New marching orders.

Luthor got released from prison. Brandon knew this because he had a pheromone-powered marathon threesome with gorgeous French redhead twins, which meant the next day he was absolutely exhausted and spent most of it on his couch blearily acknowledging daytime television. Luthor leaving the courthouse a free man just happened to occur during the news at noon, which meant every station reported on it live, and Brandon got to watch his former boss and current…well, boss address the throng of microphones along with the rest of Gotham. He remained the picture of poise, clearly no worse for spending the better part of a month in a cell, and he spoke with the same smooth, vaguely-threatening tone he’d used the last time he’d appeared on Brandon’s screen.

“I’m just glad the court system succeeded where the Justice League has not, recognizing that this senseless, persistent attack on women around the world extends far beyond their grudge with me. As much as I would like at least the dignity of a public apology, progress does not come from dwelling on past mistakes. I would like to offer LexCorp’s services to the League, should they need any assistance in researching these troublesome amulets or in keeping them out of the hands of those who would use them for harm. And if any LexCorp employees have been affected by an amulet, I’ve asked Mercy Graves to head up a task **** with our Human Resources department, who have been instructed to provide any and all resources necessary to set things right.”

What a guy.

Miss Graves shadowed him, noticeable only because Luthor indicated her directly. She didn’t blink at the mention of “setting things right”, but given her proximity to Luthor, maybe her paycheck was enough to forgive a lot of collateral supervillainy. Either way, she was clearly still involved with Luthor, and she was still his liaison with Brandon, even after their “interaction” a few weeks ago. Did that mean Luthor approved of Brandon’s extracurricular activities with his personal assistant? Would he mind if Brandon used the amulet to breed women outside his immediate mission? Food for thought!

A day’s rest and a second night’s sleep failed to rouse his passions, and Brandon attended his next day of work without a single thought of sneaking into the women’s section of the Watchtower and replanting his seed into any previous victims. It was somewhat alarming how much he could get done when he wasn’t actively shirking his duties for one reason or a mother (ha!). He made his normal rounds in record time, straightened up one of the supply closets like he’d been threatening to do for weeks, and helped a few of his co-workers with a deep clean by filling in for one who’d called in sick. And he didn’t mind! Work felt like a thing he did willingly, not a chore thrust upon him by a faceless, malevolent entity on high. Though it didn’t hurt that he had something to look forward to in life beyond infinite drudgery. Soon, Luthor would come calling with further instructions, even if those instructions were “keeping screwing around in the Watchtower”.

As such, it wasn’t terribly surprising when Brandon got home to find Miss Graves waiting for him. It was surprising, however, to find her in his living room.

The sight of an unexpected woman in his apartment was enough to **** his heart into his throat, and he froze for several ignominious seconds before he regained the ability to breathe. “Geez, it’s you. I didn’t recognize you without—“

“Shh,” she hissed, and she shoved him aside to shut and lock his door. While he leaned against the wall and tried to bring his pulse back down, she stepped close—abnormally close, enough that her chest pressed against his and he had plenty of time to stare at her uncharacteristically casual, cleavage-baring top. She followed his gaze, and rage flickered over her face. “You’re late.”

“The bus was slow! Sorry! I didn’t realize we had a meeting!” Despite the power he held over her, that power was secreted in his wallet, and hers was probably capable of throwing him across the room before he could get it. She wasn’t Luthor’s bodyguard for nothing. “How did you get in here?”

She scoffed, and to be fair that was a sufficient answer. “Clean your apartment. I’m not waiting around in…” she gestured at a pair of forgotten socks over the back of the couch, next to a cardboard box that no longer held garlic sticks, “your wake.”

“Couldn’t we have met somewhere else?”

“Not with Batwoman and her friends watching out.” Miss Graves smirked. “Well, not friends. But allies who might be tracking my movements, looking for leads on the amulets.”

“But the judge says Luthor wasn’t involved.”

“You think the Justice League cares what some random judge says? We both know they’re not giving up. Ironically, if superheroes actually obeyed the law, my life would be a lot easier.”

The fear he’d felt a moment ago returned. “So Batwoman might be watching us right now?”

“Don’t be thick. The sun’s up.”

“Valid. But Superman, or—“

“Out punching tornadoes or something. And relax,” She tapped her hip, and he tried very hard not to stare at the slim waist atop her capris. “I’ve swept for bugs. Which means I’ve been through your whole apartment, and,” she retched a little, which was hurtful. “Even you’re clean, in a manner of speaking.”

“So…we’re safe?”

“For the moment. Which is why your marching orders for now are to tone it down. Do your normal job, keep your normal hours, shop at your normal weird takeout places. We need the League to think the Watchtower is safe so they spread out their attentions.”

Brandon nodded. Nobody wanted Batwoman crashing through their bedroom window feet-first. Well, almost nobody. Hostages. Certain kinds of perverts. The Joker. “So no amulet for a while?”

“I didn’t say that. We just have to be judicious about its use.” She shifted her weight to the other leg, and this time Brandon’s eyes did stray. When he glanced back up she was scowling, but she didn’t change her pose. “You’re going to be handling the competition. Specifically, villains who could have been useful but botched their opportunities and need to be put back in their place. You’re familiar with Tsukuri?”

He certainly was, but he wasn’t about to say how often he’d jacked off at the pictures of her petite naked body on the streets of Gotham. “Yeah, she was at the Clash…uh, the inciting incident.”

“And in her infinite wisdom, she decided to pick a fight with Wonder Woman and dropped after a single punch. Not the best showing. She snuck out of Blackgate during that whole prison break debacle with Poison Ivy, and we have reason to believe she’s laying low with an ally in Blüdhaven.”

“Blüdhaven? Why there?”

“Why indeed. Here’s the address of her safehouse, as far as our surveillance shows.” Miss Graves produced a piece of paper, unfortunately from the purse on his thrift-store coffee table instead of any place more salacious. “We expect you to handle this on your next day off. Tsukuri’s most likely to be there in the early afternoon.”

He took the paper and did some quick math. “Okay, I can do that. Will the surveillance, um…”

“Don’t worry. Nobody wants to see that.” She pulled a black wig from the purse and slid it over her head. “Any more questions, or am I free to walk four blocks in this itchy thing because some idiot lives in an apartment building with traffic cameras on every side?”

He stopped himself before asking this time. Batwoman. The answer for “why so careful?” was usually “Batwoman”. “So are you and I…you know…are we cool?”

She snorted. “No, we are not ‘cool’, but I can only be so mad at you for doing the exact thing we told you to. And, as I’ve been informed, the ends justify the means. Keep following orders and we won’t have a problem.”

A weight floated off his shoulders and out the window. “Great! Great, that’s…yeah, no problem. Oh!” He caught her right before she closed the apartment door behind her. “Can I expense the train ride?”

She slammed the door instead.