I suppose I'm going to have to move her soon, dammit. And it's so convenient, having her right her in the office building. I misjudged, I'll admit it. I knew there was going to be a stir when I abducted her, but I had no idea that it would raise such a massive stink. Lord, this is as bad as when that aviator's brat was kidnaped thirty or forty years ago. What was his name? Lindsey... Limburger... Something like that. Who cares?

If I'd had more time to plan things out I could have made arraignments so that her loss wouldn't be noticed for a day or two. No, that's not right. It would have been noticed, and considered suspect, but I could have bought a little time before the efforts reached hysteria proportions. I've heard rumors that there's a movement afoot to try to increase public awareness (as if that's a problem) by printing her face on the side of milk cartons. I can't help thinking that she'd find that funny. I can almost hear her. "Milk? Come on, now. If they can get my face on cocktail napkins, though..."

In fact I had been considering different plans for obtaining her, but I hadn't found a satisfactory one by the time the auction rolled around. Then those ski-masked simpletons burst in, and... Well... There she was, on her own, no posse around, and things likely to be very chaotic for the next hour or so.

I'm not usually an impulsive man. I haven't gotten as far as I have by acting without thinking, but honestly, this was simply too tempting to pass up. You don't hold a chunk of sirloin in front of a Doberman's nose and expect him not to snap, so I bit.

It was ridiculously easy. The chloroform? Yes, I know I had it ready and waiting. I keep a supply on hand in various areas of my environment, along with other useful, and occasionally lethal, compounds and objects. I told you, I like to be prepared.

It surprises me a little how personally people are taking this. My receptionist had red-rimmed eyes when she brought me the paper. And when I had her call in the hamburger order for my 'guest's' lunch, she started sniffling. At my inquiring look she choked, "That's just exactly how Scribe likes her hamburgers. Everything but pickles, and extra ketchup."

"That reminds me. No onions."

She sighed. "Oh, sir. I'm so worried about her. Do you think she's all right?"

I stared at the woman. "I am not a psychic. Neither am I a soft shoulder to cry on. However I think that her life is in no danger at present."

"I hope you're right. But there's no telling what the rotten scoundrels who took her have done, or will do."

I was smiling before I realized it. "There I must agree with you. There's no telling, when you consider the almost infinite possibilities."

Overview

Clive came out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes and yawning. "How long have I been asleep, and why didn't you wake me up? Oh..." His voice, already husky with sleep dropped to a growling purr. "hell-o." Robin and Batman were sitting on the couch, bent over a set of blueprints spread out on the coffee table. As they looked up he said, "Not that I'm not simply charmed to see you both again, but where are my darling hosts?"

"They had to return to Gotham," Batman said. "Some sort of emergency in one of the businesses, I'm not clear what."

Clive pouted a little, a sight to make women collapse and strong men weak in the knees. Robin was glad he was sitting down. "Well, he might have left young master Greyson behind--purely for courtesy reasons, you know."

"Dick doesn't spend that kind of time that far from home unless it's on a school outing." Batman said firmly.

Clive sat on the couch beside Robin. "This could have qualified. It was certainly educational for the dear boy." He looked at the blueprints. "What are we doing now?"

Robin explained. "These are blueprints for the three largest buildings in Metropolis owned solely by Lex Luthor. It wasn't easy to track the deeds down through all the dummy corporations he had set up, but we managed."

Clive leaned closer, casually putting a hand on Robin's shoulder for balance. Yeah. Right. "And what are we doing with them?"

"We're in the process of getting search warrants for all three," Batman eyed the hand, which had moved to toy with the hair at the nape of Robin's neck, but didn't comment. "It will take another couple of hours, so we've been familiarizing ourselves with the structural specifics in order to..."

"In order to be able to tell through discrepancies if there are any concealed areas. Oh, very cunning." Clive nodded.

Batman smiled a little. "Us, or him?"

"Both, but it means so much more coming from you. Have I thanked you yet for your efforts toward rescuing my little Scribe? If not, consider yourselves thanked. Unless you'd prefer a more personal thank you once we have the dear girl safe. Pardon me, I'm going to go check that mini bar and see if there's any orange juice."

He walked over to the mini bar and checked the little refrigerator, pleased to find a carton of orange juice, and poured himself a glass. He was just taking the first sip when Robin came over. "Is there enough there for two?"

