Chapter Text
Chapter One
Gotham City...Wayne Manor...Late Evening...
Bruce Wayne was late to his own birthday gala. Quite late in fact. It was times like this that Alfred Pennyworth's acting talents came in handy. Alfred was able say with a straight face to Bruce's guests that Mr. Wayne was simply late because he “attending to a business matter” while somehow tacitly implying that the business matter was female and friendly.
It was a rare gift.
One that came in handy at times like this when circumstances, or in this case, gang fights, threw a wrench into his schedule.
He smoothed down his tie, adjusted the collar of his tux jacket and pushed open the doors to the ballroom, self-assured smile in place. If he was late, he might as well make an entrance.
After making sure that there were eyes on him, Bruce made a show of checking that his fly was zipped. He winked at the closest pretty woman – a willowy redhead - and shrugged off the glare her date sent him in response. He shook the hands of a few business associates, kissed the cheeks of some women he passed as he moved through the room and tossed back a drink that Alfred handed him – non-alcoholic – but no one else knew that. All without breaking stride.
It was a dance. A carefully orchestrated dance. Moving from person to person. A smile there, a leer there. A corny joke here, a marginally lewd reference there. Turn and repeat. He knew the rhythm well and had practiced the steps.
Another exclusive black-tie party the mansion. This week's excuse for a party: his own birthday. No sense in waiting for someone else to throw a party for you. When you were rich, you could do it yourself. In this case he'd made his birthday party into a $1,000 a head fundraiser for the Gotham Heroes Fund, the scholarship fund for the children of Gotham Police Officers and Firefighters killed in the line of duty. A worthy cause more dear to Bruce Wayne they he would ever let on. Still, most of the people in the room were here to see and be seen and hadn't given a second thought about who their accountants wrote the checks to for the evening.
As long as there was gourmet food to pretend to eat, plenty to drink, and photographers to snap photos of them in their designer garb, the vast majority of the guests would have come out tonight for the Elmer Fudd-Bugs Bunny Peace Accords Dinner and not batted an eyelash.
The invitations had included not only Gotham's wealthy, but millionaires, billionaires, and influencers from all over the country, who ponied up the carbon credits to fly in on their private jets for the evening.
Bruce chatted up a few Silicon Valley millionaires in the corner, pretending to be baffled by their techno-babble. A casino magnate and his ex-stripper wife greeted him as if they were old friends. They weren't, but that didn't stop the wife from reaching for his ass behind her husband's back.
A hedge-fund manager known to have more than two dozen members of Congress on his payroll slipped a card into his tux pocket and suggested that they should “have a chat.”
They milled around him in all their well-coiffed, spray-tanned, Botoxed glory. B-list celebs, politicians, financiers, and more. All colors, shapes, and sizes. The minutes ticked by. It was going to be a long night.
Bruce checked his watch and caught Alfred's eye. The older man frowned and shook his head. It would be at least an hour before they could present the oversized prop check to the head of the scholarship fund and cut the cake, and another two before they could begin the arduous task of getting these people out of his house.
Bruce grabbed another drink from Alfred and scanned the room for people he had not yet greeted. He spotted two figures wrapped around each other on the edge of the dance floor and recognized the man as Oliver Queen.
Yes, Oliver. Who had been marginally annoying as a schoolmate and until a couple of years ago seemed Hell bent on destroying himself before the age of 25. Something had turned him around. Oliver Queen now commanded some degree of respect in the business community.
Bruce also knew quite a but about the “hobbies” Oliver Queen had picked in the last few years. Hobbies that were strangely similar to his own. But Oliver had gone one step further, and seemed to be assembling some kind of underground team of vigilantes. Vigilantes with an agenda in the form of Lex Luthor.
Lex Luthor wasn't Bruce Wayne's favorite person in the world but he had no firsthand knowledge of Lex's dealings. And with a city full of obviously insane freaks to deal with, Bruce had no time to obsess about Lex's or Oliver Queen's hobbies, for that matter.
If Queen fancied himself a vigilante, so be it. As long as he kept his arrows safely stowed while he was in Gotham, Bruce didn't need to think about him. He and his little crew could do what they wanted in Metropolis, Star City or wherever they were these days.
From where Bruce stood at this moment, however, Oliver Queen didn't seem to have Lex Luthor, crime-fighting, or anything else on his mind, other than the curvy blond in his arms. Which struck Bruce as odd given that he thought Oliver had given up womanizing a few years back along with most of his other vices.
Bruce studied the small blond, a somewhat difficult task given that her back was facing him. Too short for an underwear model, Oliver's old preference. Wrapped in a deep green silk dress that dipped so low in the back that it skirted the edges of respectability. For what it was worth, she had just about the best ass in the room, Bruce mused. And that was saying something. She had golden blond wavy hair that was piled loosely on her head with emerald tipped clips.
Oliver leaned down to whisper in the woman's ear and they stopped dancing. Instead, Oliver met Bruce's eye, and started towards him, leading his companion along beside him.
Oliver extended his hand when they reached him. “Happy Birthday, Bruce. It's been a long time.”
Bruce shook his hand and ran his eyes over the smaller blond, in full playboy mode. “And this must be your 'and guest.' I don't believe I've had the pleasure?”
