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Haunted Disclaimers:
Don't own 'em, don't make money off 'em. The only real crime I'm committing is the overuse of
adverbs, and ending far too many sentences with prepositions. A/N:
This story was inspired by a challenge given on the JL Animated RPG message
boards (like Artemis's "Sick Day" short). The first paragraph was
given to us…the rest was up to the author. Send comments, complaints,
observations to: mickerella@yahoo.com. Rated:
R for sexual situations and violent images Part I-V Part VI-X Part
XI-XV Part XVI-XX Part XXI-XXV HAUNTED Diana
had just finished her morning work out with Shayera
and was on her way to her quarters to shower and change. She walked through
the main room and saw Batman lying on the couch asleep. That wasn’t like him,
he hated anyone to see him sleeping or appearing weak. Diana sat on the edge
of the couch and took his hand gently in her hand. He
didn't jerk out of sleep, disoriented or confused, as most people did, but
simply sat up smoothly, disentangling his hand from hers. "Sorry,"
he said. "I didn’t intend to fall asleep." Diana
blinked in surprise. He had apologized -- and he looked awful. The portion of
his face visible underneath his mask was covered in stubble – at least three
days worth, she judged – and lines of fatigue were drawn beside his mouth and
evident in his posture. For someone who was meticulous about his appearance
in his attempt to terrify criminals into compliance and intimidate anyone
else, his unkempt look was completely out of character. "Are you all
right, Batman?" He
ignored her question, stood. "I have monitor duty." Now,
that was in character, Diana thought. Even though Batman could be
kind, more often he was brusque to the point of rudeness, especially when
anyone questioned him about personal matters. Diana liked Batman, respected
him – would even consider him a friend – but she also knew that their
friendship would always have an impenetrable wall of his making between them.
She was tempted to let him be his usual stubborn self, and pretend that he
was fine. But
it was obvious he was exhausted, and under considerable strain; and, no
matter how stubborn he was, she knew she could be much more so. As he began
to walk down the corridor toward the monitor room, she fell into step beside
him. "We haven’t seen you in a few days," she said conversationally.
"I
have other responsibilities." "Sleeping
obviously isn’t one of them," she pointed out. "You look
particularly horrible today. Is this a new part of the costume? A change to
inspire more fear? Because you look about as ferocious as a used scrub
brush." He
didn’t even bother to try to intimidate her then, or give her one of his
patented BatStares that she had seen work so well
on the Flash. A sure sign, Diana thought, that he shouldn’t be on his feet. "How
much have you slept in the last three days?" she asked. "If you
tell me, I’ll leave you alone." "Two
hours." He growled the words. "Now go." "I
lied." Diana stopped, put her hand on his arm, bringing him to a halt.
Her expression was serious as she stared up at him, wishing she could see the
expression in his eyes behind his lenses. "Batman, you are in no
condition to be up and monitoring right now. I’ll take over monitor duty for
you. Why don’t you go home to your cave, or use my room, and get some
sleep?" Batman didn’t have personal quarters on the Watchtower as the
rest of the league did. He
didn’t bother to answer her, just pulled away and resumed walking down the
corridor. Diana firmed her lips, made a decision that she knew would make him
furious. She
flew to him, and using her superspeed so that he
couldn’t react or deflect her movement, hit him twice with her index and
middle fingers, once on the back of the neck, once on the chest. He
had just enough time before collapsing to realize that she’d hit two of his
pulse points in a very specific pattern, and his lips drew back into a snarl,
but he was asleep before he could say anything. ***************
Batman
bent over Diana’s chair, his face inches from hers. "Don’t. Ever. Do.
That. Again." Diana
pushed against his chest, and he was forced back several feet. She stood,
stepped forward and lifted herself onto her toes until her nose was even with
his. "Don’t. Be. An. Idiot." She turned, and he caught the scent of
the shampoo she used on her hair – the same scent that had clung to the
pillow he’d woken up on. She held up her hand, lifted her index finger.
"One, you were exhausted. You were no good to the league like that.
Monitor duty requires the ability to monitor diligently. If you had monitored
in the state you were in, it would have been like the Flash coming in drunk
to duty." She lifted a second finger. "Two, you needed sleep. You
now can function because you’ve had six hours of sleep. It’s not enough, but
it is better than earlier. If we had needed you in an emergency, you may have
endangered the team if you had insisted on fighting while fatigued." A
third finger went up, and he began to wonder if she’d spent the entire six
hours while he’d been sleeping finding excuses to justify what she’d done.
"As a member of the team, I made a judgment that overrode your wishes. I
would have done the same to any of the other members of the league. If it had
been Shayera or GL with an injury, you would have
drugged them to keep them from endangering themselves or the team – I’ve seen
you do so. You weren’t injured, but you had a medical need for sleep. I did
nothing you wouldn’t have done under the same circumstances." She
stopped, took a deep breath. "And I was concerned about you." The
anger abruptly drained from him. He knew Diana genuinely cared for him; if
things had been different, if he had been different, he might have pursued
that, seen if it could ever have developed into something more. But they
weren't, and he wasn't; as it was, he found himself letting his guard down
far too often around her, found himself talking to her easily or confiding in
her at times. He wondered if she was even aware how much closer he was to her
than the rest of the league, except perhaps Superman. "Finished?"
She
narrowed her eyes as if considering, then nodded. "You
are right." He saw her eyes widen in surprise. "Next time, however,
instead of attacking me, just outline your reasons." She
gave him a wry glance. "You weren’t exactly in the mood at the time to
listen." She sat back down in her chair, and added, "You still look
tired, and you need a shave." He
ran his hand over his chin. "I haven’t been at home in a while," he
said slowly. He could see the curiosity on her face, but was glad that she
didn’t ask him to talk further about it. He hadn’t meant to say that, to
admit it – even to himself. Home.
It had once been his refuge, and now…now… Now
he didn’t know if it was heaven, or hell. ***************(I
apologize in advance for this ridiculous setup scene – it’s filler simply for
plot movement, and not really important, but at least it is short) The
atmosphere around the table was tense. They had just received word that an
unknown species of giant spider was attacking the citizens of a South
American village. "I
have BatSpiderRepellent in the cave," he said.
"But I will need to take the Javelin to transport it. It is in huge
barrels." Batman
was already shaking his head. "I can manage it on my own." "But
it will go much more quickly if you have me to load the Javelin," Diana
said. It was obvious that Batman didn’t want anyone in the cave, but speed
was of the essence. They needed that BatSpiderRepellent.
She
watched as Batman visibly struggled with his decision before finally saying,
"Fine." He
stood, and she stood, and they left the room, heading for the hangar. ************
She’d
been in the cave before, but she was struck anew with the immenseness of it,
the order that Batman had imposed even on this natural structure. In its own
way, it reminded her of home; on Themyscira, too,
they had carved order out of nature without ruining the impact and grandeur
of the original setting. She
took in everything that she could: the giant penny, the row of costumes, the
giant computers. Diana intended to ask Batman about everything, someday, when
he was willing to talk about it. How had he gotten the penny into the cave?
Why was one Robin costume set up differently than the others, as if in
memorial? She sensed that there were stories there, stories of his past
battles, and even more fascinating, hints about the type of man he was under
the mask. But
for now, she kept her thoughts and questions to herself, and followed him to
the back of the cave, where he pointed out the two barrels of chemicals that
they needed. She picked them up easily, one over each shoulder, and turned to
follow him back to the Javelin. As
they walked, she frowned. Was it her imagination, or did he seem edgy? He had
begun glancing around him -- in any other man she would have said 'fearfully'
-- once they had disembarked from the Javelin. At first she had put it down
to his paranoia, but now that she considered it more carefully, she realized
that whenever she had been in the cave with him before he had been completely
at ease. Had
something made him afraid? Had his security been compromised? Was something
down here? She felt a prickling on the back of her neck, told herself that
she was being silly. Batman
looked back at her, and froze, looking past her. "Hurry, Diana," he
said, and this time she was sure there was a note of urgency in his voice. She
felt something cold, clammy against her back. She increased her pace, but
didn't look around. "Don't
touch her." Batman's voice grated past her, and the feeling -- whatever
it was -- left her skin. A few steps later and she was in the Javelin,
setting down the barrels. She whirled around, looked out of the doorway into
the cave, but couldn't see anything. Batman
was already in the cockpit, closing the doors, firing the engines. She joined
him, peered out the front windows into the darkness. For
just a second, out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn she saw a
young boy dressed in a Robin costume. He smiled mischievously and waved, but
when she turned her head to look directly at him, nothing was there. She
shivered, but said nothing. She knew this was a clue to Batman's strange
behavior lately, his appearance and the reason he'd been in such bad shape
earlier. What
in Hades was going on down here? Part II Diana
saw the couple several times while she volunteered at the clinic the next
evening, but didn't think anything of it. Her mind was preoccupied by what
she had seen -- thought she had seen? -- in the cave the day earlier. She
would have asked Batman about it, but he had disappeared almost immediately
after they had neutralized the invasion on the village. In
any case, she was sure he wouldn't have discussed it with her anyway. She
sighed and continued her work, gathering the clinic's medical equipment that
needed to be sterilized. Batman had told her of this place once when he'd
realized she was feeling useless in the Watchtower during her spare time: it
was run by a friend of his, Dr. Leslie Thompkins,
in one of the poorer, crime ridden sections of Gotham.
He had told her that Dr. Thompkins was always in
need of reliable volunteers, since the clinic existed primarily on donations
by wealthy Diana
had been glad to offer her services, and although she was needed from time to
time to act as a nurse during an emergency, she spent most of her time
helping with the never-ending tasks of cleaning examination rooms, helping
illiterate or injured clients fill out their paperwork, and sterilizing used
equipment. As
she came out of the last exam room, she noticed the couple again, staring at
her. Diana assumed they must have recognized her; despite her best efforts to
look nondescript by wearing street clothes, removing her bracelets and tiara
and pulling back her hair, someone inevitably realized that she was the same
woman who wore star-spangled briefs when she fought with the Justice League.
She gave them a friendly smile and carried her burden back into one of the
labs. The
couple had been well dressed, in their mid- to late-thirties and with the air
of money around them -- obviously not clients of Leslie's. Probably Diana
smiled at that -- obviously, she thought, some of Hawkgirl's
attitudes about the lazy rich were rubbing off on her. Thirty
minutes later she had completed her duties, and her volunteer shift was over.
She waved goodbye to the remaining staff, and stepped out into the This
part of She
prepared to launch herself into the air, then caught sight of the couple from
the clinic across the street, standing in front of a burned out movie
theater. They were talking quietly with each other, oblivious to the stares
from the neighborhood's inhabitants who passed them. Diana
saw a group of young teenagers eye the two with a calculating gleam in their
expressions, and knew that unless she did something, the couple would very probably
be mugged on the sidewalk -- or worse. She
flew across the street and landed beside them, hoping that the display of
superpowers would be enough to deter the teenagers. It was -- after a few
startled shouts, they took off down the street. She
turned to the couple. "It's not safe for you to be here at this time of
night. You should probably call a cab; or if you brought your car, leave as
soon as possible." The
woman smiled at her -- a genuine smile, not the artificial one that Diana was
used to once people realized who she was -- and Diana couldn't help but
immediately like her. Though older, her face retained a youth and beauty that
actresses and models would have killed for; and it also contained a kindness
that Diana instantly felt. "You are the one they call Wonder Woman,
aren't you? The one who works with our Batman?" Diana
raised her eyebrow at the 'our Batman'. She hadn't realized that the citizens
of The
woman laughed, and her husband smiled. He reminded Diana of someone, but she
couldn't put her finger on whom… The
man spoke. "My dear, we are the last people who will worry about
something happening to us here. Believe me when I say that everything that
could possibly happen to us already has." "Oh,"
Diana said, not really understanding. She decided to wait with them until she
was sure they were safe -- if they intended to stay here, then so would she. "We
saw you at the clinic," the woman said. "Thomas here used to be a
doctor himself." She indicated her husband. "We think Leslie has
done wonders with the place -- she's a dear friend of ours." Diana
nodded. "She's very dedicated, and compassionate. I wish that more
people would take an interest in her work, give her the honor she is
due." She also wished the couple would call for a taxi, but had to admit
that talking to them was interesting. Outside of the clinic and the
Watchtower, Diana didn't get the chance to converse with many people. The
man smiled at Diana again. "You are as kind as you are beautiful,
Diana," he said, and his blue eyes twinkled when she blushed slightly.
"Martha and I have a son, and we'd always hoped that he'd find someone
like you when he was older, and be happy, but…" His voice trailed off,
and both of their faces grew sad. "But he's determined not to be happy,
and we feel so distant from him," Thomas finished. Diana
didn't know what to say, but the sorrow in their faces touched her. Her own
relationship with her mother was … well, non-existent since Diana's exile.
She searched for words to comfort them. "I'm sorry. I know what it's
like to be separated from the family that means the most to you -- but I'm
sure he still loves you, even though you feel distant. I feel the same about
my mother. No matter what comes between us, I'll always love her." Thomas
took Martha's hand in his own, and stared at his wife. So much love shone
from his eyes that Diana's breath was nearly taken away -- what was it like
to be loved like that? "I
told you she was as smart as she is kind and beautiful, Martha," Thomas
said softly. Martha
smiled back at him, her love reflected in her face. She swatted his arm
playfully. "I believe I was the one who told you," she countered.
They gazed at each other a moment longer, and Diana felt as if she was
witnessing something rare, something wonderful. Then they both shook
themselves, looked at her without a touch of embarrassment. "Sometimes
we get carried away," Thomas said. "It used to drive Bruce crazy.
'How gross!' he'd tell us when we did this during his childhood years." Diana
grinned. She'd never had that problem herself -- at least not until a couple
of months ago, when she'd realized her mother had been with the god Hades.
"I think all children go through that stage -- some of us later than
others," she said. They
both smiled at her again, then Martha said, "I'm afraid we have to get
going, but before we do I'd like to invite you to our home tomorrow evening."
Thomas
reached into his pocket, pulled out a square envelope. "It's a
fund-raiser for the clinic, hosted by the Wayne Foundation," he added.
"We'd love to see you there." Diana
took the envelope, felt a sudden chill at the end of her fingertips that
disappeared once Thomas let go of the invitation. "I'd be honored to
attend," she said honestly, "but I must admit that I don't have any
money to donate." Martha
laughed softly. "You already donate your time, which is far more
valuable than money. Just ask Leslie. In any case, your presence alone will
probably squeeze a few more dollars from "Just
watch out for our son," Thomas said, although Diana had the distinct
feeling that he meant the exact opposite. "He'll try to dazzle you more
than any of the others, but don't let him pull the wool over your eyes. His
playboy attitude is just a mask he wears." Because
he's really unhappy, Diana remembered them telling her, but also felt there
was more behind Thomas's words than she could interpret. She tucked the
envelope into the back of her jeans, looked behind her, hoping to see a taxi
that she could hail for the couple. The street was empty. When
she looked back, Thomas and Martha were gone. She turned around, scanning the
sidewalks, the street. Nothing. "Hera," Diana muttered. "What do they put in the
water here? Does everyone in Convincing
herself that they must have owned one of the cars parked nearby, and had
simply gotten into it while she had been distracted, Diana resumed her walk,
listening to the deadly beat of Crime Alley, wondering if Batman was out
there listening to it, too. Part III "Don't
you remember what I told you about the idle rich?" Shayera
said, her voice full of exasperation. She was lounging across Diana's bed,
watching the other woman prepare herself for the evening out. Which
meant, for someone like Diana, simply brushing her hair and dressing. Diana hadn't
yet gotten past the hair stage; she was having far too much fun talking with Hawkgirl. "But
they weren't always idle," Diana said. She looked uncertainly at a
bottle of hair gel Flash had insisted she'd borrow. Gotta
do the 'do if you want to impress the gents, he'd said. Since the "And
what is he now?" Shayera rolled her eyes.
