We’ve had…a complication develop.”

“A complication?  Oww.”

“Sorry, Diana,” Mari quietly apologized.  “Gotta watch the needles.”

“Please do.  You were saying, Bruce?”

“I…you remember what Amanda said this morning?”

“Yessss?”

“Well, it seems the County Judge I’d retained to officiate the, er,
ceremony…”   He grit his teeth against what had to be said next, bitter gall
fighting him all the way.

“Bruce, you’re starting to scare me.”

“Yeah,” Mari affirmed.  “Spit it out, willya?  I gotta get her ready…”

“He was deported a few hours ago,” Bruce said in an uncharacteristic rush.

The room went utterly still and silent.  A handful of pins could actually be
heard dropping to the carpet.

Diana broke it with a bitter chuckle.  “Let me guess.  Waller?”

“More likely someone feeding the INS convincing, if fake, intel.  I’ve known
Bradford McAllistar for years, and there’s no way he could be involved with
any terrorist group like they’re claiming.”

“Bastards,” Dinah hissed for them all.

“What are our options then?  A different Judge?”

“None available, I’m afraid.  I’ve been wracking my brains for the last
fifteen minutes trying to come up with…something.”

“A whole fifteen minutes?  Bruce, you’re slipping.”  Diana’s sarcastic tone
did nothing to alleviate the sudden tension in the room.  She sighed and
suggested “Aren’t there any ministers we could turn to?”

“None that I know that would feel…comfortable…doing this on short notice.
I’ve got Tim looking for a Justice of the Peace we can bring in, but it
seems none of them are available either!”  He took a deep breath and began
again.  “Diana…”

“Do you want your mother’s ring back?”

“No!   Look, Diana.  This ceremony is going to happen, today.   I don’t care
if your friend West has to get some loony certification off the Internet
like he’s claiming or if I have to search out some New Age Druid priestess
to do this.  I swear this is going to happen today!”

“I don’t think there’s any such thing as a Druid priestess, Bruce,” Diana
observed mildly.

“My point…my point is…we’re going to do this today.  One way or the other, I
don’t care who does it or how!  I just wanted you to know that.”  He took a
steadying breath and asked Mari “How much longer?”

“Oh, twenty minutes, give or take.”

“I promise I’ll think of something by time you’re ready, Diana.”

“You’d better,” the Princess of Themyscria threatened.  “Otherwise next time
you get to be deformed wearing this get-up I’m being squeezed into!”

Wincing at the image, and deeply regretting he’d given Barbara and the rest
carte blanche with respect to the wedding dress, Bruce beat a dignified
retreat out of the fitting room and back to the still-chaotic hallways
outside.

He checked his watch, wincing once more at seeing it had only just turned
four-twenty.  There were a lot of calls to be made.


4:42pm

Nearly every phone line in the manor had been burnt out as frantic inquiries
were made in every direction.  While there were no Judges or Justices to be
found, the only Unitarian Minister available that day said he might be able
to make it out to them, after his last service at six that evening, but that
was iffy due to a family matter he declined to discuss.  Clark even tried to
contact an old High School friend who’d become a Methodist Minister, but
could only get his answering machine.

Wally said all he’d need was laser printer to get his own credentials as a
licensed minister of the Church of Divine Sacraments and he’d be glad to
officiate.   Bruce made noise about this being a viable option, a sure sign
he was perilously close to cracking from the strain.

Dinah’s casual announcement that the bride was nearly ready and everyone
should start taking their seats didn’t help matters.  If anything, Dick and
Tim both looked ready to spontaneously combust, Oliver turning a delicate
shade of green, and Clark was rubbing his temples, hard.  J’onn simply stood
nearby, seemingly calm and placid as ever; no-one realized of course he’d
actually had to retreat into a trancelike state to protect himself from the
free-flowing anxiety that threatened to overwhelm him.

Bruce meanwhile had secreted himself away in his father’s study and was
silently reciting obscure meditative chants, wondering if he could just hide
there forever.
The great oil painting of his parents stared down at him, neither approving
nor condemning him for such thoughts.  He looked up at them and heard
himself say “I could use some help here.”

The antique clock in the corner chimed quarter to the hour.  A soft knock on
the study’s door went ignored, the door opening a moment later.  Bruce spun
around, ready to scream at whoever it was to leave him alone.  The scream
died in his throat at the sight of an unfamiliar young woman in a plain gray
pants suit with wild dark hair framing very earnest looking features.  She
looked as surprised to see him there as he did her.

