Reunion

     The air in the dingy bar was thick with dust and cigarette smoke, creating a grey, stale haze that concealed the patrons from prying eyes. This was its main attraction to the clientele that frequented the ancient dive, along with the heavy-set middle-aged bartender who seemed to always be chewing on the same old cigar stub and only communicated through a series of grunts. It was a place where who you were or where you were from didn't matter, and no one asked any questions so long as you could afford to keep shelling out for your drinks. If you were looking to lay low or simply lose yourself for a while, there was no better place in the city, even one as chock full of back alley dive bars as Gotham.

     It was a damp, cool night, like nearly every night in the island city, when Lennon Johnson, District Attorney, found herself pausing at the entrance to this particular bar. She shook off the chill from outside as her eyes finally adjusted to the dim lighting. Scanning the room carefully, she hoped the information she'd acquired was accurate. Few could find someone so obviously attempting to hide themselves from the world, but Lennon had cultivated a vast network of useful connections over the years, as well as many friends in high places. There was rarely a tidbit of information she couldn't get her hands on.

     Finally, at the dark shadowy end of the bar furthest from the door, she spotted a familiar silhouette hunched lazily over a drink he was obviously nursing. Lennon gracefully wove her way through the tightly packed tables and chairs in the cramped establishment, her heels clicking loudly on the concrete floor, breaking the dense silence. She sat directly beside her target, who did not stir or react to her presence in any way. Unfazed, the attorney pulled off her gloves with a couple of casual tugs and shoved them into a coat pocket with one hand while waving for the bartender's attention with the other. The grey-haired man sidled over slowly, looking at Lennon with an expectant grimace.

     “I'll have whatever he's having,” she said, thumbing towards the man to her right. The bartender grunted with a nod, and, seemingly out of nowhere, produced a glass and a bottle of whisky. He poured her a generous shot, serving it neat. Lennon nodded her thanks before raising the glass to her lips, taking a healthy sip. After swallowing, she frowned slightly at her drink. “Even you can afford better liquor than this.”

     Her companion finally showed signs of life, turning carefully and looking her over. After a long pause, he replied, “You don't come here for the quality of the whiskey.”

     Lennon nodded. “True enough.”

     Silence fell between them as they drank, so Lennon seized the opportunity to take a good look at her old friend. Despite the streaks of grey at the temples of his sandy blonde hair and the lines caused by years of worry and stress, bright blue eyes still shone from under his weary brow. They lit up his face with a vibrancy that betrayed his aura of apathy. As she set down her glass, eyes glued to the familiar face, one corner of his thin lips curled up into the faintest smirk.

     “It's been a long time, Ms. Johnson.”

     “That it has, Capt. Di Iorio.”

     He huffed at the form of address. “I'm retired.”

     Lennon shrugged casually. “So I hear. Still, Mister never seemed quite adequate for you, Loren.”

     “Flatterer.”

     Lennon smiled. On impulse, she downed the rest of her drink in one go, signalling the bartender for more.

     Staring down at his own still-half-full glass, Loren said softly, “The years have been kind to you, Len.”

     She eyed him sideways. “Now who's flattering?”

     “You look as if you've barely aged a day and you know it. You're as beautiful as I remember. Perhaps more so.”

     The DA couldn't hide the pink tinge from her cheeks as she took on an appropriately demure expression. “Thank you. You're too kind, but it's nice to know I haven't lost my touch.”

     “Never. I knew that Adams character wouldn't be able to tame you. No one could.” He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice as he mentioned Lennon's ex-husband, finally downing his drink in one go after speaking.

     Lennon followed suit, and the glasses magically refilled, no signal to the bartender needed. “Well...” she began, toying with her glass, “I wouldn't say no one.”

     The detective laughed dryly, emptying his entire glass of whiskey at once.

     “Whoa, slow down there, cowboy, or I won't be able to keep up.”

     Loren shook off the sting of the cheap whiskey before replying, “Sorry, I wasn't expecting--”

     “I know,” Lennon interrupted. She looked deeply into his blue eyes. “I guess I wasn't really, either.”

     He nodded, and an awkward silence fell once again. They both sipped at their drinks more reservedly now, though the glasses still were draining steadily. After a while, Lennon realised she never seemed to find it empty. She eyed the bartender suspiciously, but he stood a discreet distance away drying some glasses with a cloth, paying them no mind.

     Suddenly, she spoke, as if the conversation never halted. “I sure did make some stupid decisions when I was younger. You always think everything will go according to plan and scoff at the idea you'll have regrets later. But, inevitably, life has a way of throwing all that cockiness right back in your face.”

