Truth & Justice II #6

[Spider-Man Beyond]

The Multiverse Presents

Truth & Justice II #6

Written by JC Roberts (Calamityjamie)

Edited by Daniel Dyer (Spider-Man Beyond)

Multiverse logo created by Tony Peterson (Starfall)

[Spider-Man Beyond]

Roy had not quite touched the doorbell button when Clark opened the door and pulled his old friend into a suffocating bear hug.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Clark said, as Roy breathlessly declared, “It’s great to see you, man.”

“We’re always glad to have you here,” said Clark, leading him into the living room. “Lois will be home in a few minutes. Come into the kitchen for a minute. I have to chop some vegetables.”

Roy started to offer his assistance, but he hadn’t managed to get his mouth halfway open before noticing that the previously empty space in front of Clark on the kitchen island had been magically replaced by a heaping plate of finely sliced tomatoes, celery and peppers. Clark was turned towards the sink, washing off a razor-sharp vegetable knife.

“Can I help set the table?” Roy asked wryly.

“What, you didn’t see me just do it?” asked Clark. He grinned at Roy’s dumbfounded look and handed his friend a trio of dinner plates. “Just kidding.”

Lois joined them a few minutes later, threw her laptop and three briefcases onto the couch and gave Roy a warm hug.

“Where’s Midori?” she asked.

Roy’s faced darkened. “Out at the movies with her new friends.”

“Oh, honey,” Lois said sympathetically. “You didn’t really think she was going to sit in that apartment every night and tinker with her microchips?”

“I kinda did, actually,” Roy said morosely.

Lois smiled, took his hand and led him to the table. “It’s better this way,” she said. “You want to be her choice, not her only option.”

This sounded really good in theory, Roy thought. He was not sure how well it was bearing out in practice. Midori had called him every night while he was sick, but their conversations invariably included an update of her nonstop activities with a bunch of unfamiliar names, among them Tasha, Molly, LaTonya – and Ryan.

Eager to change the subject, he asked, “Where’s Clay tonight?”

Lois frowned. “Out with his new girlfriend.”

“You don’t like her?” Roy asked, selecting a piece of garlic bread from a tray Clark was holding out to him.

“It’s not that,” said Lois. She spooned some salad onto her plate and passed the bowl to Roy. “It’s just that he met her when he was covering a story. She was a witness. I’m not nuts about the ethical questions that presents.”

“That’s right,” Clark deadpanned. “Perry White would never have let one of his reporters date someone they’d quoted describing an armed robbery. That’s almost as bad as – I don’t know – writing article after article about a guy you’d been crushing on since he’d stopped your Space Shuttle from making a crater out of Metropolis.”

“I’m going to hurt you later,” Lois informed her husband, as Roy laughed and bit into his garlic bread.

Clark gave Roy a cautious glance. “It’s our other child I’m wondering about.”

“What are you wondering?” Roy asked with forced politeness. Clark and Lois were cherished friends, but Martha was his daughter’s best friend and a respected member of his team. He did not feel it was his place to disclose her current state of health or the interesting developments in her previously antagonistic relationship with Bruce Wayne. Lian had had quite a lot to say on that last subject – not all of which Roy had taken seriously. Still, he had been intrigued yesterday when he had flown into Gotham to check up on Martha and found her recuperating in a glass-enclosed arboretum at the top of Wayne Manor.

Clark seemed a little embarrassed and Roy could tell he was choosing his words judiciously.

“They still going at it?” he asked finally.

“Oh,” said Roy. “No. They’re behaving themselves.” Or at least they’re not fighting, he thought, wondering if Clark should look quite so relieved.

—

[Spider-Man Beyond]

The night had been frigid again and largely tranquil. By the time the Batmobile glided into the cave, its driver was more than glad to be home. He jumped out of the car, slipped off his mask and headed quickly for the shower. When Alfred’s voice broke across the silent cavern, Bruce was almost surprised. There were still a few hours left until daybreak; the old man was rarely up this early anymore.

“Another early night, sir?” Alfred asked. There was a hint of smugness in his tone.

“There’s no crime out there,” Bruce said defensively. “It’s too cold.”

“Gotham has become a bastion of peace and tranquility over the past few days,” said Alfred with his usual understated sarcasm. “The citizenry will certainly commend your efforts.”

Bruce opened his mouth to respond, thought the better of it, and continued towards the shower. He managed about three steps before the butler’s voice stopped him again.

“Dr. Kent is better and she’s leaving,” announced Alfred, as if this was Bruce’s fault.

It seemed kind of soon to Bruce, considering the extent of Martha’s injuries, but he turned to Alfred as if he couldn’t understand why this development should bother the old man.