“Oh, I apologize, Mr. Wayne.  I was just looking for Mr. Fox.”  She spoke
with a soft Midwestern accent, regarding him with wide-set, bright blue
eyes.

“Uh, Lucius is with the other guests, I think.”

“Okay.  Sorry to disturb you, sir.”  She moved to close the door, only to be
stopped by Bruce a moment later.

“Is there something…?” he began to ask, grateful for the momentary
distraction and wracking his memory for who this girl might be.

She held up a thick folder embossed with the Wayne Foundation seal and gave
him a very polite, very beautiful smile.  “Oh, just some Foundation business
I promised to get for him.”

Bruce snapped his fingers and said “Kerrison, right?  Kerrison Cayemittes.”

“Sir?”

“That’s your name, right?”

“Er, yes?  I’m…I’m sorry, sir.  We’ve never actually met or…”

“Yes, yes.  But I do hear Lucius talk about you.  Quite a lot in fact.”

She actually seemed surprised by this, causing her to linger a moment
longer.  “Er, he does?”

“Absolutely.”

“Oh.  That’s…that’s nice.”  She gave him another oh-so-nice smile.  “Thank
you, sir.”  She made another half-turn to leave, then paused and asked “Mr.
Wayne?”

“Hmm?”

“Is there anything wrong?  I only ask because, well, I overheard some of the
guests…”

“Oh, ah…”  Bruce bite his lower lip, at once grateful to be able to talk
about this to another and reluctant to burden her with worries that weren’t
hers.  It came out in another rush.  “The, uh, County Judge who was supposed
to do this isn’t…he’s become indisposed and we’re having trouble finding a
replacement.  Nothing…nothing for you to worry about, Kerrison.”

“That actually sounds pretty serious, sir.”

“Tell me about it,” Bruce muttered, soon lost in thought once more.  He
realized after a moment Kerrison was still standing there, still watching
him intently.   “Yes?” he asked her, trying to keep the snap out of his
voice.

“Sir, I’m just going to throw this out as an idea, so feel free to laugh if
you want.”  Bruce gestured for her to continue.  “I’m an ordained spiritual
minister in the Order of Melchizedek.  I could…I’d be honored to conduct the
ceremony for you.”  Bruce went utterly still at her words, his eyes locked
on hers.  She nervously scratched her neck and said “Like I said, feel free
to laugh if…”

“Can you?” he asked quickly.  “Can you do that?  Legally, I mean?”

“I don’t see why not.  The Order is legally recognized and licensed…”

Another knock at the door was quickly followed by Dick poking his head in.
“There you are!  Geez!  Diana’s ready to go and…”

“Dick, get Reverend Cayemittes here outside and get her whatever she says
she’ll need.”  Bruce gave the young woman a nudge, face beaming.  Dick
looked between them, expression projecting the obvious question to both.
“I’m serious,” Bruce continued, voice dropping an octave or two.  “She can
legally do it, right?”  This last was directed back to the young woman in
question.

“Uh, yes, sir.  I can.”

“Then get moving!”  He stole a last glance at the clock in the study’s
corner; it was eleven minutes to the hour.  A final glance back to the
portrait and whispered


5:01pm

“Will you please quit fidgeting?” Dick hissed for the umpteenth time in the
last two minutes.   The other groomsmen - Tim, Clark, Oliver, J’onn (still
disguised), Wally, and John – kept whatever amusement they entertained from
this well-hidden.  Across from them were Barbara, Courtney, Helena, Dinah,
Shayera, Linda, and Mari, none of whom missed the groom’s seeming
discomfort.

“Sorry,” was Bruce’s increasingly testy reply as a few pictures of the scene
were snapped from both paparazzi and freelancers from out of town, all of
whom had been cordoned off to the side of the already-packed ballroom.  Only
Olson from the Daily Planet was holding his fire right then, preferring to
save his film for the big moment.

Reverend Cayemittes, who stood only a few paces away, gave them both a
quelling glare as the small orchestra hired for this madness finished the
overture to “Here Comes the Bride” and began the piece proper.  Bruce’s mind
had been in a dervish-like whirl the last several minutes.  Had all the
paperwork been filled out?  Would this all stand up in court?  Tim had
confirmed the Order of Melchizedek was legitimate, but could the girl’s
words be trusted as legal?

These thoughts and all their siblings went utterly still, the world along
with it, when Diana and Alfred stepped into view.

