Excerpt from the journal of S. Brown // By Petra LeMaitre

Day 1:
Batman's out of the country and I am in serious trouble. Metallo's going to tear the city apart, and it's definitely a job for Superman. Except Alfred can't get him on the phone, so we're trying Plan B: Superboy.

8 hours later:
Superboy is a sex-obsessed teenager. My life is now complete. I have seen everything, including this guy who's supposed to be a clone of the sweetest man -- alien -- person on the planet, who has already tried to grab my ass. If I could kick Metallo's ass without his help, I would be a lot happier.

30 minutes later:
Metallo is giving me an aversion to cyborgs. I hope I don't have to work with the Titans much, or if I do, I get some time to get accustomed to not-evil cyborgitude.

20 minutes later:
Oh, shit. It figures that the day I'm working with SuperHorndog, Poison Ivy shows up. At least she can't affect me. Yay being a girl! It had to be good for something.

Wait. I didn't know she had a sidekick. Who the hell is that? Is that really a figleaf?

1 hour later:
We're going to die, all of us. Sure, Superboy's strong, and he's got an arm around me and an arm around Ivy, and he's Super and all, but what happens if he loses his concentration? Ivy's sidekick, the Boy Sprout, won't stop groping him. Which -- well -- they're both teenage boys. But if we die because they're horny, I am going to be seriously pissed off.

The Boy Sprout kisses really well, though.

Day 3:
I have never been this sore in my entire life, even when I started training with Batman. It's been worth it -- who knew Poison Ivy even liked girls? Maybe the Boy Sprout's mods to her chemistry have messed with her orientation. It's not fair having him be equal opportunity if she's not. Not that he's all that equal.

I guess it probably takes regular smooches to keep Superboy at his ease, around here, but the moaning from the other bed keeps waking me up, and then it wakes Ivy up, and then I get all sore, all over again.

Maybe later I can talk them into doing tourist stuff. What's the point of having Superboy fly you to Las Vegas if all you do when you're there is hole up in a honeymoon suite and fuck?

Not that I don't appreciate watching. And playing, if the Boy Sprout will kiss me so I don't care so much that it hurts.

Day 4:
Either I just had a long heart-to-heart with Nightwing in his first costume, or Elvis just pronounced me married to the Boy Sprout. At least Batman's lawyers can whip up an annulment as soon as I get dressed and get home.

5 hours later:
Not that I can claim it wasn't consummated, or anything. Only three times, before Superboy got all impatient with Ivy and grabbed my newly wedded spouse off to do naked things in midair. Good thing Ivy was still here to keep me company. She may be poisonous to kiss, but she's soft in all the right places.

Day 5:
Oh, god. I've been kidnapped by Poison Ivy and her nefarious sidekick. I'm in the middle of a desert. Time to sneak out the window and call Batman. Wherever he is.

1 hour later:
Superboy caught me at the door. Did his eyes used to be green, or is that Ivy-influence? Either way, he's too strong for me. I wish I had some Kryptonite.

2 hours later:
I should try to escape more often. Vines and tactile telekinesis make for really intense bondage. Time to wake someone up, once they've caught their breath. I might be in love with the Boy Sprout. He's just so beautiful when he sleeps. And holds me. And kisses me. And when he laughs. And -- all the time.

Thank god it really was Elvis and not Nightwing.

Day 8:
If I had known I was going to Peru, I'd have studied harder for my Spanish quiz. My abductors are all asleep -- god knows they should be, after how long Superboy kept them up last night. If I can just get down this tree silently, I can find a way out of the rainforest, maybe, and -- shit, shit, shit, that's the Boy Sprout's voice.

Day 12:
I wish I had my contraceptives. Maybe Superboy's an alien -- he certainly has the stamina to prove it -- and Ivy's safe enough in that regard, but I'm three days late, and the Boy Sprout's probably just as human as I am.

1 hour later:
Why did I ever agree to go to Argentina with a botanist? She can't even tell me whether I'm pregnant. The Boy Sprout's blushing like crazy, and he says at least we're married. Like that's supposed to make me feel better.

3 hours later:
I really miss Alfred. I wonder if I could get him to airmail me my pills without telling Batman. I mean, if I'm married -- and we do have the paper that says so -- I can't just run off on the Boy Sprout. Who says his name is Tim. Who I love like crazy. And whose kid I just might be having.

I like the Pampas, but I miss Gotham.

Day 14:
Diary, I am really probably pregnant and I don't know where my communicator is. I probably left it in Vegas, or Ivy broke it, or something, but I haven't got it. We're in Rio de Janeiro, and Timothy won't let go of my hand, but he hasn't kissed me all day. I can think clearly enough to know that this is bad. Very bad.

Batman, oh Batman, why didn't you do nonconsensual surgery on me? I would be really grateful for a subdermal locator right about now.

5 hours later:
I love him so much. He's so beautiful. I wonder if I can get him to tell me what his last name is so I can practice writing it.

15 minutes later:
Mrs. Stephanie Drake. Mrs. Stephanie Drake. Steph Drake. Stephanie Drake. Mrs. Stephanie Drake. Excuse me, Mrs. Drake? Steph Drake. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Drake. Stephanie Drake. Steph Drake. Mrs. Stephanie Drake Drake Drake. What's your name, ma'am? Stephanie Drake.

Day 18:
For the record, Batman can still kick my butt. He can also kick Ivy's, and Superboy's, and Tim's, all at the same time. Kryptonite is good like that. He handed Superboy off to Superman for some serious reeducation. Now we're taking Ivy and the Boy Sprout to Arkham.

It's good to be Batman. It's not so good when he has to take you in. At least the cape covers all the really obvious hickeys, and the tights cover the rest.

When we get home, I am so dead.

20 minutes later:
I can't just sit in the Batplane and watch Tim suffocate. Doesn't Batman understand he can't breathe? But Batman's flying. I have to do something. Anything. I can't raise this baby without its father.

All it takes is a sharp knife to get through the plastic, and then Tim will be able to breathe. Hold on, honey, I'm coming.

Day 20:
Note to self:
Although it might be interesting to think about sometimes, it's really not a good idea to expose Batman to pheromones while he's trying to fly the Batplane. It's a good thing it has a decent autopilot, or everyone would be dead.

I'm going to be dead as soon as we're home anyway, but now I'm probably even more dead. Batman doesn't like it when he gives in to feminine wiles -- which he so totally did. And he doesn't seem to like it when he gives into masculine wiles either.

Am I jealous of Batman? Oh, man. Like the Boy Sprout and I could ever have a relationship anyway. I'm Robin. He exudes herbal pheromone substitutes and gives people the kiss of death.

5 hours later:
Dear Oracle,

Am grounded by Batman. Please send help. I need a doctor and a lawyer ASAP.

Love,
Robin

Day 25:
Am unmarried and unpregnant.

Have irrational urge to go talk to Harley Quinn.

Hate self.

Could we have made it work, if it had been less about pheromones and more about, well, people interested in each other?

I can't believe I'm not over him. Deranged supervillain sidekick, Steph. Get it to sink in already.

1 hour later:
I didn't realize the patrols at Arkham were so infrequent after midnight. What are they doing? They might as well just open the doors to the cells.

5 minutes later:
B,

Scheduled consultation with H. Quinzel at 1am. See you on patrol.

- R

END

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