"I don't know about the parents, but I've seen Bruce Wayne on TV many
times since coming to Earth. He supposedly runs the family business, but it
looks to me like he just parties and travels and is a generally useless
person who hangs around with useless beautiful women." "Well,"
Diana said, squirting some of the gel onto her hand, "They did mention
they were disappointed in the way their son had turned out. That's got to be
a sign that they are better than Bruce, or at least have higher
standards." She stared at the liquid on her palm, then grimaced and slid
her hand down the center of her hair. Shayera frowned. "That looks pretty
bad." Diana
looked in the mirror, at the wet streak of hair plastered to her scalp like a
racing stripe. "I think it is supposed to look better once it
dries." She wiped the remaining gel from her hand onto a towel, and
turned to her closet. Shayera hopped eagerly from the bed.
"What did you decide to wear…oh." Diana had a total of three things
in her closet: a t-shirt, an extra uniform, and a long dress hidden under a
plastic bag. "There goes the fun of trying on a million different
outfits before picking one," she said. Diana
reached for the dress' hanger. "Do women really do that in Man's
World?" Shrugging,
Shayera replied, "I'm not sure. I've seen it
on TV and read about it. I think it is a standard ritual before going
out." "You've
been out before," Diana said, throwing the other woman a quizzical
glance. "Yeah,
but not to a function like this." Shayera
flopped back down on the bed. "The places I go to are
jeans-friendly." Diana
removed the plastic from the dress, and Shayera sat
up again. "Diana, where did you get that?" Deep red and made
of real silk, the dress was long and would fit close to Diana's form, cut
very low in the back, and held in place with tiny shoulder straps studded
with chips of what Shayera suspected were real
rubies. Blushing
slightly, Diana admitted, "Remember when we first joined the Justice
League, and a bunch of companies sent us gifts and products, hoping we'd
either become spokeswomen or receive free advertising by using their
gifts?" Shayera nodded. "But we decided to
give it all to charity…Diana, you didn't." Amusement sparked in her
eyes. "I
couldn't resist," Diana said. "It was so bright and beautiful, and
it felt so wonderful. I haven't felt material like this since I was on Themyscira…" She slipped her hand over the silk and
sighed blissfully. "I
kept the Playstation 2," Hawkgirl
said. "It had this really great game where you beat down the bad guys
while searching through tombs, and another where you get to be a
detective…" She stopped, and both women began laughing. Diana
slipped the dress over her head, but paused before getting it over her
shoulders. Seconds later, she was pulling it off again, heading for the
bathroom. "Diana?
What's wrong?" Diana
spun around and pinched together the hair she had gelled. Shayera
heard a distinct CRUNCH! and her mouth rounded in a shocked 'O'. "It's
dry? But it still looks so wet!" "I'm
going to wash my hair, again," Diana said. "And then we'll find
Flash. You get to hold him down while I shove that bottle of gel somewhere
interesting." Shayera burst into laughter again.
"You are such a good friend, Diana. You always let me join in when you
do something really fun." Diana
spun around again and entered the bathroom, muttering invectives about Man's
World, beauty products, and the ridiculousness of impressing stupid rich
bachelors in general. ************
"Are
you certain you are up to this, sir?" Alfred said. Bruce
stared into the mirror. Clever use of concealer had
masked the dark circles under his eyes, eyedrops
had removed the red, bloodshot appearance he'd had for the last several days.
He pasted on his dopey Bruce Wayne grin, trying it out. He
looked like dopey Bruce Wayne. "I think I'll pass, Alfred. If anyone
notices anything, they'll just think I'm recovering from a hangover." He
took one of the shirts Alfred held out, slid it on. "In any case, it is
too late to cancel now, even if I wasn't up to it." He glanced around
the room, saw that the two shadowy figures were still in the corner, dripping
blood onto the carpet. He could hear their whispers. ...you
weren't fast enough… …why
didn't you save us… Alfred
looked at the corner, too. "Do you think we'll have trouble with
our…uninvited guests?" Bruce
shook his head, hoping more than knowing it was true. "So far, only you
and I have been able to see them – the staff we've hired to help with the
fundraiser hasn't noticed anything, even though I've seen them walk right
past the apparitions." Bruce knew that often even Alfred didn't notice
them. They concentrated around Bruce, only appearing to him the majority of
the time. He didn't mention to the older gentleman how many he'd seen; he
didn't want Alfred more concerned than he already was. …you
failed us… He
closed his eyes, tried to shut out the voices. "Alfred, have they been
coming while I'm not here?" "Only
Jason, sir." Alfred sighed, letting his grief show for just a moment
before regaining his composure. "He asks where you are, then disappears
when I tell him you are out. And they have yet to appear in my suite, or the
kitchens." …we
needed you, and you weren't there, couldn't save us… "Jason."
Bruce bowed his head, took deep breaths. Seconds later he looked up again,
pasted on the Bruce Wayne expression. Behind him, the figures moaned and
whispered. I can do this, he thought. But
for the first time since becoming Batman, he wasn't so sure. **********
"Wha…What?!" Superman stared at Diana in disbelief, a
blush crawling up his neck. "What did you say?" Diana
looked at him over her shoulder, sticking out her right hip a little more.
"Does my butt look big?" Superman continued to make those
gasping-fish motions with his mouth, so she decided to explain. "Shayera says that it is customary before going out in a
new dress to ask a man if one's bottom appears large. You were the first man
I saw." "Oh."
Clark blinked quickly, trying to look anywhere but at the perfectly shaped derriere
Diana had nearly thrust into his face. "Um, no, it looks fine." Diana
turned her head to look down at herself, thrusting her hips far backward so
that she could see the curve of her own bottom. "Does that mean it looks
big or small? Neither Hawkgirl nor I were sure if
it was supposed to be large or small, we just knew we had to ask the
question. Which one is better? Big or little?" "Um,
little, I think," Diana
stopped wiggling and turned to face him. "The "No,
his parents did. Thomas and Martha," Diana said. "I met them at Dr.
Thompkins's clinic yesterday." What
could he say? "Uh…nothing," he said. "Have you seen Batman
lately? I need to talk to him." "He
hasn't contacted us since we were in She
probably didn't know how that sounded, He
turned and headed for the communications room. Part IV If
the butler was surprised that a member of the Justice League was standing on
his doorstep, he didn't show it. Diana smiled at him, gave him her
invitation. He glanced at it, then stepped back, opening wide the door. "Excuse
my rudeness, Princess Diana. I hadn't realized you were on the guest
list." Diana
wondered when he had been rude, but said quickly, hoping to ease his
discomfort, "Oh, I was a last minute invite, and I forgot to respond to
let someone know I was coming. It is I who should apologize. I hope I won't
disrupt too many arrangements." She
thought he looked slightly offended. "We are always prepared at Wayne
Manor, your highness. And do not apologize, for my employer should have
informed me of the last minute change." The butler stepped back,
allowing her to come into the entryway. "If you need anything while
visiting the Manor, your highness, my name is Alfred. Just ask any of the
staff for me, and I'll come immediately." "Thank
you, Alfred," she said. "And call me Diana, please," She
was sure that he was offended this time. "Surely not, your
highness," he said stiffly, and escorted her to the main hall. The
room was filled with "Diana,"
Leslie greeted her, a smile lighting her features. The gentleman with whom
she'd been talking excused himself, and left their side. "How wonderful
that you came! Bruce didn't mention that you would be here, or that he'd
invited you. If he had said something I would have made arrangements for us
to arrive together. I didn't even realize that he knew you." Diana could
feel Leslie watching her closely, as if wondering if Diana knew something, as
if measuring her words to give some meaning behind them. "I
don't think I've ever met Bruce," Diana said, returning the woman's
smile. "And from what I've heard from Hawkgirl,
I'm not sure I want to," she added with a small laugh. Leslie
chuckled. "Well, he's got hidden depths." Again the questioning
look, then it was gone. "But he would be much more…out of control if Alfred
wasn't around. That man is a heaven-send." She lifted her hand in a
small wave to the butler. Diana
grinned. "I think that I insulted him unintentionally when I came in
just now. I told him to call me Diana." Leslie
took a sip of her drink, watching Alfred over Diana's shoulder with an
affectionate expression. "Alfred observes the proprieties at all
times," Leslie laughed again. "But he was probably very touched
that you offered your name to him. He just wouldn't dare show it." A
woman, heavily draped with jewels and satin, rushed up to Leslie's side.
"Leslie, darling!" She kissed the doctor on both cheeks. Diana
stepped back slightly to escape the cloud of perfume that surrounded her,
bumped into a hard chest. She
turned, surprised. She must have been very distracted to let someone get that
close without her realizing it. "Excuse me," she said. "I
didn't mean to—" The
man surprised her again, lifting her hand to his lips, placing a kiss on the
back of her knuckles. His lips were warm and firm. "I don't believe
we've met," he said smoothly. "I'm Bruce Wayne." Ah,
so this was the oft-mentioned Bruce Wayne, Diana thought. She studied him
quickly. He did resemble his father, and he was certainly handsome, but she
could smell the cosmetics he used. Probably to cover up evidence of his wild
living, Diana realized. She felt a wave of compassion for Thomas and Martha
sweep over her. They deserved better than this slick charmer. She
pulled her hand away. "I'm pleased to meet your acquaintance, Mr.
Wayne," she lied. "I am Diana." "Just
Diana?" Bruce smiled, showing brilliant white teeth. "No last name?
How will I find your number in the telephone directory without a last
name?" "I
don't have a phone," she said. "And I can't imagine why you'd want
to call me." "Can't
you?" he asked, and his blue eyes flared with a strange intensity before
he blinked, and he was looking at her again with a mixture of boredom and
amusement. "Well, if I can't contact you by phone, what about your
address? That way I'll know where to send the car to pick you up." "Space,"
Diana said. "I live in space." He
gave her a confused look. "Is that the new apartment complex
downtown?" …couldn't
save us, we counted on you… Diana
frowned, looked around. Had she just heard that? "Yes,"
she answered absently, not really remembering what he'd said. "Good,
then I'll pick you up there at eight tomorrow," Bruce said. "What?"
She gave him her full attention again. "Pick me up where?" "Your
place. For a date." He gave her a dazzling smile. "I
can't," she choked. How had the conversation ended up like this? "I
have monitor duty." His
face fell, then brightened. "Well, then, I'll just have to stick closely
by your side tonight." "But—"
…don't
leave us, don't let us be alone… Diana
glanced around again for the source of the whisper. Conversations were taking
place all around her, but she couldn't imagine anyone here talking in a
pathetic, raspy whisper like that. "I
see you've met Bruce, Diana," Leslie joined the conversation again
suddenly. She turned to Bruce. "I had just been telling Diana how glad I
was that you invited her." He
looked at Diana, suddenly watching her carefully. "And I thought that
she'd procured an invitation from the pile I gave you to distribute,
Leslie." He lifted an eyebrow, grinned. "Are you gate-crashing,
Diana No-Last-Name?" "I've
crashed through no gates," Diana said, feeling suddenly awkward.
"Thomas and Martha invited me." Leslie
gasped, and Bruce's expression froze, his skin turning several shades paler. "Diana!
What a horrible thing to say!" Leslie cried. Several heads turned to
look at them. Bruce
reached forward, grabbed her hand, holding it in a tight grip. Diana could
have gotten away easily, but she had the sinking feeling that she had just said
something terribly wrong, so she didn’t jerk it away. He began pulling her
through the crowd, walking quickly, tugging her along behind him. She
had to break into a jog to keep up with his huge strides, her heels clicking
at a rapid pace. "I don't understand what I said wrong, but I'm
sorry." Eyes stared as they cleared a path through the chatting groups
of people. "Shut
up," he grated out, and her eyes widened. Great Hera—who
was this man? That voice… He
pushed open a recessed door that she had barely been able to see, pulled her
through, slammed it behind them. The room was sparsely furnished with a sofa
and a couple of armchairs. He pointed to a chair, and she sat. Dread built up
inside her. Something
was wrong here – so much confusion over the invitations. She suddenly
remembered Superman's reaction when she'd mentioned Thomas and Martha's
names. Then the whispers. And, now, a playboy bachelor with Batman's voice,
only a couple of days after she's seen…something…in the cave. Bruce
was stalking across the room, back and forth, and she watched him as he
visibly controlled whatever emotions were raging through him. Finally, he
faced her, jaw set but the rest of his face expressionless. "My
parents died twenty years ago, Diana," he said. "I want to know
exactly what you meant by that comment out there." Her
hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, Hera, no…" "Yes,"
he said harshly. She
was shaking her head. "There must be some terrible mistake. I talked
to them yesterday. They said their names were Thomas and Martha, and they
gave me the invitation." Her eyes were wide with concern and regret.
"Someone must have been playing a joke on us. I'm so sorry, Batman, but
I really didn't know." "You
couldn't have," he muttered, pacing again. His mind raced. Did this have
something to do with the apparitions that kept appearing around him, or was
Diana right, and had someone simply been playing a cruel game? "Tell me
all about your meeting with them," he said suddenly, turning back to
her. She
was staring at him with a mixture of shock and wonder, and he abruptly
realized what she had called him just moments ago. Batman. And he hadn't
reacted, but answered to the name as if he'd been wearing the mask. "Ah,
hell," he said tiredly, and sat down. Part V "It
wasn't an attempt to trick you, Bruce," Diana said urgently. "I was
just thinking that you sounded like Batman, and that your body was like
Batman's, and then you turned around and you had the same clenched jaw and
lack of expression that Batman often has. And because I was thinking it, the
name slipped out." "I
know," he said. Diana didn't have a calculating bone in her body, except
when she wanted him to sleep. He leaned back on the sofa, wondering how he
could have been so careless. "I'm
sorry about your parents, Bruce," she added softly. "If I had
realized—" "I
know, Diana," he said again. "Will you tell me about your meeting
with them?" She
nodded, and leaned forward, detailing the encounter with the "And
you said they mentioned me by name?" "They
spoke about how you had reacted as a child when they would stare at each
other, or kiss each other," she said. "And before that, how distant
they felt from you." She didn't add that they had talked about how
they'd wished Bruce had found a girl like her, or their disappointment in
him. She
frowned. But had they really said they were disappointed? No, she realized,
they had simply been disappointed that Bruce was unhappy – that he didn't let
himself be happy. And now it was apparent that they were talking about the
way he pushed himself so hard, took so much onto himself. "What
is it?" Bruce asked, noting her expression. "Well,
I think they might have known about your alter ego, Bruce," she said.
"I received the impression more than once that there were hidden
meanings behind their words, and at one point they said – I remember this
distinctly – 'our Batman'. And later, that your playboy image was just a mask."
