Author's Note: First I want to thank Terri Hayes for doing such a
bang-up job with Friends 3. She left me with a plethora of ideas to
follow up on. Hopefully, I'll be able to live up to the wonderful set-up
she left me.--Syl

Summary: On a mission in Cannes, Dinah meets up with an unexpected
friend.  Meanwhile, millionaire playboy Bruce Wayne leaps into action, and 
then gets taken for a ride.

Acknowledgement: King Mesha's declaration against the Israelites
(translated from the Moabite Stone) is found in Harper's Bible
Dictionary. Special thanks to Terri and Hazel for their unceasing help
in editing and catching my many errors.:)

Disclaimer: All the characters are owned by DC Comics and Time/Warner;
this is an original story that does not intend to infringe on their
copyright.

Feedback is welcome!

Copyright July 2000

****

Friends 4: That Don't Impress Me Much [Part 1/4]
By Syl Francis

****

"Ooh, Baby! Be still my beating heart!" Dinah muttered. She stared with
open admiration at the tall, dark, and stunningly handsome man who'd
just walked into the grand ballroom.

"What? Didn't catch that, Dinah," Oracle said.

"I think I'm in love," Dinah said good-naturedly. She studied him from
lowered eyelashes. He seemed to fill the room with his quiet confidence.

"You think you're what? Dinah, you're there to work," Oracle reminded
her. "Fall in love on your own time. Besides, what about Batman?"

"What about him?" Dinah said dismissively. "Ol' gloom and doom isn't
looking for love, my friend. He's only happy when he's knocking heads."

Gorgeous Guy was instantly set upon by a throng of beautiful women.
Dinah watched, smiling at his bemused expression. Keeping her eyes on
him, she brought her fluted glass up to her lips. At this moment, he
glanced her way and caught her eye.

An electric charge instantly passed between them.

Oracle snorted. "And I suppose all *you* want is to curl up next to the
fireplace with a good book, huh?"

Smiling politely, he broke away from the crowd of beauties, and started
towards Dinah. Feeling herself inexplicably blushing, she glanced
quickly away and then back at him.

"Curl up, maybe," Dinah finally replied. "But not with a book. Who wants
to waste a perfectly good fire?" He was almost at her table. "Look,
girlfriend," Dinah whispered quickly. "Gotta go. I'm working, remember?"

"Oracle out."

Dinah put her glass down and studied her hands momentarily. Taking a
deep breath, she looked up again. He stood over her, dark blue eyes
brooding. He was studying her with an intensity that sent a shiver up
her spine.

Smiling uncertainly, she waited for him to speak. He blinked as if
suddenly aware that he was staring. He held his hand out her.

"Good evening. I'm--"

"--Bruce Wayne," she interrupted.

"My reputation precedes me, I see."

"I'm afraid so," Dinah said. Smiling in amusement she introduced
herself. "Dinah Lance."

He stared at her a moment longer, a small smile playing at the corner of
his mouth. "The infamous Black Canary."

"My reputation precedes me, I see."

"I'm afraid so," Bruce said, dark eyes twinkling. "May I join you?"

"Please do."

They sat and stared at each other for a moment longer. Finally, she
spoke. "Bruce Wayne...I never expected to see you here in Cannes."

"Really? Beautiful women, champagne, bright lights, excitement. Why
wouldn't I be here?"

She smiled coolly. "I don't know. I guess you're not what I expected."

"Oh? The life of the idle rich doesn't impress you?" he asked wryly. "I
hope I haven't disappointed you."

Dinah looked away, feeling let down. Just another pretty face, she
thought darkly. "Look, I'm waiting for someone," she said, pointedly.
"So, if you'll excuse me?"

Bruce ignored her, his eyes boring into hers. "Funny thing about
reputations, Ms. Lance," Bruce said. "They have a tendency to grow in
direct disproportion to the truth."

Dinah gave him a sour look. "You have to admit, Mr. Wayne, your
reputation with women is pretty notorious. Rampant rumors of wild orgies
and virgin sacrifices at Wayne Manor abound."

Bruce's eyes twinkled fleetingly. "I'm afraid that I gave up virgin
sacrifices a long time ago. Hard to keep up with wild living when
there's a nine-year-old boy running around the house."

At her questioning look, he ducked his head in slight embarrassment. "I
adopted a boy a few years ago." He gave her a wry look. "It's hard to
explain the presence of strange women at breakfast. Or as Dick put it
once when he came into my bedroom unexpectedly--" Bruce's voice went up
a few octaves, his expression ingenuous. "I thought mommies and daddies
slept together after they got married. Are *you* two getting married?'"

Dinah burst into laughter. Bruce gave her a half-smile.

"Needless to say, that was the last time I wanted to hear *that*
question first thing in the morning."

"And what of the young lady?" she asked slyly. Bruce smiled
enigmatically.

"Really, Ms. Lance. You can't expect me to tell you *all* of my secrets
on our first meeting." He placed his chin in his hand and looked frankly
at her.

"As for reputations...Take your case, Ms. Lance. I've heard that you're
beautiful. However, such a pedestrian description does you an injustice.
There are no words to appropriately describe incomparable beauty such as
yours."

Dinah felt her cheeks grow hot. She looked down quickly. Getting herself
under control, she looked up and snorted quite inelegantly.

"Mr. Wayne, I've been fed some lines before, but yours tops them all."

A small smile played at the right-hand corner of his mouth. "I wasn't
joking, Ms. Lance."

"Perhaps, but you know what they say, Mr. Wayne: 'Beauty is potent, but
money is omnipotent.'"

"Please, call me Bruce," he said. "And speaking from experience, I
assure you that money truly can't buy you happiness, Ms. Lance."

"Dinah," she said. "Perhaps not, but it sure can you earn you a whole
new set of interesting enemies."

Bruce smiled and taking his glass in hand, he held it out to hers. "To
interesting enemies," he said. Together they gently clinked their
glasses in salute. Eyes locked, they each downed their drink.

The place was suddenly rocked with gunfire.

Doors burst open and windows shattered as men in black military fatigues
stormed in, automatic weapons firing at the ceiling. Their angry voices
shouted orders in French.

"~Everybody *down*~!!" "~On the floor!!~" "~Now~!"

Panicked screams in multi-languages resounded throughout the elegant
ballroom.

"~My God~!" "~What's happening~?" "~My husband?! Where's my husband~?!"

Dinah immediately flew into action. She dove across the table, grabbing
Bruce as she fell over.

"What are you--?" he began.

Dinah clamped her hand over his mouth and dragged him to safety
underneath the table.

"Quiet!" she hissed. She was lying on top of him, her hand still
covering his mouth.

Bruce glared up at her, his dark eyes burning fire. About to throw her
off him, he froze in place. Black boots were visible just underneath the
other side of the tablecloth. Two male voices spoke in rapid French.

"~I saw someone over here, Henri.~"

"~You're imagining things, Armand.~"

"~I'm checking under the table. Cover me.~"

"~For heaven's sake--~"

Before Bruce could protest, Dinah quickly undid his bowtie, half tore
her own dress off her shoulder and kissed him with hot-blooded fervor.
Caught by surprise, Bruce soon found himself returning her kiss with
equal zeal. He was soon lost in the moment, reveling once again in her
scent.

Summer blossoms, he remembered.

The sound of a machinegun bolt being locked back echoed in his mind as
if from far away.

Bruce felt Dinah being jerked from his arms as he was dragged out from
underneath the table.

"~What do we have here?~"

"~A couple of lovers sharing a clandestine moment, Henri!~" Armand said
laughing.

Bruce spoke quickly, in breathless gasps.

"~Please," he said in perfect French. "~My wife...she can't find out
about this. Whatever you want...money, anything! Just, don't let this
get to the media!~"

Dinah gaped at him open-mouthed. Bruce glared at her. 'Go on,' his eyes
urged.

Taking the cue, she screeched at him in English. "You louse! You never
told me you was married. I ought to--!"

"Enough!" Armand yelled, covering them with his weapon, an Uzi Bruce
noted. "I don't want to hear your lovers' quarrel. Move to the main room
with the others."

"A lady can't trust nobody no more," Dinah grumbled. Henri grabbed her
by the arm.

"Dinah, sweetheart," Bruce said in a whiny voice. "Please, I swear that
last night was special. My wife just doesn't understand me--"

Dinah turned on him, slipping out of her captor's hands. "Shaddup, ya'
creep, before I--!" She whirled suddenly and slammed the heel of her
open palm on Henri's chin. Simultaneously, Bruce chopped straight across
Armand's throat. Both terrorists went down.

Dinah turned in time to see Bruce take the second terrorist out.

"Mr. Wayne," she said admiringly, stooping to remove a uniform patch
from one of the terrorists. "You *are* more than just another pretty
face!"

Bruce allowed himself a small smile as they slipped out of the ballroom.
Things were looking up.

****

"Oracle, come in!" Dinah called as they ran down a carpeted corridor.

"Oracle."

"Contact! It's the Jahaz all right. I took a shoulder patch off of one
of the soldiers. It's the sign of Chemosh."

"Ancient god of Moab?" Bruce asked.

"Yeah, that's right," Dinah replied, impressed.

"Dinah, is there someone with you?" Oracle asked.

They ducked into a cloakroom. Dinah immediately grabbed a package that
she'd checked earlier. She talked rapidly as she opened it.

"A stray lamb I picked up," she explained. "Bruce Wayne." Bruce leaned
casually against the door, his arms crossed. He raised a single eyebrow
at her in amusement.

"Bruce Wayne!?" Oracle shouted, surprised. "What's *he* doing there?"

"How should I know?" Dinah answered. "We were talking when all hell
broke loose. He handled himself pretty well, in fact."

"I'll bet," Oracle muttered. "What are you doing now? I place you in the
cloak room."

"I'm getting my gear ready," Dinah said, unselfconsciously beginning to
strip in front of Bruce. He immediately turned his back to her. "I count
approximately two hundred hostages. An untold number of hostiles--"

"Ten, fifteen tops," Bruce said, over his shoulder.

"What?"

"Your back was to them when they stormed the ballroom," he explained
easily. "The room has four main entrances. I counted four two-man teams
entering through the doors and at least two men crashed in through the
windows."

Bruce risked a look. Black Canary was staring at him. He shrugged.

"I don't know how many came in through the ceiling skylights. That's
when you threw me under the table and took advantage of me," he added,
eyes smiling. "Oh, I think they were armed with Uzi's."

"I know what they were armed with, Mr. Wayne," Black Canary said
sharply.

"'Mr. Wayne'? I thought we'd progressed to you calling me 'Bruce,'" he
protested. "Is it against superhero regulations when you're in uniform?"

Grabbing her gear, Black Canary started for the door. "I don't have time
to chat. These people are real killers. I've seen some of their
handiwork in the name of Chemosh."

Bruce made a move as if to follow her, but Black Canary shook her head.

"Sorry, Mr. Wayne. Play time's over. I can't let a civilian get in
harm's way. Please, you'll be safe here."

She was afraid at first that he was going to give her a hard time and
was somewhat disappointed when he didn't. About to turn to leave, Black
Canary caught his eye. The same electric charge she'd felt earlier in
the evening again sparked between them.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart went into overdrive. Dark
blue eyes bored into hers. She felt instantly drawn to him.

A small voice in the back of her head reminded her that the lives of two
hundred hostages were depending on her. Calling forth all of her
self-discipline, she spun on her heel and headed out.

****

"Just what are *you* doing there?" Oracle hissed.

