Wyoming stood in the hallway, glancing at his watch every so often. Finally, as the minute hand struck nine, he walked around the corner and gave a soft knock on the metal door. A few seconds passed, then the door slid to the side, revealling the Director standing somewhat stiffly by the doorway. Wyoming had known they were going to meet, but was still very surprised by just how sharply the man was dressed, sporting a black suit with a yellow bat-shaped symbol where a corsage would normally be. “Good afternoon,” Wyoming said, stroking the thin false mustache he’d bought the day before.
However, his words were met only by a cocked eyebrow and he sighed, correcting himself. “Good afternoon, /Master Wayne/.”

                The Director stepped out of his room, tapping 1177 into the keypad next to the door and pausing to make sure it slid shut. Finally, he turned to Wyoming and asked, “So, what is ouh plan foh this evehning, Alfrehd?”

Wyoming took on a more posh, exaggerated accent and said, “Well, I was thinking we could go out to Finnigan’s, sir.”

The Director looked at him with a hint of surprise, then nodded. “Guhd thinking. With so mahny officuhs theuh, we cahn also listuhn in on theuh radios in case of an emuhgehncy.”

Inwardly, Wyoming sighed with relief, having passed the first challenge with flying colors. He’d spent nearly three days straight studying comic books loaned to him by North. Bowing slightly, he said, “If you’ll follow me, Master, I’ll lead the way to the garage.”

With that, Wyoming led the way, glancing back occasionally to be sure that ‘Bruce’ was still trailing him. They soon reached a fork in the path, the left leading to the personnel quarters while the right curved around the cafeteria to the garage. Wyoming took the left, the Director behind him staring quizzically as he followed. In the hallway, they passed Maine, who paused, then hurried past them, glancing again to make sure that they were real, rushing to his room.

Next they saw Wash, who did a doubletake and started snickering. “Nice mustache!” he called.

Wyoming grinned in response, replying with, “Thank you, Selina.”

Washington stared after him in confusion. “Sel-“, he started, but was interrupted by Wyoming. “That will be all, Miss Kyle.”

As Wash grew more baffled, Wyoming thought he saw a tug of a smile at the corner of the Director’s mouth. As they made their way through, they passed the last room and the door swung open, Tex stepping out. “Pamela Isley,” Wyoming greeted, frowning slightly at her.

He didn’t bother looking at the Director, knowing he’d disprove. They continued through in silence. Once they reached the garage, however, they were greeted by Maine wearing a pair of glasses and a thick white mustache. Wyoming gave him a smile as they passed. “Commissioner, good to see you.”

Maine nodded, giving them a slight wave as they walked away towards a sleek black car, as expensive as it was amazing. Reaching into a small slot on his belt, the Director pulled out a single key and handed it to Wyoming. Taking the driver’s seat, the Brit glanced into the rearview mirror to check that the Director was ready, then began the drive.

After a horribly long drive full of Wyoming being forced to stop at red lights and slow drivers impeding his way as though he were one of them, a member of the common rabble, Wyoming had lost nearly forty-five minutes along with the majority of his patience. They had a quiet dinner full of the Director feigning eavesdropping on the nonexistent police radio. After nearly an hour, the expensive food became replaced with expensive wine they both sipped. Wyoming was a bit more careful about drinking it, diluting it by alternating between it and tea. He was the chauffeur after all. Once they felt they both had had enough, the Director nodded at Wyoming and said, “Prepauh the cah, Alfrehd. Ah’ll pay foh the meal.”

The returning ride was much faster as the traffic had waned. When they left the garage, they found South and C.T. talking to each other in the hallway. South groaned when she glimpsed them, recognizing them from her brother’s comics. Wyoming ignored her and gave C.T. a wink. “Mister Cobblepot.”

She gave him a scowl with a hint of a chuckle, then resumed talking to South as though they had never passed. Once they reached the Director’s room, he sloppily typed in the code, messing up the first time. Once inside and the door had closed, Wyoming planted his lips against the Director’s, who kissed him back for a moment before pausing to hit a hidden button on the side of his desk, sliding open a small entryway to a bedroom. Wyoming grinned at him and said, ‘Shall we go to the batcave, Master Wayne?’

The Director shivered slightly, releasing a moan. “Ah luhve it when you call me Mastah Wayne, Ahllis-Frehd!” correcting it at the last minute.

The Brit pretend not to notice this and made a silent vow to himself to make sure that the Director would have a night to remember.





sweet sweet baby