In DC/Young Justice with the Omnitrix/Ultimatrix and a Chat Group

Madison Hamilton's yacht gleamed like a white behemoth against the darkening waters of Gotham Harbor, strings of lights illuminating its three expansive decks.

Music and laughter drifted across the water as boats ferried Gotham's young elite to the floating celebration.

The annual Hamilton summer yacht party - an event that combined teenage excess with old money pretension in a way only Gotham could achieve.

I adjusted my tie for the third time, uncomfortably aware of how out of place I felt in these social situations.

The navy blazer and crisp white shirt Alfred had selected were perfectly appropriate for the occasion, but they felt like a costume - another layer of the elaborate facade I maintained in this world.

"You look fine," Barbara assured me as we approached the dock where a uniformed attendant waited to escort party guests to the yacht.

Her emerald green dress complemented her red hair, which she'd styled in loose waves for the occasion. "Stop fidgeting. You're supposed to be a scientific genius, not a nervous teenager on his first date."

"I'm not nervous," I replied truthfully. "Just calculating the minimum time requirement for this appearance to achieve our strategic objectives."

Barbara laughed, linking her arm through mine in a practiced gesture. "Two hours. Any less would be conspicuously brief, any more is unnecessary torture."

"One hour and forty-five minutes," I countered.

"Done," she agreed with a smile. "Now remember the plan. We make a visible entrance, circulate enough to be seen by all the key players,

dance at least once to establish appropriate couple behavior, then make our excuses and leave."

I nodded, appreciating her methodical approach. "Efficient and effective."

As we boarded the yacht, I maintained the careful persona I'd developed for these social occasions -

polite but reserved, intelligent but not intimidating, affable but slightly distant. The perfect balance to appear normal while discouraging too much interaction.

Madison spotted us almost immediately, her practiced smile widening as she broke away from a group of admirers to approach.

"Samael! You came!" she exclaimed, her tone suggesting she'd never doubted it despite my multiple declinations.

Her gaze shifted to Barbara, the smile remaining fixed while her eyes cooled noticeably. "And Barbara. How... nice."

"Madison," Barbara replied with equal insincerity. "Beautiful party. Your father's yacht is as impressive as ever."

"Thank you," Madison preened before turning her attention back to me. "Samael, you simply must let me introduce you to everyone.

There are several people from Gotham University's physics department who would be fascinated by your research."

Before I could respond, Barbara tightened her grip on my arm slightly. "Actually, we were just about to get drinks. Perhaps later?"

Madison's smile tightened almost imperceptibly. "Of course. Don't let me keep you."

As we moved toward the bar, Barbara leaned closer. "Round one complete. She'll be watching us all night now."

"Is that necessary?" I asked, genuinely curious about these social dynamics that seemed so important to everyone else.

"Trust me," Barbara replied. "Madison needs to see that you're unavailable, not just hear it. She's the type who interprets any attention as interest."

We obtained drinks - sparkling water for both of us, though mine was served in a whiskey glass to maintain appearances - and began the calculated circulation through the party.

Barbara proved an exceptional guide, knowing exactly who needed to see us together and for how long, all while maintaining conversation that required minimal input from me.

I found myself studying her with new interest.

The Barbara Gordon I was witnessing tonight was different from both the studious, somewhat reserved figure she presented at Gotham Academy and the more relaxed, intellectually engaged person I'd dined with at Wayne Manor.

This Barbara moved through social waters with practiced ease, reading people and situations with remarkable accuracy.

"The Commissioner's daughter learns to navigate complex social dynamics from an early age," she explained when I commented on this observation during a momentary respite at the yacht's railing.

"Dad's position means I've been attending political functions and charity galas since I could walk. You either learn to adapt or spend your childhood hiding under buffet tables."

"Did you try the buffet table approach?" I asked, genuinely curious.

She smiled, a flash of something more authentic than her social persona. "Age seven. Mayor's Christmas party.

I had a book and snacks and thought I was so clever until Commissioner Loeb's wife needed the tablecloth for a spilled drink."

I found myself smiling in return. "Strategic miscalculation."

"Tactical error," she corrected with mock seriousness. "The strategy of avoiding boring adults was sound, the execution needed refinement."

Our conversation was interrupted by Clarissa Vandermeer, who approached with determined purpose, two of Madison's other friends trailing behind her.

"You two are being terribly antisocial," she declared, her tone suggesting this was a grave offense. "Everyone's dancing, and you're over here discussing... what? Quantum physics?"

"The relative merits of hiding under furniture at social functions, actually," Barbara replied smoothly.