"Can't a guy take a vacation?" Bruce asked blandly. He was running down
the carpeted corridor. He came to the fire escape and instantly started
sliding down.

"Vacation? You?"

"It could happen."

"In some other life time, maybe," Oracle retorted.

Bruce reached the ground and staying to the shadows edged along the
building. He soon spotted a lone gunman keeping watch near the hedges.
Coming up behind him, Bruce took out the guard with an elbow to the back
of the neck. As the gunman went down, Bruce caught his weapon and
quickly disabled it.

He kept a low, running commentary as he worked. "What's the point in
being wealthy if I can't have fun now and then? The Cannes Festival is a
magnet for beautiful women."

"It's also an international film festival," Oracle said severely. "And
you *hate* the movies." She didn't add that he hadn't attended a movie
theater since his parents' murder.

"Not to mention that *fun* is not in your vocabulary. Hold it! I've got
Dinah on the other line." She signed off.

Locating two more armed sentries, Bruce waited momentarily, studying
their moves. Seeing an opening, he sprang into action.

"A lot you know about me, Ms. Oracle," Bruce muttered. "I know what fun
is. I've watched others indulge in it for years." He somersaulted and
slammed into the two guards at the same time.

"I've studied Dick having fun." Bruce locked his legs around one of the
guards' neck, bringing him down.

"I can *do* 'fun.'" Releasing, he sprang up, kicked his opponent in the
head, spun and landed a roundhouse on the other. Both were out.

"See? I'm having fun already."

****

>From her position along the mezzanine, Dinah watched in growing anger.
Her night vision goggles allowed her to see everything clearly. She
shook her head. It was all so senseless. What kind of political
statement could the terrorists possibly hope to gain from this
operation?

The Jahaz was a Middle Eastern terrorist group whose primary goal was
the eradication of all Western influence in their part of the world.

So far they'd been credited with blowing up a fully loaded commuter
train in Dhahran, sinking a passenger ferry in the Strait of Harmuz, and
initiating an unprovoked noontime assault in a crowded MacDonald's in
Tel Aviv.

The cost in lives? Over 350 dead or wounded.

And it wouldn't end there.

The Jahaz claimed to follow the teachings of Mesha, last true King of
Moab, who boasted of his military successes against the Israelites in
the name of Chemosh: "I went by night and fought...from the break of
dawn until noon. I captured it and slew them all--seven thousand men,
boys, women, girls...for I had devoted it to Ashtar-Chemosh."

The Jahaz had no known affiliation with any Middle Eastern nation. It
seemed to be an entirely independent terrorist organization with members
of different nationalities. And it was bent on bringing chaos and terror
to the region.

Two days ago, the Jahaz announced a new international campaign of fear,
threatening a massive strike in Cannes during the film festival. Cannes'
officials refused to give in to terrorist threats and ransom demands,
declaring unequivocally that the festival would go on.

Naturally, this drew an all-time, record-breaking crowd. Including Bruce
Wayne, it would seem.

"Great," Dinah sighed. "The guy lives in Gotham City. *I* live in Gotham
City. Where do I bump into him? In the middle of a terrorist attack.
Story of my life."

"Woo-hoo! Bruce Wayne!" Oracle teased. "I hear he's a real hunk. And his
reputation with the ladies could fill my computer databanks!"

"Forget it, girlfriend," Dinah said, her eyes never ceasing their
endless scanning. "Maybe I *could* use a man in my life. But I *don't*
need one in my bed. And I have a feeling that Bruce Wayne isn't the type
for holding hands and taking long walks."

"And *Batman* is?" Oracle teased.

"*Batman* is--" Dinah allowed herself a small smile. "--in a league all
to himself."

"You can say that again," Oracle said under her breath.

Black Canary checked out the obvious leader. He was in total command of
the situation.

"Can you get me a line on this bozo?" she asked, zooming in with her
optics.

"Got the info coming up right now," Oracle responded. "Whew...According
to CBI records, he's Bashir Gonen. Get this...he's a former intelligence
officer in the Israel Defense Forces. According to the IDF, Gonen was
given a dishonorable discharge and sentenced to life imprisonment for
selling Israeli security plans of the Golan Heights to Syrian forces."

Oracle didn't have to explain that the Golan Heights was an area in
constant dispute between Israel and her nearest Arab neighbor Syria.

"Life imprisonment?" Black Canary asked. "So, what's he doing here?"

"Escaped from a military maximum-security prison twelve months ago.
Killed four guards. Later, the driver of the escape vehicle was found
with a gunshot wound to the head."

"Nice guy," Black Canary said sardonically.

"Oh, the body count doesn't end there," Oracle assured her. "Two airport
security guards were found in a sealed baggage compartment with their
throats cut. And a doctor was found stuffed in a supply closet, his neck
broken. Gonen stole the doctor's private jet and escaped the country."
She paused.

"Our best intelligence sources put him somewhere in Pakistan for a few
weeks, then Afghanistan. Unconfirmed reports had him in Basra and even
Baghdad. Then nothing for several months until the passenger train was
blown up and then the ferry."

Gonen's henchmen had already set up a command station complete with
satellite communications.

Dinah rolled her eyes. "I guess this is the part where they start making
the usual exorbitant ransom demands. Oracle, think you can block his
signal? Make it just a tad challenging for him to get his message
across?"

"I can try," Oracle muttered. "Hold on a sec..."

Dinah scanned the ballroom again. Movement out of the corner of her eye
caught her attention.

"What the--?"

A lone hostage had apparently gathered his courage sufficiently to
approach the Jahaz leader. He looked strangely familiar. She finally
recognized him as a well-known actor being featured in one of the films
during the festival.

"Tom, baby, you'd better get back to your seat," she muttered.

****

Bruce straightened his tie, dusted off his formal dinner jacket, and ran
a hand through his hair, smoothing it back.

"Playtime's over," he said, echoing Black Canary's earlier words. "Time
to get serious."

"Bruce?" Oracle called.

"Here, Oracle," he replied. "What's Black Canary's situation?"

"Tense. She's gonna rake you over the coals for showing up on one of her
cases again."

Bruce smiled briefly in the darkness. He recalled their last
"accidental" meeting in Ireland. Dinah had been enraged at what she
called his "interference." Batman wound up getting shot, and Bruce
*still* hadn't heard the end of it from Dick.

Bruce scowled at the memory. If he'd been trying to make a complete
jackass of himself, he couldn't have done a better job. What's worse,
after getting shot and almost blowing the entire mission, he'd still
felt compelled to meet her at the top of Wayne Enterprises Tower, just
to see for himself that she was all right.

Of course, Dinah let him have it--with both barrels. And he stood there
and took it. That's when he kissed her, desiring her passionately,
almost blindly. For the first time, since he'd taken up the mantle, he
felt a need for something more than his lonely, one-man mission.

But the World's Greatest Detective turned away. Afraid of what he was
feeling for her. Afraid of himself. Afraid of what he might do should he
let himself go.

So he told her that he couldn't *allow* himself to need her anymore. And
for the next few weeks he drove himself relentlessly in order to
convince himself of the truth behind his words. And he might have
succeeded if only...He paused.

If only he could stop thinking on how her eyes changed color when she
became angry. Normally a bright blue, they turned a fascinating shade of
green when she became angry or upset.

Or how her blonde hair whipped around her face as she moved with
tireless grace in her deadly dance against her opponents. He stopped
himself short. This kind of thinking wasn't getting him anywhere!

"I'm on vacation," Bruce muttered. "Doc Leslie said I needed to get away
before I exploded. Is it *my* fault Dinah happens to be here, too?"

Oracle made a rude noise over the comlink.

"Besides, that was *Batman* who interfered in her case, remember? And
anyway, what's a little animosity amongst friends?"

He climbed a set of marble steps that led up to a sweeping, open-air
veranda. Arriving at a set of French doors, he peered in. The inside
lights had been cut, of course.

"Friends?" Oracle retorted. "Is that what it's called nowadays?"

Bruce donned a special pair of glasses--ultra-cool sunglasses by day,
night vision goggles by night, the latest in WayneTech executive-level
personal security gadgets.

Who needs Batman? He asked himself wryly. He quickly assessed the
situation while only half-listening to Oracle.

"What? Is *what*--what it's called nowadays?" he asked distractedly. He
saw a well-known actor, Tom something-or-other, suddenly stand and start
approaching the terrorist leader.

Oracle made a snorting sound of disgust. "Never mind, Bruce. But don't
say you weren't warned."

Bruce didn't respond. He was watching the unfolding drama with an
increasing sense of unease.

What's he *doing*, Bruce wondered?

"Message coming in from Black Canary," Oracle said, all business. "Stand
by." A momentary blackout signaled that she'd changed to Black Canary's
frequency. There was a sudden intake of breath over the comlink.

"*Bruce*! Ohmygod! They're--!"

"I *see* it!" Bruce interrupted, taking a flying leap and kicking in the
double doors.

****

What is he *doing*?! Black Canary fumed, as the actor sauntered
confidently towards the Jahaz leader.

"This isn't one of your movies," she hissed. "Don't you know that that's
one of the most cold-blooded killers on the planet?"

An armed terrorist intercepted the handsome actor. He instantly held his
hands out to his sides, a wide, friendly smile on his face.

"Tom!" a young woman pleaded from the sidelines. "Please, come back and
sit down."

"It's okay, Nicky," Tom assured her. "I just want to talk to the
gentleman." He tentatively placed his fingertips on the gun barrel
grimly pointed directly at his heart. Very gently, he pushed it to the
side.

The gunman glanced at Gonen, who raised a single eyebrow and gave a curt
nod.

"See?" Tom said, glancing back triumphantly. "We're all friends here.
Right?"

****

Black Canary watched, eyebrows almost all the way to her hairline.
"Oracle, I don't like what I'm seeing. Something bad's about to go down
and *quick*! I'd best be ready. Call you back."

"Standing by," Oracle responded.

****

Gonen waited, arms crossed, not speaking. Tom swallowed rapidly, and
then managed another weak grin. He walked up to the Jahaz leader and
chummily placed his arm around the terrorist's shoulder.

"Look, pal," he said sotto voce, "I don't know what this is all about,
but I'm sure that whatever your cause is, you probably have a good
point. My name's Tom Rhoades, by the way--I'm sure you've heard of me?"
He looked expectantly at the terrorist for confirmation of his
celebrity. When none was forthcoming, Tom cleared his throat and tried
again.

"These people are all friends of mine...Mister, uh, excuse me, but I
didn't catch your name--?" Once again, he waited for a response, and
once again, Gonen glared coldly. Tom grinned weakly, shrugged and
continued almost conspiratorially.

"My friends and I are all here to celebrate my new film. What do you say
to letting them go, and I promise you that I'll help you in any way I
can to meet with whatever parties of your choice and--ARGHARGH!!"

With the speed of an attacking rattler, Gonen grabbed the actor's arm,
bringing him to his knees, all the while applying bone-breaking pressure
and screaming a string of expletives in a language the actor didn't
recognize.

Tom screamed at the blinding pain! This was no movie stunt being
executed with maximum care for the safety of the high-priced star. He
was experiencing real agony!

Abruptly the Jahaz leader switched to French. "~Do you believe that I
*care* about you or these *pigs*? You are all animals fit only for the
slaughter!" For emphasis, he backhanded the mega-star across the face.
Unholstering his handgun, he snapped back the firing bolt and removed
the safety.

"*Tom*!!" the woman he'd called Nicky screamed. The other gunmen quickly
mirrored their leader's actions by locking back their firing bolts, and
brandishing their weapons at their glitzy prisoners. The large crowd of
panicked guests huddled along the walls, screaming in terrorized fright.