“Bruce Wayne, Chloe Sullivan.”
“Bruce Wayne. I've heard a lot about you.” she said. The woman's eyes were deep green and narrowed slightly as she shook his hand. She didn't smile flirtatiously, simper, or wink like so many others. She seemed to simply...assess him. Bruce found it odd for a moment before collecting himself.
“Have we met before?” he asked her. Perhaps they'd met at party or other event. It might explain the look she'd given him - she was irked at not being remembered. Women hated that.
“No, I can assure you, Mr. Wayne, you've never met me,” she told him confidently.
The phrasing was odd and Bruce waited for her to explain, but she didn't and Oliver, for some reason, found this funny. “Call me Bruce. I always let beautiful woman call me by my first name.” he teased and was disappointed when she again didn't respond as expected. Instead, she actually smirked at him and rolled her eyes at Oliver. Bruce made a note of her name. There was definitely something unsettling about this woman.
Time to change the subject.
“Oliver, I'm really touched that you and Ms. Sullivan would fly all the way out here for my birthday. I know how busy you are.” Bruce said, wondering how Oliver would react to him knowing about his Green Arrow activities. Probably not well.
Oliver ran his hand up and down Chloe Sullivan's bare arm. “I'll admit your party was the catalyst but I also have some business on Gotham and Chloe's never been here... And we both could use a break from work, some time alone. We actually plan on being here for a few days.”
Before Bruce could answer, a cell phone rang and Chloe Sullivan reached into her beaded evening bag to extract her phone. She read the display and exchanged a look with Oliver, who nodded at her. “I need to take this, I'll be back in a minute.” she leaned up to kiss Oliver's cheek, then left the duo, walking towards the ballroom doors in a swirl of undulating green silk and chiffon.
Bruce had to admit that she looked really good leaving. He grinned at Oliver. “Nice...very nice...although not many woman I know would walk away from me to take a phone call. She seemed underwhelmed by meeting me. Don't tell me I'm losing my touch?”
“I wouldn't loose too much sleep over it. There are any number of woman in this room who can't operate a cell phone and would be perfectly happy to speak to you all night. Chloe's smarter than that. Plus, she's with me.”
“Fair enough. So what's the big emergency that she would risk insulting Gotham's favorite son?”
Oliver grabbed a cola from a passing waiter. “Work,” he said simply. “Come with me for for a minute, we need to chat.”
Oliver didn't bother to wait to see if Bruce was following him as he headed towards a quieter corner of the ballroom. Bruce followed, but mostly because he was curious. Anxious to keep things light, he stuck his hands into the pockets of his tuxedo pants. “Look, if this is about me staring at your date's ass...you really can't blame me.”
“Fiancee.”
Bruce raised his eyebrows. “Fiancee...well, that is news. Congratulations. Now I am sorry for staring at her ass. You should have warned me.”
“Thanks, but that's besides the point. We need to talk business.”
“Business, here? Come on, Queen, lighten up, it's a party. No need to spoil it with company talk.” Bruce chided.
“Not company business, Bruce. Other business. The kind of business that makes you late for your own birthday party because you're breaking up gang wars in the Narrows.”
The smile faded from Bruce's face. “Sorry?”
“Two rival gangs picked tonight to start a war. You had to trade your tux for a cape at the last minute. Took longer than you expected. Any of this ringing a bell?”
Bruce stiffened. “I don't know what you think you're talking about but...”
Oliver looked unfazed by Bruce's change in demeanor. “Come on, now it's your turn to lighten up. I know. You hear me? I know. And I know that you know about my moonlighting so let's just save the denial conversation and cut straight to the business talk. I have a proposition for you.”
Bruce's mind was racing, he took a look around the room to make sure no one was listening before he spoke again. “Let me guess, you want me to join you and your merry band?”
Oliver shrugged. “It turns out we might have an opening for a bass player.”
Bruce frowned. “I'll pass.” He tried to step away but Oliver stopped him.
“Not so fast, Batsy. You should hear us out on this at least. Call it professional courtesy. We're in the same line of work, for largely the same reasons. Least you can do is give us a bit of your time.”
Bruce winced at Oliver's choice of nickname and glanced around to make sure that no one heard him. “Fine,” he growled. I'll hear you out but not now. After the party. Alfred will show you to my study and we can talk there. Send the arm candy home.” He moved to walk away but Oliver stopped him again.
“No dice, the 'arm candy' stays. She's on the team and she already knows everything.”
“I thought you said she was your fiancee?”
“She's that too. She's quite a few things, actually. And she stays,” he added firmly.
Bruce turned and saw the woman in question approaching them, looking right through him, her eyes locked on Oliver's. It was only then that Bruce noticed the emerald ring on her left hand. Some detective he was, missing that little clue. But then, he he'd had no reason to be looking for it.
“You two have one hour to make your case, then I'm gone.”
“One hour should be more than enough.” Oliver replied, then extended his arm to pull Chloe Sullivan close to him as she rejoined them, “Everything OK?” he asked her.
“Everything's fine now,” she said to Oliver, then smiled up at Bruce. “Sorry to run off like that. Business call, I know you can relate, Bruce.” Her green eyes met his defiantly, daring him to say something in response.
Yes, there was definitely something unsettling about this woman.
End Chapter.