Clarissa blinked, clearly not expecting that response. "Well, whatever. You should come dance. Both of you." Her gaze lingered on me a moment longer than necessary.

I glanced at Barbara, who gave a slight nod. This was part of the plan, after all.

"One dance," I conceded, setting down my glass.

On the dance floor, Barbara moved with the same easy confidence she'd displayed throughout the evening.

I followed her lead, grateful for the enhanced coordination the Ultimatrix had granted me. We weren't trying to attract attention with our dancing - quite the opposite.

The goal was to appear comfortable together, reinforcing the relationship narrative.

"Madison at two o'clock," Barbara murmured, subtly directing my attention. "She's been watching us since we stepped onto the floor."

I caught a glimpse of our host, her expression carefully neutral as she observed us while pretending to listen to whatever her current conversation partner was saying.

"Is she always this persistent?" I asked.

"Madison collects people like trophies," Barbara explained. "Especially those who represent something unique or valuable.

Bruce Wayne's mysterious ward with the unusual appearance and brilliant mind? You might as well have a flashing 'must acquire' sign over your head."

The music shifted to something slower, and couples around us adjusted accordingly. Barbara moved closer, her hands resting lightly on my shoulders as I placed mine at her waist.

The practiced formality of our movements maintained appropriate distance while still presenting the image of a couple to observers.

"This should be convincing enough," she said quietly. "After this song, we can start our exit strategy."

I nodded, though found myself unexpectedly comfortable with the current arrangement.

Barbara was an interesting contradiction - simultaneously performing a role for social purposes while remaining authentically herself beneath the performance.

It was a skill I recognized and appreciated, having developed my own versions of it.

As the song ended, we made our way back to the edge of the dance floor.

Before we could implement our exit strategy, however, a commotion near the yacht's main entrance caught everyone's attention.

A flash of expensive camera equipment and the sudden shift in the crowd's energy signaled the arrival of someone significant.

The sea of party guests parted to reveal a face familiar to anyone who read Gotham's society pages:

Bruce Wayne, accompanied by two models whose names I couldn't recall from the morning's society section.

"What is he doing here?" I muttered, genuinely surprised. Bruce had made no mention of attending this event, and it seemed an odd choice given the predominantly teenage guest list.

Barbara looked equally surprised. "I have no idea. The Hamiltons would be thrilled to have him, of course, but this isn't his usual scene."

Bruce spotted us almost immediately, his playboy smile widening as he made his way through the admiring crowd.

Madison materialized at his side instantly, playing the perfect hostess while practically glowing with the social coup of having Bruce Wayne at her party.

"Samael!" Bruce called, his voice carrying that carefully calibrated mix of casual affection and slight tipsiness that characterized his public persona.

"Didn't expect to see you here! And Barbara Gordon! Jim's daughter, right? How is the Commissioner these days?"

"Very well, Mr. Wayne," Barbara replied smoothly, though I could see the calculating look in her eyes as she tried to decipher Bruce's unexpected appearance.

"Bruce, please," he insisted with a wave of his hand. "Mr. Wayne makes me sound ancient. And speaking of ancient - Madison, your father's collection of vintage wines is legendary.

Any chance of sampling that '82 Bordeaux he was telling me about at the last charity gala?"

Madison practically vibrated with excitement at being singled out. "Of course, Bruce! Daddy would be honored. It's in his private cabinet below deck. I'll show you personally."

As Madison led Bruce away, pausing only to shoot a triumphant look back at her friends, I exchanged a glance with Barbara.

"That was... interesting," she commented.

"Indeed," I agreed, my mind racing through possible explanations for Bruce's appearance. Was this simply maintaining his playboy image, or did he have another purpose?

Was he checking up on me? Or was there something else happening at this party that had drawn Batman's attention?

Before I could analyze further, my phone vibrated with an incoming message. I checked it discreetly to find a text from Bruce: "Remain at party until I return. Potential situation developing."

I slipped the phone back into my pocket, my thoughts racing. Bruce wouldn't contact me during a social event unless something significant was happening.

Whatever had brought him to this party wasn't related to his playboy persona or my activities - it was Batman business.

"Everything okay?" Barbara asked, noticing my momentary distraction.

"Just Alfred confirming our pickup time," I lied smoothly. "Shall we continue our circulation? We still have that strategic exit to plan."

We resumed our social rounds, though my attention was now divided between maintaining our cover and scanning the party for anything unusual.

I found myself studying the guests more carefully, looking for anyone who seemed out of place or whose behavior suggested a purpose beyond teenage socializing.

