Disclaimer:  The characters contained herein belong to DC Comics/Time 
Warner.  I intend no copyright infringement.  I just play pretend with 
them.  This is a Potatoverse story.  That DOES belong to me, so if you 
need more info, feel free to write to me at smittywing@yahoo.com

Objects in the Rearview Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear
by Smitty (smittywing@yahoo.com)

***

	"Three years this Christmas, sir."

	"What Alfred?"  Bruce Wayne looked up from the spectral analysis 
he was running.  The cowl had been pushed back, rumpling his hair 
enough to remind Alfred of the little boy Bruce had been so long ago.

	"I do believe that this Christmas will be the third anniversary of 
your…partnership…with Ms. Lance."

	"Oh."  Bruce returned his attention to his project.  "It's not a 
'partnership' Alfred.  It's more of a…"

	"Indiscretion?" Alfred supplied helpfully.

	"Situation."

	"Very well, sir."

***

	Partnership?  Indiscretion?  Situation?  Three years?  Had it really 
been going on three years?  Christmas Eve.  Dick had just proposed to 
Barbara.  They were both feeling lonely…cold…left out.

	Dick and Babs became Mr. and Mrs. Grayson just under a year 
later.  Bruce quickly did the math.

	Three years.  Three years, this Christmas.

***

	She hadn't left him.  

	She hadn't complained of his long absences.

	She hadn't complained of his frequent distraction.

	Not once had he had to save her from a megalomaniac.

	She hadn't run.

	Not once.

	There was something wrong with this picture.

***

	"Sir, we have a guest," Alfred announced from the foot of the 
stairs.

	"Hey there," Dinah greeted him, walking down the steps behind 
Alfred.

	Of course.  She was the one of the few people allowed in the 
Batcave whom Alfred still insisted on announcing.

	Bruce nodded curtly, trying to ignore his disappointment that she 
wore the costume with the pants.  After all, it WAS December.

	"I've taken the liberty of inviting Miss Dinah to dinner, sir," Alfred 
announced happily, starting his trek upstairs.

	"I'm a little busy tonight," Bruce said ungraciously.

	Dinah's eyes widened and Alfred shot him a familiar look that 
chastised him for his rudeness.  Bruce shot him the familiar insolent look 
in reply.

	"Looks like it's just you and me tonight, Alfie," Dinah said lightly.  
She shrugged and started to go back up the stairs.

	"I was aware of no other plans," Alfred said primly, ignoring 
Dinah's attempt to escape.

	"I have them."

	"You're being very rude."

	Behind Alfred, Dinah rolled her eyes.

	Bruce turned back to his project.

	"He's in Bat-mode, Alfred," Dinah said, just loud enough for Bruce 
to hear.

	Bruce refused to respond.  

	"I'll come back when he's in a better mood."

	Bruce slammed his heavy tome shut.

	"Let's have dinner."

***

	Alfred and Dinah had both raised eyebrows at each other when 
he'd conceded to dinner, Bruce remembered, sipping from his water 
goblet.  There was no point in refusing when Dinah said she'd be back.  
Maybe she had been bluffing for Alfred.  Maybe he should have refused 
the dinner anyway.

	"You're being a real jerk," Dinah informed him over dessert.

	Alfred hovered in the doorway, pausing on his way to refill their 
water glasses.

	"Didn't your mother teach you it's not nice to insult your host?"

	"Didn't your mother teach you how to treat a lady?"

	Part of him was aching to pull her into his arms and show her 
exactly how he treated his lady, but the scared little boy who'd been left by 
almost everybody wrapped his arms around himself and huddled further 
within himself.  He never wanted to be taken by surprise like that again.  
He'd push her away; make her leave.  He wouldn't let her get close enough 
to hurt him when she walked away.

	He tossed down some more water and stabbed his fork in his pie.

	"I haven't had a mother since I was six," he reminded her.  "I'm just 
a millionaire orphan playboy, remember?"