She thought of someone else who'd given her the same impression of hidden
meanings, and asked, "Does Leslie know about you?" "Yes,"
he said. He glanced at his watch, stood up. "She was there the night
they were shot." "Oh,"
Diana said, suddenly realizing that the story of his parents' deaths was much
more violent than she had thought. It made sense though, now that she
considered his character, the way in which he fought with his body, not with
guns – which would have been far easier for a normal human. He
held out his hand to her, and she took it, letting him assist her from the
chair. "What do we tell Leslie about the invitation?" she wondered.
"That
someone played a trick on you," he said. "As for the rest of the
crowd, we'll go out and pretend as if I was just over my head for you, and
talked you into a tour of the Manor. We'll go back, dance once or twice after
which you will get publicly disgusted with me, leaving me alone, and then no
one will ask further questions." She
gave him a withering look. "'Tour of the Manor?' I'm not that naïve,
Bruce." "Yes,
but they don't know that." He grinned, and she watched as the Bat
fell away from his demeanor, replaced by Bruce Wayne again. She shivered
slightly – the difference was uncanny. It was the same person…but it wasn't. "Are
you going to try to start to find the people who impersonated your parents
tonight?" She
noted his slight hesitation before he said, "…Yes." She
followed him back out to the hallway, and he led her on a circuitous route
around the main hall, directly into the ballroom. He took her hand again, led
her onto the dance floor. "One
or two songs until people notice that we are back," he whispered,
pulling her against him, "And then you'll pretend to be disgusted with
me. They'll assume I said something inappropriate." Diana
fell into step with him easily. It was almost like sparring, she thought,
except she wasn't trying to fight him. Bruce
gradually drew her closer to his body. When she looked at him, he smiled and
said, "Part of the act. Soon you'll be indecently close." She
nodded, and rested her head on his shoulder. He
breathed in her scent, letting one hand rest boldly on the exposed skin of
her lower back. The ends of her hair brushed his hand as they swayed. He
trailed the tips of his fingers down her spine, felt her shiver. Despite
everything -- the apparitions, his exhaustion, Diana discovering his secret
-- he felt relaxed for the first time in as long as he could remember. He
felt like a fool for being so careless with his identity, but found that he
didn't really mind Diana knowing. He trusted her; she wouldn't ever reveal
him or those he protected. He
bent his head, telling himself that it was just part of their plan, kissed
her lightly on the temple. Her head jerked back in surprise, and she stared
up at him, her eyes wide and impossibly bright in the dim light.
"Bruce…" He
claimed her mouth then, and she remained frozen for a moment before softening
under his hands and lips, shyly returning his kiss. He could feel her heart
pounding against his chest, echoing the furious beat of his own, and he
wanted to deepen the embrace, use his lips and tongue to taste her, but
already he could hear the whispers of the other guests. He
lifted his head. Her lips clung to his for just an instant before he broke
away, and she put her head back on his shoulder, breathing rapidly. He
let his cheek rest on the top of her head, briefly cherishing the moment
before saying, "You were supposed to push me away, not continue
dancing." …
you couldn't save us, where were you… He
closed his eyes. He should have known the silence he'd enjoyed since he'd
dragged Diana out of the hall couldn't last. Diana
stiffened against him, and she raised her head to look around curiously. He
assumed she was upset with herself for not following through with their plan,
but he wasn't unhappy that the kiss had distracted her so much. He
tried to ignore the voices, said, "All the guests saw us, Diana."
He tried to smile. She
suddenly tensed, looking over his shoulder. Her eyes widened, and he thought
he saw a hint of fear flicker in them. "Diana?"
"Bruce,"
she said, her voice shaky, "there is a man standing behind you who
shouldn't be alive. His neck is obviously broken, and the other couples are
dancing through him." …why
didn't you get them, why didn't you stop them… "And
do you hear that? It's coming from him, even though his mouth isn't
moving." "I
hear it," he said, and shifted them around as if they were still dancing
so that he could look at the apparition. The guests around them were
oblivious to it. "That's Fickle Fingered Eddie Torturro."
He kept his tone even, partly to convince Diana that he wasn't as shaken by
these sightings as he was, and partly to convince himself. Diana
glanced at him in surprise, then turned her head so that she could keep her
eyes on it -- just in case. "You know him?" "He
was an…informant, of sorts, in one of my cases." He didn't add that the
evidence Eddie had given him had helped convict a mobster, or that the
mobster had sent threatening letters to Eddie from prison, promising
retribution. Eddie had hung himself in the safe house Batman had provided for
him. He
was one of Bruce's failures. All of the apparitions were. "Why
can't anyone else see him?" "I
don't know," Bruce said. "I don't know why you can, either. Alfred
does, sometimes." Diana
gave him a horror-filled look. "Sometimes? This happens to you
often?" She glanced back at the grisly spectre,
but it had disappeared. "No wonder you haven't been sleeping here,"
she muttered. "Or sleeping much at all." "Not
unless a beautiful woman forces me into her bed," he said, a bit loudly.
She
sighed. "So now we play?" He
nodded, and she slapped him. She didn't hit him hard, but he jerked his head
as if she'd delivered a resounding blow. "You
disgusting pig of a man!" She hissed loudly enough for those around to
hear, and stalked away from him, exiting the ballroom and coming out into a
deserted hallway. She
realized that she was shaking, and she leaned against the wall and closed her
eyes, trying to comprehend everything she had seen and heard since entering
the Manor. She reached up, touched her lips. Batman
-- Bruce -- had kissed her, and she had enjoyed it, wanted him to kiss her
again. And he was being haunted by ghosts. She wasn't sure which was more
unsettling, more shocking. "Miss?"
She
looked up, and a teenage boy grinned at her from the doorway to the ballroom.
"Are you lost?" "No,"
Diana said, straightening up from the wall. "I was just…thinking." "Oh,"
he said, "I do that a lot, too." He walked toward her, the friendly
grin on his face never wavering, his hands deep in the pockets of his tuxedo
pants. "Do you want to walk through the Manor and think together?"
He jerked his head toward the ballroom. "There's too many people in
there." Diana
immediately liked the boy, his honest, open way of speaking. She smiled.
"That sounds like a good idea. I'm Diana," she said, and fell into
step beside him. "I'm
Jason," he said. "Master
Bruce, a reporter from the Daily Planet is on the phone for you," Alfred
said. Bruce
paused in the middle of a sentence describing the length of his golf clubs,
turned to give Alfred a bored expression. "A reporter? Can’t it wait? I
was just giving…Bunny?" He looked at the woman next to him for
confirmation. She nodded, obviously unable to smile because of multiple Botox injections. "I was just telling Bunny about
last Saturday’s round over at the country club." "He
would like you to give a few statements about tonight’s fundraiser. It will
be a feature article in the Daily Planet." "A
feature article?" Bruce winked at Bunny, gave her conspiratorial grin.
"Well, now, I can’t afford to lose that kind of publicity, can I? One
must always expose themselves to the press whenever possible, mustn’t
they?" Bunny,
who had been a model-turned-famous actress in a series of horror movies the
decade earlier, nodded emphatically. Bruce wondered if she would give her
patented scream if she knew that the ghost of Ronny Mackles
stood next to her, dripping blood that only Bruce could see onto her four
hundred dollar shoes. "I am always telling Ben we should get more
exposure," Bunny said. Ben Winthrop was her much older financier
husband, and the reason, Bruce assumed, that Bunny felt it necessary to
maintain her Botox treatments – Winthrop would give
Bruce Wayne a run for his money in the womanizing department, and Bunny was
slowly showing the signs of her age. Bruce
followed Alfred from the room, and slid into a small office off the hallway.
He briefly wondered where Diana was, if she had left the Manor completely
after the scene in the ballroom, then forced her from his mind and picked up
the phone. If "Bruce
Wayne," he said into the receiver. "Hi,
Bruce," "Oh?"
Bruce matched Considering
his carelessness earlier with Diana, Bruce thought it was safer that way. "It
claims that Wonder Woman was invited to your function tonight," "I’ve
seen her around." Bruce’s muscles tensed. He had a feeling he knew what "Well,
reports are that she told Superman before she left the Watchtower that she
received the invite from Thomas and Martha Wayne." Clark hesitated over
the last bit, Bruce noted. Probably to save him from some kind of surprise or
unnecessary pain. "Oh,
that?" Bruce laughed. "Yeah, I’ve already talked to Wonder Woman
about it, so I’m afraid you are a little late, Clark." "Do
you have an explanation?" "I’m
working on that, Relief
entered "Bye,
He
didn’t believe in ghosts, yet he had run multiple tests on himself and
Alfred, checking for unusual chemicals in the bloodstream, altered brainwave
patterns and any other abnormalities that might explain why they were seeing
the dead. He had scoured the Manor and cave for projection equipment, and
tested for incoming electrical signals, yet had found nothing – even when he
tested the apparitions themselves. He
was at a loss for an explanation, and as for why Diana could see them too… He
shook his head, trying to make sense of it. The appearance of the He
didn’t believe in ghosts, he told himself. Yet
he couldn’t forget the look on the old woman’s face when she had looked at
him, had whispered the words he couldn’t translate, then pointed at him with
an accusing finger. Haunted.
Until you lose one of your own loves—haunted. He
didn’t believe in ghosts, and he didn’t believe in curses, either. He
resolved to visit the site of Diana’s encounter with the But
he couldn’t keep himself from feeling a little fear at what he might find at
that theater – and a little hope. ******************************* They
stopped in front of a painting by Picasso, and Jason looked at it intently.
"I don’t like it," he said. "Do you?" Diana
turned her attention from the boy to the painting, tried to make sense of the
blue, crying figure of the woman. "I think it’s very powerful," she
said, "but depressing." She smiled. "I have to admit that I’m
far more familiar with ancient art forms. The more modern art still gives me
a lot of trouble trying to understand what it means." Jason
nodded. "There’s some old stuff in the next hall," he said. Diana
grinned at his use of the term ‘old stuff’. She judged his age to be around
fourteen or fifteen, although he was slightly small for that number of years.
"When
I lived with Bruce, he used to take me through these halls all the time,
telling me about different art styles," Jason said, rolling his eyes.
Diana’s step faltered for just a moment. "Alfred was far more fun."
"You…lived
with Bruce?" She was still reeling from the knowledge that he was
Batman. She wondered what else she would discover about him that night. "Yeah,
he adopted me." Jason shrugged. "Then stuff happened." Batman…a
father? It had never occurred to Diana. Not that, she thought with a small
smile, she often thought of fathers much at all. As the only child on an
island full of women, she had barely a concept of what a father was until
she’d come to Man’s World. Although
she longed to ask what ‘stuff’ had happened, she respected Bruce’s – and
Jason’s – privacy enough to hold her tongue. Had there been issues with
Bruce’s other persona? Or had they simply been incompatible? No,
Diana decided about the latter – Jason had had only positive things to say
about Bruce. Perhaps, she thought, it had been an outside matter – like the
state deciding that an unmarried socialite was an unfit father. She’d heard
of such things since coming to Man’s World. Not that she could imagine Bruce
as an unfit father, no matter what he pretended to be in public. He was
simply too dedicated as Batman; and, if he had lost his parents to violence
at an early age, influencing his decision to become Batman, then Diana
doubted he would let another family member go easily. "Wanna see where my room was?" Jason said. She
followed him through yet another hall of ancient Greek art, stopping now and
then to exclaim over various works and promising herself that she’d coerce
Bruce into another visit, then trailed after him down a corridor. They
passed a large room, and Diana froze as she caught sight of a large painting
out of the corner of her eye. She turned, stared, the hairs on the back of
her neck pricking. Thomas
and Martha Wayne. "Oh,"
Jason said, his voice sad. He came to stand next to Diana, looking up at the
painting. "That’s his parents." The
resemblance was uncanny to the people she had met in But
now, looking at the picture, she wasn’t so sure. "Did
you ever know them?" Jason
shook his head. "They were killed a long time before I met Bruce."
He paused, then added, "But I know them now." Diana’s
hands stilled on her arms, and she turned to Jason with wide eyes.
"Now?" She had a feeling she didn’t want to know what he was going
to say next. He
continued looking at the painting. "They want what’s best for him. So do
I." He looked at Diana, and his tone became urgent. "The others,
they don’t. They blame him for it all, but Thomas and Martha and I know there
was nothing he could do." "Others?"
Diana echoed. Her lips felt stiff, her heart beating quickly. "Like
the one that touched you in the cave the other day," he said. "And
the one in the ballroom." Jason sighed, and for the first time Diana
noticed that she couldn’t feel the air move on his exhalation. "Bruce
blames himself for them, too." "You
were the boy in the Robin suit I saw," Diana realized. Jason
nodded. "But you didn’t see the other one that was behind you, although
you felt it." "Why?"
She croaked out the word, had to swallow to moisten her throat. "Why are
you here, doing this to him?" "I
don’t know." Jason sighed again, flopped down on the floor like any
teenage boy would. He pulled his leg up, resting his arm on his knee.
"But I’ll tell you what I do know." Diana
hesitated, looking at the picture of the Waynes
again, then at the boy on the floor. The boy who, she realized, wasn’t alive.
What
was this doing to Bruce? she wondered. She remembered how tired he’d been
that morning on the couch, the strain on his face tonight that he’d tried so
hard to conceal. She
sat down on her knees, wrapped her arms around herself. "Tell me,"
she said. Part VII Diana
sat alone in the room for several minutes, trying to comprehend everything
that Jason had told her. "Your
highness?" She
snapped out of her reverie, saw Alfred standing in the doorway. She jumped to
her feet, feeling suddenly guilty without knowing why. "I
didn’t realize that you were still in the Manor, Princess Diana." He
stepped into the room, stopped beside her. "I’m afraid everyone else has
gone home," he added apologetically. "I’m…sorry,"
Diana stammered, gesturing at the painting, at the room as if trying to
explain. How could she explain? "I was just…walking, and talking
to…" Her voice trailed off. She couldn’t think of a good lie – she was a
horrible liar. "I lost track of time," she said finally,
truthfully. Alfred
nodded. "Of course, your highness." He stood with his hands folded
behind his back for a moment, simply looking at her, before saying,
"Would you like me to show you out?" Diana
blushed, realizing that she was probably being incredibly rude by not
immediately offering to leave. "Out? Yes…of course." She took two
steps toward the doorway, then changed her mind. "On second thought, is
Bat—Mr. Wayne still here?" She cringed as the name almost slipped off
her lips; she was going to have to be more careful. She
saw surprise shine briefly in Alfred’s eyes as he caught the mistake, and he
said slowly, "No, your highness. I’m afraid he has already…retired…for
the evening." Which
meant, she realized, that he’d already started his patrol of "Your
highness? Is there something amiss?" "No.
Yes." Diana took a deep breath. "I was just wondering if you get a
lot of…visitors in the Manor." "Yes,
we do," Alfred said, his face carefully blank. "Just last week we
had the mayor—" Diana
shook her head. "No…I mean visitors." She remembered that
Bruce had told her Alfred saw the ghosts at times as well; but if he hadn’t
seen Jason that she didn’t want to dredge up that painful memory. It had been
bad enough that she’d told Bruce about his parents. Jason
had told her how he’d died – killed by the Joker. Beaten and then caught in
the wake of an explosion. Alfred
raised a brow. "To whom are you referring? Do you have someone specific
in mind?" Diana
twisted her hands together nervously, then decided to just say it.