‘It’s beautiful,” was Bruce’s first – and only – thought, attention focusing
on the dress first.  Barbara had forbade him from seeing it from the start,
and Diana’s earlier threats and complaints now sounded hollow at the sight
of the simple, mother-of-pearl silk gown she wore, which cinched her ever so
slightly at the waist and gathered over her left shoulder, leaving her arms
bare.  The skirt swirled at her ankles like a thing alive, as did the sheer
veil that covered her face.  The small bouquet of white, yellow and red
roses in her hand, his mother’s ring, and the tiara nestled in her
carefully-done hair (modeled after the one she normally wore and which kept
the veil in place) were her only other accessories.

He managed to remain still as Alfred escorted her towards them with all the
air and dignity any proud father might, Diana’s arm loosely wrapped about
his own.  At some pre-arrangement moment, he had no idea when, the pair
paused and Diana turned to allow Alfred to remove the veil, taking her tiara
with it.

All coherent thought fled the instant their eyes met.

Part 15, by DC LADY

Part 16 , by JOSEPH CONNELL

The impatient murmurs amongst the guests slowly died away as Bruce and Diana
returned to stand before them all.

“Well, may we being now?” the young Reverend Cayemittes sighed, addressing
the couple before her and no-one else. They nodded as one, the gathered
guests letting out a collective (if silent) sigh of relief. “Fine.” She
took a breath herself and began, eyes looking out over the assembled guests.

“Beloved family and friends, both seen and unseen, we have gathered this day
to join these two lives as one in ceremony. We do this recognizing that the
exchange of vows and rings serves only as an outward sign of something far
greater than mere words or symbols created my human hands alone can
communicate. The joining of two lives, two hearts, two souls is a truly
rare thing. It is a step that, once taken, changes all things for all time.
The world is changed because where two lives once were, now there is one,
richer and more powerful than what was known before.

“With this in mind, if there are any present who might show just cause why
these two lives should not be joined here today, I call you to speak now, or
hereafter and all times to hold your peace.”

No-one had noticed how the sky had darkened outside, angry storm clouds
quickly gathering as if from out of nowhere. They however couldn’t help but
notice the single, massive shounding of thunder immediately overhead which
shook the entire manor with a resounding BOOM. Nor could anyone miss the
single bolt of thunder that struck the patio immediately beyond the great
glass doors where the wedding party stood. So powerful was this single
bolt, its strike shattered the glass into a thousand tiny shards.

Only the reverend, the bride, and the groom remained still during this; all
others present either flinching or instinctively shielding themselves in
some way. Before either Bruce or Diana could move or say anything, Reverend
Cayemittes spun on her heel and, looking upwards, called out to the sky
itself “If you have an objection, kindly present it yourself. Otherwise,
keep quiet!”

There was no more thunder or lightning after that, although the sky remained
dark and threatening. The air itself remained still and tense as the young
woman turned back and calmly addressed the assembled before her. “I ask a
final time, does anyone here wish to object to this union?” She counted to
five in her head then nodded. “As none offer cause against, we shall
continue. I will offer a brief sermon, and then we shall witness the
exchange of vows.”

Kerrison met the eyes of both the bride and groom for a beat, seeing their
assent in their level gazes. She raised her eyes once more and addressed
the guests.

“In the last few years, we’ve all seen strife enough to last our own
lifetimes and beyond. We’ve seen new sets of rules drawn up, rules that
make the use of violence and terror acceptable in service of causes some
might even call noble. We’ve all had to live in that darkness, and in that
time, we’ve all had the opportunity to see that darkness within ourselves.
It’s there. We can’t ignore it. To do that is simply, well, naïve.”

Unseen by any other, Lois tried to smirk at Clark at this, only to sober a
moment later at the look in his face; her breath caught in her throat as she
saw him, truly *saw* him, quite possibly for the first time.

“But what we discover, when we look into the pit of ourselves, is this: that
though we are often caught up in violent situations, we are creatures of
peace. Although we find ourselves residing in a world where darkness
abounds, we persist in shinning. We cannot help but shine. That’s the most
divine thing, for lack of a better term, about us all, be we human…or
otherwise.”

J’onn remained immobile, refusing to wipe the small, impossible tear that
welled in his eye, while Shayera pressed her lips tight against her own.

