Bat Closet

Author's Note: This item was written for the "Daily Flash Fiction" Contest on 8/8/2009, using these prompts: image, missing, handle
(Word count: 300)

**With apologies to DC Comics
and anyone else who might be offended**

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Bat Closet

In Gotham City, Commissioner Gordon was in a quandary.  He wrung his hands.  Oh, what to do, what to do?  His eyes lit upon the answer to all his problems which, happily for him, was only inches away.  His finger darted out and pushed The Button.  On the roof of the building, the Bat Signal beamed out into the night.

Miles away, in the dim shadows of the Bat Cave, an alarm disturbed the Dynamic Duo from their activities and they leapt into action. 

"Ouch!  That's my utility belt."

"Where are my latex leggings?"

"I don't know.  But that's my Perfect-Pec-Chestplate -  let go!"

"It's mine!  You're scratching it up.  My image is more important than yours - you let go!"

"Oh, all right.  A little testy today, aren't we?"

"I don't like you to handle my things."

"That's not what you said last night…"

"Hurry up."

"That's also not what you said  – Ow!"

Moments later, the black clad figures jumped into the Batmobile; the engine roared to life.  They were halfway out of the Bat Cave, when Batman glanced at Robin.

"Robin?  Where's your mask?"

"Holy Bondage Blunders, Batman!  Stop, I'll get it."

Robin threw open the door and bounded away.  He returned with the missing mask in his hands, and slid into his seat.  The Batmobile thundered out of the Cave.  There was do-gooding (and possible accessorizing) to do.

Meanwhile – back at the Bat Cave:

A rounded silhouette eclipsed the pink glow of the doorway to the Bat Boudoir.  Hands rubbed circulation back into limp wrists just released from their bonds.  After the shadowy figure smoothed down rumpled hair, it picked up a nearby feather duster.  Prancing forward in high heels and a tiny French maid's uniform, Alfred whistled as he began to dust the Bat Cave.