As we navigated the crowded main deck, I noticed Madison's father, Harrison Hamilton, deep in conversation with several men in expensive suits near the bar.

Their body language suggested a discussion more serious than typical party small talk.

"Let's get some air on the upper deck," I suggested to Barbara, wanting a better vantage point to observe the gathering.

She nodded, and we made our way upstairs, where the crowd was thinner and the music less overwhelming.

I positioned us near the railing with a view of both the deck below and the stairs, maintaining our couple facade while subtly monitoring the situation.

"You're distracted," Barbara observed after a few minutes of conversation. "Something's caught your attention."

I underestimated her perceptiveness. "Just people-watching," I replied casually. "Social gatherings provide fascinating behavioral data."

She raised an eyebrow skeptically but didn't press the issue, instead pointing out various Gotham Academy classmates and their social dynamics.

Her commentary was both insightful and amusing, providing perfect cover for our continued surveillance.

After about twenty minutes, I spotted Madison returning to the upper deck alone, looking flushed and slightly agitated.

She scanned the area before approaching a man in his forties wearing an expensive gray suit who stood alone at the far railing.

Their body language as they spoke suggested an exchange far more serious than casual party conversation.

Barbara followed my gaze. "That's odd. Madison doesn't usually associate with her father's business connections unless forced to for social appearances."

"Perhaps she's delivering a message from her father," I suggested, watching as the man discreetly passed something small to Madison, who quickly slipped it into her clutch purse.

Before we could observe more, a commotion erupted on the deck below. Raised voices and the sound of breaking glass drew everyone's attention.

From our vantage point, I could see two young men - both appearing intoxicated - engaged in what seemed to be an escalating argument near the bar.

"That's Tyler Matheson and Jason Crowne," Barbara identified them quickly. "They've had a rivalry since freshman year. Looks like it's finally boiling over."

As security moved to intervene, the situation suddenly spiraled. One of the young men shoved the other hard, sending him crashing into a server carrying a tray of drinks.

The resulting chaos sent partygoers scattering, some rushing toward the upper deck to escape the commotion.

The sudden influx of people crowded the upper deck, pushing Barbara and me against the railing as guests jostled for position to watch the drama unfold below.

In the crush, we were forced closer together, our carefully maintained distance collapsing.

"Sorry about this," Barbara murmured as another surge of people pressed us further into the corner. "Madison's parties always seem to end with some kind of drama."

"At least it's providing excellent cover for our exit strategy," I replied, trying to maintain our balance as the crowd shifted again.

Suddenly, a particularly forceful movement from the crowd pushed Barbara forward. I instinctively caught her to prevent her from falling, my hands steadying her waist as she braced against my chest.

Our faces were inches apart, and in that moment, I saw something flash in her eyes - calculation, decision, and then resolve.

"Madison's watching," she whispered urgently. "Perfect opportunity to sell this."

Before I could process her meaning, Barbara closed the distance between us, pressing her lips against mine in what appeared to the onlookers as a passionate kiss between a young couple caught up in the moment.

The contact lasted only seconds, but it was enough to register several observations:

the softness of her lips, the light scent of her perfume, the surprising naturalness of the gesture despite its strategic purpose.

Most notably, I registered my own unexpected reaction - a momentary lapse in my usually perfect analytical detachment.

When she pulled back, her eyes met mine with a mixture of professional satisfaction and something else I couldn't quite identify.

"That should remove any lingering doubts about our relationship status," she said quietly, a slight flush coloring her cheeks that I suspected wasn't entirely performance.

I maintained my composure, though I found myself unusually aware of the continued proximity of our bodies in the crowded space. "Effective tactical adaptation," I managed to reply.

A glimpse past Barbara's shoulder confirmed her assessment - Madison was indeed watching us, her expression a mixture of disappointment and resignation before she turned away to address the ongoing situation below.

As the security team finally separated the fighting young men and restored order, the crowd on the upper deck began to disperse.

Barbara stepped back slightly, though we remained closer than our previous calculated distance.

"I think our mission objectives have been thoroughly accomplished," she said, her voice steady though her eyes didn't quite meet mine. "Shall we implement that exit strategy now?"

"Agreed," I replied, finding myself slightly off-balance in a way that had nothing to do with the yacht's gentle movement on the water.

My phone vibrated again with another message from Bruce: "Situation contained. Exit when convenient."

Whatever operation Bruce had been running tonight had apparently reached its conclusion. The timing worked perfectly with our own exit strategy.

We made our goodbyes strategically brief, citing an early morning commitment at Wayne Enterprises for me and a family obligation for Barbara.