“Well – we want her to be better, right?” he asked. Alfred glared at him.

—

[Spider-Man Beyond]

When Bruce walked into the arboretum ten minutes later, Martha was fully dressed. She had styled her hair, applied her make-up and was one-handedly balancing the heavy hospital bed over her left shoulder. She swung toward the door when she heard the ding of the elevator and nearly decapitated a dazzling winter orchid with the end of the bed. As soon as she saw him, Martha smiled.

“You’re wearing a green sweater,” she said.

“Close,” Bruce said. “It’s teal.”

“I think it’s green,” said Martha, as he held up three fingers. “Three.”

He added a finger.

“Four,” she said. Glancing back at the hospital bed dangling from her shoulder, she added, “I was looking for a place to put this.”

“Just leave it,” Bruce said. “You know, you don’t have to – you could stay an extra day, just to be sure.”

Martha smiled. “Thanks, but I’ve gotta get back to work. And you guys have had your lives disrupted enough.” She set the bed down carefully.

Bruce slipped his fingers through his hair just above his right temple and absently cupped the back of his head. Martha had disrupted his life, and not merely by being his houseguest. He saw with a miserable clarity that he wanted her to keep disrupting it.

He did not realize he was staring at her until Martha dropped her eyes to the hospital bed and asked awkwardly, “Are you sure you don’t want me to put this somewhere?”

Bruce shook his head. “I don’t know where it belongs.”

She took a step toward him and started to say something, when the elevator dinged and Alfred pushed the rolling serving cart past the spreading double doors.

“We can’t persuade you to stay another day?” he asked. “Your health –”

Martha offered him the same gracious smile. “I’m perfect, thanks to you guys. And I’ve gotta get back to my –”

“—life,” Bruce filled in, scowling at Alfred as if he were the only one trying to make Martha stay. Martha gave the butler a helpless shrug.

“I expect we’ll still see you for brunch next Sunday?” Alfred asked.

“Of course,” replied Martha, as Bruce said suddenly, “I want to talk to you about that.”

Martha tilted her head toward him, but it was Alfred’s inquisitive gaze that Bruce met.

“I want to discuss this with Dr. Kent,” he said. “I’ll fill you in later.”

He was getting used to Alfred’s dirty looks. As the elevator doors closed behind the indignant butler, Martha asked, “Did you tell him?”

Bruce looked away, but he could feel Martha’s hope-filled eyes linger across his face.

“Christmas,” he muttered. “Isn’t that when everyone gets all sentimental?”

She smiled. “What about Sunday?”

Finally, he was in comfortable territory. “We couldn’t see much of your fight with – what are they calling her?”

“Telekinesis Girl,” said Martha wryly. “Let’s stick to Chatichai until we can come up with something more original.”

“Fine. Like I said, it was pretty hard to see, but I think I could show you a few things that could help you next time you go one-on-one with someone who provides more than the average challenge,” he said. “Maybe hone those fighting skills a little bit.”

“I’m a good fighter,” Martha said indignantly.

“Take away the superpowers and the insane determination,” said Bruce. “Could you take Grendel?”

“Well, he trains all the time,” said Martha. “He’s obsessed.”

“Lian?” asked Bruce.

Martha made a face. “Sunday after brunch?”

“Before brunch. I don’t want you to puke on me. Wear your bracelet,” he added, referring to the silver bangle Superman had designed in collaboration with a cadre of Cadmus scientists in order to help his wife cope with a hyperactive flying toddler. While the alien circuitry and metals encircled Martha’s wrist, she was no more super than anybody else.

“OK. Thank you,” she said quietly. “And for this,” she said, gazing around the plant-filled atrium. “Guess we’re even.”

"I don't want us to be even." The words left his mouth before he could stop them.

"No, I mean... I didn't…" She gave up. "Thank you, Bruce."

He leaned into the hug she gave him with his fists jammed in his pockets. Martha gave his arm a final squeeze and brushed past him. Bruce heard the elevator doors open and the soft pad of her sneakers as she stepped inside. He could feel her eyes on his back, but he didn’t turn around. When the heavy double doors closed behind him, he walked over to a large window facing the vast greenery in the rear of the manor. It was still dark when Martha emerged from a back door a few minutes later. She gave the lonely estate a cautious glance, then segued into her statuesque blonde counterpart and shot into the sky.

The cup of coffee Alfred had left on the cart for Bruce was cold by the time he stepped away from the window. He drank it anyway. He wasn’t worried about the caffeine. He knew he wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon.

—

[Spider-Man Beyond]

Harvey was usually irritable with Martha when she was away from Arkham for more than a few days, but when she opened the door to his cell this time, he gave her a sharp look and followed her quietly down the corridor. It was already late afternoon and the staff parking lot was nearly empty. Harvey walked towards Martha’s office window and gazed at the sinking blood-orange sun.