Gonen walked up to the dazed actor in slow, measured steps. Tom was
struggling to sit up, cupping his hands to his broken nose. Gonen
purposefully aimed the weapon to the actor's forehead.

Tom looked up, straight into the muzzle of the gun. Unable to look away,
he watched with ghoulish fascination as the Jahaz leader began squeezing
the trigger.

"...Now and at the hour of our deaths," Tom whispered, inexplicably
recalling a prayer from his days as an altar boy.

****

"Oracle! Gonen's about to plug a hostage! I'm moving in!"

"*Dinah*--!" Oracle yelled. She instantly switched channels. "*Bruce*!
Ohmygod! They're--!

"I *see* it!"

Oracle listened as in the next instant all Hell broke loose.

****

Simultaneously, a figure crashed through the elegant French doors, while
another landed with the force of a Titan missile on Gonen's startled
back.

Tom felt himself being hustled to his feet and unceremoniously thrown
out of the way. He landed in a heap against a giant planter. Bullets
erupting around him galvanized him into diving behind the large palm
tree. The staccato bursts of automatic gunfire continued to sound all
around. The screams of the terrorized crowds running in all directions
overlaid the gunfire.

Chancing a look, Tom was momentarily stunned to see a man in a dinner
jacket similar to his coolly take down several of the gunmen almost
single-handedly. Just like *he* did in the movies, Tom thought
chagrinned, but doing it for real.

Catching movement to his left Tom saw a beautiful, petite blonde with a
mean kick enthusiastically assisting the debonair Bond-type. Her right
hook wasn't too shabby, either.

And from Tom's vantage point, she did not look happy.

****

"What the hell do you think you're *doing*?" Black Canary hissed. She
and Bruce were momentarily back-to-back. Not waiting for an answer, she
leaped, spun, kicked out with both legs, and cartwheeled, dodging
bullets that came too close for comfort.

"What does it *look* like I'm doing?" Bruce grunted, elbowing his
opponent to the temple, and then grabbing him by the lapels and tossing
him bodily into two others who'd been about to rush him.

Black Canary suddenly slammed into Bruce. They both went down. Glaring
daggers at him, she barked, "It *looks* like you're getting in the way!"

Without waiting for a reply, she back-flipped, kicking out and
connecting with a terrorist's cheek.

"Not bad," Bruce murmured. Without bothering to turn, he suddenly
brought his fist up and knocked out a terrorist who'd come up behind
him. Calmly straightening his jacket, he caught movement out of the
corner of his eye.

A gunman had grabbed a screaming woman and was holding her as a human
shield. The terrorist was screeching in a language Bruce didn't
recognize and angrily fired off a few rounds for emphasis, scattering
any remaining guests in all directions.

"Oracle," Bruce muttered.

"Oracle," Black Canary gasped.

"Translate!" They both said at the same time.

In her clocktower, Oracle rolled her eyes. She was receiving
simultaneous broadcasts from Bruce and Black Canary. It was all she
could do to keep up with them.

"I need an assistant," she muttered.

"What?" Bruce asked.

"Didn't catch that," Black Canary said.

"I said, I'm on it," Oracle replied.

All of the terrorists were down, but one. And he was holding a helpless
hostage as a shield--Tom Rhoades' wife, Nicky. The place was littered
with glass shards, discarded weapons, and overturned tables and chairs.

Frightened civilians were huddled behind anything that afforded the
smallest modicum of cover. For an instant the place lay still in a
frozen tableau.

The silence was suddenly shattered.

"Nicky!" Tom yelled. He took a step towards his wife, but the terrorist
pressed his weapon up against her temple, shouting something in his
native tongue. Nicky sobbed hysterically.

Black Canary held Tom back. "Don't move!" she ordered. "He'll kill her
for sure."

Bruce was much closer to the gunman than the others. Standing perfectly
still, his senses fully alert, he gauged the distance between them. He'd
never be able to clear it in time to save the woman.

"Got the info on what he's saying," Oracle interrupted. "He's speaking
in an obscure Pakistani dialect. The nearest I can translate is, 'I want
a helicopter and safe passage out of the country.'"

"That's it?" Black Canary asked in one ear. "Nothing about dying for the
glory of Chemosh?"

"Are you sure?" Bruce said in the other. "What about this 'Chemosh'
angle?"

Oracle sighed. "That's the best I can offer," she said, a bit
defensively.

The cornered gunman screamed again.

"Oracle, listen to me," Bruce said urgently. "Get BC to assure him that
we're getting a helicopter, that one will be arriving soon. We need to
calm him down before he kills someone out of sheer panic."

"On it," Oracle said. Then, "Dinah--?" And proceeded to tell her what to
say as Bruce had requested.

When Black Canary spoke to the terrorist in his native tongue, he
exploded in a torrent of words and started towards her, brandishing his
gun wildly and dragging his hapless victim with him. Black Canary stood
her ground, her instincts primed for the slightest opportunity.

As he approached her, the terrorist continued a running commentary in
his native tongue.

"Oracle, I need a translation!" Black Canary muttered under her breath.

"Got it!" Oracle replied. "He's demanding to know what's taking so long.
So you, uh, say the following..."

"What? What does that mean? What am I saying?" Black Canary demanded.

"Don't have time, Dinah. Trust me!" Oracle said impatiently.

Biting back an angry retort, Black Canary listened attentively and then
repeated the words in soothing if somewhat broken tones. What she said
seemed to momentarily mollify him, because he nodded as if in
understanding.

While this was going on, Bruce noted that he was now at an oblique angle
to the gunman and no longer in his direct line of sight. Not daring to
twitch a muscle, he waited, ensuring that Black Canary had the
terrorist's undivided attention. With excruciating slowness Bruce palmed
his cufflinks without being seen.

Keeping a sharp eye, he saw his opening. For a split second, Nicky's
long, dark curls blocked him completely from the terrorist's view. In
the next instant, Nicky moved, exposing the gunman's face. At the same
time, Bruce whipped both cufflinks at the gunman. One struck his left
temple, the other his left cheek.

The terrorist screamed at the unexpected sharp pain, but before he could
recover, he was bulldozed from two sides by twin steamrollers.

****

Bruce stayed in the gloom, a mere wisp in the shadows, observing from a
distance. He'd left before the police or news media arrived. The last
thing he needed was publicity, he tried to tell himself.

The truth was that he did not wish to confront Black Canary at the
moment. She'd been close to apoplexy when they'd finally subdued the
last terrorist. Whether the anger was aimed at him for helping, or at
herself because they discovered that Gonen had given them the slip, he
wasn't sure.

Either way, he felt it the greater part of valor to make his exit
quickly.

He felt comfortable enshrouded by the night. Inside, the media was
frenziedly snapping photos of the chic hostages and the beautiful Black
Canary, a member of the Justice League. Mr. and Mrs. Tom Rhoades,
international film superstar and his glamorous wife, who'd both almost
been killed, were the center of attention and would soon become the
darlings of the global news media.

"His movie will probably be a major hit now," Bruce muttered.

"Yes," Oracle said in his ear. "It'll be the must-see movie of the
Cannes Film Festival. And he has *you* to thank."

Bruce didn't answer.

"So, having fun yet?" she asked wryly.

Bruce ignored her.

"Bruce, what did you expect to gain from this? I mean *Bruce Wayne*
taking down all of those terrorists? Are you crazy?"

"Bruce Wayne didn't take down the terrorists," Bruce said.

"What? Then who did? Bugs Bunny?"

"Tom Rhoades did."

"What--? What are you talking about?" Oracle asked blankly.

"I'm talking about the secret, closed-circuit security tape that the
police are going to recover from the only working camcorder that will
clearly show Tom Rhoades and Black Canary saving the hostages."

"But there were witnesses--!" Oracle protested.

"The place was dark. And who can tell what one sees in the dark?
Besides, by the time hotel security leaks the story and confidential
sources in the police force confirm the rumors, Tom Rhoades will not
only be an international mega-star, he'll be a real-life action hero."

"But why--? How--?"

"Why? Because Bruce Wayne is a womanizing playboy, not a hero," Bruce
said matter-of-factly. "As to how? Really, Oracle, you don't expect me
to tell you *all* of my secrets, do you?" Bruce asked.

He heard Oracle spluttering over the comlink and cut the link.

****

"May I join you?"

Dinah looked up from the morning paper. Bruce sat across from her
without waiting for an invitation. He was impeccably dressed in
ultra-casual chic. Dinah watched with growing annoyance as he signaled
the waiter for coffee. He was served immediately.

"Tell me how you did it, Mr. Wayne," she said.

"Please. Call me 'Bruce,'" he said. "Did what?" he asked blandly, taking
a sip from his coffee.

Dinah tossed him the morning paper. The French headlines proclaimed Tom
Rhoades a real-life hero. A gritty photo from a surveillance camera
showed someone who looked like the actor disarming one of the
terrorists.

"Hmmmm. Deplorable quality," he said, dismissively. "I should get Lucius
to talk to them about the latest in WayneTech security technology."

"Okay, don't tell me," she said, picking up her sunglasses and handbag.
"As they say, I have places to go and things to do. So, if you'll excuse
me, enjoy your coffee." She stood to go.

Bruce pushed his chair back and immediately followed her. He caught the
bemused waiter's eye and shrugged. "Women," he whispered. "What's a man
to do?" The waiter nodded in man-to-man understanding. Bruce
surreptitiously passed him a large tip and then hurried to get the door
for Dinah.

"Mr. Wayne," Dinah muttered. "I assure you that I am more than capable
of disabling you in several different places, and if you don't stop
following me--" She stopped and faced him. He almost slammed into her.
"--I most likely will."

Passersby glanced at them with varying degrees of amusement and
annoyance.

"I wish to apologize, Ms. Lance," Bruce said, taking her arm and pulling
her along. "I can't do that if you walk away or hospitalize me, now can
I?" They came to street corner and waited for the light to change.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Mr. Wayne," Dinah said, not looking
at him. "You stuck your nose where it didn't belong, but thankfully,
everything turned out all right. For Tom Rhoades, anyway." She sounded
disgusted.

"As for the rest of the world," she added with mock sweetness, "I guess
it'll just have to wait until the leader of one of the most notorious
international terrorist organizations is either caught--or kills again.
Thank you for that."

"You're welcome," Bruce said sardonically.

Neither looked at the other. When the light turned, they started to
cross the intersection. At the same time, a car roared around the
corner, tires squealing, careening straight towards them.

Instinctively, Bruce pushed Dinah out of harm's way and then turned in
time to see the car almost on top of him. Leaping up, he avoided being
hit head-on. Vaulting over the car's hood, he landed--hard--on the roof.
Grabbing onto the sides, Bruce held on.

The vehicle kept going through the intersection, scattering bystanders
and other cars. Bruce heard panicked screams over the screech of tires
and the roar of the engine.

****

"Oracle!" Dinah called. "He's in trouble! The *idiot*! He 'saved' me,
for crying out loud. Just who's the superhero here anyway?"

"Who's in trouble?" Oracle asked, as if she didn't know.

"As if you didn't know," Dinah said, running in the direction that the
car had disappeared.

"We were almost run over by a hit-and-run driver. Bruce pushed me out of
the way, and--get this! He pulled a stunt worthy of *Batman* and somehow
managed to land on the roof of the car. Which is where he was the last
time I saw him."

Oracle cringed at Dinah's 'Batman' comment. That *idiot*, she fumed. Was
he *trying* to give away his secret identity?