"Jason." The word was a whisper. "Jason Todd." If
the name meant anything to Alfred, he didn’t show it. Instead, he simply took
one of her hands, tucked it into his elbow. "Are you hungry, your
highness? Let’s go down into the kitchen, and we’ll talk, shall we?" Diana
nodded, let him lead her out of the room, taking one last glance at the
painting above the fireplace. ******************
Batman
tried to ignore the whispers as he focused on the spot Diana had said she’d
encountered the couple claiming to be Thomas and Martha Wayne. Now and again
he felt chilled as one of the apparitions touched him, or passed through him,
but they didn’t seem to have any physicality with which to really hurt him. How
many times had he been to this place, looked at that theatre? He’d lost count
years ago. He’d been here so many times: in reality, in his dreams and
nightmares, and each time it was the same. He saw the gun, heard his mothers
screams and the report of the shot. He saw them lying on the sidewalk, pearls
dribbling into the gutter, the pools of blood. And
now he was looking for them to show, to somehow appear. He wanted to laugh at
himself, but he was too tired. He’d
already swept the area in front of the theater for clues, residue that
imposters might have left while talking to Diana. And he’d tested for
projections or electronic signals, just as he had done at the Manor. He
hadn’t expected to find anything. And
he’d been right. A
involuntary shiver ran through him as another apparition floated past his
arm, whispering blame. …you
couldn’t save them, you couldn’t save us, you can’t save yourself… Batman
closed his eyes against the words, then suddenly stood. There was no point waiting
here. Whomever – or whatever – had talked to Diana wasn’t coming back. He
was turning to leave, firing a grappling at the next building when a movement
out of the corner of his eye made him look back at the theater. He stiffened,
unable to understand what he was seeing. The
words that escaped his lips were the words of a grieving ten-year-old boy. "Mother?
Father?" Part VIII Diana
swirled the last bite of cheesecake into the remaining caramel sauce on the
plate and pondered Alfred’s last statement. "No," she admitted,
"I don’t think that he would accept a curse as an explanation. But
considering what Jason told me, that he had appeared—actually, Jason said he
‘felt called’—when an old woman was pointing at Batman and saying that he
would be haunted…well, I may not be trained as a detective but there is
nothing faulty with my logic. These ghosts appeared after the woman cursed
him – ergo, the curse actually did something." She popped the
cheesecake into her mouth, sighed in ecstasy. If Alfred wasn’t careful, he’d
find her as a dinner guest more often than he’d appreciate. "But,
your highness, your logic accepts the possibility of supernatural and
otherworldly influences. Batman’s does not. Although he has had dealings with
people who manipulate magic, like Dr. Fate, he sees it as some form of metahuman ability – like telekinesis. Accepting that the
soul or ghost of his adopted son is visiting him is quite out of the range of
Master Bruce’s imagination." "And
the others? Like the one I saw in the ballroom, or the one Jason said touched
me in the cave?" "I
think that Master Bruce considers them manifestations of his own guilt – a
simple psychological quirk implanted or suggested by the woman’s curse."
Alfred slid another slice of cheesecake in front of Diana, and she attacked
it without an ounce of guilt or hesitation. "That
wouldn’t explain why you and I have seen them." "No,"
Alfred said. "It doesn’t." A smile tilted the older man’s lips as
he quoted, "’There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than
are dreamt of in your philosophy.’" Diana
frowned. "Horatio?" "I
should have substituted Master Bruce’s name for Horatio’s," Alfred said.
He looked thoughtfully at Diana, and added, "I should have realized that
a woman growing up in an ancient culture wouldn’t have been introduced to the
Bard. I shall have to instruct Master Bruce to give you access to our
library." Diana
grinned at the idea of the older man ‘instructing’ Batman to do anything and
replied, "I’d like that." Not only to read additional books from
Man’s World, she thought, but to see if ‘Master Bruce’ would do as Alfred
demanded. It
was apparent that a deep and trusting relationship existed between the two
men, and that they dearly loved each other, relied upon each other – all
without feeling the need to declare that love, or constantly test and try it.
It wasn’t unlike the bonds that formed between the Amazon sisters. Or between
Diana and her own mother. Thinking
of her mother, Diana wondered aloud, "Do you think that Martha and
Thomas were just a hoax, or connected to this curse in some way?" Alfred
shook his head. "I don’t know. Master Bruce is examining the scene now;
perhaps he will come back with some answers." "I
hope…" Diana began, then stopped. What did she hope? That it really were
their ghosts? If so, wouldn’t that torment Bruce further? Or did she hope it
was a hoax? Either way, she thought, Bruce was going to be hurt by it.
"I hope that he finds something," she finally said. "Perhaps,
your highness," Alfred said slowly, "you might try to help him. You
were the only one who saw them the first time—for some reason they came to
you alone. He wouldn’t appreciate it, of course, but sometimes, with a man as
stubborn as he, you have to help him despite that." She
knew that very well. Diana nodded, and stood. "I’ll go now," she
said. ***************************************
Halfway
there, she realized that she probably should have taken time to change into
her uniform, or at least into something more practical than the silk dress.
But that would have meant traveling back to the Watchtower, and something
within her whispered that she shouldn’t wait that long. As
she approached the theatre, her sharp eyes picked out the outline of his form
atop a nearby building. She gasped as she saw the ghosts gathering around
him. "Great
Hera," she whispered. There were, she
realized, hundreds. Pushing at him, surrounding him, passing through him.
They didn’t move him physically, but he stood as if braced against them, his
cape wrapped tightly around his body, his posture rigid. Their
combined whispering was deafening. She
hovered above them for a moment, trying to find a space to land that wasn’t
occupied by one of the apparitions, then realized that they had crowded too
close to him to find room. She braced herself, touched down next to him,
immediately feeling the chill of the forms as they pressed in around her. "Batman."
She said the name softly, placing her hand on his arm. He didn’t move, and
his gaze remained fixed at a point in front of the theatre. She
looked at the spot, didn’t see anything. "Batman?" No response, and
she shook him gently, anything to rouse him. His
lips finally moved, and she had to strain to hear his words.
"They…wouldn’t speak to me." He let out a breath then, and his
shoulders slumped in a gesture of defeat. Diana
noted with alarm that although the night was balmy, his exhalation had been
visible, as if it were the middle of winter. "You saw them? Your
parents?" "I
looked at them…tried to talk to them." He lifted up a hand, stared at it
as if he’d never seen it before. "I tried to touch them, but my
hand…there was nothing there." He let his arm fall back to his side.
"I’m so tired." He
hadn’t been this exhausted earlier in the evening, Diana knew, and her fear
grew. What was happening to him? She needed to get him away from here, of
that she was certain. "Batman, look at me." He
didn’t turn, and she reached up, put two fingers on his chin to make him face
her, then pulled them away in shock. "You’re
freezing!" she whispered in horror, slowly understanding. The ghosts –
how long had he been standing here while they crowded around him, went
through him, chilling him constantly, sucking the warmth from him? He
shook his head, a tiny shake that seemed to swamp his frame.
"Tired," he corrected. His voice was still low, weak. "You’re
freezing to death, that’s why you are tired," she replied urgently.
"Let me take you home." But the ghosts were there, too – would he
be any safer at the Manor? She
felt a shiver rack through him, and he swayed. She caught him before he fell,
reminding her of the last time she’d had to catch him – when she had made him
sleep. The memory decided her. "We’re
going to the Watchtower," she said, unsure if he could even hear her any
longer. "And I’ll watch over you, make sure none of these things get to
you. I promise." She
lifted him easily, flew up and out of reach of the milling ghosts. She could
hear their whisperings long after the building faded from sight. Part LXIX Bruce
woke to the unfamiliar sensation of a soft female form draped over his body.
He breathed deeply, caught a familiar scent. Diana.
He
could feel her skin against his, warm and smooth. She lay against his side,
her right leg thrown over both of his, her hand resting on his chest, her
head cradled on his shoulder. A few of her hairs tickled his nose, and a
smile rose unbidden to his lips when he realized that she was snoring
lightly. His
mind catalogued their positions, their state of undress, and he considered
and discarded several intriguing possibilities before remembering the sight
of his parents, the crowding apparitions, the bitter cold. Diana's words
echoed through his mind – you're freezing to death – and the situation
suddenly became clear. One
of the most effective ways to safely warm a person suffering from hypothermia
was to hold them close, skin to skin. And
he could feel far, far too much of her skin. He
tried to gently slide her arm from his chest, move out from under but she
woke, looked up at him, and blinked. "What
do you think you are doing?" Of course, Bruce thought, she
wouldn't have morning breath. Damn perfect woman. "Leaving."
He tried his best Batgrowl, but was intensely aware
that its effectiveness was somewhat limited without the Batsuit.
And even more limited than that, considering that he was unclothed except for
his underwear. She
moved so quickly that one second she was lying next to him, the next she was
straddling his abdomen, and he wasn't certain if he had blinked or if she had
just been that fast. She wore only a tiny scrap of silk over her hips.
"Not until I ascertain that you are recovered," she said, her face
resolute. He
reminded himself to focus on her face. "I'm fine." He grated the
words out, jaw clenched. His teeth ground together as she reached forward,
her bottom lifting from his stomach, her torso inches from his face. She sat
back down, a thermometer in hand, shifted until she was comfortable. "Stop
moving," he bit out. She
frowned at him. "Why? I'm not heavy enough to hurt you…or were you
injured last night?" "No,"
he said quickly. "Just don't move." And don't look behind you,
or scoot backwards at all, he added internally. He could just try to
imagine explaining it to her: Diana, since you grew up on an island full
of women, you may not be aware of the involuntary process that men experience
almost every morning. And your perfect, gravity defying…anyway, your
appearance isn't helping matters any. She would probably burst with
curiosity, and turn around and give 'the involuntary process' a minute
examination. "Just don't move," he repeated. She
gave him a strange look, then shoved the thermometer between his lips.
"Be quiet; you can't talk or get up until it beeps. And stop clenching
your teeth, so that I can put this under your tongue." He
obeyed, and fixed his gaze on a spot on the ceiling. She continued sitting on
him, her arms crossed over her chest while she waited. Beep!
He thought desperately. She
uncrossed her arms and used one hand to push a few strands of hair out of her
face. Beep!
He was…almost…ready to pray. She
sighed as the silence extended, lifted her arms and stretched, her back
arching, a tiny moan escaping her lips. BEEP!
Who would he have to bribe, beat, maim, kill to get this thing to beep? It
beeped, and he used his tongue to thrust it out of his mouth as quickly as
possible. "I'm fine. Let me up." She
didn't let him up, just casually picked up the instrument, read the digital readout.
"Ninety-nine point eight." She frowned. "I think you may be
getting a fever." "I'm
not." She
shook her head. "I'm not sure. These things aren't always accurate. I'm
going to take your temp once more to be certain—" Her
sentence ended on a tiny squeak as he flipped her around, his arms holding
her wrists down, using his body weight to press her into the bed. He leaned
in close to her face, counting on the surprise and his usual intimidation to
keep her from simply tossing him aside like a rag doll. "I'm.
Fine." She
wiggled under him, and he immediately regretted shifting their positions.
He'd been careful where his body touched hers, but if she wiggled much more… She
froze. Her eyes snapped to his, her breathing quickened. She bit her bottom
lip. And wiggled again. He
choked, jumped back off her, pulling the blanket with him, holding it to his
chest. Trying to retain some semblance of dignity and the Bat, he said in his
most gravelly voice, "I'm going to take a shower. We'll talk about last
night when I get out." He backed into the bathroom, and seconds later
she could hear the shower spray. On
the bed, Diana turned her face into a pillow and tried to muffle her giggles.
***********
Shayera muttered to herself as she walked
down the corridor, two steaming mugs of mocha in her hands. Diana had been
supposed to meet her for their morning coffee and workout, but obviously the
excitement of the last night had caused her to sleep in. "Fraternizing
with the rich and mighty of She
balanced the coffee carefully as she opened the door to Diana's room, not
bothering to knock. "Hey,
sleepy head," she called, "just because you are a princess doesn't
mean you don't…have…to…" Shayera was a detective, but it didn't
take her professional skills to come to a conclusion about the silk dress
pooled on the floor, the pieces of Batsuit strewn
over the carpet, the sound of the shower running and Diana lying nude, except
for a tiny pair of panties, in her mussed bed. Diana's shoulders were shaking
– was she crying? What
had that jerk done? "I'll
kill him," Shayera cried, wishing she had her
mace instead of two wimpy cups of coffee. Diana lifted her head from the
pillow, and Shayera saw that she'd been laughing,
not crying. "It's
not a good sign that you're laughing your head off, either." Shayera smirked. If Batman ever thought he'd intimidate
her again, she'd just have to remind him that Diana had laughed after
a night with him. Diana
sat up, laughing harder. "You don't understand," she managed to say
between bouts of hilarity, "he was cold last night." Shayera's eyes widened. "You fell for
that line? He said he was cold and 'hey, baby, can you warm me up'?" She
set the two mugs down on the nightstand, stood with her hands on her hips,
shaking her head. "Diana, I should never have let you out on your own
last night…" Diana
doubled over, clutching her sides. Slowly, she was able to control herself
enough to say, "No, he had hypothermia." Another giggle escaped her.
"So I brought him back here." Shayera raised an eyebrow doubtfully.
"To your room? What was wrong with the medical lab? They have
temperature baths for that kind of thing." Diana
stopped laughing. "They do?" A blush started creeping up her neck.
"At home, we just had…well…the solution was to get unclothed and share
body warmth." The
shower stopped, and Diana looked at the bathroom door. "You've got to
go," she said. "He doesn't have his mask on." Shayera gave the door an interested
glance. "Just what does he have on?" "Underwear."
Diana stood, grabbed Shayera's arm, ushered her to
the door. Shayera looked back over her shoulder at
the bathroom. "Boxers or briefs?" "I'm
not sure which is which," Diana said, shoving her out into the hall,
"but they have a Bat symbol on them." She slammed the door, locked
it. "Hey!"
Shayera pounded her fist on the door, grinning.
"You still have my coffee!" "I'll
give it to Batman," Diana's muffled voice came through the barrier.
"Thanks!" Shayera's grin widened. She sauntered off
down the hall, whistling, wondering how much the Flash would pay for
information on this little scene. ******************
Diana
quickly gathered Bruce's suit from the floor, knocked on the bathroom door
and then pushed it open a couple of inches, thrusting her arm through with
the suit. Steam rushed out, and she tried not to imagine him dripping, wet,
only feet away. She had been extremely wicked to tease him as she did, but
she always found Man's World's ideas of modesty so funny that she hadn't been
able to resist. It
had backfired, though, when he'd flipped her around, and she'd realized that
there was perhaps a very good reason to keep things covered, especially if
those things were tall, handsome, and possessing a magnificent body. The
desire that had swept through her had surprised her. Inside
the bathroom, Bruce took the suit from her, his hands brushing hers, and she
shivered. She closed the door, leaned back against it, remembering how he'd
felt against her. Even Amazons knew how the male body worked, and she was
certain he hadn't been unaffected, either. She
wasn't sure if that thought frightened or excited her – but it did want to
make her run away, to keep from facing him. "And,
of course, you could have used the medical lab," she muttered to
herself. "He'll know that, too." She pushed away from the door,
scooped up her dress, threw it into the closet. "Probably thinks you set
it all up," she continued talking to herself as she pulled on her
uniform. "Got Superman to use his freeze breath on him from outer space,
projected images of dead people all around him, ran into Jason Todd on
purpose just to make his life more difficult—" "I
don't think that," he said quietly behind her. She whirled around, her
breath catching. He wore just his suit, holding the mask and cape in his
hand. His hair was glistening from the shower. "I
know that," she said, sighing in frustration. "I was just calling
myself an idiot, and running through reasons why you might think I am, too.