Madison seemed distracted during our farewell, her earlier interest in my attendance notably diminished.

Whether due to the party disruption, her mysterious exchange with the man in the gray suit, or our public display of affection was unclear - likely a combination of all three.

As we departed on one of the small boats ferrying guests back to shore, Barbara maintained a slight distance between us, her expression thoughtful.

"That was... not exactly how I planned our exit," she said finally, her voice low enough that the other passengers couldn't hear.

"Adaptability is essential in any operation," I replied neutrally. "Your tactical decision achieved our strategic objective efficiently."

She glanced at me, a hint of amusement breaking through her contemplative expression. "Only you could describe a kiss that clinically, Samael."

I found myself unexpectedly defensive. "I meant no offense. It was... well-executed."

A small laugh escaped her. "Well-executed? That might be the strangest compliment I've ever received."

"I'm not particularly experienced in providing feedback on such matters," I admitted.

Her expression softened. "I know. I myself am not either really familiar with this. And I probably should have given you some warning. It just seemed like the perfect opportunity to cement our cover."

"It was logical," I agreed, though I found myself wondering why this conversation felt more complicated than it should have been.

We had maintained a cover identity successfully - nothing more.

Alfred was waiting with the car as arranged when we reached the dock.

As he opened the door for us, I caught a glimpse of his expression - a subtle tightness around the eyes that suggested he was aware of whatever situation had prompted Bruce's appearance at the party.

"Good evening, Miss Gordon, Master Samael," he greeted with perfect composure. "I trust the social engagement was satisfactory?"

"More interesting than anticipated, Alfred," I replied, exchanging a meaningful look with him.

"Indeed, sir," he acknowledged with the barest hint of a nod.

As we drove Barbara home, the conversation remained casual, though I noticed a subtle shift in our interaction - a slightly increased awareness of each other's presence that hadn't existed before.

The calculated performance of our relationship had been complicated by that moment of unplanned physical contact.

When we arrived at the Gordon residence, I walked Barbara to her door as protocol dictated.

"Thank you for tonight," she said, her tone more genuine than the social persona she'd maintained at the party.

"Mission accomplished, I'd say. Madison and her friends should be thoroughly convinced of our 'relationship' status now."

"An efficient partnership," I acknowledged. "Your social navigation skills are impressive."

She smiled, a genuine expression that reached her eyes. "We should do this again sometime. The partnership, I mean. Not necessarily the yacht party or the... impromptu tactical adaptations."

"I'd like that," I found myself saying, and somewhat surprisingly, I meant it.

After seeing Barbara safely inside and exchanging pleasantries with Commissioner Gordon, who had waited up for his daughter, I returned to the car.

Alfred remained silent during the drive back to Wayne Manor, which confirmed my suspicion that whatever had occurred at the party was significant enough to warrant discretion until we could speak privately.

Bruce was waiting in the Batcave when we arrived, cowl down but otherwise in full Batman attire, studying multiple screens of data.

"The party proved informative," he said without preamble as I approached.

"I gathered as much," I replied. "I noticed Madison's interaction with a man in a gray suit on the upper deck. There was an exchange of some kind."

Bruce nodded, bringing up a file on the main screen. "Lawrence Crock, known professionally as the Crusher.

Mercenary, assassin, occasional enforcer for various criminal organizations. Currently believed to be working with the League of Shadows."

The implications were significant. The League of Shadows was a major player in global terrorism and assassination, with resources and reach far beyond ordinary criminal organizations.

"And his business with Madison Hamilton?" I asked.

"Unclear at present," Bruce admitted. "But whatever he passed to her is connected to a series of high-profile technology thefts across Gotham.

Wayne Enterprises, LexCorp, Kord Industries - all targeted for specific components that could be combined to create a quantum encryption breaker."

"Capable of accessing any secure system," I noted, immediately grasping the implications. "Including government and military networks."

Bruce nodded. "Madison's father sits on the boards of several defense contractors with access to classified systems. The Hamilton family also has significant political connections."

"Making Madison an ideal courier," I concluded. "Young, socially connected, above suspicion."

"Precisely." Bruce turned to face me fully. "Your presence at the party provided valuable cover for my investigation.

I apologize for the lack of advance notice, but the intelligence about Crock's attendance came in just hours before the event."

I nodded, accepting the explanation. "What happens now?"

"The League will continue to monitor Madison's movements. Whatever she received tonight is likely the final component needed for their device." Bruce's expression hardened slightly.

"When they make their move to assemble it, we'll be waiting."

"Will the team be involved?" I asked, referring to Young Justice.

