30/30 - Splash Zone

by Darklady and Chicago

Disclaimers and other information in "Opening Credits"

Rating: G

Bruce Wayne lay back, the tropical warmth weighing down his eyes. The polychrome sail just inches overhead swelled in the regular gusts. Low waves slapped the hull below him in seeming rhythm to the creaking of the mast.

He plucked the covered glass of lemonade from it's holder and took a long pull.

His bare toes pulled at the running lines , only to be caught and held by a strong but feminine hand. Lips brushed the instep before the limb was released back to him. Not a long touch, but more then enough to draw his thoughts from the spectacle of the cloudless horizon to far nearer beauties.

"Now this.." He smiled at his companion, whose bikini clad form was draped over the other float of their catamaran. The noon sun drew highlights of fire over the auburn hair, contrasting artistically with the deep blue of the Caribbean sea. "This is nice."

Letting his gaze wander to the leaping school of pink dolphins that followed their wake, Bruce's Bat side added automatically. "As long as none of those dolphins are working for Orin."

The athletically svelte young woman reached for a bottle of coconut oil, as if that would affect the few freckles that broke the even bronzing of what should be milk-white skin. Really, Bruce thought admiringly, J'onn was an artist of the human form. He should have picked up a camera. Better yet - he would have a word with Kyle. Brigitte O'Mahenan - Bruce blessed the trained memory that let him retain all of J'onn's names - definitely deserved a permanent commemoration.

Both the tanning oil and one long leg were passed over in Bruce's direction. "Only you, Bruce, could possibly..."

As if called by name, one dolphin broke from the circling pod. A bottle-nosed face tapped gently against the fiberglass hull.

J'onn reached over, arm shifting to green to gain the needed length. When he pulled the hand back, he was holding a fist-sized clam shell, nacred shut and tied with seaweed. Slitting the shell open with a razored nail, he pulled out a rolled length of sea-weed paper. "It's for you."

Bruce accepted the scrolled paper with a scowl and unrolled it. His eyes scanned the handwritten message, his face darkening. "Damn plant manager," he muttered. "Ever since Lucius-"

He stopped himself and sighed. "One of my plants in Guatemala has relaxed environmental protocols," he explained. "I thought there was something fishy about their profitability report." He reached for the jib line. "Arthur's right, though. It needs immediate attention."

J'onn nodded, watching as a hint of Bat tinged the purposeful movements of Bruce Wayne, irritated business mogul. The school of dolphins gave the catamaran space as it began the wide arcing turn back toward port.

As the boat heeled around, Bruce gave "Brigitte" a rueful look. "You think you could play an environmental inspector for me?" he asked.

J'onn stretched Brigitte's toes to rub over Bruce's calf. "When we get back to port," he promised. "Whatever you need."

"We'll come back sometime," Bruce promised.

Brigitte's face broke into a warm smile with a hint of impishness dancing in her green eyes. "I'll hold you to that, Bruce. I really will."

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