After all, I'd have to be an idiot to do those things." "Yes."
He took a step forward. "But you aren't." "No,"
she laughed nervously, eyes darting everywhere but at him. "I'm
not." She rushed to the nightstand, picked up the coffees, held one out
to him as if to ward him off. "Here. Drink this while we talk about last
night." He
stared at her for a moment, and she thought he was going to say something;
then he seemed to change his mind, took the cup from her. "All
right." He sat down in an armchair. "I didn't realize you'd talked
to Jason." Diana
eased herself down into the matching chair, took a sip. "You couldn't
have. I met him after I left the ballroom last night. He took me on a tour of
the Manor. And I didn't get the chance to give you a briefing about the
encounter, because you were freezing when I found you." He
gave a sharp nod. "What did he tell you?" "He
told me that he first saw you after he was called by an old woman who was
telling you that you were going to be haunted until you lost someone you
loved. That the first time he appeared to you, he didn't know how to alter
his appearance, so that he looked as he did when he died. He said that he had
followed you on patrols, had seen that there were hundreds of ghosts that
were appearing to you." She paused, then added, "And he said that
he'd spoken with your parents, and that all three of them weren't like the
others, that they just wanted you to be happy instead of tormented by their
appearances." His
eyes were hooded, his face blank, and Diana couldn't read his expression –
but she could imagine what he was thinking. Thomas and Martha hadn't spoken
to him the night before; she couldn't think of anything more tormenting than
that. She wondered if the old woman knew how truly well she had cursed him. "Bruce,"
she said, marveling a little at how right the name sounded on her lips, how
easy it was to say the name when his mask was off. "What happened that
night, with the older woman? Tell me. Perhaps you are too close to it, can't
analyze it well enough." His
lips twitched slightly at the suggestion he might have missed
something, might not have thought the scene through enough times, considered
enough options – but then again, perhaps she was right. He hadn't been able
to fix this on his own…yet. He
stood, set the untouched coffee down, walked over to the large window where
he could see the Earth circling slowly, far below. In a couple of hours, He
said, "I was on patrol when a call came over the police radio that a
robbery was taking place in Crime Alley..." Part X He
said, "I was on patrol when a call came over the police radio that a
robbery was taking place in Crime Alley...". "Batman,
alarm sounding two blocks from you, the Qwik Mart
on the corner of 5th and Nemar," Oracle said. "I've
got it," Batman replied, and shot a jumpline
into the next building, swinging over the alley and then running atop roofs
until he was above the convenience store. Two men waited in a late model sedan
near the curb. He could hear the shouts from inside, and he flipped down the
backside of the building, entering through the loading doors. The
door separating the storeroom from the front had a small window in, from
which he could clearly see the robbery taking place. He frowned as he
recognized the criminal; he was one of Rat Muskev's
henchmen. Muskev was a two-bit mobster, mostly an
arms runner – and currently in hiding from the police, suspected of murder. The
henchman had his gun trained on the cashier, but was backing toward the door,
then turning and running toward the car. Sure that no one in the store had
been injured, Batman slipped out the back at a run, shooting a jumpline to the top of the building and sprinting to the
other side of the roof. He heard the squeal of tires and shot an electronic
tag toward the car – the device would track the car's route. He called for
the Batmobile, swung down into it, then began
following the sedan through He
could have apprehended them at any time, but the car would, he thought, lead
him to Muskev. Once he ascertained the mobster's
position, he would call in an anonymous lead to the Tidy,
he thought. He
trailed them into a run down neighborhood, where they stopped, exited the car
and went into an apartment building. Tracking them to a specific apartment
with heat sensors, he used his long-range microphone to listen in: within
seconds, he heard Muskev's voice. "What
took you so long? We need that dough." He
sent the message to Oracle. Anon tip to GCPD. Rat Muskev
and three men at 5145 NW Glisan. #24. Armed.
Responsible for robbery at 5th & Nemar. Batman
waited atop the building, considering whether he should try to disarm the
four men prior to the arrival of the police. He didn't think they'd give much
trouble – according to the building's blueprints he'd been able to pull up on
his computer, they had no means of escape except the rickety fire ladder. There
might be a shootout, though, and with that in mind, he began preparing to
enter the apartment through a darkened bedroom window, intending to disable
and disarm them before the police showed. He
stopped when his microphone picked up Muskev's
voice again, risen in anger. "Seventy-eight dollars? You idiots only
managed to get seventy-eight dollars?" Another
man's whiny response. "Boss, them places don't keep much cash after
dark. We couldn't—" His sentence was cut off with the sound of flesh
meeting flesh. "How
are we supposed to pay off the Big Boss with seventy-eight dollars?" Muskev shouted. Another punch, and this time Batman could
hear something snap. One
of the men howled in pain, and there was the distinct sound of a pistol
cocking. Silence. Muskev again, his voice cold. "Don't
you point that at me. I'll rip your guts out and use them for—" Batman
swung down, landing on the fire escape. Through the bedroom window, he could
see the two men, staring at each other, Muskev
eyeing the gun carefully. Unexpectedly, the mobster sprang forward, wrestling
the gun over the man's head. Batman grabbed a batarang
from his belt… And
the gun went off. The
wake of the blast was filled with a surprised silence, and then thuds as
Batman crashed through the window, smashing the lights and quickly hit each
man, knocking them unconscious. He stood in the center of the room, breathing
hard – and he heard it. Wailing
from upstairs. "No."
He exited through the door again, climbed the fire escape to the next
landing. Through the window, he could see an old woman, bent over a slight
form on the bed. "Oracle, ambulance to 5415 NW Glisan
#34. NOW." He
slid open the window, entered the bedroom. The old woman looked up at him,
unafraid, her eyes glassy, her wrinkled face wet with tears. Batman
could see immediately what had happened: the bullet had traveled through the
ceiling, the bed, and the chest of the teenage girl. The woman hugged the
girl's body to her bosom, blood soaking their clothing, the old woman's
shawl, the beads around the her neck. "She's
gone," the old woman said, her voice surprisingly strong. He
felt the ache in his chest, welcomed it. He could have stopped the car, and
the men inside, before they'd ever reached the apartment building. He could
have decided to disarm them sooner. He could have done a million things
differently. But he hadn't. "I'm sorry," he said. "She
was the only one left," the old woman continued, staring at a point past
Batman's shoulder. "Now I'm here alone." His
throat tightened. Outside, he could hear the wail of the ambulance. "I
can—" "What?"
The old woman looked at him fiercely. "Bring her back? Protect us?"
She laughed bitterly. "You were supposed to protect us. That's what all
of the people say, on the street. You were supposed to be here for us."
She wrapped her arms more tightly about the girl. "But you weren't. And
now I'm alone, the last one that I loved is gone." Every
word hit him like a blow, worse than any beating he'd ever taken. "I'm
sorry," he repeated. He could hear the running tread of the EMT's in the hall, and he began backing toward the
window. He
turned, and heard the whispering of the old woman in a language he didn't
recognize. Her voice was filled with anger, with hate. He
looked back, and she pointed at him, her finger shaking, rattling the metal
bracelets around her arm. "Haunted. Until you lose one of your own loves
– haunted." Batman
firmed his lips, nodding acceptance. The old woman didn't know how close she
was to the truth – but she didn't realize that he'd been haunted for years,
by his parents, by every one he'd been unable to save. He
didn't realize how much worse it would get, exactly what she'd meant, until
he'd seen Jason, his Robin suit torn, body bloodied and broken, sitting in
the Batmobile, waiting for him. ************************************
Diana
placed her hand on his shoulder. His muscles were tense under her fingers.
"It wasn't your fault, Bruce." A
bitter laugh escaped him. "No? I could have stopped it at any point. But
I made the wrong decisions, was too slow." He pulled away from her,
slipped on his mask and cape. Diana
shook her head. "You can't really believe that," she said, but she
knew that he did. She'd seen how many ghosts had crowded around him on that
roof. Hundreds. Hera knew how many more there were
that hadn't appeared. Maybe thousands. "And you aren't responsible for
all of those that I saw – you couldn't be." "It's
my city, Diana. I've sworn to protect it. Each one of those died because I
failed. They *are* my responsibility." "You
didn't kill them," she said, her voice urgent. He
walked toward the door, but she was faster, pressing her back to it, not
letting him leave. He sighed. "I didn't save them, either." "Do
you hold the rest of us to this standard?" She wondered. "The
Justice League is supposed to protect Earth. Am I, is Superman and everyone
else to blame for those deaths we can't prevent?" "No."
"Then
why do you do this to yourself?" He
didn't answer for a moment, then finally said, "Move, Diana." She
stared at him a moment, realizing that she wouldn't be able to convince him
of his innocence, not here – not now. But she still said as she stepped
aside, "You aren't responsible, Batman. You are a good man, and you do
what you can. That is all anyone can do." "It's
not enough," he replied, but she could see the surprise on his face at
her words. She hoped he would take them to heart. Then
it was her turn to be surprised as he leaned down, quickly kissed her lips.
"Thank you, Diana. For being there last night." He left, his cape
sweeping past her ankles. She watched him walk down the corridor, and touched
her hand to her mouth. That
man… she thought, but then couldn't think of the
right words, enough words, to finish the sentence. Diana
looked up from the book she was reading to the girl on her lap. Bruce stood
in the waiting room, leather briefcase in hand, his perfectly tailored suit
out of place among the patients in ragged, worn or dirty clothing. The other
people in the room had quieted, as if uncomfortable around such obvious
wealth. Diana saw envy in more than one eye. "What
happened then?" Little Teresa drew Diana's attention back to the book,
and Bruce's attention to them both. He began walking toward her. Diana ducked
her head and focused on the story. "And
then Cinderella's two stepsisters cried, and realized how mean they'd been to
their sister. They declared that Cinderella's unwavering kindness and faith
in human goodness had convinced them that they, too, should strive to bring
peace and happiness to the world. From that day forward, Cinderella and her
stepsisters lived together in their house, joyous in the knowledge that they
shared a connection of love, touching the lives of everyone who knew
them." She
could see Bruce's legs in her peripheral vision, but didn't glance up. He
spoke. "What about the prince?" Teresa's
eyes widened, and she turned her head from Diana to Bruce. "What pwince?" Diana
smiled sweetly. "Little sister, there is a prince in this story, but of
what use is he? Cinderella doesn't need him to escape from her stepsisters –
it is through her cleverness and good heart that she changes them, and
teaches them to love." Bruce
grinned, his white teeth flashing, Diana thought, rather wickedly. He sat
down next to them, placed his briefcase at his feet. "But he is an
extraordinarily rich prince, not to mention devastatingly handsome and
ridiculously clever." "But
Diana says that money and pwettiness don't
matter," Teresa said. "That Cinderella is good because she is kind,
not because she is pwetty." "But
what about cleverness?" He said the words to Teresa, but Diana could see
him watching her. "If the prince is smart, isn't that good? Shouldn't
Cinderella find a nice, smart prince?" Teresa
scrunched up her face, thinking about that. She finally turned to Diana.
"Can she marry a pwince like that?" Her
expression turned hopeful. Diana
threw a glare Bruce's way; he simply smiled beatifically. She opened the book
again, turned to the last couple of pages that depicted the marriage of the
prince and Cinderella, and pretended to read. "One day, the knowledge of
Cinderella and her two sisters reached the ears of the prince, which were
long and pointy—" A choked noise came from Bruce, and Diana realized he
was trying not to laugh. "He was a good man, who helped the citizens of
his kingdom – even though many in the kingdom didn't realize it. He went in
disguise to Cinderella's house one evening, and although her sisters screamed
at his ugly mask, Cinderella wasn't bothered at all because she never judged
people by their appearance. (Her sisters were making a lot of progress, but
they hadn't learned everything yet.) But she didn't fall in love with him
immediately, because she knew that it takes time to get to know someone well.
As they spent time together, however, she eventually realized that he was a
very kind, very clever man who would always treat her with respect and
honor." "And
they got married?" Teresa asked. "And had little pwincesses?" Diana
hesitated. "Well, Cinderella thought that declaring love and commitment
should have been enough; however, since it was the custom in the kingdom to
officially marry the person one loved, she eventually married the prince. And
her sisters lived with them, too," she added the last part quickly.
"And together they raised strong, thoughtful, kind little princesses."
Teresa
sighed happily. She clapped her hands together, then paused. She glanced at
Bruce, then at Diana, and whispered, "Did the pwince
ever hit Cinderella after they got married?" Out
of the corner of her eye, she saw Bruce stiffen slightly. "No, little
sister." Diana said softly. "They argued sometimes, but they didn't
hit each other when they did. And they didn't hit the princesses,
either." "Because
they loved each other and the pwincesses?"
Teresa said. "My mommy and daddy love each other, and they hit. Daddy
hit her today, until the police took him away." Diana's
throat tightened, and she squeezed the little girl gently. "Love doesn't
always keep people from doing that. You have to respect the other person,
never want them to be hurt." She smiled at the little girl. "And
some people, they just don't know any other way to act when they are angry.
That's why it's important to try to teach people not to hit, to find some
other way to talk or express their anger." Teresa
snuggled into Diana's chest, laid her head on her shoulder. "I see
Superman hit bad people. And Wonder Woman hits them, too. I see it on the
TV." Diana's
eyes met Bruce's, and she struggled to find something to say. Bruce
said, "I don't think Superman and Wonder Woman want to hit the bad people.
They only do it because the bad guys are trying to hurt little girls, and
their mommies and daddies. They hit them because it is one of the only ways
they can get them to stop hurting people." "Maybe
Diana should read Wonder Woman and Superman the story about Cinderella, and
how she used kindness to change the bad stepsisters. Then they could change
the bad guys, and wouldn't have to hit them." "Maybe
I should," Diana said quietly. "I just wish it were that simple,
little sister." "Me,
too." Teresa yawned; Diana and Bruce sat quietly as she went to sleep. At
the little girl's first tiny snore, Diana glanced over at Bruce. "What
brings you to the clinic today?" "Business,"
Bruce said. "I was supposed to meet Leslie for lunch so that I could
give her the check from the fundraiser; but, at the last minute, she called
and said she was going to be late because of an emergency surgery. So I
decided to wait here until she was ready." Diana
nodded, and looked down at the little girl in her arms. "Teresa's mother
came in with several broken ribs. One had punctured her lung." "The
father?" "Yes,"
Diana said the word on a sigh. "I don't understand Man's World. There
are no abusive relationships on Themyscira." "And
there is no poverty, no unemployment, no low esteem, no parents who start the
cycle of abuse, no power plays between men and women or parents and
children—" Diana's
eyes flashed as he made his list. "Do you think those things are an
excuse?" "No."
His voice was Batman's, for just a moment, then he became Bruce Wayne again.