“That is why we’ve survived the naiveté and tragedies and wonders of
childhood, and come through the terrible awakening of these recent years
that we are not all ‘that’ to the universe. That is why we’ll keep on
going, both individually and together, why we will survive to see the next
day’s adventures. Because, if we have learned anything, it is this:

“That in the midst of death, we are in life.”

She let this last statement hang in the air a moment, and then returned her
attention to Bruce and Diana. “The couple may now speak their vows.” It
took a none-too-subtle nudge by Dick to pull Bruce from his intended’s eyes,
all to the click and flash of a dozen more cameras catching the moment for
posterity. Bruce accepted the rings from his former ward calmly and turned
all his attention to accomplishing two rather Herculean tasks: the first was
not to drop either band of gold and silver.

The second was to somehow get his voice working again.

<><><>

Accounts of what came next varied wildly amongst the publications in
attendance.

Some would claim the groom’s voice squeaked, or went monotone, or broke like
so much crystal under the hammer when he spoke his vows. It was reported
his hands shook when he placed the ring on her outstretched finger, or they
were steady as a still pond, or moved in perfect time with his
near-hyperventilation.

Others would say the bride showed greater composure that never wavered, or
that she swooned like Faye Raye in Kong’s fist, or that she was as aloof and
cold as the peaks of Olympus itself…until it was her turn to speak, at which
point she blubbered, or spoke only in Greek, or had a coughing fit when she
got to the “cherish, honor and obey” part of her vows.

Even what vows were spoken were the subject of contention. Some accounts
stated both recited ad nauseum from the Catholic ceremony, others claim they
were completely impromptu, and at least one column asserted it was lines of
poetry merging Byron, Shelby, Horne, and Mya Angeleu into something barely
coherent.

The guests in attendance offered guffaws, or all sat in respectful silence,
or one or two or a dozen pagers or cell phones went off at odd intervals and
conversations were conducted in hasty whispers that no-one couldn’t help
overhearing.

<><><>

In the end, it is enough to know this is what happened: the groom pledged
himself to his bride, and she to him. Rings of simple gold and silver were
slipped onto outstretched fingers, and hands were clasped tightly (but not
too tightly) between them.

<><><>

There was one point of agreement amongst the accounts that were published in
the days and weeks to come: when whatever vows were finished and the rings
both exchanged, the dark clouds outside parted almost majestically.
Brilliant sunlight streamed into the Ballroom, and a single, overwhelming
shaft of light hitting the bride and groom alone.

Diana’s dress fairly sparkled within that light, but nowhere near as
brightly as did the rings on their fingers.

This was the first, and only, picture Jimmy Olson took of the wedding
ceremony, securing his place amongst photojournalists for generations
afterwards.

<><><>

Unseen and unheard by any other, Alfred Pennyworth smiled as he looked
upwards to the now-clearing sky, and breathed a simple prayer to those he
knew were watching from above:

“Thank you both.”

<><><>

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Reverend Kerrison Cayemittes, legally-ordained and
recognized Spiritual Minister of the Order of Melchezedek, called out. “By
the power vested in me by the One Above All, by the County of Gotham, and
the State of…” Her words were momentarily lost in the sound of thunder
sounding far off over the ocean beyond. “A-hem!” the young reverend cleared
her throat, throwing a quick glance back over her shoulder skywards,
continuing on a moment later. “It is my great honor and privilege to
present Mr. Bruce and Mrs. Diana Wayne. Sir, ma’am?”

The bride and groom broke apart, something in the younger woman’s voice
pulling their attention back to Earth. Reverend Cayemittes grinned with a
slightly embarrassed shrug. “You may, er, resume kissing…now.”

The mini-orchestra struck up the requisite wedding march, quickly drowned
out by the applause that erupted amongst the guests and wedding party.
Hoots and cheers, mercifully few of them, could be heard here and there.
The din was soon overwhelming.

Bruce and Diana heard none of it, engaged as they were in a far older form
of communication.
 

Part 17, by DC LADY

Bruce and Diana did all of the things newly married couples do at their wedding reception.  Albeit grudgingly, in Wally's opinion.  It had been especially entertaining to watch Bruce explain to Diana the reason why she should let him take off her garter to throw into the throng of eager bachelors.  That had definitely been the highlight of Wally's evening.

"It's a tradition, Diana."  Bruce must have said this to her at least a dozen times.  Wally eventually lost count. 