     Lennon paused to take a sip of whiskey, her glass surprisingly full again. Loren was listening patiently, waiting for her to continue. “Anyway, yes, everyone makes mistakes. Still, if I had known... if I had understood even a little what a mistake my marriage would be and what it would cost me...” She sighed heavily.

     Loren looked over at her, sympathetic. His voice was softer now when he spoke. “You only hear so much through the news, even of one of Gotham's most famous couples. But there were rumors...” He paused, unsure. “Was it really that bad?”

     Very slowly, Lennon nodded, unable to meet his eyes now.

     Clenching his fists tightly, Loren growled with anger. “I never liked him, but I never thought he'd sink so low. If I'd known... oh god, Len. When I find the bastard--”

     Lennon turned and put her hands over his as she spoke. “It's all done and over with now. Please leave it alone... for me.”

     Loren grimaced, but nodded. “Fine. For you.”

     “Thank you.”

     Removing his hands from hers gently, he turned back to his drink, downing another glass. She knew his anger was unlikely to subside any time soon. Leaning her head heavily on one hand, she swirled the whiskey slowly in her glass with the other, watching it intently. The liquor was hitting her harder than she expected, though she'd lost track of how much she'd had long ago. The blossoming haze in her head was comforting, so she didn't give it much thought, either.

     “How's the wife?” she asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

     Loren looked at his companion curiously. “She's well, thanks. But you know Babs. She takes things as they come.”

     Lennon gave an unconvincing smile and nodded. “How did you ever get her to go on a date with you anyway?”

     “You know, I simply asked her.”

     Giggling, Lennon finished another glass. “That's so unlike you.”

     “I know. Though, I guess I had learned my lesson.”

     “Yeah.” She paused. “So, you two are good?”

     “Yeah, Len. We're good.”

     Trying her best to plaster a smile on her face, she replied, “I'm really glad.”

     Loren's brow furrowed. “I think you've had enough, hon.”

     “I'm fine,” she said in an uncharacteristic sing-song voice as she emptied her glass yet again.

     Loren stood up suddenly, signalling to the bartender they'd had enough. “Come on, Len. I'll take you home.”

     She pouted slightly, but didn't argue. “I need to pay the thing for the stuff,” she slurred as Loren helped her off the barstool.

     “It's fine. Put it on my tab, Frank.”

     Lennon leaned heavily on Loren as the bartender grunted in reply. Propping her up with a shoulder, Loren cautiously led the way towards the door, stopping once when Lennon fell off her heels and decided to kick them off in frustration. After gathering up her shoes, he once again took up the DA and finally got them out the door and into the alleyway. Though it was a slow trek to the nearby street, it didn't take long to find a taxi cab even at that late hour. After gently helping her into the back seat, he got in round the other side.

     Realising he didn't know where Lennon was living these days, he turned to her to ask only to find her beginning to doze off. The taxi driver was staring at them patiently in his rear-view mirror as Loren gently shook her awake. “Len, what's your address?”

     She turned and looked at him groggily. “Huh?”

     “Your address? Where are you staying now?”

     “Oh. 'M back in the penthouse.”

     Loren couldn't help but smile to himself, memories both good and bad flooding back at the mention of Lennon's old digs. He let her rest as he directed the cabbie there, out of one of the dingiest neighbourhoods of Gotham to one of the most affluent.

     It didn't take long to reach Lennon's building on the empty late night streets. Loren paid the driver before prompting Lennon awake once again from the door on her side of the cab. She roused slowly and then he pulled her to her feet carefully. “C'mon, dear. Let's get you inside.”

     Lennon giggled softly to herself, flopping all of her weight into Loren when she was unable to steady herself. He grunted in reply, but managed to hold her upright.

     The doorman gave a respectful nod to the pair as he let them in. “'llo, David,” Lennon greeted cheerily. Loren quietly hoped David's job was worth more to him than the quick pay day he'd get spilling to the tabloids about Gotham's much-respected DA being dragged home very obviously drunk.

     The elevator pinged and opened nearly immediately. Once inside, Loren hit the button for the 28^th floor, expecting the doors to close and the lift to begin moving. Nothing happened, the light around the button having turned itself off. He hit it again, and again it went dim, the elevator not responding. Grumbling, he was beginning to tire under Lennon's weight and didn't have the patience to fight with a computerised box. Fortunately, he noticed that next to the buttons was a swipe pad for security cards, obviously installed in the many years since he'd visited the building.

     Turning, he softly shook the delirious DA to get her attention. “I need your security card, Len.” He paused to think. “And your keys while we're at it.”