"But people are driven to a lot of things in 'Man's World' that Amazons
would never consider, because Amazons aren't desperate to feed their children
or to have power over something. It's not an excuse, but it is a reason. The
world is not perfect, idyllic and as peaceful as we'd all like it to be, or
think it should be." Diana
frowned. "Then do you sympathize with the abusers?" "I
don't condone it, but I understand them," Bruce said. "And sometimes
things can be done if the root problems are understood." He
wouldn't, of course, go into detail about what he had done as Batman here,
Diana realized. And she realized something else, and she smiled. "You
think that I don't understand them, and therefore am simply pushing an ideal
onto them that they can't uphold – because the ideal doesn't address the root
problems that make them act abusively in the first place." He
held her gaze. "Yes. Ideals aren't practical, and can't apply to the
lives of most of the people on Earth. It only works in an ideal
society." "Like
Themyscira," Diana said. He
agreed, and added, "I can't fight with ideals. They don't mean anything
to many people, and the others that yearn for them can't make them work in
reality. So I fight with the tools of the real world." She
looked at him thoughtfully. "Do you think that I should give up my
idealistic views, then?" A
tiny smile touched his lips. "No. Someone has to have them." He
chuckled, then grinned outright. "And I don't think you could give them
up, anyway." She
grinned back. "Probably not." She bent her head, inhaled the scent
of the little girl's hair, and then noticed an…absence. She looked around to
make sure. "No, um, visitors today?" He
leaned back in the seat, casually placed his arm along the back, tugged at
one of Diana's curls that had escaped her braid. "No," he said.
"They leave me alone most of the time during the day, except for one or
two very persistent ones." "Have
you been sleeping well?" She repressed a shiver as his finger traveled
from her hair to neck, tracing a line down the nape. "If
I say no, will you attack me?" She
looked down at Teresa. "My hands are full right now. But perhaps I
would, later." He shifted closer, and she looked at him curiously.
"Are you trying to hit on me?" "Of
course," he said. "I have a reputation to protect. The idea that
Bruce Wayne wouldn't sit next to the most beautiful woman in a room, or
wouldn't try to take advantage of her inability to defend herself because of a
child she's holding, would simply destroy any façade I've managed to create.
My cover would be blown." His voice lowered conspiratorially. "You
wouldn't endanger the citizens of "Is
that what you are doing?" Diana asked dryly…and her eyes narrowed.
"You are just trying to keep me from asking about whether you slept or
not." He
blinked innocently. "You brought up the question of whether or not I was
hitting on you." She
wouldn't be swayed. "And you started hitting on me when I brought up the
question of your visitors. Have you slept?" "Many
times, and twice in your bed," he said. "Don't
be evasive, or I'll get out the lasso." He
gave an exaggerated shudder, his eyes rolling back in feigned ecstasy.
"Oh, don't tease." She
laughed aloud. He constantly surprised her, but she wondered if this was just
another mask. Although he was giving projecting the image of a spoiled
billionaire to the rest of the room, their conversation had been both serious
and humorous – and not at all shallow as the Bruce Wayne at the fundraiser
had seemed to need to be. Deciding
she had nothing to lose, she asked him. "Which one is you?" Surprise
crossed his features, and he didn't pretend to misunderstand her – but he
didn't answer, either. "Which one do you think I am?" She
studied him, thinking about his personality when he was Batman – how
dedicated and serious he was. But, like now, he was also charming and funny,
which couldn't be faked. It could be used, she knew, to further his
activities as Batman, but it was as real a part of his makeup as the Bat was.
"Both, I think, depending upon the situation. You just compartmentalize
aspects of yourself until they are required, or until they are suitable to
use." He
inclined his head – not in agreement, Diana realized, but in acknowledgement
of her opinion. "Perhaps," he said. "And perhaps I am a
schizophrenic with a God complex." She
gaped at him. He
smiled. "I'm kidding." He touched her jaw, pushed it up until her
mouth closed. He leaned closer, until she could feel his breath on her face.
"I have something for you." "You
do?" She wished her voice didn't sound so squeaky all of the sudden. She
couldn't take her eyes from his. "Mmm-hmmm." He glanced at her lips. "It's from
Alfred." She
blinked. "Alfred?" Why would Alfred want to kiss her? "It's
a book. Shakespeare. We knew you volunteered today, so he had me bring it in
to you. It's in my briefcase." But he made no move to grab his case; it
remained at his feet. "Are
you trying to seduce me again?" she whispered. "Yes."
His eyes were intensely blue, and Diana realized she hadn't breathed in
almost a minute. "Why?"
His
hand traced the line of her jaw, his mouth was inches from hers.
"Because Leslie just came into the room, and this distracts you
sufficiently so that you don't return to questions about my sleep – I'll be
able to get away in a moment without ever answering you." Her
eyes widened, but before she could retort a scathing comeback he was
standing, greeting the doctor. "Distracted,
my ass," she muttered under her breath, then resisted the urge to kick
him when he turned, winked at her. ***************************
Distracted. An
hour later, Diana was finishing up her duties, and still fuming. She imagined
a million things she wished she had said to him. No,
Bruce, she should have said, a sweet smile on her face,
just thinking of all the ways you look so ridiculous in your costume. That
was a lie, though. She knew his costume had the exact reaction that he
intended it to – it inspired fear, especially in the dark. She imagined him
in the dark, in costume, out of it… She
stomped her foot, made her mind obey. No,
Bruce, I was distracted by your stinky breath. She
grimaced. That wouldn't work – he had excellent hygiene. He could afford it.
He probably visited a spa once a week for manicures and facials, too. Not to
mention that such a comeback was incredibly childish. No,
Bruce, I was imagining twisting your body into a pretzel, dousing it in salt,
and selling you in That
was at least satisfying. I
was thinking about trapping your lower lip between by teeth and sucking on it
for an hour… She
frowned. That one had started off well, with the word 'trapping' – it was
kind of violent and Amazonian – but then her stupid mind had betrayed her
again. "It's
not like I find him good-looking, or brilliant, or humorous, or anything like
that," she muttered to herself. "His looks don't mean anything to
me, anyway. Nor his brain. Nor his sense of humor." "Or
his kindness and compassion," a woman's voice said in her ear, and Diana
jumped, landing on the other side of the small examination room she'd been
cleaning. Martha and Thomas Wayne smiled at her. Thomas
said, "Smart and kind are the two requirements, right? That's what you
told the little girl, Teresa." "I'm
not Cinderella," Diana said slowly, trying to come to terms with the
fact they were standing in front of her – ghosts. "And I don't think you
are my fairy godparents." Martha
laughed. "Oh, no – if anything, we are Bruce's." Remembering
Batman's pain as he had stood on that rooftop, freezing, Diana said angrily,
"You hurt him more than you help him. He needed to talk to you, but you
wouldn't acknowledge him. And now you come to me instead." "There's
two reasons for that, Diana," Thomas said, sitting down on the
examination table as if he were alive. "One is that the key to his
escape from these hauntings is you. You are the
strongest person around him, the one who could do what needs to be done, and
survive." Martha
added, before Diana could ask what needed to be done, and why it was
dangerous, "And the other reason is that he won't hear us, won't listen
to us. We did try to talk to him that night, but…he's simply too stubborn. He
can accept everything else he is seeing, including Jason – but we are simply
too painful a reminder. He shuts us out, without having any conscious
recollection of doing so. We can't get past that. His disbelief, when it
regards us as ghosts, is simply too strong." She looked over at Thomas,
her face sad. "I imagine it would take some severe rattling of his
emotions for him to actually hear us." "He
was rattled the other night," Diana said, her voice cold. "But
his emotions were focused on us, the grief and pain was too strong. It only
blocked him from us more powerfully." Thomas sighed. "We wish we
could have spoken to him, believe us." He took Martha's hand in his own,
and the gesture touched Diana, made her soften toward them. "I
don't know if I believe you," she said, "but I'm willing to listen.
How can I help him?" Thomas
stood, as if to leave. "We can't tell you much. We can just guide you in
the right direction. In a decision as big as this, it has to be reached on your
own. The solution has to come from your heart, or else all will be lost, and
Bruce will be more unreachable than ever." Diana
lifted her hands in bewilderment. "I don't know how—" "Go
home, think about it," Martha interrupted. "The answer will come to
you." She smiled, and began to fade away. "Relax with the book
Alfred gave you. Try Romeo and Juliet , it's a personal favorite of
mine." They
disappeared, and Diana was left alone, wondering what in Hera's
name was going on. They obviously thought she could help, but they gave her
absolutely no clue where to start. But—perhaps
Bruce had, she realized. He'd told her about the old woman, her curse. He'd
told her where the shooting had taken place. She was positive she could find
the apartment. Maybe
it was time, she thought, to pay the woman a visit, and to find out exactly
what that curse meant. Part XII "I
am Uzana Costache,"
the old woman said stiffly, eyeing Diana with suspicion. Diana could see the
lines of grief and exhaustion etched into the woman's face, but her eyes were
dark and flashing -- vibrant. Her iron gray hair fell over her shoulder in a
long braid, her brightly colored silk shawl in stark contrast to the black
dress she wore. Diana
held out her hand as was the custom in Man's World, but the woman did not
take it. Lowering it awkwardly, Diana said, "Mrs. Costache,
I know that you have recently suffered a terrible loss. But I desperately
need to speak with you about a friend of mine." Uzana's lips firmed, and her eyes
narrowed. "You speak of that Bat-Man." "Yes,"
Diana said, and held her breath, wondering if the woman would turn her away. Uzana stared at her for several moments,
then finally made a sound of disgust and opened wide the door. "Come in
then." Diana
followed her into a small living room; the furnishings were cheap but of
dark, rich colors: reds, greens, oranges and royal blues. It was a room
designed for comfort, but now Diana sensed that it brought the older woman
little of that. Uzana sat in a wooden rocking chair, folding
her hands on her lap. Diana didn't wait for an invitation to sit; she stood,
facing the woman, trying to think of the most tactful way to approach the
subject. "That
Bat-Man, that devil-man, you come here for him, to help him, yes?" "He
doesn't know that I am here, but yes," Diana nodded, "I've come out
of concern for him." She paused, then added, "He is…seeing
things." The
old woman began rocking back and forth, her chair creaking. "He did not
see enough, that night. He did not stop them from shooting their guns, from
killing my Roxana." "He
couldn't have known that would happen, Mrs. Costache.
He is being punished for something that he couldn't have stopped, because he
didn't know it would take place. These hauntings
have become dangerous; the ghosts almost took his life." "As
Roxana's was taken." The woman touched her breast. "I felt her die
as I held her. She was taken too soon." "And
unfairly," Diana agreed. "But your curse is equally unfair." But
Uzana seemed not to hear her, continuing, "Roxana
taken too soon, her brother, her father and mother -- my daughter. All taken
from me, all taken since coming to this city." Her eyes met Diana's.
"All of them. We came to this country for a better life, and now they
have no life, and I am the only one left." She stared at a point beyond
Diana, seemingly lost in her memories, rocking slowly. Diana
stepped forward, knelt at Uzana's chair.
"Batman is alone, too. He has lost his entire family to the city, swore
that he would do his best to protect the people within it, so that they don't
feel the same pain. Every time someone, like your granddaughter, is lost he
punishes himself mercilessly, blames himself tirelessly." She felt the
woman's eyes on her, pushed what little advantage she might have gained.
"He is haunted enough without the curse, Mrs. Costache;
these spirits he sees only put him, and therefore the city -- other daughters
and sons -- in danger." "Let
them lose them," Uzana said, but her lips were
shaking. "Let them know this pain." Diana
heard a sigh behind her, then a softly said, "Oh, Mamma, you don't mean
that." Stiffening
in surprise, Diana turned. On the other side of the room, a beautiful young
teenage girl stood watching them, dressed in a simple nightgown.
"Roxana?" Diana whispered, uncertain how she knew the girl was a
ghost, but positive that she was. Uzana jolted forward, her hand suddenly
gripping Diana's tightly. "You see her? Do you hear her?" "Yes,"
Diana replied, suddenly wishing she had kept her tongue still. What if the older
woman was hurt by knowing her granddaughter's spirit was in the room? Uzana sighed, sat back in her chair.
"I can only see her. Tell me what she said." Remembering
what the A
tiny smile tugged at the corners of Uzana's lips,
her eyes filled with tears. "'Mamma.' That's what she's called me since
she was a baby." "She
took care of me since I was tiny," Roxana said, coming to kneel beside
Diana. "She
must have loved you very much," Diana replied, after repeating Roxana's
words to Uzana. "Too
much, maybe," Roxana said. Uzana frowned at that after Diana
relayed it to her -- although Diana could see that the expression was also
filled with pride. "You can never love too much, child." "When
you love so much that it hurts another person, that might be too much,
Mamma." Roxana sighed. "You know that Batman isn't to blame for
this. If anything, it was that man who shot the gun; but even he didn't
intend to kill me." Tears
spilled down the old woman's cheeks, but she made an decisive motion with her
hand. "What's done is done, granddaughter. It can not be undone." Diana,
hating to interrupt their moment but needing to know, asked, "You can
not reverse the curse?" Uzana shook her head. "It is done.
Only the loss of one of his loved ones will stop the hauntings."
She glanced at her granddaughter, and shame entered her voice. "Roxana
is right. I should not have done this." "Batman
would rather die himself than pay that price for freedom from the
curse," Diana whispered. "It would destroy him." Diana looked
at the floor, suddenly aware of the enormity of the consequences.
"Either the hauntings will eventually wear him
down, or catch him unawares -- or he has to lose someone he loves." She
shook her head. "Either way, he can't win." Roxana
turned to her grandmother. "Is there no way, Mamma?" The young girl
hesitated for a moment, then said, "This curse is keeping me here as
well, Mamma. I am one of the ones for which Batman feels guilty, and I am
trapped here by his punishment." Uzana closed her eyes. "I know,
granddaughter. That thought has tormented me since I uttered the words of the
curse. But I can think of no way to break it, other than the terms set by my
grief." Diana's
shoulder's slumped. "Then he is doomed," she said. How long before
the ghosts happened to finish what they'd started the other night, freezing
him to death, burying him in his own guilt? How long before he lost someone,
and blamed his freedom from the curse on his failure to save Roxana, mixed
with the pain of his loss? How quickly would that eat away at him, until he
couldn't function anymore? Uzana reached forward, touched her
cheek. "I am sorry. It was my grief and pain that led me to speak the
curse." Diana
couldn't answer. Anger welled up within her, and she wanted to scream at the
woman, hurt her for the careless use of power against Batman -- but knew that
her anger meant nothing. If
Diana's own mother died violently, she wasn't certain that her own actions
would be any less destructive against the person who'd killed Hippolyta. Diana prayed that she'd never be tested that
way. Through
numb lips, Diana murmured, "I should go," and stood. She had nearly
reached the door when Uzana's voice stopped her. "Do
you love him?" Diana
turned back. Roxana and Uzana were looking at her
expectantly. "Why do you need to ask that? Isn't my presence here proof
that I care for him?" "You
can see the ghosts." Uzana pursed her lips.
"Only those with the power to break the curse can see them, or those who
are magically sensitive. I am one of the latter, which is why I can see my
granddaughter." "I
thought to break the curse, he needed to be in love with me,"
Diana said. Uzana nodded. "That's not exactly
true -- it has to be mutual love. But it doesn't have to be romantic
love." Which
was why Alfred could see them, Diana thought. Bruce and Alfred shared a deep
bond of love and respect. Was it possible, then, that Bruce loved her -- as a
friend if nothing else? Uzana was still speaking. "When I
realized that you could see Roxana, I thought you might be magically
sensitive as well -- you have an unusual aura around you." "I
was made from clay by the magic of my gods and goddesses, then given gifts of
magic," Diana murmured. "And magic was not unfamiliar to me
throughout my life, although I can not wield it myself." "Hmmph," Uzana grunted,
then waved her hand. "Depending on his feelings, then, it could be
either. No matter, since a woman of your strength is not likely to die soon,
anyway." "No,"
Diana said slowly, "I'm not." *************
The
next day... Alfred
glanced at the clock and frowned. It was the middle of the afternoon, and
Master Bruce had not yet risen from his sleep -- his attempted sleep, Alfred amended.