And then there was the tossing of the bride's bouquet.  Diana really didn't know her own strength, Wally guessed.  Oh well.  Bruce could afford to replace a window.  Although Wally was surprised to see a simple bouquet of flowers shatter glass like that.  He shrugged and figured at the speed with which it hit the pane, it would've pretty much shattered anything.

Now the reception had settled into the partying stage, if you could really call this a party, by Wally's standards, anyway.  He'd been waiting to dance the night away, but as the band—gee, that was a really big band--played yet another number, Wally lost all hope for a song with a respectable beat.

He leaned heavily against the wet bar in the grand ballroom of Wayne Manor and yawned.  Loudly.

An elbow to the ribs caused an equally loud "Oof".

"Hey!  What was that for?"

"Be quiet, will you?  This isn't the kind of shindig where you can get away with anything but perfect manners," Shayera said, then threw back a shot of whatever it was she was drinking, wincing slightly as it no doubt burned its way down to her stomach.

"Right.  Manners."  Wally rolled his eyes.  "Aren't you bored?  I mean, really.  How many slow dances can one party have?"

"This is a high society event, Wally.  They dance waltzes at these types of things."

"I know that.  I'm just saying that this little shindig could use some serious help, is all.  Then again, I really shouldn't be surprised.  Can you imagine Batman having a hip party?"  Wally turned toward the almost empty dance floor and the crowd of wallflowers encircling it, then back to the space where Shayera stood, only to find her gone. But that didn't stop Wally from answering his own question.  "Nope.  Me, neither."

"So, you think Bruce Wayne isn't hip?" a voice from behind him asked.

"Well, duh," Wally said, before he realized just who was behind him, and why Shayera had decided not to stick around.

"Hey, Bruce," Wally murmured with a feeble wave of his hand, then straightened and decided to try and dig himself out of the hole he suddenly found himself in.  "Even you have to admit that this isn't quite like a night at the Roxbury."

"Wally, have you ever been to the Roxbury?"

Wally grinned.

"On the inside?"

His grinned faltered.

"When it was open?"

Now it was a full-fledged frown.

"No. Never got past the doorman."  He didn't mean to admit it.  It was humiliating.  But Bruce had a way of making you admit things even if you didn't want to.

Bruce leaned in closer with a look that could only be classified as smug.  "I have."

"Of course you have.  You're Bruce `I have all the money in the world and then some' Wayne.  They wouldn't dare not let you in.  I mean, you're a cool dude and all, but you're not known as Mister Fleet Feet on the dance floor," Wally said, his thumb pointing proudly to his chest.  "That's me."

Bruce growled.  Wally shivered.  He really didn't know what he'd said to get that kind of reaction.  He was just trying to explain to Bruce that not everyone was as hip as the ole Flashter.

"Bruce Wayne's reputation says differently."

"Oh yeah?  Well, I know your reputation with the ladies.  It's legendary."  Wally elbowed Bruce in the ribs.  "You gotta tell me your secret, by the way.  The kinda of party I'm talking about just isn't up your alley.  I mean, you probably don't even know how to dance without all those guys backing you up with slow ballroom numbers." He indicated the full-blown orchestra at the end of the room.

"I'm Batman.  I am hip." Even in a whisper, Batman's voice could be vicious.

The look on Bruce's face was somewhat frightening.  Wally had imagined that it was the same look Bruce wore beneath the mask of Batman. Mostly when Bats had a plan to take down one of any number of the freaks that the League attracted like mosquitoes to flypaper.  Bats always had a plan and usually executed it mercilessly.

Wally suddenly wondered what Bruce had planned now as the man walked with a vengeance to the other side of the room, tapped the shoulder of one of those orchestra guys, and whispered something in his ear.

Wally couldn't help but grin, thinking what a perfect match Bruce and Diana were. She didn't handle constructive criticism well, either.

All of a sudden the lights dimmed to near blackness.  He heard the murmurings of the surprised guests, then an excited gasp as a spotlight suddenly appeared, highlighting two lone figures in the middle of the dance floor: Bruce and Diana.

xoxoxoxo

Bruce had the spotlights installed when Dick was younger.  The then youngster had used the space in the ballroom to show off his various acrobatic skills, but the circus performer in him had required a spotlight.  Bruce had been only too happy to oblige.

He brought his face mere inches from Diana's and whispered, "Just follow my lead."

