Roy had been standing out in the cold for three or four minutes, when Martha text messaged him.
AP coming from 3rd fl. Can’t piss him off. Hang in there.A few minutes later, she added,
On 2nd fl now. Sorry.Apparently, the only man in the world Batman feared was an ancient butler. It would have been funny, Roy thought, if not for the fact that tender body parts were freezing. He wiggled his toes and stared at the door knob, as if he could will it to start turning.
Almost there! : )Martha’s text arrived around the same time as Alfred, who greeted Roy warmly and apologized for the delay. As he led him to the living room, the old man asked Roy if he could take his coat.
Roy hesitated. He was pretty sure his wool coat was heavier than Alfred. When he finally turned it over, he was relieved to see the elderly butler handling the long garment without difficulty.
“Sorry,” said Bruce, once the old man had shuffled out of the room. “I just spent more than a week on his bad side and I don’t want to go back there again.” He drew up a chair for Roy at the table where he and Martha had been playing chess.
“I don’t know if I want to hug you,” Roy informed Martha, letting her do it anyway. She looked up at him, perplexed.
“You told Midori she shouldn’t have sex with me until she was 100 percent comfortable. She says she’s only at 83 percent,” he complained. “Jeez, Martha. Who’s completely comfortable the first time?”
She looked surprised. “I was.”
“Yeah, well you.” Roy ticked off on his fingers. “Sixteen, steady boyfriend, no chance of accidental pregnancy or STDs. What did you have to be afraid of?”
Martha cocked an eyebrow at him. “A broken heart?”
“Check,” said Bruce, whose eyes were boring into the hand-carved stone chessboard.
“You wish,” Martha said, moving a knight in front of her king. She looked across the board expectantly.
“Were
you comfortable the first time?” Roy asked Bruce.
“Well,” said Bruce, sliding his queen diagonally toward Martha’s rook. “I was kind of concerned about how it would affect my grades.”
“Your
teacher?” Roy’s voice rose an octave and Martha laughed.
“Tutor,” said Bruce. “My last female one, once Alfred found out.”
“How old were you?”
“Young,” said Bruce.
“Felony young,” added Martha. “As Alfred ferociously pointed out to the gold-digging study buddy in question.”
Roy gave her a quizzical glance, then turned back to Bruce. “You tell her everything.” He nodded sideways at Martha.
“I might as well,” said Bruce, repositioning his queen. “Or Alfred will just do it for me. Check.”
Martha moved a piece and Bruce gave the board a disbelieving look.
“You’re supposed to knock your king over when that happens,” Martha told him.
“Personally,” she added to Roy, “I think the topic of conversation swung conditions in my favor.” She stood up and slung her backpack over her shoulder. “Want me to talk to Midori again?”
“Absolutely not,” Roy said as he and Bruce got to their feet. “Where you off to?”
“Metropolis. Sunday dinner.” Martha gave him a quick hug, then turned to smile up at Bruce, whose eyes fastened soberly on hers. His hands, Roy noticed, were tucked carefully into his pockets.
“Have a good time,” Bruce said and her smile deepened. They agreed they would see each other at an unspecified “later”.
Roy settled into what had become his favorite armchair. He took a cautious sip from a mug of blistering coffee and watched Bruce out of the corner of his eye.
Bruce gazed into his own steaming cup and said nothing.
“Slept with her?” Roy asked finally.
“No!” Bruce stared into his coffee. "Almost," he added quietly.
“What happened?” Roy asked. He was not shocked by the admission, but he was a little surprised at Bruce’s willingness to make it. Roy now understood why he had been invited to dinner. Batman might be able to go it alone, but Bruce Wayne needed someone to talk to.
Without lifting his eyes from the coffee cup, Bruce mumbled that the celebration following Fray’s capture had gotten out of hand and that fortunately, he and Martha had been interrupted.
“That was fortunate,” Roy agreed wryly. “Because, otherwise you might be – what’s the word? –
happy right now.”
Bruce examined the ceiling. “Yeah. I’d be going to Sunday dinner in Metropolis.
“It was an– aberration,” he added. “We’re friends.”
“So become better friends,” Roy suggested. “You two are really good together.”
“Her boyfriend would disagree with you,” Bruce said. He stared into the unlit fireplace.
Roy searched his friend’s hardened face and said slowly, “Martha broke up with Josh.”
Bruce’s head whipped toward him. “
When?”
“About a week ago,” said Roy. “I’m guessing right after your ‘aberration’.”
“She didn’t tell me,” Bruce said hoarsely.
“Well,” said Roy. “She was pretty upset about having to hurt him. Lian said she spent a lot of time crying.
“It was the right thing to do,” he added. “She wasn’t in love with him.”
“She… um,” Bruce wet his lips. “She did stay away for a couple of days after… I thought maybe she was spending some extra time with him.”
“Just the opposite,” said Roy. “So if that was a concern…”
But Bruce was shaking his head. "I'm too old for her," he said.
"You might be," Roy said. "If you believe both of you are going to live to be, say, Alfred's age. Which I find highly unlikely."
“So she’s stuck with an old man or a dead one,” Bruce said. He leaned forward to set his untouched cup onto the coffee table.
"I wasn't actually talking about you," Roy replied softly.
Bruce froze, still bent over the coffee table. “Don’t say that.”
“Wow,” said Roy. “A few months ago, you were saying it.”
Bruce straightened slowly in his chair and continued to gaze vacantly into the fireplace. Neither man spoke for a while.
“Bruce,” Roy said eventually. “What makes you think she’d be happy with anyone else?” When Bruce didn’t answer, he continued, “Look at who her father is –”
“Yeah, that makes everything less complicated,” Bruce said sarcastically.
“Listen,” Roy said patiently. “Her father’s Superman. How many men are going to measure up to that? I can think of –” he glanced up at the ceiling and blew air between his lips in a soft raspberry. “–one.” He stared pointedly at Bruce.
“I don’t think Martha’s a Freudian,” Bruce said, reddening. “Never mind the ludicrous comparison.”
Roy slid his empty cup onto the coffee table. “Spare me the modesty. There’s the two of you, and then there’s everyone else.
“She understands you. You trust her. You’re attracted to her,” Roy continued. “For God’s sake, don’t throw that away.”
“I’m not throwing anything away,” Bruce said. “We’re friends.” He collected the coffee cups and placed them onto the cart Alfred had rolled in earlier. “I hope you don’t mind pasta. Alfred the Matchmaker doesn’t buy meat anymore. What?” he asked irritably as his guest snorted.
“I’m glad he’s the boss of you,” Roy replied. “That puts someone in this house on your side.”
—