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Chapter 35 - A Pineapple Under the Sea

Bruce watched the brightly-colored cartoon character bounce across the TV screen, his brow furrowed in concentration. The high-pitched voices of the cartoons worked on his mind like the sound of nails scraping down a chalkboard, but Lucy seemed to like them. They sat on one of the huge leather sofas in the East Wing media room, which was a converted parlor soundproofed and renovated into a home theatre. Bruce had approved the installation of a 40� plasma television, surround-sound speakers and a powerful satellite system when Tim was living at the manor. Bruce had discovered he�d never even set foot in this room before Lucy had quietly suggested that morning that they watch some TV. He had started to object but the Lucy hadn�t known where to find a working set and Alfred had gone into the city to do some grocery shopping. Television seemed a preferable alternative to entertaining a five year-old by himself.

Bruce heard the door to the media room open and turned his head. Lucy, who was curled up in the opposite corner of the couch, didn�t look up from the TV. �Hi Selina,� the little girl chirped.

�Hi,� Selina replied, coming around to stand at the back of the couch. She touched the top of Lucy�s head, her hand lingering on the child�s soft, dark hair. �What are you watching?�

�I have no idea,� Bruce replied, blinking to help clear his head. �Have you ever seen this before?�

Selina glanced at the television. �Sure, Holly and Karon like it.�

�But this character�he�s a sponge?�

�With square pants,� Selina supplied, smiling softly.

�And he lives in a pineapple?�

�Under the sea.�

Bruce frowned at the TV. �He�s friends with a talking starfish. Named Patrick.�

She couldn�t help it. She smiled at the sight of Bruce, completely perplexed, glaring at the TV in disapproval as a yellow cartoon danced and sang about nautical nonsense and good nutrition. She shook her head. Sometimes it was tough to separate the man from the Bat.

Lucy looked up, arching her back over the armrest of the couch to speak to Selina upside down. Mr. Pickles and his new friend the rhino from Bloomington�s slid slowly to the floor.

�Are you okay?� Lucy asked. Selina nodded.

�Just tired.�

Lucy righted herself, looked at Bruce and then back at Selina. �I�ll be in the kitchen,� the little girl announced solemnly, sliding off the couch and padding off to the kitchen, each of the big stuffed animals tucked securely her arms. Selina sighed and sat down on the couch next to Bruce. He turned off the television.

�More deaths in Ottisburg?�

Selina nodded, her eyes burning. �An old woman. SMILE-EX again. We were too late.�

�The nerve agent works quickly,� Bruce told her, his voice soft. �Any clues?�

She shook her head. �Nothing. I�m starting to think we won�t catch this guy.�

�We will,� he said in a tone that booked no refusal. �The evidence is there. We just have to put it together.�

She sighed and leaned against his chest. He stroked her hair, noting how good she felt against him. How right. Asking her to stay had been the best decision he could have made.

�There is another option,� he said quietly. She felt the vibrations of his deep baritone through his chest. Selina let her eyes fall closed.

�Mmm?� she murmured, exhaustion already starting to claim her senses. Bruce dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

�Lucy might be able to tell us.�

Selina�s eyes flew open. She sat up and turned, watching his face. Bruce continued to speak.

�She might know who�s doing this. She could help us save some lives.�

Selina stood, scrambling off the couch, wanting suddenly to be as far away from him as possible.

�It�s an option we should consider,� Bruce said quietly.

Selina folded her arms. �You want to ask Lucy if she could tell us who�s killing those people in Ottisburg?�

Bruce nodded, wondering why she hadn�t thought of it sooner. And why he�d been so reluctant to suggest it.

�Bruce,� she paused, closing her eyes. �Has she talked to you about what it�s like when she looks into the future?�

Bruce shook his head. His conversations with the five-year-old were limited to subjects like cartoon sponges and what she should name her new stuffed animal.

�Ask her.�

Bruce stood and left the room.