     She stuck the tip of her tongue between her lips and her brow crinkled with intense concentration, the gears in her head obviously turning slowly. Loren couldn't help but smile, the mahogany-haired woman looking adorable even at her worst.

     “Oh!” she exclaimed suddenly, and then began digging around in her coat pockets. Gloves came flying out of nowhere, as did a stray slip of paper or two. Finally, Lennon tried an interior pocket, and there was a familiar jingle of keys. She pulled out her keychain, half a dozen keys of various sizes attached to it, and wiggled a round, black little fob in Loren's face. “Here, security thingy.”

     Taking it gratefully, he swiped it and hit the button for floor 28 one more time. This time, the elevator came to life, the doors closing before it moved swiftly towards Lennon's penthouse. Loren leaned his drunk companion very carefully against the wall of the lift as he gathered the gloves and things she'd thrown about earlier.

     As he did, Lennon spoke, chuckling. “Remember the first time we were here? You had a gun!”

     Loren stuffed the items back into her coat pockets, shaking his head. “How could I forget? Helena and I wanted to...” He trailed off.

     “Kill me! You two were going to kill me,” Lennon finished for him in a perky voice. “I'm pretty glad I talked you out of that.”

     “Me too, Len. I'm very glad.”

     The elevator dinged once again as they reached her floor, the doors sliding open. Lennon automatically began to move to exit the carriage, but lost her balance almost immediately. Loren acted quickly, thankful his reflexes were as good as ever as she landed in his arms.

     Giggling wildly, the DA said, “Nice catch, Di Iorio.”

     Loren grinned down at her, another ancient memory coming to mind, though back then their roles were perfectly reversed. He pushed the thought from his head as they straightened up so that he could support her as they walked the short way down the hall to her front door. Keys still in hand, he let them into the penthouse and flipped on the lights with a nearby switch.

     It looked much as he remembered it, as if Lennon had never moved out in the first place. Stacks of files sat haphazard on the coffee table in front of the same plush couch he'd sat on many years before. He dropped her keys on a table by the door, noticing the round, heavy paperweight that Lennon once threw at Helena in this very room. With a brief passing thought of how Helena might be doing now, Loren shut the door behind them and led Lennon to her bedroom. It, too, looked nearly unchanged, save for newer bedclothes and piles of boxes from her move many months ago which she hadn't bothered to unpack.

     Dropping her shoes to the floor, Loren said, “Let's get you out of this coat, hm?” Lennon was unsteady on her feet but managed to stay upright as Loren helped slip the thick winter coat off of her. It fell heavily to the floor, revealing that she was clad in her normal business attire of a well-tailored skirt suit with a buttoned blouse beneath. Loren helped her out of her suit jacket as well, unbuttoning it and laying it on a nearby chair once it was off. Unsure if he should go further, Lennon began fumbling at the clasp at the back of her skirt. Grabbing onto her before she lost her balance completely, he shrugged and then undid the skirt so that it dropped to the floor around her ankles. Then they worked together to free her of the many buttons of her silky collared shirt.

     Once Lennon was undressed, Loren led her around the side of the bed and pulled the covers back for her. She practically fell into bed, and he gently moved the blankets over her and tucked her in. As she settled in, he went to the kitchen and scrounged up a glass of water for her. He went back to her side and sat on the bed next to her, rousing her to make her drink the entire glass.

     Loren held it to her lips as she drank. “There you go. Good girl.” Once the glass was empty, he let her relax as he went to fill it up again, setting it on her bedside table. “That's for the morning. Trust me, you'll need it.”

     “Thank you,” she said softly, her eyelids obviously becoming heavy.

     Sitting beside her once again, Loren brushed a wavy lock of hair from her cheek. He stared deeply into her glittering green eyes until she could no longer keep them open. Holding one of her hands between his own, the retired detective sighed quietly to himself, watching the one who got away as she gradually fell into a deep sleep.

     Certain Lennon was resting peacefully, he finally tore himself away from her side, standing and readying to leave. Loren leaned over her carefully, planting a gentle kiss upon her smooth cheek. “I love you,” he whispered in her ear. “Always.”

     She turned towards him and a smile crossed her lips. He was worried he disturbed her sleep, but she immediately fell back into a deep, steady rhythm with her breathing. Relieved, Loren quietly tiptoed his way out of her bedroom. Just as he was about to close the door, he heard her mumble his name. It made him pause, though only momentarily.

     Hanging his head down low, hands shoved deep into his trench coat pockets, Loren silently exited Lennon's lavish penthouse. As the door clicked solidly behind him, he frowned to himself before making his way out of her building, and out of her life, for the last time.