She planted her hands firmly on her hips in defiance.  He would have to get use to this sort of thing, he supposed.  Especially being married to an Amazon Princess.  It could prove vital to his health.  But he loved a challenge.  And this particular challenge with Wally was one that he would win.  He'd spent too many years cementing Bruce Wayne's reputation as a billionaire playboy for his hipness to be in question. 

Not hip?  How ludicrous.

He brought his lips close to Diana's ear, touching the lobe lightly.  He could feel her shiver at the touch.  "Flash just told me he didn't think you were capable of being the life of a party." 

She stiffened. 

He smirked, then continued.  "Said you couldn't dance a beat even if your life depended on it."

"Lead away," she hissed through gritted teeth.

Bruce grinned.  No.  He smiled.  Yep.  This marriage thing could be fun.

Diana looked down at her dress, grabbed the fabric just above her knees, and tore the bottom portion of it off.  She then kicked off her shoes. "Ready?"

Bruce looked down at her bare feet and decided that going shoeless wasn't such a bad idea.  His shoes joined hers on the other side of the room.

"Ready."  He nodded to the orchestra leader who commenced with the previously requested song.  Chuck Berry's "You Never Can Tell."

Bruce fell into an easy twist which Diana followed gracefully. But he soon ratcheted it up a notch, adding some of his own style into the age-old dance.  Diana caught on quickly.  Those late night movies evidently paid off as she seamlessly segue-wayed the twist into the swim, holding her nose and shimmying down to the ground into a half crouch, then back up again.  He followed her lead. 

Bruce began to trace his eyes in the symbol of the bat, keeping in tune with the music.  This particular dance was created for him.  The Batman.

Bruce heard a collective gasp that he followed to the group of Leaguers watching the performance.  Wally was front and center, his jaw nearly touching the floor.  Bruce grinned. He was certain that his hipness would not be questioned again.

He upped it another notch with a new dance.  The Monkey.  Diana matched his movements perfectly, arms jerking up and down.  She was very good at this, he decided.

The twist again.  His stockinged feet gliding effortlessly on the parquet floor.  His eyes locked onto hers as they both rose to the challenge of one naïve, utterly clueless speedster. 

Yeah!  They were hip.

Thunderous applause echoed in Bruce's ears as he headed toward Wally.

"Um.  I didn't know you could dance."

Bruce leaned in close, not wanting anyone else to hear him.  "I'm Batman," he said, as if that answered all of life's questions.

The end.

Part 18 , by JOSEPH CONNELL

In a hidden place, men and others of power met to discuss ‘the
situation’.

“Hardly what I would call a sterling success,” Grodd observed, his
deceptively mild tone a counterpoint for the raw fury in his eyes. 
Rarely did the self-styled conqueror and exiled genius look as savage as his physiology might suggest.  A silverback in the wild defending his troupe from an aggressor did not look half as fierce as the exile right then.

“A tactical and strategic disaster in the making, from where I’m
sitting,” General Wade Eiling snarled through his malformed teeth.  He could only ever snarl, lest his equally malformed jawline cause his words to slur.

The third member of their small circle, slender and scrawny in
comparison to his nominal allies, simply sat back in his plush chair and sipped delicately from his teacup.  “And how do you come to that conclusion, General?”

“The Amazon can now occupy United States territory legally, plus she
has access to Wayne’s fortune and resources…”

“I should point out she always had access to those resources, as have
the rest of the League.”

“Point is, she’s still occupying US soil!  And now short of getting rid of Wayne as well, there’s no way to expel her!” Eiling snarled harshly, slamming in oversized fist on the table between them.  His recent transformation had done little to cool his normally hot temper.  The prospect of a ‘foreigner’ violating his beloved nation’s borders was an utter anathema to his entire worldview, and was sure to drive him to frenzy as nothing else might.

“Calmly, Wade,” Grodd remarked mildly.  “Preferably before you destroy the table.”

“Little danger of that, Grodd,” the third remarked calmly.  “It’s a
solid light hologram.  Certainly durable enough to accommodate the General’s enhanced if limited strength.”

“Shut up, animal!” Eling howled at Grodd, slamming both fists onto the tabletop and standing so he practically towered over both him and the other. Rounding on the latter and, with Grodd watching with mild amusement, he stuck out a thick finger and growled “You assured us this would eliminate both the Amazon and Wayne, so what the fu…”

“Now, now,” the third interrupted, nonplussed.  “I never promised
anything whatsoever.  I merely said this was the most effective way to neutralize the two of them.”

“Same difference!  This keeps them both in place and operational.  What exactly has all this accomplished?” Eiling demanded.