	He watched her flush at his insinuation and abruptly push her chair 
back.  All too late, he thought of Ollie and his irrepressible penchant for 
"sampling" other women.  He almost apologized.  Almost.

	"I'm sorry to leave so soon," she said stiffly, " but I'm feeling ill."

	"Of course."  Bruce too stood up.

	Dinah stalked to the door where Alfred was already silently 
holding her coat.  Then, to Bruce's utmost surprise, she turned back to 
him.

	"You're hurting me on purpose," she said straight to his face.  "I 
don't know why, but I'm not standing for it.  When you remember who the 
real Bruce Wayne is, you know my number."  She leaned up and brushed 
her lips against his cheek and then she was gone, with only the echo of the 
front door to announce her exit.

***

	Alfred poured Bruce's morning orange juice in stony silence.

	Bruce sighed.  "I know you're mad at me, Alfred."

	"Will there be anything else, sir?"

	"It's just that there's not room in my life for—"

	"Will there be anything else, sir?"

	Bruce sighed.  "No, Alfred.  Thank you."  

	Alfred vanished behind the swinging doors.

	Bruce frowned into his orange juice and buried his nose in the 
morning papers.

	It was all for the best, really.

***

	"Bruce?  Bruce, wake up!"

	"Huh, what?  Oh, sorry, Lucius."  Bruce shook his head and looked 
around the empty conference room.  "Did everyone leave already?"

	"No, Bruce, the meeting hasn't started yet."

	"Oh.  Oh, right."  Bruce regarded the coffee in front of him.  He 
never drank coffee.  He wasn't keen on the idea of becoming dependent on 
caffeine, but he carried a cup around all day long for appearances' sake.  
"Lucius, what kind of coffee is this?"

	"What kind of coffee?  Probably black, with a pile of sugar, the 
way you usually take it.  Are you feeling all right, Bruce?"

	"Yeah, I'm fine."  

	On later reflection, Lucius would realize that he'd never seen Bruce 
Wayne do this before nor had seen him do it since.

	Bruce slurped a deep mouthful of coffee from his cup and rolled it 
around his mouth.

	And nearly spit it out.

	How on earth did Dinah drink this sludge?

***

	"…and then *I* said to Missy…"

	Bruce tipped up his glass of soda, wishing for one brief moment 
that he hadn't switched his champagne for ginger ale.  Another long, 
boring night at a long, boring fundraiser, to which he'd actually offered to 
escort Candy Worthington.  How did this happen? Bruce wondered.  It 
must be Alfred's fault.  He was reasonably sure Alfred set this up on his 
own.  He didn't *remember* running into Candy and asking her to a party.  
Maybe he had and Alfred had remembered.  But no.  He was pretty sure 
this one was all Alfred.  Maybe he should get Dick or Tim to start finding 
his dates.

	"…I simply could *not* believe what she…"

	Bruce hit the panic button.

***

	Alfred looked idly at his beeping pager.  Master Bruce had a 
similar communications device that allowed him to send such a signal.  
The intent was for Alfred to feign an emergency and call Master Wayne 
away from a situation he was no longer interested in pursuing.  Alfred 
decided that Bruce could wait this one out a little longer.

***

	"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce growled, stepping into the limousine.

	"I'm sorry, sir?"

	"I know you're mad at me, but leaving me in the hands of Candy 
Worthington?  Unacceptable."

	"My apologies, sir.  Perhaps a malfunction in your transmitting 
unit?"

	"Perhaps," Bruce snarled.

	"If I may be so bold, sir, how did you ever escape?"

	Bruce cleared his throat and averted his eyes.

	"I'm sorry, sir, I failed to catch that.  Perhaps if you enunciated a 
bit more?"

	"I climbed out the bathroom window."

	"I…see, sir."

	Bruce ignored him and whipped out his cell phone, automatically 
hitting the button to dial Dinah's number, as was his habit after these 
parties.

	"Hi, this is Dinah Lance!"

	At the sound of her pre-recorded voice, Bruce suddenly realized 
what he was doing.