"Is there something about Bruce Wayne that you're not telling me?" Dinah
asked. "He's not one of your operatives, is he?" She was only
half-joking.

"What? Bruce Wayne working for *me*?" Oracle laughed a bit forcefully.
"Don't be silly. I'll see what I can find out."

"You do that," Dinah said. Oracle's tone sounded just a bit
disingenuous. Bruce Wayne an international covert operative? Nah! Dinah
gave herself a quick headshake.

"Get real, girl," she muttered just as she spotted a man pulling up on
his motorcycle. As he dismounted, she quickly ran up to him and mounted
his street bike from behind like a Western movie cowboy.

"Meanwhile, I'm commandeering this guy's wheels," she said, taking off.
The hapless motorcycle owner ran after her shouting French expletives.

"See to it that he's properly compensated, please."

Dinah weaved through the thick festival crowds, taking the
straight-aways at over 160kpm. She soon discovered that the motorcycle
she'd 'borrowed' was an extremely smooth-handling, light ride that felt
more like an F-16 fighter than a street bike.

Seeing the car with Bruce still clinging to the roof make a left turn up
ahead, she leaned over and took the sharp corner without effort.

"Zow-eeeee!" she cried aloud. "I've *gotta* get me one of theeeeese!"

****

Back at the clocktower Barbara just shook her head and looked over to
where
Dick Grayson, dressed in grungy sweats with the motto, 'Property of the
Bludhaven PD,' was now monitoring a secondary station. She nodded curtly
at him.

"You're on, Boy Wonder," she said.

Grinning, Dick gave her a thumbs-up in reply, and tuning to the required
frequency, he began to raise Bruce.

This mission was beginning to give Barbara a serious headache, but at
least, now she had help.

****

"Bruce!" Dick's urgent voice sounded in his ear.

The car swerved left then right, trying to shake him. The driver
sideswiped a delivery truck that was double parked on the side of the
road.

"What are you doing on this frequency?" Bruce asked.

"Babs said she needed a little help." Dick sounded amused. "Something
about you and Black Canary running her ragged.

"Get to the point," Bruce said, ducking quickly as they passed under a
low street sign. "I'm a little busy."

"Black Canary said that you're in trouble--" Dick began.

He was interrupted by a loud bang. Bruce flinched as something hot
zipped by his ear. The occupants were shooting at him through the roof
of the car.

"Bruce! Were those *shots* I just heard?" Dick's anxious voice went up
an octave.

"Wait a minute," Bruce said curtly, "and I'll let you *ask* them!" He
promptly cut the connection.

****

In the clocktower, Dick leaned back on his chair with whoosh. He glanced
at Barbara with a pained expression on his face.

"Is he *always* this pleasant?" he asked.

"Oh, this is one of his nicer moments," Barbara replied. "See, today
he's Bruce Wayne. *Batman* would never have been so polite." Dick was
about respond, but she held her hand up, listening. "Dinah's on the
line."

****

Gritting his teeth, Bruce shifted his handhold to only one side of the
car, just avoiding being hit by whizzing bullets that were flying by at
a faster rate. Seeing a shadow suddenly loom ahead, he hastily rolled to
the other side of the car and just evaded being smashed against another
parked truck.

Letting out a short breath, Bruce swung out and over the side, crashing
into the driver's side window feet first. He slammed into the driver,
promptly knocking him out. Somehow, Bruce managed to shove the
unconscious driver out of his way, heaving him over to the already
occupied passenger side.

The driver's dead weight fell on the front seat passenger just as the
second man was about to bring his weapon to bear on Bruce. Bruce managed
to kick out, thrusting both men against the passenger side door, which
opened suddenly, almost dislodging them.

However, Bruce's own actions also pushed him back into the steering
wheel. The car immediately began swerving out of control. The men inside
were thrown bodily around in their seats, none able to gain the upper
hand. The second front seat passenger managed to close the door before
either he or the unconscious driver was thrown out.

Meanwhile, the backseat occupant, a bald man with a distinct scar
running down his right cheek, wasn't sitting idle. As soon as Bruce
brought the car under some kind of control, Scarface came after him with
a large knife. He threw an arm around the 'vacationing' American
playboy's neck and brought the knife's edge up close to his face.

Bruce caught his attacker's wrist in a vice-like grip, preventing him
from successfully slashing his face. Scarface's dogged struggle was
evident from the sweat running down his temples.

As the knife blade was about to be turned to his neck, Bruce jerked the
steering wheel suddenly, throwing Scarface off-balance.

The sounds of grunts and heavy breathing were the only noises in the
interior of the out-of-control car.

The front seat passenger had retrieved his weapon and was trying to aim
it at Bruce but was too entangled with the driver to get a clear shot.
Simultaneously, Scarface came back and threw his arm around Bruce's
neck, once again threatening with his knife.

Fighting for his life, Bruce chopped down with his right hand, knocking
the pistol out of the gunman's grip, and then took him out with three
quick jabs to the chin. With his left hand, he was trying not to let the
guy holding a knife to his throat kill him.

Moreover, while keeping the bad guys at bay, he'd also been awkwardly
steering the car with his left knee, to keep it from slamming into any
innocent pedestrians or other vehicles.

Scarface suddenly laughed in his ear, a sound like fingernails on
chalkboard. He started applying pressure to Bruce's neck, cutting his
air supply.

"Mr. Wayne," he growled in heavily accented English. "You and the Black
Canary have interfered with our plans. We do not take kindly to
interference."

For emphasis, he jerked Bruce's head back, exposing his neck. With
almost sensual pleasure, he ran the knifepoint from Bruce's chin to his
Adam's apple, applying just enough pressure to cut the outer skin. A
thin line of blood followed the knife's trail.

"Yeah?" Bruce gasped, reaching back with his right hand.

"Well I don't take *kindly*--" He grabbed hold of Scarface's collar.

"--to having a *knife*--" Bruce yanked with near superhuman strength.

"--held to my *throat*!"

He *threw* Scarface through the front windshield.

The large man crashed through the safety glass. He wildly extended his
hands in all directions and somehow latched onto one of the windshield
wipers. He looked at Bruce with triumphant, hate-filled eyes. Reaching
into his jacket pocket he took out a gun and aimed it directly at
Bruce's face.

"Prepare to *die*, Mr. Wayne!" he yelled.

Eyes narrowed, Bruce slammed on the brakes. The sudden stop threw him
and the unconscious front seat passengers violently forward. Bruce hit
his forehead on the steering wheel with enough force to see stars
momentarily.

Of course, it also had the intended effect of sending Scarface flying
back inside the car, clear across to the rear. He hit the back window
headfirst with a resounding ~CRACK!~ The force of the collision knocked
him out.

"And I definitely *don't* like being shot at!" Bruce added, gasping. He
pulled a handkerchief from one of the men lying passed out in the front
and dabbed his neck, stemming the flow of blood.

Before exiting the vehicle, he quickly searched the three unconscious
men for any form of identification. Inside the driver's wallet was a
business card with an unusual insignia. Hearing the distinct sounds of
police sirens, Bruce abandoned the vehicle and its occupants and ducked
into an alleyway.

****

The car was several blocks ahead when Black Canary saw it come to a
sudden stop. Revving up the motorcycle to over 7000 rpms, she let it go,
flirting with the speedometer's red zone. She did a mental
calculation--125 mph!

"He'd better be all right," she growled. "'Cause I want the pleasure of
killing him myself. Of all the idiotic, macho stunts--pushing *me* to
safety!"

She saw the light change up ahead. The intersection was instantly
swamped with festivalgoers. Quickly looking around, she spotted an open
bed truck that was about to be unloaded. It had a ramp from its rear to
the street.

"I don't believe I'm gonna *do* this--!" she shouted.

"What? What are you doing?" Oracle asked.

"Believe me, girlfriend," Dinah muttered. "You don't *want* to know!"
And promptly cut her transmission.

****

Back at the clocktower, Dick and Barbara exchanged rueful glances.

"Birds of a feather," she muttered. Dick nodded in agreement.

"They'd better get together soon," he said. "I don't think I can take
this much longer."

They both turned to look at their darkened monitors.

****

Dinah aimed towards the flatbed truck, easily taking the ramp. The
motorcycle's momentum sent it airborne once it reached the top. She
cleared the truck's roof, landing on its hood. Gunning the engine she
cleared the distance between the flatbed and a van-type delivery truck
parked immediately in front. She safely brought the motorcycle down on
the van's cargo trailer.

Revving the motorcycle's turbo-charged engines, Dinah expertly
maneuvered it to nearest building's roof. About to reach the end of the
line, she pushed the throttle even higher, and this time, when she flew
off the roof, she threw her body forward while pulling *up* with all her
strength. This controlled the street bike's flight as she aimed it at
the myriad telephone and electrical wires that criss-crossed the busy
intersection.

"You need to have your head examined, Dinah Lance!" she shouted.

Keeping an eagle eye out for the electric lines she wanted to avoid,
Dinah brought the bike down on the thick, communications fiber-optics
cable. Trying not to think about the stunt that she was pulling, Dinah
rode the motorcycle over the pedestrian-clogged intersection. Amidst
shouts of surprise and finger pointing, she successfully arrived at the
other side.

Getting back down to street level was almost denouement. She found a
staircase-style fire escape and simply rode the motorcycle down the
banister, flying off the bottom rung to the street and continuing on her
way.

"There. See? That wasn't so bad."

****

Dinah pulled up in time to see Bruce take a running leap to grab the
pull-down ladder of a fire escape.

"Care for a ride?" she asked. Bruce looked down and gave her a quick
smile. He dropped immediately and climbed on behind her. Dinah
maneuvered the motorcycle through the narrow alley and pulled into the
adjacent boulevard just as the local police arrived at the scene of the
accident.

"What am I going to do with you?" she yelled over the roar of the
engine. She felt Bruce's arms tighten slightly around her waist.

"I don't know," he answered. "But I can think of something."

Without skipping a beat, Dinah grabbed his right thumb and applied
pressure. Bruce gasped in real pain.

"I-*get*-the-message!" he muttered between clenched teeth. Dinah
instantly released him. Grimacing, he placed *both* hands behind him on
the bike's rear rest.

"You must be a ton of laughs on a date," he said ironically. His hand
was throbbing.

"And *you* must be just a bit full of yourself," Dinah snapped back.

Neither spoke for a few minutes.

"I'm sorry," Bruce said finally.

"You should be a little more astute about where you put your hands, Mr.
Wayne. Most women don't like to be pawed. And some of us can do
something about it."

"I wasn't apologizing about that--" Bruce began.

Dinah brought the bike to a screeching halt and dismounting, turned and
faced him, her expression thunderous. In the back of his head, Bruce
noted how her eyes were doing their blue to green transformation. He,
too, dismounted.

"I don't know who you think you are, Mr. Wayne!" she said sharply,
jabbing his chest for added emphasis. "But so far you haven't impressed
me very much. You're the most vain, most insipid man I've *ever* had the
displeasure of--"

"I was apologizing for last night," Bruce said, grabbing her wrist and
holding it immobilized. "I shouldn't have interfered." His dark eyes
held hers. "And--I shouldn't have made a pass at you. It was a poor
joke."

Dinah stared at him, her high cheeks flushed in anger. She suddenly
became aware of the intensity of his dark blue gaze. Realizing that he
was still holding her wrist, she gently placed her other hand on his.

Bruce looked down at their hands, and suddenly self-conscious, released
her. They both deliberately dropped their arms to their sides.
Wordlessly, they climbed back on the motorcycle and continued on the
return trip to their hotel.

