Old Games, New Venues

by Smitty

Disclaimer: Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, J'onn J'onzz and Lucius Fox belong to DC Comics. The J'onnverse belongs to Chicago. Many, many apologies to all.

Author's Notes: Thanks to 'rith for the beta. 512 words. I don't know that Lucius' stroke ever became part of the J'onnverse or not but...I used it anyway. Chicago... please, please forgive me. Please.

Rated: G

Wayne Enterprises had fallen into a sad state of disrepair since Lucius had suffered his stroke. The structure was still sound, but the growth was lethargic and the upper echelons were working without a solid direction. Bruce knew he needed to devote some quality time to rebuilding his business into the powerhouse the public still perceived.

He rubbed his eyes and blinked at the piles of spreadsheets scattered over his desk. He needed a break.

He didn't have time for that now, though. He needed to work straight through if he expected to stake out the Penguin's lair in time to catch him in the transport of certain mind-altering substances.

So instead of resting, Bruce hit the intercom button and requested a snack from Alfred. Something comforting. With milk.

As he closed the connection, he reached out his link to J'onn and found glee, laughter and what felt like conspiracy. Maybe that was why he was constantly accused of being paranoid, he thought with a faint smile. J'onn must be planning another deception. Alfred perhaps? Bruce replied to the playful tickle of J'onn's mind with an affectionate squeeze and turned his attention back to his work.

A couple minutes later, Alfred entered the study, tray piled with a truly spectacular assortment of cookies in hand. Bruce studied him, observing every movement and detail to determine whether it was truly Alfred, or J'onn at play.

"I am not Master J'onn, if that is why you are squinting at me like I am a microbe on a slide," Alfred informed him archly.

"I'm not," Bruce protested half-heartedly.

Alfred raised an eyebrow. Definitely Alfred.

"I know. Not J'onn."

"Very good, sir. Try the chocolate chip ones. They're freshly baked."

"Thank you, Alfred. And... you know."

"Of course, sir."

Bruce reached idly for a cookie and lifted it to his mouth. Wait. There was something...his thumb was warm. Warmer than the rest of his body. And so was his index finger. He squinted at the cookie.

A Choco.

He wouldn't.

He would.

"J'onn!" Bruce rose and walked around his desk, cookie in hand. He set it on a chair and glared at it menacingly. "C'mon out," he challenged. "I know it's you."

The cookie quivered before stretching and swelling into the familiar shape of his lover.

"How did you know?" J'onn asked curiously as he stood. "I was sure I had found a shape you would never recognize."

"Well, first off, you used a Choco," Bruce reminded him. "Alfred buys the Chocos for you. If I want one, I have to sneak into the pantry and find it myself."

"Ah." J'onn tilted his head, acknowledging the truth of that statement.

"And secondly, you were too warm."

"The rest of the cookies were warmed."

"The rest of the cookies came out of the oven. Chocos come from a package, you know."

"Ah. Another good point."

"That was dangerous," Bruce told him ruefully. "I was looking for a person. What if I hadn't noticed?"

J'onn just smiled.

"There are worse fates," he said innocently, "then being eaten by you."

The End. Yeeks.

PS: I wanted to title the fic, "That's the Way the Cookie Crumbles" but I thought that would give it away. :)

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