“So what did the Justice League need you for this time?” he asked, as Martha closed the heavy wooden door behind them. “Someone get hurt at SuperMax?” Arkham prisoners weren’t allowed access to the news, but Harvey had made an art form out of extracting information from guards who believed weren’t telling him anything. Martha smiled. She had brought a few of Josh’s days-old newspapers for Harvey to read, but she wanted to make sure he was doing all right before he became absorbed in them.

“Oh, you know: Had to patch someone up,” she said.

Harvey’s eyes narrowed. “Was this someone yourself?”

Martha’s smile faded.

“You’ve lost about ten pounds,” Harvey said. “You look like a skeleton.”

“Major exaggeration,” said Martha, reaching into the refrigerator under her desk for a few bottles of iced green tea. She added reluctantly, “I kinda ended up in the line of fire for a minute.”

“Just a minute?” he asked skeptically.

“It only took a minute,” Martha said. In response to his dark look, she added, “Believe me – I’ve learned my lesson.”

“I don’t want another doctor,” Harvey said ominously.

“Don’t worry,” said Martha. “You’re stuck with me.”

She turned the conversation toward Harvey and how he’d been feeling over the last few days. He’d been bored, of course, having spent more time alone in his cell than when Martha was working. But he was sleeping better and his nightmares had become less frequent.

“How about that twitchy thing your hand was doing?” Martha asked, leaning back in the padded green office chair and crossing her legs.

He shrugged. “Still twitching. Mostly at night, right before I fall asleep.”

Apologetically, Martha said, “I’m sure it’s a side effect of all the medication you’re taking. I can give you something that would probably make it stop.”

“No thank you,” said Harvey. “I’d rather twitch. Oh, hey,” he added, “did you hear about Fray?”

Martha planted both feet on the floor and leaned forward in her chair. “No. What about him?” Harvey’s network of gossip and hearsay extended way past Arkham’s barbed wire gates.

Harvey grinned. “Joker tried to kill him.”

Martha gaped at him. “No.”

“Yep,” said Harvey, obviously pleased with himself for having delivered an exceptionally luscious piece of gossip. “Tried to kill him. Failed to kill him.”

She moved around her desk. “Harvey, are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure,” he said, studying her urgent expression with interest. “You know my sources are solid.”

“Please name them,” whispered Martha, taking a step closer.

Harvey hesitated. “I’ll give you one. Hartrampf’s lawyer told him and he told me. Our one-man-gang is scared shitless. He doesn’t want anyone to think he’s taking sides.”

Martha threw her arms around Harvey and planted an impassioned kiss on his scarred cheek.

"That was completely unprofessional," said Harvey sternly. "Do it again?"

Martha escorted Harvey back to his cell immediately. She didn’t need to explain herself; Harvey assumed she was going to take the information straight to Batman. He was almost right. Martha returned to her office as quickly as she could – the hallways were vacant, but there were cameras everywhere, so she couldn’t move at super-speed. She locked her office door, grabbed the tiny hologram projector out of her pink nylon backpack, flung open her second-story window and rocketed toward the Narrows.

She wasn’t big on reading the news, but as the daughter of two veteran journalists, Martha understood the need to confirm information before reporting it. She was cruising over Crime Alley within seconds and found Pepper Bennett in the middle of a corpultheszine deal fifteen minutes later. Once more, Bennett’s desperation to evade Superwoman saw him charging headfirst into a wall.

She did not envy Bennett his dilemma: scoring corp in Gotham City bought what amounted to a life sentence; sharing the Joker’s private business with a crime fighter would result in a death sentence – if the mad clown heard about it. Superwoman tipped the scales by asking the acrophobic hoodlum if he had ever been to the top of Cleveland’s Schuster Tower, at 135 stories, the tallest skyscraper in North America. She was headed there now. Would he like a ride?

“The Joker,” Bennett gasped hysterically, “had tried to kill Sean Fray.”

Superwoman shook a few details out of Bennett, pocketed the bag of corp and headed for the office of Michael Harftrampf’s attorney. Everyone in law enforcement knew Carson Faeder. He was rich and sleazy – and also as hardworking as Martha Kent. Superwoman found Faeder at his desk and asked the lawyer why he had a bag of corpultheszine in his top right hand drawer. He immediately named his source on the Joker-Fray split and gave her an address.

Martha Kent landed feet-first through her office window less than an hour after she’d left it. Pacing excitedly, she jabbed at a number on her speed dial menu and nearly destroyed her cell phone when she slammed the small device against her straining ear.