After a few minutes, Dinah spoke at last.

"Mr. Wayne," she called over the noisy engine. "You're right. You
shouldn't have made a pass at me *or* interfered last night." Weighing
her words, she added, "Just now, when you made a pass, you were being a
jerk."

Bruce didn't say anything. Why did he bother to come to Cannes, he
wondered? Whatever he felt for Dinah was better left alone. It was time
to return to Gotham City. Fighting Arkham escapees was a piece of cake
compared to trying to 'start' something with the independent Black
Canary.

"But, last night, you were only trying to help," Dinah continued. "I
shouldn't have snapped at you. It wasn't *your* fault that Gonen got
away. And the hostages were all saved. But what I still don't understand
is how you--"

"Hey, up ahead!" Bruce interrupted, pointing. "What's going on?"

Large crowds of Cannes festivalgoers were lining the drive-up entrance
to their hotel. Dinah pulled over and they both watched curiously.
Several limousines were driving up to the red-carpeted entranceway,
spewing out one gorgeous woman after another.

"Who are they?" Bruce asked. Dinah sighed.

"Nothing less than the entire complement of Lana's Intimates models,"
she said. "They're having their annual fashion show tonight--new line of
ladies' lingerie. The entire male population is in danger of having
their collective tongues stepped on."

"Shocking behavior," Bruce murmured. "You'd never catch *me* staring at
women parading around in their underwear."

Dinah burst into laughter.

"What?" he asked, giving her his most ingenuous look. "Of course, Dick
will probably kill me when he finds out about this."

"Dick?"

"My ward," Bruce said. "I told you about him..."

"Ah, yes, the little boy you adopted," Dinah said, remembering. "Isn't
he a little young to be ogling lingerie models?"

"You were obviously never a little boy," Bruce answered lightly. Taking
her arm, he escorted her to a small, open-air cafe near their hotel for
drinks while they waited for the crowds to clear.

"Dick's a young man now. Turned twenty-two on his last birthday."

"Really?" Dinah sounded interested. "From your description last night, I
guess that I was imagining a child running around Wayne Manor."

Bruce smiled briefly at her comment. She noticed that the smile didn't
quite reach his eyes. He looked down at his drink, turning pensive.

"Dick accuses me of still seeing him as a child. Not treating him as an
adult. Sometimes, it does cause a bit of a strain on our relationship."
He took a sip of his sparkling water. "Maybe he's right. I can't seem to
forget the frightened little boy who first walked into my life all those
years ago. I can still see him clutching that silly stuffed elephant."

Dinah smiled at the image.

"But I'm afraid those days are long gone," he said, looking up at her.
"In fact, he just graduated from the police academy."

"A police officer?" Dinah asked, surprised. "But why--?"

"The life of the indolent rich is not for him," Bruce said. "I don't
know *where* I went wrong."

Dinah smiled. "You're proud of him," she said matter-of-factly. Bruce
didn't answer. "Do you have any pictures?"

The sudden light that came to his otherwise dark, brooding eyes,
surprised her. He reached inside his jacket.

"Any particular age?" he asked, half-jokingly. Laughing, Dinah leaned
over the table, and Bruce began to show her the mini-portrait gallery he
carried with him. Dinah saw a dark-haired, blue-eyed boy grow from
mischievous nine-year-old, to serious, police academy graduate.

Two photos struck her instantly. Taking the billfold from Bruce, she
pulled it in for closer study. The first showed a younger Bruce Wayne
and a small boy in identical jackets, ties, and trousers sitting
together. The boy was looking up at him with trusting eyes, while Bruce
was lightly brushing back the boy's hair. Something about Bruce's own
expression in the photo pulled at Dinah.

He looked so sad.

The second was a Christmas morning snapshot of the two of them. Dick was
sitting cross-legged holding up a large, unopened package. Dinah noted
with a smile that he was wearing Superman pajamas. Bruce was reclining
on the floor, head resting on his bent arm, looking up at him.

Once again, Dinah was struck by the poignant expression on Bruce's face
as he gazed at the boy.

"That was our first Christmas together," Bruce said, reaching for the
billfold. "And his first Christmas without his parents. It was hard on
all of us, but we somehow got through it."

"And now he's a police officer," she said. "You should feel proud."

"I am," Bruce said, closing the billfold and putting it away. "Dick's a
great kid."

"No," Dinah said, shaking her head. "I meant, you should be proud of
yourself." Bruce raised a single eyebrow, his surprise evident. "For
doing such a fine job raising him." Smiling, she added, "Mr. Wayne, you
really *are* more than just another pretty face."

Bruce actually blushed.

Taking her glass she held it out, her eyes locked on his. Slowly, Bruce
took his water glass and lightly clinked it against hers.

"To new friends," she said.

"And old acquaintances," he added enigmatically.

****

"So, does this mean that Batman's officially out of the picture?" Oracle
asked.

"I don't see why," Dinah replied.

"Dinah, get real!" Oracle retorted. "You can't have them both! It-It's
just not done."

"Why not?" Dinah asked lightly. "It *is* possible for a girl to fall in
love with more than one guy at a time, you know. I mean, aren't there
*four* Baldwin brothers?" she quipped, referring to the family of
actors.

Oracle laughed over the comlink.

"You're impossible," she said. Becoming serious, she added, "Dinah, I
just don't want you to end up hurt."

"Don't be silly, girlfriend," Dinah said dismissively. "I *know* that
Bruce Wayne is not in search of a serious relationship. Tonight is
simply dinner, drinks, and dancing. Nothing more. By next week, he won't
even remember me."

There was a knock at her door.

"Oops. Gotta go. My hero awaits me."

She opened the door eagerly. "You're early--" she began. Those were the
only words she got out.

****

"Do you know what you're doing?" Dick sounded worried.

"Nope," Bruce admitted, expertly tying his tie.

"...!" The silence over the comlink spoke volumes. "Bruce, far be it
from *me* to give you pointers with women, but--"

"MYOB, youngster," Bruce replied, an undertone of steel belying his
light words. Dick sighed.

"I just don't want to see you get hurt," Dick said, finally.

Bruce paused in his meticulous preparations. He'd been placing certain
"useful" objects in the lining of his dinner jacket. The CEO of Wayne
Enterprises *had* to be prepared to fend off potential kidnappers, he
told himself.

"Dick, I'll be honest with you. I don't know where this is going. I'm
not even sure why I came--as Bruce Wayne and not Batman. But I do know
this. Black Canary's real identity is no longer a secret. While Dinah's
private life at the moment isn't fodder for the tabloids, Bruce Wayne's
*is*." He paused as he searched in his shaving kit for one last item,
and then continued.

"Dinah can't become involved with both Bruce Wayne and Batman--there
would be too much publicity involved. Publicity I'd just as soon avoid."

"Then why are you--?"

"--Because if there's any chance of this succeeding--whatever *this* is
between us--then it has to be between Bruce Wayne and Dinah Lance, not
Batman and Black Canary."

"Bruce, are you talking 'future' here?" Dick demanded, not really
believing what he was hearing. "Future, as in--marriage?"

Bruce stared at his reflection for a long moment, not answering. Is
*that* what this was all about? Was he, in fact, in *love* with Dinah,
but was too obtuse to see it or even to admit it to himself? When he
finally answered, it was as close to the truth, as he knew it.

"Son, I just don't know." He adjusted his cufflinks and gave his jacket
one final tug. "Dick, remember I need you and Barbara to get that
information I asked for. The Jahaz just don't seem quite the religious
fanatics they're trying to pass themselves off as."

"We're on it already," Dick replied with professional coolness.
Hesitating, he added, "Bruce, be careful, okay?"

Bruce's eyes smiled at him from the other side of the mirror. How often
had he heard those words since Dick had come into his life? He checked
his watch.

"I have to go," he said. About to open the door, he paused. "And Dick?
Don't worry. It's just date. What can possibly go wrong?"

****

Dinah was mentally kicking herself. She tested the ropes again. Her
wrists were securely tied to her ankles. Dinah felt a sharp pain on her
wrists and something wet. The ropes were cutting into her wrists. The
wetness was probably blood.

Argh! Her new dress! It was probably ruined. Her fury went up a couple
degrees. It had cost her a small fortune. Someone was going to pay, she
swore. Even if she had to take it out of their hides!

How could she have allowed herself to be caught by surprise?

Bruce!? Ohmygod! She had to warn him. But how? She was bound and gagged
and stuffed in her own closet between her luggage and clothing. They
hadn't left her much to work with, except--

She thought of her suitcases. Maybe there was something there she could
use.

Dinah instantly started maneuvering awkwardly to try to get closer to
her neatly stowed suitcases.

****

Bruce felt nervous. His eyes remained on the flashing numbers above the
elevator doors as they climbed. Almost there.

"Get a grip," he told himself. "It's just a date."

Dick's teasing voice sounded almost immediately.

"And Dinah Lance is just another girl."

"Yeah, right," Bruce growled. "Like the Joker is just another crook." He
adjusted the package he was carrying under his arm. "And let's not
forget that she hates Batman's guts."

He got off at her floor.

"Awww, come on, Bruce," Dick protested. "Dinah does *not* hate Batman's
guts. She resents him. There's a difference."

"Thanks," Bruce said. "I feel so much better now. Do me a favor, Dick.
Don't help."

Dick chuckled softly. "Ease up, Bruce. Dinah doesn't hate you. Of
course, that doesn't mean that she won't hate you *after* she finds out
who you are. And how you've misled her."

"I have *not* misled her," Bruce denied. "I've left her a trail of
breadcrumbs that a child could follow."

"Really? And what if she resents being led by the nose?" Dick asked.
"Bruce, Dinah's a proud lady. Roy told me once how much she'd loved
Oliver Queen and how deeply he hurt her. Why don't you just *tell* her?"

Bruce hesitated at her door.

"Tell her what? How I feel? Or who I am?"

"Why not both?" Dick asked softly. "Bruce, a man I respect more than
anyone else in the world told me once that to be trusted is of even
greater importance than to be loved." Dick paused. "Trust her, Bruce.
Trust yourself."

Bruce looked down at the box of red roses he was carrying. They were his
mother's favorites.

Somehow red roses seemed appropriate for Dinah.

"You're right," Bruce said. He heard a sigh of relief over the comlink.
"I'll tell her tonight. And Dick? Thanks, son."

"Hey, what are partners for?" Dick said expansively. "Call me if you
need any more pointers."

"Thanks, junior, but I think I can handle it from here," Bruce replied.
"Signing off." Dark eyes smiling, Bruce cut the connection. Taking a
deep breath, he knocked at her door.

It was indicative of his distraught state of mind that the first sign of
danger Bruce was aware of was the soft ~pffpht!~ of a silencer.

****

The buzzing in his ear wouldn't stop. And the pounding wouldn't go away.
He groaned.

"*Bruce*!"

He tried opening his eyes and found that he couldn't. In fact, he
couldn't move his hands or his feet, for that matter. Tied and
blindfolded, he deduced. And lying on the floor.

The pounding nearby continued. Dinah?

"Bruce," Dick said calmly, "our instruments show that you're conscious.
Can you talk?"

"Mmmmpf!" Bruce grunted. Gagged, too, he added. He felt a little
nauseous and woozy. Drugged probably.

"Okay, better than nothing." Dick chuckled. "How about one grunt for
'Yes,' and two grunts for 'No'?" Bruce heard Barbara's good-natured
laughter in the background. He grunted in frustration.