	"I'm out right now.  If you don't care when I get back to you, wait 
and leave a message.  If you need to get a message to me, press one to be 
transferred to my scheduling secretary.  If you're a superhero, there's easier 
ways to get in touch with me.  Use them.  Ta!"

	Bruce terminated the connection, several seconds later than he'd 
intended.

	"Wrong number, sir?"

***

	"Hey."

	Batman nodded as Robin settled into a squat next to him.

	"You look gloomy.  Stocks drop?"

	"Don't you know?"

	"My roommate used the business section for napkins before I got 
to it today.  We'd been doing pretty good the last few days, though."

	Batman shook his head slowly, wondering how Tim managed to 
live with four other college seniors in a townhouse and still keep Robin a 
secret identity.

	"Don't you have finals?" Batman finally asked.

	"Next week," Tim assured him.  "I'll be coming back to work the 
next Monday."

	Batman grunted.

	"So what is it?  Did stock go down?"

	"No."

	"Oh.  Ok."  Tim sat back on his heels and considered Batman.  
"Did you and Dick get into it again?"

	"No."

	"So what is it?" Tim tried, knowing his chances of getting an 
answer were growing slimmer by the second.  "Woman grief?"  He 
accompanied his query with a solid elbow to Batman's ribs.

	"Yes," Bruce finally growled.

	"No way!  Check that out."  Tim grinned to himself.  "What's up, 
one of those bimbos getting a little too cozy to Bruce Wayne?  Hey, we all 
know those girls are just part of the whole appearance thing and that you 
don't even like them that much anyway.  No problem; cut her loose and 
look all GQ doing it."  

Bruce grunted, floored at how completely Tim missed the point.  

But the boy was still talking.

"Guarantee, you won't even notice she's gone…"

***

	It had been one week and four days since Dinah had kissed his 
cheek and shut the door behind her.  She'd been away on missions longer 
than that.  

	"Oracle, this is Batman."

	"Oracle here."

	"What's going on?"

	"Huh?"  Bruce heard the clatter of computer keys as Barbara drew 
up her night's roster.  "Well, you know about the break-in at First National 
and the fire at Chemcorps Labs, Robin stopped a rapist on Moench and—"

	"Actually, I wanted to know what *you* were doing."

	"Me?"

	Batman waited silently.

	"Um, well, I did some databasing and I'm tracking a sting op that 
Dick and his new partner are doing…uh, I went grocery shopping today?"

	"Nothing going on overseas?"

	"Ah!"  Barbara's voice noticeably brightened.  "You're asking me 
about Dinah," she teased.

	It suddenly occurred to Bruce that Dinah had not mentioned their 
exchange to her partner.  If she had, Barbara would certainly be asserting 
her opinion on him at this very instant.

	"Yeah, actually I was working with her earlier," Barbara 
continued, her voice indicating a certain smugness.  "So you two still 
aren't sleeping together?"

	"So I can assume she still has all pertinent body parts?"

	"You sure can."

	"Thank you, Oracle."  Batman terminated the connection before 
she could reply. "Good grief," he muttered to himself on his way back to 
the Batcave.

***

	Two weeks, one day.

	Bruce reached for his orange juice and made a ground-breaking 
discovery.

	The crossword puzzle in the Gotham City Times was undone.  
Empty.  Virgin.  Untouched by a certain blonde with a Bic pen.  

	This discovery shook Bruce to his very core.  It shook him so that 
he shoved breakfast aside, folded the paper back and immediately began 
examining the clues.

	"Alfred," he asked twenty minutes later, "What was the name of 
the Lone Ranger's brother's horse?  The next to last letter is R."

	"Perhaps," Alfred suggested dryly, "you should do as Miss Dinah 
does and just 'make up' a nice name."

	"But then the other words won't fit."

	Alfred offered a ghost of a smile.  "Then I suppose you'll have to 
make up something to fit in those blanks as well."

	"This is how Dinah does crossword puzzles?"

	"Every time I have observed her, sir."