Alfred answered on the second ring and handed the phone to Bruce.

“I have an early Christmas present for you that can’t wait,” she said, her voice nearly vibrating with glee.

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. “Is this a metaphorical Christmas present?”

“It’s a great one,” said Martha rapturously. “You know that old Masonic temple on the edge of Crime Alley? The one with all the gargoyles on it?”

“Yes.”

“How soon can you meet me there?”

They agreed on an hour. It was a twenty-five second flight for Martha, but she was there fifteen minutes early.

—

[Spider-Man Beyond]

Bruce stared at the telephone mouthpiece with mild amusement before replacing it on the kitchen wall. Then he poured himself a glass of water and added a dropper full of concentrated vitamin supplements. Swirling the mix idly, he asked, “Did we get Dr. Kent a Christmas present?”

“Yes,” said Alfred, turning towards him from where he stood at the sink. He waited for the obvious question.

“What did we get her?” Bruce asked, as he took a swig of water.

“A five hundred dollar gift card from Victoria’s Secret,” the butler said evenly. Bruce spewed water all over his pajama bottoms, his bare feet and some of the floor. Alfred whipped back around to the sink to conceal a smirk.

“Very funny.” Bruce glared at Alfred’s shaking shoulders and reached for a roll of paper towels.

Alfred faced him again. The old man’s faded blue eyes shone with mirth, but he folded his arms determinedly across his chest and said, “You’ve a week left until Christmas. I’m sure you’ll be able to find something for her by then.”

Bruce hadn’t chosen a present for someone by himself in more than ten years, and that had been a retirement gift for Jim Gordon. He was sure Martha wouldn’t want a new bag of golf clubs. He did not want to have to think about what kind of gift would make Martha Kent happy. He thought it best not to think about her at all.

“You didn’t get her anything?” he asked helplessly.

“The gift I bought for Dr. Kent,” said Alfred, “is just from me.”

—

[Spider-Man Beyond]

Martha was straddling a gargoyle when Batman crept onto the rooftop. He watched the soles of her Reeboks bounce restlessly against the stone beast’s flanks like a cowgirl coaxing a reluctant mare. He allowed one of his boots to drag briefly against the gravel roof, making just enough noise to let her know he had joined her.

As she leapt off the gargoyle and rushed toward him with nearly maniacal excitement, Batman said, “Someone’s going to think you’re a jumper.”

Martha shook her head. “No. This is the dark side of the building. It’s like being invisible.”

Batman gave her a peculiar look. “You hang out here a lot?”

“Yeah. It’s a great place to think,” Martha said.

“I know,” he said. He’d been coming to this spot for the past thirty years, whenever he needed to think or sometimes to just clear his head.

Martha reached out and gently took his gloved thumb.

“Ready?” she asked softly. Her eyes shone beatifically.

“I think so,” he said, uncertainly. His boots felt as if they were welded to the rooftop.

She shut her eyes, savoring the pure joy of what she was about to tell him, then opened them and said, “The Joker tried to kill Fray.”

“What?” The news should not have surprised him: Double-crossing his partners was hardly out of character for the Joker – yet Batman was thunderstruck.

“The match made in hell is Splitsville,” said Martha giddily. She told him about Harvey’s revelation and the lengths she had gone to verify it.

“Really good work,” said Batman, still trying to wrap his mind around the news.

Martha beamed. “It’s going to be so much easier to catch them now.”

She let go of his thumb and stepped back to look more comfortably into his eyes. “I mean, I know you’re going to want to go after Fray alone.”

Batman felt a lurch in his chest that had nothing to do with Fray’s expulsion from the Joker’s deranged orbit. In all likelihood, he would have learned about the split before the end of the night’s patrol. But he had wondered for months how he would make Martha see that as glad as he was to have her in on the legwork, in the end, he had to take down Fray by himself – and it turned out she already knew.

Alfred had said something at Thanksgiving regarding Martha’s ability to understand Bruce’s life’s work, but this was about more than that. It was about Martha understanding him. Other than Alfred, Dick and Tim, there weren’t a whole lot of people who had ever done that. None of them had been women.

“I figured I could still get in on the Joker, though, right?” Martha was saying.

“Of course,” Batman said as he struggled to get a grip on his overloaded head.

Martha looked up at the moon as if it were a watch and said, “Well, I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll be playing catch-up for days.” She meant twenty-four hour days.

As she stepped jauntily onto the head of a gargoyle and reached towards the projector on her hip, he called, “Martha.”

Their eyes held together and suddenly her jubilant smile melted away. She seemed bewildered – vulnerable – and very young.

“It was a great one,” he said. “Your present.”