"Temper, temper," Dick teased. "Dinah's in trouble," he added seriously.
Bruce listened instantly. "That's her pounding on the closet door. Can
you help her?"

Mentally closing his eyes at what he felt was a humiliating form of
communications--I'll get you for this, Richard John Grayson, he promised
silently--Bruce grunted once for 'yes.'

"That's my dad," Dick said. Bruce could hear Barbara's poorly suppressed
giggles.

You're *both* toast, Bruce promised darkly.

The pounding started again. Behind him and to his right, he gauged. He
started crawling in that direction. Reaching the closet door, he felt
with his fingers, his movements awkward. He remembered that this wasn't
a sliding door, but rather a conventional hinged one--the kind that
opened out.

He pounded the door with his head. That stopped the pounding from the
inside momentarily.

"Mmmmpf!" he managed, struggling uselessly with his bindings.

"Bruce, Babs had to tell Dinah it's you," Dick said.

Bruce lay still for a moment evaluating the situation. Dinah was no
fool. She'd want to know how Oracle knew that Bruce Wayne was out here.
He took a few deep breaths through his nostrils. The gag across his
mouth was cutting much of his air supply.

"Do you want us to tell her who you really are?" Dick asked.

Did he? Bruce grunted twice--'No'! He'd tell her himself. Once they got
out of this. Unless she figured it out for herself.

"I copy, Bruce," Dick said quietly.

Okay, he had to try the knob, Bruce thought. But it would be too high
for him to reach from here. His wrists and ankles were tied together, so
he couldn't get much higher than his knees.

Recalling the layout of his own suite, Bruce remembered that a chair
should be somewhere in the sitting area. Crawling back in the direction
that he'd come, he paused when he bumped into something hard. Feeling
with his cheek, he made out the straight leg of a chair.

Maneuvering his body awkwardly around, he was able to just get his
fingertips around one of the legs. Now, for the return trip to the
closet door. Jutting his chin determinedly, Bruce started back.

****

What was he doing, Dinah thought? There'd been silence for what seemed
an eternity. And how did Oracle know that Bruce was outside her closet
door? Who *are* you, Bruce Wayne, she wondered? She banged at the door
in frustration.

She'd managed to open her suitcase and had found nothing of use. Just
dirty laundry. Inexplicably, thoughts of the pleasant afternoon she'd
spent with Bruce came back to her. And the photos he'd proudly shown her
of his son.

Shaking her head, her mind came back to the problem at hand. Her Canary
Kit was under the bed where it was doing her absolutely no good. And
since she couldn't talk, there was no way that she could pass that
information to anyone else.

Dinah lay back again, feeling helpless and angry for letting herself be
caught off guard. If only she hadn't been so excited about her date with
Bruce. His dark gaze flashed in her mind. She felt momentary butterflies
in her stomach.

She hadn't felt that attracted to a man since she and Batman had fought
against KOBRA. She remembered their parting kiss, full of desperate
longing. And later, on top of Wayne Enterprises Tower, Batman's final,
shattering goodbye, saying he couldn't allow himself to "need" her.

Dinah shook her head.

Now was *not* the time!

Nevertheless, her mind treacherously jumped to the stolen kiss that she
had basically forced on Bruce under the table. Originally meant as a
ploy to throw off the terrorists, to her shock it had turned into
something more. Something much more.

Get a grip, girl, she chastised. You've gotta find a way out of this
hole! She started struggling anew with her bonds. Her wrists were raw by
now and her hands were beginning to swell. She lay still for a moment,
frustration building again.

Closing her eyes, she attempted to center herself and slow her increased
heart rate. Her thoughts immediately returned to Bruce. How proud he'd
seemed when he showed her the photos he carried of Dick.

This was followed by his look of almost profound sadness as he watched
his boy during their first Christmas together. His look was reflected in
the boy's own sad smile, as he sat cross-legged under the tree.

She smiled as she remembered the Superman pajamas. How cute, she
thought. She blinked. Waitaminute! Her blue eyes suddenly flashed
green--*Superman* pajamas?

Dinah's mind flew back a few weeks to her previous mission in Ireland.
Her final conversation with Patrick Malone, an Irish terrorist, had been
about Batman. It seems that while the usually taciturn Dark Knight was
rapidly losing blood, and close to death, he'd begun to phase in and out
of consciousness. And, in his weakened state, Batman had started to
talk.

About himself. And about his son.

More specifically, about how his son used to slide down the banister,
dressed in Superman pajamas. Even in his semi-conscious state, Batman's
jealousy over the boy's open hero worship of the Man of Steel was
obvious.

I'll *kill* him, Dinah raged!

She banged at the door again with added vehemence. As she did so, a
sudden idea struck her.

Dinah Lance, you're an idiot! Maybe I *can't* talk out loud, but that
doesn't mean that I can't talk!

Turning her back to the door, Dinah leaned on it until she could touch
it with her fingers. Concentrating, she tentatively began tapping with
her fingernail. As she tapped, she realized that her Morse Code skills
were rusty. Still...if Bruce Wayne was who she *thought* he was, then
maybe they were enough.

****

As Bruce struggled across the floor, he began to hear what sounded like
syncopated tapping. He paused to listen. Tap...tap-tap-tap...tap-tap.

What was that? He waited. It was coming from the closet door. Dinah? He
listened intently. Morse Code, he realized. Concentrating, he tried to
decode what she was sending:

//dit-dah-dit-dit...'L'...dah-dah-dah...'O'...dah-dah-dah...'O'...dit-dah-
dit...'R'//

'Loor'? He shook his head, thinking. Did she mean 'Look'?

//dah-dit-dah...'K'...//

Okay, Bruce thought. Her Morse Code's a little shaky. She meant 'look.'
But 'look' at what? Look where?

//dit-dit-dah...'U'...dit-dah...'A'...dah-dit-dit...'D'...dit...'E'...dit-
dah-dit...'R'//

U-A-D-E-R?

What was *that*?

The normally cool under any circumstances Bruce was beginning to feel
the frustration build. The tapping started again.

//dah-dit-dit-dit...'B'...dit...'E'...dah-dit-dit...'D'//

B-E-D--Bed! Look *under* bed!

Dinah had transposed the code for the letter 'A'--dit-dah--with that of
the letter 'N'--dah-dit! Obviously, Batman would have to give Black
Canary a refresher course on Morse Code at the next JLA meeting.

He started crawling towards where he *believed* the bed stood. Finding
it, he squeezed under the narrow opening. He sighed. Whatever he was
looking for, it wasn't in an easy to find location.

After several minutes of fruitless searching, he finally bumped into
something soft, situated in a hard to reach cul-de-sac. It was a cloth
carryall. Using his chin and nose, he managed to loosen it from where
Dinah had jammed it.

A few minutes later, he was working by feel again. At last, he somehow
managed to unzip the small bag. Taking a deep breath, he began to
carefully feel his way through the bag's contents.

****

When the door finally opened, Dinah was angry enough to shoot lightning
bolts from her eyes. He had some *nerve* to stand there in front of her
looking so breathtakingly handsome.

"*Mmmmpf*!" she complained, jerking her body around.

Bruce crouched down to her eye-level, the concern in his deep, blue eyes
evident. Glaring at him, she felt her resolve begin to melt.

"Here, let me get that thing off," he said, gently removing the tape
around her mouth. She gulped a deep, grateful breath almost forgetting
she wanted to kill him. He was already checking the tight knots that
held her immobilized.

Dinah heard a quick intake of breath. Looking at him as he worked, she
couldn't help notice the burning anger in his eyes as he examined her
wrists and ankles.

"Take it easy, Dinah," he said softly, carrying her to the bed. "When
the feeling comes back, it's going to hurt like hell."

"I know," she said, lying back.

Bruce began briskly rubbing her arms and legs. Examining the ugly welts
and abrasions on her wrists and ankles, he began applying a soothing
ointment to both areas.

A tingling, burning sensation was already coursing through her arms and
legs. The pain was almost unbearable, but she was Black Canary and she
wasn't going to let it deter her. She gamely threw her legs over the
side of the bed and sat up.

"But I've got a job to do," she managed. She felt something being put in
her hands. She looked down--her Canary uniform.

"No, Dinah, *we* have a job to do," Bruce said. His voice sounded two
octaves lower. He was sitting less than a handsbreadth away.

She looked up at him. Thinking that she was about to protest, Bruce
gently placed his finger on her lips.

"I know what you're thinking. That I'm a rich playboy out looking for
kicks and with nothing better to do than stick my nose where it doesn't
belong."

"Bruce, I--" she began. He kissed her, quieting whatever protest he
thought she was about to make before she made it.

"Dinah, I have a confession to make," he said, looking deeply into her
eyes. "It isn't easy for me to say this. I've only told a handful of
people. But someone whose opinion I value highly told me that it's time
I trusted my feelings for you, and told you the truth."

She watched him, waiting, hardly believing what he was about to tell
her, wondering if he'd be able to go through with it. To her acute
disappointment, he suddenly turned away from her.

Bruce stood up, unable to face her. What if this was the end? What if
she disliked Batman so intensely that she'd throw it back in his face?
There was no helping it. He had to tell her. Straightening his
shoulders, he turned around.

"Dinah, there's no easy way to say this, so I'll just have to say it
straight. I'm--"

"--Batman," she finished. She smiled at his shocked look. "The fancy
moves and doctored video tape partly gave it away. Oracle knowing
somehow that you were in my suite when logically she shouldn't have been
in any sort of contact with you added suspicion. But it was Dick's
Superman pajamas that clinched it."

"What--?" Bruce clearly didn't understand the last clue. "I admit that I
wanted you to figure it out for yourself, so I made the moves fairly
obvious, but what does *Dick* have to with this?"

She smiled, a secret smile.

"You really don't know, do you? Oracle didn't tell you?" She stood and
stumbled slightly towards him, her legs still partially numb. He caught
her immediately in his strong arms.

He shook his head. "Tell me what?"

She stood on tiptoe, her lips parting invitingly. "I'll tell you later,"
she whispered huskily. They kissed for a seeming eternity, breaking
reluctantly. "We have work to do."

Bruce nodded. "Then we'd better go," he said, still holding her to him.
They kissed once more.

Instantly, both their comlinks activated.

"Yes?" Bruce asked slightly dazed.

"Yes?" Dinah asked, smiling up at him.

"Dinah--!" "Bruce--!" Oracle and Dick called simultaneously. "Are you
free yet? The Jahaz just made their demands. They're holding the entire
company of models of 'Lana's Intimates.' They say that if they don't
receive their ransom demand and a helicopter to make good their escape,
they're going to start killing them one at a time, starting in thirty
minutes!"

"Time to save the day," Bruce said, a half-smile pulling at the corner
of his mouth.

Donning her costume, Dinah said, "It *would* have to be a bunch of women
in their underwear!"

"The life of a superhero is a constant battle against the forces of
evil," Bruce uttered straight-faced. "But *somebody* has to do it!"

He ducked as she threw something conveniently handy at him.

****

Back at the clocktower, Dick waggled his eyebrows at Barbara
suggestively.

"That's my dad! Such stuff as heroes are made of," he bragged, laughing
softly. "Off to rescue a gaggle of gorgeous lingerie models. Now I know
why he didn't ask for my help on this gig!"

"He didn't ask for your help," Barbara said sweetly, "because I would've
*killed* you when you got back!"

He ducked as she threw something conveniently handy at him.

****

All business, Black Canary and Bruce parted company. Glancing back in
the direction that he went, Black Canary was not surprised to see that
he was already gone. She smiled to herself. Most definitely not just
another pretty face.