“I find myself wondering the same thing,” Grodd nodded.  “I mean, it
was child’s play for me to ‘influence’ those case managers in the INS from afar, and I agree the General’s knowledge of the US bureaucracy helped me target the appropriate minds.”

“Thanks,” Eiling slurred, sitting back down.

“You’re quite welcome.  But really, what did all this accomplish beyond giving the tabloids fodder and ensuring the Princess can’t be
extradited?”

The third took a final sip of his tea and looked at them both. 
“Gentlemen, and I use the term loosely, trust me when I say there are some things you can do that won’t seriously jeopardize the existence of this planet…and some things you simply can’t.

“For example, you can knock the Kryptonian’s little rocket off-course
so it lands in central Africa, or in the Soviet Union, or have it get stuck in the asteroid belt and not be found for a millennium…but ultimately you’ll still have a ‘Superman’ arise and ensure the planet’s defense.  He may not be fighting for Truth, Justice and mom’s apple pie, but at least he’ll be there.

“Similarly, you could arrange it so the Princess decides to remain
based on her island, or she limits herself to promoting feminism anonymously in the Middle East, or does nothing but relief work in Africa and Asia, or she engages in a covert affair with a fellow princess from Europe serving as an ordinary diplomat.  She may not be wearing that ridiculous get-up Hephaestus forged, but she’ll still serve as a beacon of hope and that flowery stuff.

“However, you absolutely cannot, must not interfere with the
self-appointed mission of certain young multi-millionaire prior to a certain point.  If you do, and in every temporal variation I’ve explored where Wayne has died early or been directed away from his personal crusade…well, you might as well kiss the planet good-bye thanks to Al Gul or Savage or one of several other fools.”  He took another sip of his tea.  “Sorry, gentlemen; Wayne is simply one of those truly historical figures who is too vital to the continued
survival of the planet to risk messing with.”

“If that’s true, then what was all this in aid of?” Grodd asked,
genuinely perplexed.

“I said you can’t remove Wayne prior to a certain point in
history…which we are nowhere near yet, by the way, so don’t get any ideas!  I didn’t say you can’t take steps to neutralize him, to…soften his stance without leaving him completely vulnerable.  Perhaps even set him up for a bit of heartbreak in the meantime.”

Grodd and Eiling both chewed on this new information for several
moments.  

“How certain are you of this course of action?” Grodd asked.

“Oh, I calculated this has a 31.15% chance of minimizing Wayne and the Princess sufficiently where the League might prove more vulnerable.”

“That’s all?!”

“Believe me; it’s better than some of the alternatives I’ve tried.” 
The third set his teacup aside and sat forward, his all-too-human features a strange counterpoint to the circuitry embedded into the left side of his face and head.  Professor David Clinton, once known as Chronos, gave his nominal allies a grin that was more a sneer and held no more warmth than the void of space.

“And for the record, I have more reason to hate Bruce Wayne and wish
him destroyed than either of you could imagine.  He trapped me in a fifteen second time-loop for nearly a decade, during which I could not escape the incessant harping of the most malicious creature ever born of a woman’s womb!  My escape was purely thanks to my own shortcomings as an engineer; if my prototype belt hadn’t failed like it had, I’d still be trapped there.”

“Well…” Grodd began, only to have Chronos’ voice override him.

“After that, I swore I’d see him destroyed.  Do either of you want to
even guess how many different timelines I’ve jumped through where I’ve strangled him in his crib, or shot him dead at prep school, or made sure he dropped to his death swinging around that stinkhole of a city?  Hmmm?” Chronos looked at his allies speculatively.  “Why, gentlemen, if I didn’t know better I’d think you were both…scared of little old me.”

Grodd grinned and nodded.  “Oh believe me, Professor Clinton, we are.”

Chronos grinned and nodded in return.  “Good.  At least we understand
one another, eh?”  He sat back and continued saying “I mean, it wouldn’t be at all difficult to ensure you, Grodd, didn’t survive that little tumble you took as newborn in the factories.  And how long do you think you’d last, General, if the evidence of your part in the framing and court martial of Captain Nathaniel Adam were to come to light sooner rather than later?”

“We get the message, Clinton,” Eiling snarled.  “We get it already.”

“I’m so glad.”  Chronos sighed and sat back.  Eiling and Grodd did
likewise.

“So, gentlemen, are we ready for the next step?”
 

Part 19, by DC LADY