	Bruce paused, realizing something so obvious that he was 
ashamed.

	"It would be really silly to let go of a woman who makes up her 
own answer to crossword puzzles, wouldn’t it, Alfred?"

	"Indubitably, sir."	

***

	 Bruce buzzed her room, trying to ignore the stares of the rest of 
the lobby.

	"Pizza guy?"  Her voice.  Even through the crappy speakers, it was 
music to his ears.

	"No…Dinah…it's Bruce."

	There was a long pause.

	"I'll come down." 

	He heard the click and knew she'd disconnected.  He paced the 
lobby in his overcoat, ignoring the curious looks from the man at the front 
desk.

	"Wayne."  He turned to find her behind him, wearing red and green 
plaid flannel pants, an oversized sweatshirt with polar bears, and sneakers.  
She had a wool peacoat flung over the entire outfit.

	"Dinah.  You look beautiful."

	She laughed, the sound of silver bells.  "You lie like a rug, 
Wayne."

	"I—"  It had been automatic and he realized that she had probably 
been lounging around her apartment.  "I wanted to talk to you."

	"Let's go outside," she said, her eyes darting pointedly to the desk 
manager.

	"Sure," he agreed, following her out the apartment building door to 
the dazzlingly white outside.  The sun reflected off the snow and played 
gold through her hair.

	"Shoot," she ordered him, once they were clear of the door.

	"I…I…"

	Dinah tilted her head expectantly, nearly blinding him when the 
gold scattered in different directions.

	"Why haven't you left me?"

	"Actually, I was rather under the impression that I had."

	"But you left me room to come back."

	Dinah shrugged.  "Despite popular belief, Wayne, you're not that 
bad a guy.  You don't get cranky about my being away for weeks on end, 
your butler's a great cook, and you're not half bad in bed."  She tugged her 
coat closer around her.  "And you tend not to run around behind my back."

	"I—I haven't been around much, either."  Bruce turned away as he 
tried to articulate the turmoil he was feeling inside.  "I—drive people 
away.  I couldn't figure out why you hadn't left, yet.  So I tried harder."

	"And found out you really didn't want me to go away after all?"

	"Three years, Dinah.  It's been a three year one-night stand.  I—"  
Bruce yelped as he suddenly found a shock of cold melting its way down 
his spine.  He spun on her, eyes wide and mouth open.  "What did you--?"

	Dinah was overcome by laughter, her arms wrapped around her 
sides, as she bent from the waist.  "Wayne, you scream like a girl!" she 
gasped around giggles.  "Oh, that was so worth it!"

	"Are you sure about that, Bird Girl?" he asked.  Before she could 
even straighten, he'd scooped up some snow, packed it into a hard ball, 
and pegged her square in the face.

	"Gah," she grunted, spitting out snow.  "Bird Girl?  What kind of 
lame insult is that?  Are people really afraid of you?  Take this, buster!"  
She bent to form her own snowball when he tackled her, knocking her into 
a snow bank.  She found herself pinned beneath him and immediately 
retaliated with more snow down his jacket.

	"Stop that," he grunted, squirming on top of her.  Faster than she 
could see, he dumped snow down the front of her sweatshirt, eliciting a 
squeal.  "Now who screams like a girl?"

	"I *am* a girl, doofus," she shot back, flipping him onto his back.

	A handful of snow was pressed to the back of her neck.

	"Aieee!"

	And Bruce was back on top, pinning down her torso and limbs.  
"What are you going to do now?" he growled in a voice that was very near 
The Voice, but she heard the teasing edge.

	"Make snow angels?" she suggested, winsomely, trying to shift her 
arms and legs under his grasp.

	"I've got my own," he replied, releasing one arm so he could cup 
her cheek as he kissed her.  

	She tilted her head up to him and took advantage of her free hand, 
reaching for his belt buckle.

	Bruce yelped.  "Are you crazy, woman?  You might want that 
warm, later!"

	"Wayne, you scream like a girl!"

***

The End