With startled eyes still locked on Batman’s, Martha stepped backwards, forgetting there was nothing behind her but air. She lost her footing on the gargoyle’s granite skull and plummeted toward the street.

Alarmed, Batman rushed to the edge of the roof. As he peered into the darkness, Superwoman torpedoed past him, hurtling straight into the heavens and too quickly out of his sight.

—

[Spider-Man Beyond]

When Lian saw the light under the door as she stood in the hallway and dug around for her keys, she assumed Martha had forgotten to turn it off. She had seen her roommate early that morning – obscenely early, in Lian’s opinion – and Martha had told her she’d be spending the night in her office at Arkham. Lian believed her – she knew Martha would be antsy until she’d caught up with all of her work, so she was surprised, when she flung open the door, to see her roommate huddled over the kitchen table with a dozen bottles of Lian’s nail polish and what looked like a small white plastic elbow joint.

“Oh, hi,” Martha said, without looking up. She stroked at the piece of plastic with a tiny bright green polish brush. “I hope you don’t mind me using your nail polish. I’ll pay for anything I use up.”

Lian flung out an arm and her purse bounced against the back of the worn teal couch. She gave her roommate a critical squint.

“I wouldn’t mind at all if you were using it to paint your nails. You don’t do that enough,” she said. “But you’re –” Lian quit trying to guess. “What exactly are you doing?”

“I’m making Josh a custom-decorated asthma inhaler,” said Martha, reaching for a vial of purple polish. Lian plopped into the other kitchen chair and gazed patiently into her roommate’s eyes until Martha was forced to look up at her.

“Are you sure all the brain damage was physical?” she asked kindly.

“Yes, and it’s gone,” said Martha, returning to her project. Lian was sure she was intentionally avoiding eye contact. “I’m giving him presents for every day of Hanukkah and this is one of them.”

Lian sat back in the chair and examined her suspiciously. “I was sitting right here when Josh told you his family didn’t give each other presents all eight days and that he thought that it was a myth perpetrated by the toy companies,” she said.

“I know that.” Martha screwed the top back on the purple polish and reached for another bottle. “But Josh deserves eight presents. He’s a good boyfriend.”

“He’s a spectacular boyfriend,” said Lian. “And what’s wrong?”

Martha glanced at her with eyes that were just a little too wide. “Nothing.”

“Oh, please, sweetie,” Lian said. “No one starts talking about what a good boyfriend they have unless it’s all started to slide south.”

The overblown scope of this declaration seemed to steady Martha.

“That’s not true,” she said reasonably.

Lian searched her roommate’s face. “Bet I know what it is.”

Martha’s eyes dropped to the half-painted inhaler and this time when she spoke, she sounded miserable. “It isn’t anything.”

Taking pity on her friend, Lian offered Martha some sky-blue polish. “It’s a nice gift,” she said. “Every time Josh breathes a little easier, he’ll think of you.”

—

[Spider-Man Beyond]

With Martha disinclined to discuss anything juicy, Lian quickly wearied of the strange holiday art project and did not remain at the kitchen table for long. After a few minutes, she said goodnight and headed into the shower. As soon as Martha heard the familiar moan of pipes and rush of water, she carefully tightened the nail polish bottles and slipped out the living room window.

She flew fast but aimlessly against the December wind, somehow winding up at an indistinguishable coastline she thought might be in Connecticut or Massachusetts. The seat of the lifeguard tower she’d dropped into was covered with a film of snow, but Martha ignored the clammy discomfort and stared unhappily into the choppy ocean.

She felt like she was 14 again, mooning over Batman with a blind and naked ardor that had mortified both of her parents and the Dark Knight himself. Never mind that this time it was different: Half her lifetime ago, she had been a child fascinated by a mask and a mystery. Now she was a woman drawn to a man she was beginning to know. The distinction was unimportant; if Bruce discovered her feelings, the outcome would be the same: He would do whatever he could to avoid her and the deepening friendship they’d developed would abruptly end. She didn’t want that. The time they spent together had come to mean a lot to her.

Martha could lie to herself no more easily than she could to anyone else: She’d felt flashes of attraction to Bruce Wayne since the night they had taken Alfred to the hospital. She had shrugged them off as a natural facet of a developing friendship between a man and woman, something that one might expect – and ignore. But the emotions that hammered through her on the rooftop of the Masonic temple had struck with an overpowering and undeniable force. She could not afford to feel them again – she knew it would be impossible for her to hide them. It might take Bruce a while to catch on, but she was certain Alfred would nail her in a second. He had already made a few not-so-oblique comments recently about the difficulties many crimefighters faced in finding a truly understanding partner among the civilian population. Martha had pointed out that her mother was not a superhero.