"Oracle," she called.

"Oracle, here," the disembodied voice promptly responded.

"When this over, you and I are going to have a long talk, girlfriend,"
Black Canary hissed. "The least you could've done was give me some kind
of warning."

"You know that I couldn't, Dinah. As long as he was unwilling or unable
to tell you himself, my hands were tied. I'm sorry."

"No," Black Canary said. "Don't apologize. Keeping secrets is your job.
And I can't fault you for protecting your own family."

"Dinah?" a new, male voice came over her comlink.

"Nightwing?" she asked.

"Yeah, it's me." There was a short pause. "I want you to know that Bruce
has *never* revealed his secret identity to a woman he was dating. Other
than immediate family, I think you can count the number of people in the
loop on one hand--and have fingers left over."

"It's a big responsibility. I know," she said quietly.

"Yeah, but that's not what I was driving at. Dinah, I think this is for
real with him. I've never seen him act this way. I mean, this is the
*third* time he's left Gotham City in order to 'help' you." He paused.

"I just wanted you know that," he added lamely. Black Canary smiled
slightly.

"Thank you for telling me," she replied.

****

"What did you find out?" Bruce asked.

He was currently hanging upside down and watching through one of the
many arched windows that lined the southern side of the ostentatious
auditorium. He counted ten terrorists inside. He'd already taken out the
four on the roof, and Black Canary was going to take care of the six or
so at the entrances.

The thirty-some Lana's Intimates models were sitting, huddled together
on the stage. Fortunately, as the Jahaz attack came *before* the guests'
arrival, the lingerie models were the only hostages. Small favors.

Bruce made a conscious decision not to become Batman on this case. This
was Black Canary's mission, and it wasn't *her* fault if some idiot
jetsetter she met kept interfering. However, there was little chance
that Bruce Wayne would be identified.

He grinned ferally.

Actually, there was *no* chance. His face was blackened with bootblack,
and he was wearing a black stocking mask currently pulled back. When
necessary, it would easily cover his face. In fact, he was dressed from
head to toe in black, wearing military-style fatigues. He'd 'borrowed'
them from one of the lookouts on the roof. Funny how the guy had a
sudden desire to take a nap.

"You were right, Bruce," Dick said. "The Jahaz is little more than an
extortionist organization. They espouse their actions to the 'greater
good' of Chemosh, but it's little more than a cover. They have no
political *or* religious agenda that we can find. Their claims of trying
to keep Western influence out of the Middle Eastern region is pure
tripe." Dick said this last disgustedly.

"In the past eighteen months, each of their terrorist attacks has come
with a ransom demand. When their demands haven't been met, the hostages
have been killed. No questions asked. No second chances." Dick paused,
as if assimilating the cold-bloodedness behind the attacks.

"And when their demands *are* met?" Bruce asked. He took out a
glasscutter and placed it on the windowpane.

"Fifty-fifty chance that some of the hostages *will* be killed anyway.
So far, the only attack they've instigated that went totally against
them was the one you and Black Canary stopped yesterday."

"One for the good guys," Bruce uttered. "Not much of a win record."
Reaching in the window, Bruce carefully opened it and started to lower
himself inside.

"Time to put an end to their game plan," he added.

****

"See two boll weevils grew up in South Carolina," Dick was saying. They
were waiting for Black Canary to make contact.

Barbara rolled her eyes. This was definitely going to be the *last* time
she asked Dick to help. His corny puns and knock-knock jokes were
driving her, well, 'Batty'!

"One boll weevil went to Hollywood and became a famous actor. The other
stayed behind in the cotton fields and never amounted to much." He
paused and gave her an impish smile. "Ready for this?"

"No!" Barbara protested. Dick ignored her good-naturedly.

"The second one, naturally, was known as--" He paused dramatically.
"--the lesser of two *weevils*."

Barbara groaned. Dick burst into raucous laughter.

"Don't worry," he gasped. "I've gotta million of 'em!"

"That's what I'm afraid of," she complained. "There should be a law
against puns. They're the lowest form of humor!"

"Sure are," Dick readily agreed. "When you didn't think of them first."

Barbara looked around for something to throw, and then burst out
laughing when she saw him already hanging upside down from the ceiling
rafters.

"Don't hurt me," he said in a small voice, covering his head.

"Oracle?" Black Canary's voice cut in. "I'm in position." Barbara sent
her a mental 'Thank you.' Dick instantly dropped and resumed his
position at his station.

"Got it, BC," Barbara replied. "Bruce is already inside. He's waiting
for the signal."

"Can you cross-patch us?" Black Canary requested.

"Can do easy. Stand by." Barbara typed a few keystrokes, hit 'Enter' a
couple of times, and then spoke again.

"Bruce? BC? Commo check."

"Check," Bruce whispered.

"Check," Black Canary confirmed. "Bruce, I'm almost in position. Ready?"

"Just give the word," he said.

Barbara and Dick listened tensely as the two heroes exchanged battle
information. Hearing *Bruce* in action was just too weird, Dick thought.
It must be love.

"*Now*!"

Dick and Barbara held their breaths as the final showdown began.

****

"*Now*!"

Black Canary's voice rang in Bruce's comlink. Instantly, he pulled out
his earpiece and slapped on a pair of earplugs. Simultaneously, the
infamous Canary Cry sent out its high-pitched sonic wail. Its
eardrum-piercing signal was magnified a hundredfold by the terrorists'
earpieces, sending them all into paroxysms of pain.

The weaker ones passed out from the ear-splitting sonic assault on their
sensitive inner ear. The stronger ones managed to yank out the earpieces
before being overcome by total blackness. A few managed to remain
conscious by covering their ears until the sonic cry died out.

Because they weren't wearing any earpiece communications devices, the
hostages were spared pain. However, most of the models blacked out from
the high-pitched sonic cry, which was designed to attack the inner ear
and distort the victim's equilibrium. Those that somehow managed to
remain conscious were too dazed to be of much use.

As soon as Black Canary deployed her non-lethal, defensive weapon, Bruce
sprang into action. While the terrorists were disoriented from the
assault on their inner ear, he came up behind them and quickly
dispatched them one at a time. Taking out any that remained standing, he
began securing them for the authorities with plastic tie-wraps.

Immersed on the job at hand, he was startled by the hard, metallic
object that was suddenly held against his temple. He froze immediately.

"~Hands up~!" the gunman ordered in accented French. Bruce straightened
slowly, carefully holding his hands out by his side.

"~On the floor! Face down! Spread your hands and legs!~"

Still holding his hands out by his side, Bruce went down to his knees.
Again, he felt the gun barrel being pressed at the back of his neck.

He hated guns. He especially hated guns pointed at him.

Going down as directed, he suddenly reached back and grabbing the long
barrel, yanked the Uzi out of the terrorist's hands. Rolling on his
back, he kicked up with his powerful legs, and then using the weapon as
a club, subdued his opponent.

Looking down at the now unconscious terrorist, he recognized Scarface.

"Didn't I tell you that I didn't like guns pointed at me?" he asked. He
looked around. Black Canary was helping the scantily clad models to
their feet and leading them off the stage.

He reached up and removed the earplugs, replacing them with his
communications earpiece.

"Dinah," he called. She looked up and waved from where she was crouching
next to a still-woozy model. "I don't like this. Too easy."

"Oh, don't be such a grouch," she said light-heartedly. "Sometimes a
cigar is just a cigar."

"What?" he asked, momentarily thrown.

"In other words, don't look a gift horse in the mouth," she said.

"Maybe," he said. Still suspicious, he began moving towards the stage.
"Still, I'm not ready to celebrate yet. Are we sure we've accounted for
all of them?"

"Bruce, honestly!" Black Canary said exasperatedly. "If you're not the
most--!" She stopped, gasping in surprise.

Bruce whirled around. Everywhere he looked, they were facing the muzzles
of automatic weapons aimed directly at them. They were surrounded. The
line of weapons parted, and Gonen stepped through, his expression
triumphant.

"You're right, Dinah. And sometimes an Uzi is a fully *loaded* Uzi."
Diving behind a row of seats, he cried out, "Everyone! Down!"

****

The staccato bursts of automatic gunfire echoed in the clocktower.
Screams, angry shouts, and curses could be heard over the sharp reports.

Dick felt the perspiration trickling down his temples. His heart rate
was up and his hands felt clammy. At first, being on the sidelines had
been kind of fun. It wasn't often that he got to see *Bruce* on the
receiving end of a tongue-lashing.

And Black Canary could dish it out with the best of them.

But this?

And Bruce wasn't even wearing his costume with its protective
Kevlar/Nomex weave! What could've *possessed* him to be so careless?
Dick needed to *do* something! But what?

He pounded the table in front of him and jumped to his feet. Ignoring
Barbara's worried looks, he started pacing. He'd promised Bruce that he
would not under any circumstances involve the JLA.

Dick walked over to a window that overlooked the city below. It was late
evening here in Gotham, with last-minute shoppers rushing with their
bags and packages. He glanced at the clock. It would be about 1:30 a.m.
in Cannes.

Bruce was six hours away. But he was in trouble right now. No way Dick
would be able to swoop in on the Batwing and do a last minute save. He
thought of Superman.

"If there was ever a job for Superman, this is it," he whispered. He
pressed his forehead against the windowpane, evaluating his options. He
straightened slowly as an idea took shape.

Barbara noticed the change in his body language and immediately knew
he'd thought of something. "Dick? Dick, what are you thinking?" she
asked.

Dick waved at her for silence. His mind was running through his options
at incredible speeds, seeing everything with the same sharp clarity that
he did whenever he led the Titans. He was no longer in his 'assistant
mode' waiting for Bruce to give the orders.

Dick had just assumed command.

Okay, the JLA was out. But that didn't mean that he couldn't call on
some personal friends. Friends that he knew would follow him to Hell and
back, because that's where he'd led them on several occasions.

Hurrying to his communications station, he began to type. He adjusted
the frequency and instantly made contact.

"Raven! Omen!"

Barbara looked over at him, green eyes wide with shock. "Dick! What are
you doing?"

"Not calling in the JLA!" he muttered. Dick immediately stiffened and
closed his eyes, listening. He felt the barest of a soft, feather touch
in his mind--like being kissed in his sleep.

"~Richard~." Raven's soft voice caressed him. "~I am here~."

"Thank you for answering my call," Dick said out loud, but before he
could say anything else, a familiar voice interrupted him.

"Richard?"

Dick's eyes fluttered open. Omen's beautiful face peered out at him from
his monitor. His eyes lit when he saw her.

"Lilith, thank you for answering so fast. I need your help. And
Raven's," he said. "And I need it fast."

"Be at ease, Richard," Omen said, closing her eyes. "~Open your mind to
me, my friend~."

"~Open your mind to *us*~," Raven whispered.

****

"Bruce..." Dick whispered. "In trouble...need to help him..."

"~There are too many gunmen~," Omen whispered.

"~Innocents will be killed~," Raven added.

"~We must pull them out~," Omen began. "~I will teleport them~--"

"No..." Dick whispered, his voice deeply troubled. "Can't do that...have
to help them...help themselves..."

"~Tell us how you want us help, Richard~." Raven's voice had a touch of
ironic humor.

"Gas pellets..." Dick whispered.

He felt himself going into a deep trance. He was floating in a dark
pool, but he knew that he wasn't alone. He saw a light up ahead and swam
towards it. The next instant, he was climbing a rocky precipice. He
could hear the pounding of surf and the lonely sounds of seagulls in the
distance.