Clive turned to retrieve the carton, but managed to brush his hip against Robin's in the process. "Dear boy, I always have enough for two. And there's plenty of juice, also."

As he poured another glass, Robin said, "You referred to her as your Scribe?"

"Oh, not technically." He passed the glass to the younger man. "I mean, we haven't entered into a Master/slave agreement. She has some submissive tendencies when she's playing, but she's far too independent for that." Robin was holding the glass, staring at Clive, his mouth slightly open. "You know," Clive reached over and put a finger under his chin, gently lifting to shut his mouth. "That's not entirely a good idea, dear. It might give some people certain ideas if you stand about with your mouth open."

"But you two haven't... had sex?" The last two words were low.

"Who's been spreading nasty rumors? Yes, we've had sex. We haven't had intercourse, but we've had sex. And a lovely thing she is, too. Very generous, and rather inventive. She managed to surprise an old warhorse like me a time or two, and that isn't easy." Clive sipped his juice, eyeing him critically. "You know, you ought to come in some time and let me do your hair."

"I can't take off the mask in public."

"Oh, I know that. I wouldn't ask you to. But you see, it's the mask that's the problem. Your hair is just going every which way around it, and I'm positive I could find a style that would allow it to be integrated so that it was a compliment rather than a detriment. If you'll allow me..." Clive set aside his glass and reached over laying his hands lightly on top of Robin's head. The surprised boy looked at him warily. The Dom said, "Relax, I'm not going to try to reveal your secret identity. I just want to get a sense of your hair."

*And that line works every time,* Clive thought as he began to slide his fingers through the short, gold-brown locks. "Oh, very nice. Very silky. You've been taking care of this. What a good boy you are." He began to finger comb the strands into place over the mask ends, them paused, frowning.

"What it is?" Robin asked, curious.

"I'm not sure... There was a bit of deja vu there for a moment. Let me..." He rummaged a bit more, expression questioning. "Wait a minute." He closed his eyes. Robin almost did, too. The firm, gentle hands in his hair were surprisingly erotic, and he was seriously considering taking Clive up on his offer.

Suddenly the hands were out of his hair and swooping down. Robin gasped as one snaked behind him and took a firm grip on a tights-clad buttock and the other cupped over his crotch, squeezing just as firmly. Clive's eyes flew open, astonished, and he whispered, "Dick?" Robin moved a few steps away quickly. The mask didn't cover enough space to conceal the fact that he was blushing. Clive tapped his foot, studying him and said in a low voice, "Come on now. Hair isn't just my profession, it's my vocation. I might have been mistaken about," he glanced down, smiling, "your personal equipment, but your hair? Never. And put them together, I'd know you in the dark. In fact," the grin was lascivious. "I have known you in the dark, haven't I?"

"Clive..."

"Oh, don't worry, precious. I can keep a secret. And I think it's perfectly delicious. So, that would mean that Bats..." He looked back across the room to where Batman was shuffling the blueprints. "Oh, my. That is simply marvelous. It explains how he's been able to fund his crime fighting career, and it makes much more sense than thinking that he's been supported by public donations from concerned citizens. The populace are a remarkable miserly lot these days."

"Seriously, Clive, you've got to be careful."

"I know, I know." He stepped close again, reaching around Robin and this time giving both buttocks a lingering squeeze before he stepped away. "I've grown very fond of that ass in a short time. You don't think I'd endanger it, do you?"

He walked back to the couch and sat down. "Now, then, which of these is his headquarters? I intend to be in the group that searches that one, and I want to be prepared."

Lois wandered into the kitchen to find Jimmy sitting at the table, staring moodily into a cup of coffee. She poured herself a cup and sat with him, eyeing him. He was so pale that his freckles stood out even more prominently than usual, and his bright hair was mussed, as if he'd been constantly running his hands through it. As she watched, he did just that, disarraying it even more, which she hadn't thought possible. Lois couldn't remember seeing him when his hair wasn't neatly combed, and he looked very young like this, and very troubled. "Jimmy, did you sleep at all?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "Couldn't, Lois." He glanced toward the back of the apartment, his eyes going to the door of Scribe's room. Lois had put him in there, insisting that it would be silly for him to sleep on the couch when there was a perfectly good bed available. When he'd still hesitated she had reminded him of what Scribe would have most likely had to say about the situation. Something along the lines of looking a gift horse in the mouth, and not being a stubborn prat. That had gotten a faint smile, and he'd agreed. "There was just too much of her there, you know?"