“She practically is,” replied Alfred, not inaccurately.

Martha stood on the lifeguard stand and stretched, her eyes still on the rocky waters. She was a mental health professional, she told herself, and she was going to use every technique in her psychiatric repertoire to make this go away. She would start with denial. She was not going to lose Bruce Wayne’s friendship – and possibly her boyfriend – over a hopeless childhood crush.

She headed back to Gotham City, instinctively speeding towards Arkham Asylum. It seemed like a very good time to bury herself in her work.

—

[Spider-Man Beyond]

Bruce closed the front door of the mansion behind Roy and banged on a wall-mounted intercom with the bottom of his fist. “I answered the door,” he said almost defiantly. “I saw that it was Mr. Harper and I let him in.”

Roy was impressed by the sheer magnitude of the frostiness Alfred was able to convey silently through the intercom. “Yes, sir,” the butler said finally.

“He’s up on the fourth floor,” muttered Bruce to Roy, as he led him into the living room. “You’d have given up and left before he made it to the door.”

Roy smiled. “He still trying to run the place by himself?”

Bruce made an impatient face and stopped to run his hand through hair that was still damp from a shower. He was wearing a casual pair of dark slacks and a dark green sweater.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“Oh, I –” Roy felt suddenly embarrassed. “I brought you a Christmas card.” He immediately realized that he should have taken the card out of the plastic Rite-Aid bag before handing it to Bruce. It was pretty obviously just an excuse to drop by.

Roy had no real reason for being in Gotham City twice in less than a week, but as Christmas drew closer, his isolated home in Colorado seemed less of a sanctuary and more like a lonely sort of limbo. He had hoped to take Lian, and maybe Martha, out for Sunday brunch, but neither one of them were home when he knocked at their apartment. He had no idea where his daughter was, but Martha’s whereabouts became immediately evident: She was sitting cross-legged in an overstuffed armchair in Bruce Wayne’s living room, engrossed in a medical textbook about half her size. His team doctor was wearing a T-shirt, shorts, her silver bracelet – and a delighted smile, when she saw Roy.

“A little underdressed for December, aren’t you?” Roy asked as he untangled himself from her hug.

“Bruce spent the morning beating me up,” Martha replied, removing the slim bracelet and zipping it carefully into a small pocket of the nylon backpack she’d left by the armchair. “And it didn’t occur to me to bring a change of clothes.”

“What, you’re actually training?” Roy asked. He looked at Bruce. “Great.”

“Figured we might want to avoid any more Montanas,” Bruce said simply, as Martha protested, “Hey, I have a busy life!”

“I’m all for that,” Roy said to Bruce.

Turning to Martha, he asked, “Is this going to be an ongoing thing?”

“It better be,” said Bruce, before she could open her mouth. “All she did today was fall down.”

Martha tried to stuff the enormous medical textbook into her backpack. “Kept getting up, though,” she said. She managed to jam the book halfway into the largest chamber of the pink nylon bag, but she couldn’t get it zipped.

“I’ve got to go. Josh and I are going Christmas shopping,” she said.

“He’s Jewish and you’re a Buddhist,” said Roy. “What kind of shopping are you going to do?”

“I still do Christmas,” Martha protested. “And Josh is going to be Santa Claus tomorrow at the Cambria Street Soup Kitchen. We’ve got to find him a beard.”

Roy’s eyes flicked toward Bruce, who was wearing a particularly stoic expression.

“Where’s Midori?” Martha asked.

“Out at a concert with her new friends,” Roy said tonelessly.

Martha smiled. “That doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to hear from her old friends. Especially when they’re you.”

”I don’t know,” he said. “She seems pretty busy with LaTonya and Molly – and Ryan.”

Martha’s eyes sparkled as she slung the backpack over her shoulder and the medical book went flying. Bruce absently caught it and handed it back to her silently. As she looked up to thank him, their eyes met for the first time since Roy walked into the room and he knew as a certainty that Lian’s suspicions about the two of them were on target. Martha looked away instantly and tucked the book under her arm. Bruce’s eyes fell hastily to the lush ivory-colored carpet.

The moment was awkward, but fleeting. Martha flung her free arm around Roy’s neck, stood on her toes and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Ryan is a girl,” she whispered.

Roy repeated, “A girl?”

She grinned. “Merry Christmas.”

—

[Spider-Man Beyond]

Bruce told Roy to help himself to the bar while he walked Martha to the door. It must have been a more distant door than the one he walked through earlier. Roy was halfway through his glass of Evian before his host returned to the living room. Bruce stepped behind the bar, fixed himself the same drink and flopped into an armchair next to his guest. Roy flashed what he hoped was a friendly grin, but apparently it came out as the leer he was trying to suppress.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Bruce said. “Or I will kick you out of here.”