Most likely, his young employer had not managed to sleep soundly, and instead
was in the room exercising, or looking at himself in the mirror practicing
his Bruce Wayne voice. He
placed the last silver spoon in the tray, satisfied that they gleamed
brightly enough, his tiny warped reflection upside down in each spoon.
"Dashing. Simply dashing," he told his pinhead image, then rose to
his feet. It
took him less than five minutes to gather the items needed for Master Bruce's
breakfast -- or rather, lunch. Perfectly balanced nutrition, and delicious,
too. Alfred suppressed a smile -- sometimes he impressed even himself. He
heard the whispering before he reached the master suite, and his suppressed
smile became a suppressed expression of fear and worry. He opened the door,
and despite the scene he encountered, he maintained his formal countenance. He
never broke out of his dignified walk, but he was at the bedside in less that
two seconds, grimacing as he had to move through the myriad ghosts that surrounded
the bed. They were cold -- freezing. He could feel his joints ache, his
fingers grow numb almost instantly. He set his teeth, picked Master Bruce up
in a fireman's carry, alarmed at the younger man's blue lips and white
fingers, and left the room as quickly as possible. Exiting,
the warmth hit him like a tropical heatwave. The
whispering behind him faded as he moved down the hallway toward the entrance
to the Batcave. "Well,
sir," he said to Bruce, still unconscious over his shoulder, "We
should be thankful that the ghosts seem to be very slow, since they have not
yet caught up with us, nor seem to be trying." His legs were shaking
from the weight, and his breath came in short spurts, but his speech was as
slow and as regal as ever. "Either that or very unintelligent.
Considering that they are criminals, I admit that there is a strong
possibility it is not the former." In
the Batcave, he set Bruce down on an examination
table without a sigh of relief, began removing his clothes, starting up the
machines that would begin warming him up. He looked over his young charge
with concerned eyes -- he was in a bad state. "I do believe that
contacting Dr. Thompkins would be in order, Master
Bruce," he said, as if Bruce could hear him. Alfred stiffened as raspy
whispers reached his ears. "And hopefully she can bring Princess Diana
with her -- I have a feeling that you won't be safe in this medical lab for
very long," he added. "The Watchtower might be the place for you,
for tonight." Part XIII (I
suppose in a ghost story the thirteenth chapter should be the scariest – but,
um, not in this ghost story.) Oh, and I know absolutely nothing about
treating hypothermia, etc – I just really like the visuals that I see on TV
of people in these big tanks of liquid wearing almost nothing <grin>. "Diana,
will you help me lift him into this tank?" Leslie adjusted the breathing
mask over Bruce's mouth and nose, making sure it fit snugly. Diana
slid her arms under Bruce's legs and shoulders, lifting him cautiously,
trying not to disturb or dislodge the monitoring wires that Leslie had
applied to his skin. He was still cold, and she tried not to shiver, tried
not to let her worry show on her face as his skin came in contact with hers. She
slid him into the ten foot tall cylindrical tank full of a liquid gel
designed to gently raise his body temperature. She watched him carefully as
his head went under; but the monitors indicated that his breathing was fine –
the oxygen mask was keeping out the liquid. Leslie
watched Diana watch Bruce, and a small smile stretched her lips. "He'll
be alright, Diana. He's strong, and even if he wasn't, his stubbornness would
heal him faster than his strength." Diana
laid her palm flat against the glass of the tank, never taking her eyes from
him. "But he's not as strong as he usually is, Leslie. Lately, he's been
getting almost no sleep, and is constantly tormented by these ghosts, by the
appearance of the Leslie
and Alfred could both see the ghosts – it gave Diana some comfort to know
that there was a network of support and love around Bruce. She was sure that
if Batman's other associates were here, they would also see the ghosts –
Oracle, Nightwing, Robin. The
new Robin, Diana remembered, thinking of Jason Todd. "Is
he okay?" Jason said from beside her. Leslie jumped visibly, but Diana
didn't tear her eyes away from the man in the tank. "He
will be," Diana said forcefully, as if her words might make it true. "Jason…"
Leslie shook her head wonderingly. "They told me, but I guess I didn't
really believe it until I saw you." Jason
grinned. "Yep, it's me. Back from the dead and all that," he joked,
then his face became serious. "You should get him out of here – I can
hear them planning. They are going to come for him, and I'm not sure that
this tank can help him if they converge on him in a big group again." Diana
frowned. "It will be difficult to move him to the Watchtower safely
without possibly compromising his identity." She couldn't imagine him
wearing his uniform in the tank. Maybe a mask of some sort, though— "Not
to mention his stability and health," Leslie added, and Diana discarded
the idea of a mask, of moving him unless absolutely necessary. His health was
more important than his identity—although she knew Bruce would disagree. The
decision was taken out of her hands, though, when an apparition appeared
beside her, reached his hand through the tank. Diana reached for him
ineffectually, her hands passing through his form. Another
appeared, and another. "Go
up to the mansion and get Alfred," Diana said to Leslie. "We've got
to move him." Leslie took off at a run toward the stairs leading to the
manor. The
tank was soon surrounded by the ghosts, and Diana flew up to escape the
bitter cold they brought with them, hovering over the tank. She dipped her
hands into the liquid just as the first spectre
pushed into the tank. She grasped Bruce's shoulders, under his arms, trying
to find a grip in the slippery substance. One of them passed through Bruce,
then another, and Diana could feel the coldness in her hands. She
heard Jason shout, and then he was in the tank, too – and one of the ghosts
stumbled back as if he'd been kicked. Which
he had, Diana realized with some amazement. Jason had kicked him. Her
eyes locked with the young boy's, and they shared a glance of surprise and
triumph. Diana pulled Bruce up, out of the ghosts' reach but not quite out of
the liquid. Jason
went to work. Although
there were more – many more – ghosts trying to get to Bruce, and just one
Jason, each only had the fighting abilities that they'd possessed during
life. And
Jason had been trained by the Bat. Diana
could see the smile on the former Robin's face as he whirled and kicked,
pushing the apparitions further and further from the tank. Alfred and Leslie
stopped short as they entered the cave, caught by the sight of the young man
in the Robin suit keeping the large group of ghosts at bay. Their
number was diminishing, Diana quickly saw. They hadn't expected opposition,
and knowing that most criminals were cowards in life, it didn't surprise
Diana that they were tucking their tails and running in death. It
wouldn't last long, however – that Diana was sure of. Right now, Jason had
the element of surprise on his side. They wouldn't be as lucky next time,
when the ghosts regrouped and tried again. But
at least they had some hope, now. If Jason could fight them, then surely
there was also some other way of fighting them as well. *********************
"Did
you see that? POW!" Jason paced excitedly back and forth, reliving the
fight with the ghosts. "BAM! That old mobster Minov
never knew what hit him." Diana
smiled. "You did wonderfully." She pulled Bruce from the tank,
placed his dripping form on the medical table. She and Leslie began rubbing
the gel from him with soft towels. "I don't know why I didn't realize
that the ghosts could affect each other before – I saw Thomas and Martha
touching. I should have realized that you'd have an effect on them
physically." Jason
laughed, continued to punch the air. "I didn't even know, and I am
one." He turned and winked at her. "Don't be so hard on
yourself." "You
are being extremely cheeky, young man," Alfred reproached him, but there
was a glint in his eye that echoed the boy's humor. The
butler's reprimand had some effect, though, as Jason gave Diana an abashed
grin. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wink at you." Then he turned to
Alfred. "I can't believe that you are still telling me how to behave
when I'm dead." His voice was playful. Alfred
raised a haughty brow. "Propriety has its place no matter the state of
the being," he intoned. Jason
rolled his eyes, and Leslie laughed. "And young teenage boys will resist
any attempt to civilize them, no matter the state of the being," she
said. She and Alfred shared a warm look, and Diana had to avert her eyes,
feeling as if she was intruding on some special moment. She concentrated on
wiping the last of the gel from Bruce's body, trying not to feel the texture
of his skin under her fingers. In
seconds, however, Leslie was all business again. She covered Bruce up,
glanced from Jason to Diana to Alfred. "It should be alright to move him
now," she said. "His temperature has stabilized – it is still
slightly low, but he's out of the danger zone." She pulled off her
gloves. "He'll probably sleep for a couple of hours, at the very least.
Are you going to move him to the Watchtower?" Diana
looked at Alfred, who gave a slight nod. "Yes," she said. "The
medical lab there is fully equipped, and J'onn
should be able to help me monitor him." She watched the rise and fall of
Bruce's chest under the blanket, remembered his state of undress. "We'll
need to dress him in something first – and provide some kind of mask for …
him…" She
trailed off as Alfred somehow produced a pair of sweats and a soft cotton
mask seemingly from nowhere. "I've also taken the liberty of preparing a
case with his suit, your highness," Alfred said. "Once he wakes up,
I'm sure he'll want to slip into something more comfortable." Leslie
chuckled and Jason grinned, but Diana didn't understand the joke. "Man's
World," she muttered; but her eyes were tender as she looked at the man
on the table. *******************
J'onn connected the last of the wires to
the monitor, checked the readout, and sat down beside the hospital bed. He
popped an Oreo in his mouth and watched Diana, who had hovered over Batman
since she'd brought him up to the Watchtower. He'll
be okay, Diana, J'onn said, choosing
to speak telepathically rather than spray cookie crumbs from his mouth. Diana
sighed. "I know, J'onn. He will this time, at
least." She reached forward, stroked her fingers along the back of
Bruce's hand. "But how long can one boy keep back a horde of ghosts
intent on killing him? When I found him the other night, on that roof, there
were hundreds there – today Robin only fought about twenty-five. He needs
help if he's going to take on more," Diana said. She had confided in J'onn about the situation at the Wayne residence and the
curse – J'onn already knew Batman's identity, and
he could probably have gleaned the rest of the information from her mind, but
she offered it freely instead. J'onn chewed thoughtfully. You've
said that the only ghosts down there were the ghosts of criminals that had
died. Where were the innocents? Frowning,
Diana said, "What do you mean?" But even before she finished the
sentence, she knew. "Batman feels guilt for everyone – those criminals
that die, but also the innocents caught in the crossfire, or that he couldn't
save," she realized. "But the only ones I've seen have been his
parents, Robin and Roxana." Perhaps
they are like Roxana, remaining with their families instead of tormenting
Bruce – the criminals are probably doing that just because they can, J'onn said, But the innocents who don't blame Batman,
don't hate him wouldn't try to kill him. Diana
snapped her fingers, began walking back and forth as she thought. "If we
can contact these others, they might buy Batman some time." She shook
her head, thinking about how little time that probably was. "But how
long will it be before it gets to him? Or they get to him? Batman won't like
accepting help from the innocent ghosts. Or before the constant barrage of hauntings wears him down? Or even until one of the
criminal ghosts finds a spiritual medium who can see him, and reveals his
identity to the world?" She
stopped, looked down at Bruce again. "There has to be a way to break the
curse. There has to be." And
we'll think of one, Diana. J'onn rose from his
chair, took Diana's hand, began leading her toward the door. He swallowed the
Oreo currently in his mouth, and said, "But right now you should get
some rest. Maybe an idea will come to you if you don't focus on it so
much," J'onn added. "I can take care of
things here, and I'll let you know when or if there is any change in his
condition." Diana
nodded tiredly. "Maybe you are right, J'onn."
She glanced back at Bruce, sleeping on the bed. "I hate to leave him, though,"
she said. J'onn hid a smile, pushed her gently
through the door. "He'll be here when you get back, all in one loveable
piece." She
gave him a strange look, and he shut the door in her face, chuckling. Human
relationships were so fascinating, he thought. Not to mention entertaining. **************
Diana
paced her room, unable to sleep. She wanted to go back into the medlab, but forced herself to stay away. Bruce was
sleeping, and there was nothing for her to do there but hover over him and
bother J'onn. Desperate
for something to do, she dialed in the code for the speaker to Shayera's room. Maybe Hawkgirl
would like to… A
male voice answered. "Hello?" Diana immediately recognized John's
voice. Her brow furrowed. Why would GL be in Shayera's
room at this time of night? "John?
Is Shayera there? Is she alright? Why are you
in…" Diana suddenly realized why. "Oh," she said, a blush
staining her cheeks. She
heard Shayera's voice in the background. "You
answered my phone??? Are you an idiot?" There were sounds of a scuffle,
and a thud, then Shayera's voice came clearly
through the speaker. "Uh, hi, Di. What's
up?" Diana
tried not to giggle, thought of an excuse to get off the phone quickly.
"Nothing, Shy. Was just wondering if you'd seen tonight's episode of
Buffy, but I'll catch up with you later." She disconnected and sat down
on her bed, grinning. Diana had never been intimate with a man herself, but
she was no prude; she was deliriously happy that her friend was able to be
with a man she respected as much as she did GL. Although, she thought,
remembering the sounds of the scuffle and the thud when Shayera
had taken over the phone, their relationship was probably going to be very
tumultuous. Would
a relationship with Bruce be like that? Diana wondered before she could stop
herself. She couldn't imagine that it would be boring, that was for certain. Not
that, she told herself, he'd let himself into a relationship. She
sighed, but didn't examine why that thought bothered her. Looking for
something to distract herself with, her eyes caught the book lying on her
nightstand, the collection of Shakespearian plays that Alfred had lent her. She
picked up the heavy volume, remembered that Martha Wayne had suggested Romeo
and Juliet. She turned to that play, began reading, and despite her
concern for Bruce was soon enthralled by the story. Two
hours later, she put the book down with a heavy sigh. It had been a beautiful
play, but so very tragic. If only, she thought, Juliet had made
sure that Romeo knew of their plan, so that he wouldn't panic, wouldn't think
that she was really dead. If only Romeo had waited a little longer. And if
only, Diana added with a small, ironic smile, they'd had modern
medical technology that could have saved them. A stab wound, poison…deadly,
sure, but nowadays they were bringing people back from near death – even
after death -- all the time… Diana
sat up like a shot. "Oh,
great Hera," she whispered. "That's the
answer…" Martha and Thomas must have picked that play to give her the
idea. But
who would it be? She couldn't risk such a maneuver with Alfred or Leslie –
they were strong and spry for their age, but…no, she'd never take that
chance. And if something went wrong with Nightwing
or Oracle or Robin she could never forgive herself. She wouldn't even
consider putting them in that danger. But
herself – Diana knew she was resilient, and if anyone could pull it off, it
would be her. She'd have to set it up perfectly, though, take her time. She
could do it, she resolved. It all depended on one thing: Could
she simply see the ghosts because she was magically sensitive? Or was it a
mutual love that she and Bruce shared? She remembered that Uzana had said that it didn't have to be romantic love,
but the bond of love between friends would work. She knew she loved him as a
friend – maybe more. Definitely
more, she admitted to herself. But
the real question was: did Bruce feel love for her? Part XIV "You've
gotten into the habit of rescuing me, Princess." Diana
looked away from the machine that had been monitoring his pulse rate, trying
her best not to let her relief show on her face. Dr. Thompkins
had said that a coma might be possible after such an extreme decrease in body
temperature, but he was already awake. "I
didn't rescue you this time," she said honestly. "I just provided
the transportation." She sat down on the chair next to his bed. "It
was actually Alfred, Jason and Leslie." She
couldn't tell if his expression changed under the soft mask he was wearing when
she said Jason's name. "And my prognosis?" "Good.