"I know."

"I tried." He rubbed his eyes. "I even laid down. But the pillow smelled like her. I couldn't take it." He looked at the pretty brunette. Lois' features were just a little sharper than usual. "And don't think I didn't hear you pacing in your room."

Lois sipped her coffee. "I managed a couple of hours of sleep. They weren't too restful, though. I had the most awful dreams."

"Scribe?"

She shuddered. "I don't want to discuss them. They're called nightmares for a reason. We've got to get her back soon, or I can't vouch for my continued emotional balance."

"Yeah. Funny how someone who makes a habit of keeping you off balance can seem so essential, isn't it?"

"When are they supposed to have the search warrants ready?"

He glanced at his watch. "Another hour. That'll give us time to shower. I just wish I had a change of clothes."

"Check Scribe's closet."

Jimmy blinked. "Lois, I can't wear girls' clothes."

She smiled. "Jimmy, remember, this is Scribe we're talking about. They're only girls' clothes because Scribe owns them, and she's a girl. They'll be perfectly fine for a young man."

He blushed slightly. "Oh. Um, yeah. Right."

There was a knock on the door. When Lois answered it, Clark was outside. "There you are. What have you been up to?"

"Same as everyone else--Scribe hunting. Without any success, I'm afraid. I did run into Superman. The dimensional barrier is starting to break down on the Phantom Zone, and he's working frantically to keep it from collapsing." *God, I hate lying to them, but I have to have some excuse for Superman to be out of the picture so Clark can be here. They'll accept it if Superman is keeping super criminals from invading the world, but Clark would have a hard time explaining why he wasn't around helping in the Scribe rescue.*

Lois frowned as she led him into the kitchen. "Oh, dear! As if we don't have enough trouble as it is. We can't figure out a way for Scribe to get back to her own dimension, but here we may have another one dumping psychopaths into our own."

"He was pretty sure he'd be able to repair the damage before that happened, but it will take a few days. He feels awful."

"He shouldn't. Scribe would understand, I'm sure."

Jimmy stood up. "Hi, Clark. Lois, I'm going to go shower. Then I'll see if I can get into Scribe's pants."

Clark stared after him, slack jawed. "But... I thought... She isn't... Lois?"

Lois sighed, and started to explain.

"Look, Perry, this is front page news, it belongs on the front page."

Perry White glared at the owner of the Daily Planet. "No, sir. This special search sweep depends on being a complete surprise."

"The paper will only be out a few minutes, an hour at most before they begin. Run the headline."

Perry crossed his arm, lowered his chin, and gave the owner a scowl that had intimidated copy boys and cub reporters for decades. "Look, that young woman works for me, and I feel a certain responsibility for her safety. Hell, I'd feel responsible even if I didn't know her personally. Printing that the police are set to more or less make a raid on Luthor's major holdings would endanger her, and I'm not going to do it."

"We'll discuss this tomorrow, along with whether or not it's time for you to make a career change." The owner, a pinched man so obsessed with sales that he would have made the same decision if it had been his granddaughter who had been kidnapped, turned to the print boss. "Run that story."

The print boss scratched his chin and drawled, "Well, it isn't as if I don't want to, boss, but..."

The pale face grew flushed. "But what?"

"Ya know, the presses just stopped for some reason. I've called for someone to look at them, but we're having a hard time getting ahold of our regular man, and if I let an apprentise mess around with those presses we could have a hell of a mess."

"Why can't you get ahold of your regular repairman?"

"I think he's out looking for Scribe."

The judge was reviewing the petition for search warrants that had been presented to him. "I want to grant these, I surely do. But I want to do it in a manner where some slick lawyer won't be able to get a case tossed out of court on a technicality."

The police commisioner fidgited. "Sir, if you'll pardon me... I appreciate your concern, and normally I'd stand back and say nothing. But in this case I think I should speak up. We have a time problem to consider here. The young woman has been in the hands, possibly literally, of her kidnaper since yesterday evening. Every moment's delay either brings her closer to unspeakable acts being visited upon her, or prolongs her ordeal. We must act quickly. I want the bastard brought to justice, too, but most of all I want her safe."

The judge tapped his pen on the desk, sighing. "Don't ever say this outside these chambers, but I agree with you. Let's see... The man has had previous contact, exhibited obsessive tendencies at the auction, and disappeared at the same time that the victim did." He started writing. "I just hope I don't get censured for this. Probable cause."