“I didn’t say a word,” said Roy, as Alfred shuffled into the room.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” said the butler, whose tone bore no trace of its previous resentment. “Can I offer either one of you some hot apple cider? Or some non-alcoholic eggnog?”

“Apple cider would be great,” said Roy. “It’s cold out there.”

Bruce thanked Alfred, but said he’d stick to water. He watched the elderly man walk carefully out of the room and said, “She’s going to get herself killed.”

“Yes, she is,” agreed Roy softly. He absently jiggled the ice cubes in his empty water glass. “We treat her like a female version of Superman and she keeps trying to act like one. She’ll be dead by the time she’s thirty-five.”

But it was nowhere near that simple, Roy thought. There had been no reason to think Martha couldn’t handle Pillan or the telekinetic at SuperMax, Roy thought. She’d beaten Pillan easily before and Wally had handily taken down Chatichai in Minneapolis. Roy could not think of a single precaution that would have changed the outcome of the battle in Montana. He did not believe Martha had been particularly reckless, or that he could have assessed the degree of danger she faced with any greater precision. And yet there was no denying that the second-least vulnerable member of his team was almost always the one who was most seriously hurt.

“She needs to change her name,” Bruce said thoughtfully.

“Excuse me?” Roy asked. He set his glass on a coaster and fixed his host with a skeptical stare.

“And the costume,” Bruce added.

“Oh, that’s gonna go over great,” Roy said. “I want to be there when you tell her to reject her father and all that he stands for.”

“He doesn’t stand for a name and a costume,” Bruce snapped. “You said it yourself: We look at her with that red cape and that big yellow ‘S’ and think ‘Superman’.”

“You don’t,” said Roy, searching Bruce’s face carefully. “Not anymore.”

“None of us should,” said Bruce, without looking at him.

Roy slumped back into the armchair. “I was planning to talk to her again anyway,” he said. “For whatever good that’ll do.”

Alfred re-entered the room and the sweet scent of apple cider filled the room. He handed Roy a steaming mug garnished with a long cinnamon stick, nodded courteously at Roy’s expression of gratitude and glided out of the room.

“Why did Clark let her get started so early?” Bruce asked. “Fourteen?”

“I don’t know, Bruce,” Roy said sarcastically. “Why don’t you ask Dick? Or Tim?”

Bruce shut his eyes. “Or you.”

“Well,” said Roy lightly. “I do hold the distinction of being the only former teen sidekick to shoot heroin. But this lifestyle leaves some kind of tracks on everyone.”

—

[Spider-Man Beyond]

The concert had been interesting – full of strange rituals involving disposable lighters and excessive swaying – and dinner at Mexican Radio had been wonderful. Midori lived only a few blocks from the trendy Warren Street restaurant, but she didn’t eat there nearly as often as she liked. Mostly, she just snacked while working on some gadget or another that she hoped would make it easier for her teammates to do their jobs. Eating out with her new friends was a treat, as long as she did it in moderation. Most of their conversations seemed to revolve around television shows Midori had no time to watch, or movie stars she had never heard of. She could only bear so much of this sort of talk before longing for the solitude of her lab.

She slipped the keys from her purse as she climbed the short flight of stairs to her apartment. It was still fairly early. She could get a few hours of work in before –

Midori froze at the top of the landing. Roy was standing in front of her apartment door.

“Hi,” he said seriously. His eyes swept down the length her black cashmere pea coat and back up to her perplexed yellow eyes.

“Hi,” Midori answered, at once glad and confused. She waited for Roy to explain his presence, but he merely continued to look at her. “Is everything all right? Do we have a mission?”

“No,” said Roy. “I mean, everything’s fine.”

She stepped toward the door. “Do you want to come in?”

Roy nodded. When Midori started to slip her key into the lock, she saw him lift his eyes to a spot just above her head. He had tacked a battered piece of mistletoe to the top of the door frame.

Midori took a panicked step back and pointed vaguely in the direction of the League’s local headquarters. “I left my notes in the lab,” she stuttered. Roy pressed his fingers in the corners of his eyes while Midori rambled for a few moments about nose position and neck torque and then he leaned in and touched his lips to hers.

“That’s all there is to it,” he whispered.

A little dazed, but believing him mistaken, Midori helpfully pointed out that he hadn’t used his tongue.

“Sorry about that,” said Roy, leaning in for a second kiss. “I won’t forget again.”

—

[Spider-Man Beyond]

Bruce hung up the telephone in his den and sat back in the black leather office chair. He swung his feet onto the blotter that protected the cherry wood desk and folded his arms behind his head. When he heard the soft knock at the door, he smiled.