"Potentially," Bruce acknowledged. "This operation crosses multiple jurisdictions and involves several high-level targets. Coordinated response will be necessary."

I processed this information, considering the strategic implications.

If the team was activated for this mission, it would provide an opportunity to further demonstrate Superboy's developing abilities in a controlled environment - advancing both his integration with the team and my alliance with him.

"Superboy's progress continues to accelerate," I reported, shifting the conversation. "His flight capability is now stable enough for sustained hovering, and his heat vision control has improved significantly."

Bruce nodded, accepting the subject change. "The reports you've provided have been thorough. His development timeline is advancing faster than initially projected."

"Kryptonian physiology is remarkably adaptive once the initial genetic blocks are addressed," I explained, careful to frame the discussion in terms of natural development rather than my direct intervention.

"Superman has requested a meeting with him," Bruce said, watching my reaction closely.

This was unexpected news. "What prompted this change of heart?"

"Your reports, primarily," Bruce admitted. "I've kept the League informed of Superboy's developing abilities.

Superman's initial reluctance has given way to concern about untrained Kryptonian powers."

I considered this development carefully.

Superman's involvement could potentially complicate my work with Superboy, but it might also provide validation that would strengthen Superboy's confidence and stability.

"Does Superboy know about this request?" I asked.

"Not yet. I wanted to discuss it with you first, given your... mentorship role." Bruce's choice of words acknowledged my position while carefully avoiding any reference to the genetic treatments.

"I believe such a meeting would be beneficial," I said after a moment's consideration.

"Superboy deserves recognition from Superman, regardless of the circumstances that prompted it. However, the timing and approach will be critical to ensure a positive outcome."

Bruce nodded. "My thoughts exactly. I'll arrange a controlled introduction, perhaps during a training session at the mountain."

The conversation continued, shifting to more routine matters regarding the team and my research at GSI.

Throughout, I maintained the careful balance I'd developed in these interactions with Bruce - forthcoming enough to build trust while selective in the details I provided.

Later, in my room, I updated my research journal with observations from the evening's events.

The yacht party had proven unexpectedly productive, both in terms of my social cover with Barbara and the intelligence regarding the League of Shadows operation.

The potential mission against the Shadows represented an opportunity to advance multiple objectives simultaneously.

Superboy's developing abilities would be showcased in a high-stakes environment, demonstrating their value to the team and the League.

My own position would be strengthened through successful contribution to an important operation.

And perhaps most significantly, Superman's requested meeting with Superboy marked a critical turning point in that relationship - one I had indirectly engineered through my work with him.

As I completed my notes, I found my thoughts returning to that unexpected moment with Barbara.

The kiss had been a tactical decision, nothing more - a logical move to reinforce our cover story at a moment when we had an attentive audience.

Yet something about it continued to occupy my thoughts in a way that was difficult to categorize within my usual analytical framework.

A notification appeared on my tablet - a message from Barbara: "Mission accomplished. Madison cornered me after you left to 'apologize' for her behavior and ask if we were 'serious.'

Consider Operation Relationship officially successful."

I found myself smiling as I replied: "Efficient teamwork. Your social navigation skills are impressive."

Her response came quickly: "High praise from the scientific genius. Same time next week for dinner at the manor? No yacht required."

I hesitated briefly before responding, aware of an unusual uncertainty in my decision-making process.

The logical course was clear - maintaining this social alliance provided valuable cover and potentially useful connections through Barbara's position as the Commissioner's daughter.

Yet I found my reasoning supplemented by a simpler motivation that had nothing to do with strategic considerations.

"Agreed," I replied back, surprised by how much I was looking forward to it.

As I prepared for bed, I reflected on the evening's developments.

The social experiment with Barbara had achieved its intended purpose while unexpectedly evolving into something more complex than I had anticipated.

The intelligence gathered about the League of Shadows operation provided valuable context for future team missions.

And Superman's request to meet with Superboy represented significant progress in my long-term strategy.

The coincidental alignment of these separate threads created a pattern that felt almost orchestrated.

Yet I knew better than to attribute to design what could be explained by the natural convergence of related events.

Still, as I drifted toward sleep, I found my thoughts returning not to the strategic implications of the evening's discoveries, but to that brief moment against the railing -

a tactical decision that had somehow transcended its calculated purpose, leaving me with an unfamiliar sensation that defied my usual precise categorization.

A feeling that is most definitely a complication to my plans and yet...

I don't feel that I dislike it.

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(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all enjoyed the chapter!

Do tell me how you found it?

Especially the situation between Barbara and Samael.

Well, I hope to see you all later,

Bye!)