Next, he found himself standing on Titans Island. The glass Tower
reflected the deep purples and reds of the late evening sunset.
Suddenly, Omen and Raven were next to him. They were out by the breakers
in the deepening gloom. Dick could feel the sting of saltwater as it was
whipped up by the New York Harbor brisk winds.

"I'll have to get Bruce to somehow toss his gas pellets," Dick was
saying. "Once he does that, *you* take over." He paused, embarrassed.
"And you'll have to do--whatever--without *Bruce* being aware that you
helped. I know I'm asking a lot, but--"

"But your father is a proud man," Raven said.

"As are you," Omen added.

Smiling, the three warmly held hands.

"Do not worry, Richard," Raven said.

"They will never know that we were there," Omen added.

"Thank you," Dick said. "For being such good friends."

****

Dick blinked his eyes open. He looked up feeling slightly dazed. A pair
of beautiful green eyes were looking worriedly at him.

"Dick? Are you all right?" Barbara asked.

Dick sat up straight and quickly nodded.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said. "Come on, we've got work to do." He moved to
raise Bruce on the comlink.

****

"Bruce!" Dick's insistent voice rang in his ear.

Bruce ignored him temporarily. He was 'hanging ten' in midair, having
just fought off six men, and was rushing towards Black Canary who was
defending the models still remaining on the stage. Other than Lady
Shiva, Bruce didn't think he'd ever seen a woman who'd reached the level
of martial arts that Black Canary had achieved.

"What?" he grunted, kicking straight up with his right leg, while
striking out with the heel of his palm and following through with an
elbow. Three men fell with each hit.

"This isn't exactly a good time," he added.

He dived and rolled on the runway aisle and finally reached Black Canary
just as she was about to be overrun.

"Bruce--! Gas pellets! You've gotta throw as many as you can get your
hands on--Now!"

"Gas pellets?" Bruce growled. "I only have a handful." He spun and
kicked, taking out two more. "Besides...they have masks."

Bruce and Black Canary now stood back to back, fighting for their lives
and the lives of the hostages.

****

"Listen to me, Bruce," Dick said urgently, his mind racing. "We've got
it on good authority that, uh, an Interpol undercover agent somehow, uh,
sabotaged their masks."

Dick looked over at Barbara. She was sitting with her arms crossed, a
sour expression of disbelief on her beautiful features. She shook her
head at him. Dick grimaced and gave her a "you've a got a better idea?"
look.

Barbara rolled her eyes, but turned to her monitor and began talking
rapidly.

"Bruce, this is Oracle," she started. "I just received word from one of
my, uh, contacts that Interpol planted a mole in the Jahaz. His cover
was recently blown, however, and he had to be extracted immediately and
taken underground." She glanced at Dick who was looking at her with open
admiration. She gave him a superior smile.

"Before the operative left the organization, he says that he sabotaged
some of their equipment--including the gas masks." She paused and gave
Dick a 'Now what?" look.

Dick took up the thread.

"Bruce, I know that it isn't much to go on, but it's a chance." He
paused and then continued desperately. "Bruce, it's all I can give
you...I'm sorry."

"Don't worry, chum," Bruce's voice echoed in clocktower. "I'm having too
much fun to die just yet."

****

"BC!" Bruce called. "Gas pellets! Do you have any?"

"Never leave home without 'em!" Black Canary quipped.

"In that case--!" Bruce said, donning his rebreather. "Mask and gas!" He
ordered and whipped out a handful of gas pellets. Black Canary followed
suit.

The terrorists instantly began diving for cover, donning their own
protective masks.

"~Gas! Gas! Gas!~" they called out, warning each other. "~Masks!
Everybody--masks~!"

Bruce and Black Canary used the mini diversion to begin escorting the
lingerie models to safety. Hurrying to the emergency exits, Bruce
suddenly stopped, confused. Black Canary almost bumped into him.

"What is it?" she asked, instantly alert.

"Something's wrong," he said. "Even if some of their masks aren't
functioning, we should still have about six or seven after us. I'm going
back to investigate. Take the hostages to safety."

She nodded curtly. About to go in opposite directions, they hesitated
momentarily. Bruce reached up and touched her cheek lightly, and then
turned and ran back the way he'd just come.

****

Bruce emerged stealthily from backstage, and taking off at a running
crouch, he dived quickly behind the first row of seats. Lying low, he
peered through a forest of chair legs. There were several terrorists
lying still in various positions. They appeared unconscious. Most were
masked.

Taking a chance, he low crawled to the nearest terrorist. Reaching him,
Bruce took his pulse. Slow but steady. Spotting another less than two
rows away, he made his way to that one as well. He too was unconscious,
but alive.

He *felt* something warm and gentle *touch* him suddenly. No, not a
touch. At least, not a physical touch. Almost a soft caress in his mind.
Like someone had just kissed him in his sleep.

On sudden impulse, he removed the terrorist's gas mask and checked it
for defects. It was in perfect condition. Single eyebrow raised, he
checked a second mask. And a third. All in perfect working condition.

Shaking his head, Bruce stood up. Crossing his arms, he looked up at the
ceiling and addressed the empty auditorium.

"I know you're here," he called. "Who is it? Raven? Omen? The both of
you?" He waited. Slowly, the shadows in the dark recesses of the
historic building began to coalesce. Soon, two disembodied figures
hovered above him in the gloom.

He nodded to them. Raven and Omen exchanged chagrinned glances and then
lowered themselves to floor level.

"~How did you know?~" Raven's soft voice sounded in his mind.

"~Dick will be most displeased with us,~" Omen said, head lowered.

"He won't be," Bruce said. "It's his own fault, after all." The two
mystic women looked at him curiously. "He once compared being
mind-touched by you to being kissed in his sleep. He found the whole
experience quite pleasant. And, now I see why."

To Bruce's mild amusement, it appeared as if Raven's soul self and
Omen's astral projection were blushing.

"Thank you for coming," he added. "I don't know if all the hostages
would've been saved without your help."

"~You're welcome,~" they said together and disappeared. Bruce felt
rather than heard their soothing voices in his mind, ethereal as
moonlight.

Letting out a quick breath, he ran a hand quickly through his hair and
opened his comlink.

****

"Oracle? Dick?" Bruce's voice came through clearly.

Dick gesticulated at Barbara, miming, '*You* get it!' Grinning, she
opened her end of the channel.

"Oracle here," she responded.

"Where's Dick?" Bruce asked a bit gruffly. Barbara glanced over at Dick
who was waving his arms wildly, pointing towards the window and making
'swooshing' gestures, pointing at his watch.

"He, um, had to leave," Barbara said, trying not to laugh. "Something
about an appointment."

"An appointment, huh?" Bruce said sourly. "Tell him...no, *I'll* tell
him."

Dick looked up at the darkened monitor, his eyes wide with panic. He
knows, he thought!

"Dick, I know you're there," Bruce said confirming the younger man's
fears. Dick cringed. Here it comes, he thought.

"When I get home--" Bruce was saying.

"Aww, come on, Bruce!" Dick interrupted, his voice just a tad whiny.

Barbara noted that his earlier assertive leader persona had completely
evaporated. Bruce had that effect on him. He was pacing around the room,
waving his arms in childish frustration. Barbara watched amused.

"You've always taught me to use all of my resources," Dick said sharply.
"So, I used my Ace-in-the-hole. Well, *excuuuuuuuuuse* me for saving
your hide," he ranted. "Boy, talk about your gratitude
problems...blah...blah...blah..."

Barbara reached over and surreptitiously shut the transmission, enjoying
Dick's tantrum for the moment.

****

Bruce shook his head, his dark eyes smiling.

"We're gonna talk about this later, kid," Bruce said to himself. "And
that's a promise."

Bruce ran a quick check of the rest of the terrorists, searching for
Gonen. He finally found the terrorist leader passed out near the back.
Taking out a set of plastic tie-wraps, Bruce secured Gonen's wrists and
ankles. As an added security measure, he then anchored him to a seat's
metallic legs.

"That ought to hold you," he said, satisfied that this time, the
terrorist leader would not escape.

Pressing his comlink, he raised Black Canary. "Dinah, it's safe to let
the local police enter. Just give me a minute to make my exit."

"You've got it," Black Canary replied. Bruce hurried back stage, grabbed
a rope and started climbing. Soon, he was moving easily across the
backstage ceiling rafters. Before long, he found a window and made his
exit to the auditorium's roof.

"So, do I still get dinner?" Black Canary asked in his ear. Reaching the
roof's edge, he paused, smiling.

"The night's young," he said. "Why settle for just dinner?"

****

Epilogue

They danced, oblivious to the envious glances from the other guests. Her
gold hair was upswept in a French chignon, held in place with an emerald
comb. Her low-backed, blue-green dress, a Paris original, matched her
striking eyes. His impeccable dinner jacket set off his perfect
physique.

When the music ended, he led her outside into the moonlit veranda
overlooking the beach. They leaned on the railing, relishing each
other's company.

"I still can't believe what Oracle dug up about Gonen," Dinah said.

"Third generation American of Eastern European Jewish descent," Bruce
recited. "Great-grandfather came over following World War I and
eventually settled in Minnesota. Grandfather was a decorated soldier in
both World War II and the Korean War. Father fought in the Vietnam War,
and then disillusioned with US policies took his wife and son and
emigrated to Israel."

"Where Bashir Gonen grew up," Dinah continued, "and joined the Israel
Defense Forces, working special operations and intelligence.
Unfortunately, somewhere along the line, he decided that money was more
important than loyalty to his country and his oath." She shrugged. "A
real piece of work."

Bruce nodded, taking her in his arms. "Yes, and he's now in custody." He
kissed her playfully on the nose. "But I'd much rather talk about you."

She smiled, completely charmed by him. Bruce Wayne was so unlike his
Batman persona, and yet the mantle of the Bat was never quite set aside.
He was a man obsessed and possessed by his personal mission. But, for
the moment, he was a handsome young man on a date.

"Thank you for the dress," Dinah said, her blue-green eyes reflecting
the moonlight. "Though how you managed it this late at night--"

"I have my ways," Bruce said enigmatically. "Besides, it was the least I
could do for interfering. Again." They smiled into each other's eyes for
a moment. Feeling as if he were about to lose himself in her gaze, he
cleared his throat.

"Dick voted for a Lana's Intimates original," he added, "but I told him
a gentleman *never* gives lingerie to a lady before the second date."

Dinah laughed lightly.

"Second date?" she asked. "Is that a promise?"

"I never lie to a woman who can disable me in several different places,"
he quipped. Bruce took her hand, and they began strolling along the
enchanting waterfront.

The magic moment was suddenly shattered.

"Bruce? Dinah?" Oracle's strident voice came over their comlinks. Dinah
looked regretfully into Bruce's eyes. They held each other's gaze for a
long eternity.

"Bruce? Dinah? Come in, please!" Oracle urged. "JLA call up--!"

Bruce held Dinah closer, and their eyes locked, bent down to her. She
willingly arched up to meet him.

"All active members--!"

Their lips met.

"--need to report ASAP!"

Bruce and Dinah simultaneously reached up and removed their comlink
earpieces. Oracle's urgent voice could still be heard. As one, they
tossed their earpieces into the waters below them. Oracle's transmission
was cut short.

Later, as they stood together, bathed by the soft moonlit evening, she
spoke almost dreamily.

"Listen."

"I don't hear anything," he said.

"I know. Isn't it wonderful?"

Bruce smiled, holding her a little closer. "What am I going to do with
you?" he asked.

"I don't know," Dinah said, snuggling closer. "But I can think of
something."

The End