“Come in, Alfred,” he said.

The butler handed him a cup of tea, some of the organic spicy stuff Martha had brought into his kitchen several months ago. Bruce suspected Alfred had ordered a case of it – he served it all the time now.

“Not going out tonight, sir?” Alfred asked.

“I’ll be leaving soon,” said Bruce, leaning back in the chair with a creak as he regarded the butler with open fondness. Alfred frowned suspiciously at the younger man’s uncharacteristically warm expression.

“I was just finalizing some arrangements for Dr. Kent’s Christmas present,” said Bruce, adding, “It’s way better than yours.”

“You don’t know what mine is,” retorted the butler indignantly.

“Doesn’t matter,” said Bruce. “Mine’s better.”

“Really,” said Alfred with a mixture of umbrage and curiosity.

Bruce nodded. “You were right to make me get something for her on my own. She’s been a good friend and ally and she deserves something personal.”

Alfred’s eyes narrowed into mistrustful slits. “Really,” he said again.

“And you were looking out for me the way you always do,” Bruce continued. “Because that’s what family does.”

The old butler stared at him, immobile and speechless. He obviously believed Bruce’s body had been overtaken by evil forces.

“You are my family, you know,” said Bruce, his tone noticeably more sincere. “I lost my father when I was eight years old, but I didn’t grow up without one. You’ve always been there. You’ve been my father.”

The two men shared a brief, deep look. Then a glint of triumph slowly surfaced behind Bruce’s dark blue eyes.

Alfred regarded him stonily. "I take it that was your present to Dr. Kent?"

"Part of it," said Bruce cheerfully. "Beat that if you can." He took a sip of tea.

"There's still another shopping day before Christmas," said Alfred ominously. He left the room rather quickly.

—

[Spider-Man Beyond]

Sean Fray’s unfortunate escape from the gas-filled girl’s locker room made another quick relocation necessary, but the Joker found his new digs charming. It was a temporary home – but weren’t they all? Gotham University’s College of Dental Medicine would re-open after the Christmas holiday. Meanwhile, there were comfy couches for all of his men and so many nitrous oxide tanks to refill. Laughing gas was laughing gas, after all. Why quibble about brand names? What really mattered in the end was helping the patient achieve that perfect smile.

The dental lab offered certain advantages to the Joker’s new partner, who, like Sean Fray, had an affinity for technology. Of course, Seannie was an amateur compared to his successor. The Joker had definitely traded up.

It was unfortunate that his new ally also shared Fray’s lack of holiday spirit, thought the Joker, as he watched his men decorate a Douglas fir with dentures, dental dams and little boxes of tooth floss. It was a cultural issue, though, and there was nothing to be done about it. The Joker didn’t mind these little lessons in tolerance. They made for a better world.

“Is the tree necessary?” asked his new ally in the deep, flat voice the Joker had come to enjoy.

“Oh, absolutely. If only to put something under it for you,” the Joker replied. “You came bearing the most magnificent gifts – our very own wise man.”

“Nothing you can put under a tree, though.”

“And, yet, the finest Christmas presents I have ever received,” said Joker.

“I’m glad you believe you can make use of them.”

The Joker’s mad eyes widened and his green brows nearly touched his hairline. “That Harvey’s little doctor is Superwoman?” he replied. “That makes quite a stocking stuffer. A double stuffer if you draw the obvious conclusion about dear old dad.”

“I’ve known him for a long time,” his companion said. “As the years pass, you pick up on a few things.”

The Joker continued dreamily, “And then there’s the greatest gift of all. And it isn’t learning to love yourself. It’s learning that Batman is an aging playboy with a 92-year-old surrogate father who isn’t going to live to see 93.”

“It’s a cardinal mistake to kill friends and family. And it’s inefficient.”

There was suddenly not a hint of mirth on the Joker’s distorted face.

“Do you know what Batman did to me?” he asked, his eyes distant and ugly. “He had me put into a medically induced coma for months until my cell at Arkham was ready. And it wasn’t like going beddy-bye. I was ricocheting off the walls in my own skull for what seemed like centuries – and it was no fun in there. It made a padded cell seem like a moon bounce.

“I want him to suffer first,” the psychotic jester added. “Just in case death doesn’t hurt.”

His partner replied, “It would be more efficient to terminate Martha Kent. That would damage Batman, if we can believe the telephone conversation we intercepted between Arsenal and his daughter. And I’d love to see what it would do to Superman.”

The Joker pointed out that Superwoman would be more difficult to kill than an old man.

“It doesn’t matter. She’s a member of the Justice League. In the end we kill them all,” said Brainiac.

Continued...