All of your vitals are at normal levels." she replied. "How do you
feel?" "Fine,"
he said. She
waited for him to sit up, to be his usual stubborn self and demand release
from the medical lab, but he simply lay there, watching her. "Are you
sure you are fine?" she wondered. "Yes."
She
waited again. Finally, exasperated, she said, "Jason can fight the other
ghosts." That
surprised him; she could tell by the way that his lips relaxed for a
microsecond. "Was he injured?" he asked, and then a strange
expression passed over the visible part of his face, as if he'd just realized
how odd it was to wonder if a ghost had been hurt. "No,"
Diana said, smiling. "You taught him well. He held his own against twenty-five
of them." Bruce
nodded slowly. "But…?" Diana
sighed, wishing he hadn't focused so quickly on the negative side of the
news. "But, he also had the element of surprise – next time I don't
think they will be beaten as easily. Especially if they are in a larger
group." She paused, then added. "At least you'll be better
protected than you were." He
remained silent for a moment, then finally sat up, pulling the monitoring
wires from his skin as he did. "I
went to go see Uzana Costache,"
Diana announced. He
stopped. "I wondered when you would tell me." "You
knew?" She didn't wait for confirmation, but muttered to herself,
"Of course he knew." "I
knew." His lips twitched. "Then
you don't need me to tell you what she said, since you probably know that,
too," Diana said, leaning back in the chair, crossing her arms. "No,"
he said. "I know where you go when you are in Unsure
of whether to be offended or flattered by any monitoring at all, Diana opened
her mouth to reply, then had no idea what she was going to say. A little
flustered, she blurted, "Well, then ask me what Uzana
said." An impish voice made her add, "Ask nicely." Bruce
gave her a long stare, then turned his attention to removing the rest of the
wires, then the I.V on the back of his hand. She
swatted his hand away, began removing it for him. Knowing him, she thought,
he'd probably just rip it out. She pulled the I.V. out gently, letting her
hands linger on his skin, her fingers against his palms. Once it was
unattached, she sat back in her chair again. She crossed her legs, began to
hum. He
gave her another long stare, then looked around. Spying the bag Alfred had
packed for him on an adjoining counter, he grabbed it, opened it, revealing
his Batsuit. This
time there was a challenge in the stare he gave her. He didn't even glance
toward the dressing room, but pulled off the makeshift mask, then his
sweatshirt, his eyes locked with hers continuously. Her smile never wavered,
her eyes didn't wander. She
heard the slide of his sweatpants down his legs, and she admired his ability
to remove them without breaking eye contact with her. She
couldn't resist. She stole a glance downward, and immediately looked back up,
a blush staining her cheeks. He
smirked. "You
just have to ask nicely." She practically growled the words. He
winked, and began pulling on his suit pants. "You, too." Her
eyes widened, her blush deepened. "You are impossible." "So
I've been told." All trace of playfulness disappeared from his voice
then, and he added, "Costache." She
watched his chest disappear under the bat symbol of his suit tunic, had to
bite back a sigh, concentrate on what she was supposed to be talking about.
"The people who can break the curse are the ones who can see the ghosts
– so far that is Leslie, Alfred, and me…maybe." He
raised an eyebrow, then his face was covered by the mask. "Uzana could see the ghosts as well, but she claimed it
was because she was magically sensitive. The others – Alfred, Leslie – can
see them because you share a bond of love with them. I imagine that Nightwing and Robin could see them, too." Batman
was silent. "The
curse explicitly stated that it would only be broken when you lost a loved
one – Uzana couldn't reverse the curse, or find a
way around that stipulation." She took a deep breath, then said,
"And she is also not sure if I can see them – I might be magically
sensitive, or it might be because of our friendship, a shared love." She
held that breath, watching him, hoping he'd reply. Wanting him to say that it
was one or the other, so that she would know whether her plan would work. He
simply looked at her, then nodded. "So you didn't find out anything
useful." She
knew he didn't mean to be cruel; he was just being blunt. "No," she
said. "Except that there are many, many more ghosts than have been
showing themselves to you. The innocents. Roxana, Uzana's
granddaughter, was there. We think that there are probably many more who are
with their families instead of trying to kill you." "Let
them stay with their families," Batman said, and swept past her, heading
for the door. "They
might be able to help protect you, Batman," Diana called after him. He
didn't answer, as she knew he wouldn't. The door slid silently shut behind
him. She
drew her hand through her hair with a sigh. She hadn't found out what she'd
wanted to: if the reason she could see them was due to their friendship, and
her love. She should have known he wouldn't reveal that information. There
had to be some way of knowing, though. She thought he might, but she couldn't
trust her own instincts about these things in Man's World. People thought,
acted so differently than on Themyscira. But
she knew of at least one person whom she could ask. Part XV "Why
didn’t you ask J’onn?" Diana
shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She had asked She
was lying. In truth, she was afraid that J’onn
would realize her plan, that she would involuntarily give it away or that he
would pick it up telepathically, and try to dissuade her. She wanted to avoid
J’onn completely until it was too late for him to
do anything about it. She
leaned forward, trying to be as earnest as possible. "I love him. And I
just need to know how to figure out if he feels anything for me." She
was, she told herself, only partially lying – or rather, only partially
telling the truth. But if she told Clark the entire truth, the reason why
she wanted to know if Bruce loved her, then he would most likely do his best
to stop her – and alert Bruce of her plan. She
wasn’t going to be an idiot; she had every intention of being as safe as she
could possibly be, and letting Bruce know in time for him to save her. But
somehow, she was sure that neither Bruce nor Clark would appreciate that. "Well,
then, as you well know, with Bruce it is very difficult to tell what he is
feeling." Diana
picked up a french fry. "There must be a way.
What does he do differently with the people for whom he feels love that those
he doesn’t?" Clark
took a bite of his burger, grimaced. "I should have gotten the
salad," he muttered, and added, "I’ve never seen him in love
with anyone. I know there have been a few women who’ve gotten close to him,
but—" "But
what about Alfred, Nightwing, everyone else?"
Diana popped another fry into her mouth, munched happily. "He loves
them." "I’ll
take anything I can get," Diana interrupted him again. I
am desperate, she thought, just not for the reasons he imagines.
I want to save Bruce’s life, not throw myself into his life on my knees.
Despite the urgency of the situation, she had to bite back a grin. Imagine…an
Amazon, desperate for a man to love her. Not
that it wouldn’t be nice, to have that kind of dedication, that focus Batman
has for his job directed even infinitesimally toward yourself, a tiny
voice inside her whispered. She
acknowledged the voice, had to admit that it wasn’t wrong. She wouldn’t ever
feel desperate for his love or beg for it, but she wouldn’t avoid it, either,
should it happen to come her way. "I’ve
noticed," Diana said dryly. "But
he’ll go out of his way to make compromises—as long as it doesn’t endanger
his city, or anyone else on Earth." Diana
picked it up. "Do you want my chicken sandwich?" She took a big
bite of the burger and managed to grin without pickles falling from her
mouth. "No,"
he said, watching her stuff her face with a mixture of awe and bewilderment.
She was one of the most beautiful, elegant, amazing people he knew, but she
was enjoying the greasy burger like it was ambrosia. And somehow enjoying it
without her natural grace and beauty ever deserting her. She
swallowed. "So, I just have to remember a time when he inconvenienced
himself for me." "It’s
not that easy, Di—" She
waved her hand. "Oh, I didn’t think it would be easy. But I think that
my instincts will guide me the rest of the way." "When
did you realize that Lois loved you?" Diana wondered. Diana
stared at him, caught in the middle of another big bite. She slowly removed
the sandwich from her mouth. "You mean, during…" "Yes."
His reddened further, cleared his throat. "Not that that is
always a sign of love, you know." He cleared his throat again, asked
hesitantly, "Have you and Bruce…?" He let the question hang. Diana
grinned. "I wish." She said it partly because she was deeply
attracted to Bruce, partly because His
color bordered on purple. "Oh…ah…I think…I hear someone calling for
help. It might be a job for…you know…" Diana
nodded, her grin widening. "Of course." He
slid out of the booth, but Diana caught his wrist, suddenly serious.
"Clark…if Lois was in trouble, even if she didn’t love you back, you’d
do anything in your power to help her, wouldn’t you?" "Yes,"
he said immediately. He paused, then added, "Diana, I am afraid I’ll see
you hurt badly by this." "I
might be," she said. "But it is worth the risk." She knew she
meant more than he realized, but it was the truth nonetheless. He
squeezed her hand, then slipped out the front door. Diana
leaned back in her seat, finished the last of the burger, her chicken
sandwich, and her fries. She ordered an additional milkshake. And
thought of a way to inconvenience Bruce, to start the chain of events that
would change her relationship with him forever. Jason
shook his head doubtfully. "It sounds dangerous. It wouldn't do him any
good if you end up just like us, another ghost to haunt him." He was
dressed in his Robin costume, the bright colors somehow blending in well with
the interior of Uzana Costache's
apartment. Roxana’s
eyebrows were drawn together, her own disapproval of the plan evident on her
face. "Too dangerous," she agreed. "You could
miscalculate." Diana
looked from one to the other, touched by their obvious concern for her. But
she was resolved to carry it out. "I could," she said, "but
I’ll take that chance. He can’t continue to live like this." "Are
you even certain it will work?" Roxana said. "Mamma said that you
might not be one of the people who can break the curse, that you might just
be magically sensitive." "I'm
going to find out which one it is tonight." Diana rushed on, before they
could ask how she intended to do that, "And once I find out, we'll need
to move quickly. How many of the others do you think you can find by tomorrow
afternoon?" Roxana
and Jason looked at each other. "I think fifty to a hundred," Jason
said. Diana
hoped he was right. If the villainous ghosts figured out what she intended to
do, they might gather and strike at Bruce – and there would be far too many
for Jason to handle alone. "Good. If you wait for me at the Manor, I'll
get everything else ready." Uzana shuffled in from one of the
bedrooms, carrying something in her hand. She held it out to Diana.
"This is the least I can do." Diana
took the item, saw that it was a small amulet with a black cord attached. She
examined it curiously. "What properties does it contain?" Uzana gave her a worried look.
"Normally, this amulet is used to cause harm, to deny them the
afterlife. It keeps their spirit close to their body." She sighed.
"I'm ashamed to admit that I even have such a powerful and evil amulet,
but at least I'm using it for a good purpose." Diana
laid a reassuring hand on the woman's arm. "I'm sure you wouldn't have
used it," she said. She continued examining the amulet, understanding
its purpose. "So, if I wear this around my neck, it will keep me from
traveling to the Elysian Fields – and therefore make it easier for Bruce to
revive me, to draw my spirit back to my body." "Yes."
The woman frowned, her face creasing. "I wish you would reconsider. The
two young ones are correct – this is a dangerous business you plan." "But
it will save more than Batman." Diana gestured toward Roxana. "Your
granddaughter will be able to leave this plane of existence, travel to the
destination for which she was meant. All of them will, the innocents and
criminals alike." Jason
grinned. "I've been there, and I wouldn't mind getting back, that's
certain." Roxana
nodded. "And as much as I love you, Mamma, you must admit that my being
here causes you more pain than happiness. Your guilt is nearly
palpable." Diana
began to repeat what Roxana had said, then realized by Uzana's
reaction that she had heard it herself. Something – somehow – she had broken
through that wall of silence brought on by the overwhelming grief she had
experienced. Tears
spilled down Uzana's cheeks as she faced Roxana.
Diana backed away, realizing that the two were going to say their final
goodbyes and wanting them to have privacy. She went out onto the small
balcony; Jason followed her. "He's
just gotten back from the Watchtower," Jason said. "I should go,
make sure that he's safe." Diana
smiled. "I imagine he'll be here soon enough," she said. "He
told me that he tracks my movements when I'm in "He
doesn't accept help easily," Jason said. They stood in silence for a
moment, then he added, his voice sad, "Once you do this, he'll never
forgive you." Diana's
heart clenched. She'd known it, guessed it, but hearing Jason say it made the
truth more real. "I know," she said softly. "He won't trust me
again, not in any personal way. We'll be teammates, nothing more. Not
friends…not—" She broke off, unsure of what else she and Bruce were, and
unwilling to say it because it made the inevitable loss that much more
difficult. "Not anything," she finished quietly. She bowed her
head, trying to fight her feelings of uncertainty. She didn't want her
relationship with Bruce to end like this. "But what other choice do we
have?" Jason
didn't answer. He knew, as well as she, that there was no other choice save
waiting for someone else to die. Chances
were, that person would be Bruce. She
sighed. "You should go to him now. He'll be starting his patrol
soon." He
was there one second, gone the next, and Diana stared up into the night. She
slowly flew upwards, sat on the top of the building, her legs dangling over
the edge. And
she waited for him. Part XVII "Princess."
Diana
turned. She'd known he was there, had heard the sound of the grappling as it
wrapped around the ledge. Jason
was behind him, and he gave her a wink and disappeared. No other ghosts were
around. "You've
been coming to my city far too often," Batman said. She
tried to grin, knew she failed. This was where she was going to begin her
lies to him, hated that she had to do it. "I work here, Batman." "On
the roof of Uzana Costache's
building?" "No."
She stood finally. "I am here because I had a few questions for
her." "What
kind of questions?" He crossed his arms, let his cape fall around him.
"I thought we'd already ascertained that she couldn't reverse the
curse." He said the last word as if it was forced from him, as if he
hated acknowledging that a curse might actually exist. She
turned away, unable to face him as she lied, and did her best to act the
part. "Because I've been having…dreams." She let her voice waver.
"Nightmares." She put a hand to her head, hoping she looked
distraught. She probably did – she felt distraught. "Sometimes even when
I'm awake." "What
has that to do with Costache?" His voice
gentled slightly. It gave her hope, even as she felt the walls of her
deception closing in on her, leading to his inevitable indifference – or
hatred. She
rubbed her arms, as if trying to dispel a chill. "They've been about you
– about the ghosts. I wanted to find out if the dreams were part of the
curse." "Are
they?" he asked harshly, and she knew that the idea of her suffering
because of a curse on him would eat at him, torment him as much as the ghosts
did. Maybe more. "Yes,"
she whispered. "And no. They aren't caused by the curse, but they are
because of it. She said that my sensitivity to magic is allowing me to see
the effects of the curse – now, in the form of the ghosts, and in the
future." "She
said the dreams are prophetic?" "Perhaps."
Her throat tightened, and she fought real tears. She hated lying to him. She
wished she could simply ask him if he loved her, wished that he would tell
her. But
he wasn't the type of man to say something like that. "Diana—"
He put his hand on her shoulder, and the tears that she'd been suppressing
filled her eyes. She almost couldn't bear his kindness, not when she was
deceiving him like this. "What did you see in them?" "You.
Dying," she said brokenly, her voice choked by the sobs building up within
her. "Jason trying to fight the ghosts off, but failing; and the rest of
us unable to help you, unknowing that you needed help." She paused, took
a shuddery breath. "And everything within me is saying that it is going
to happen tomorrow morning." He
drew her to him, cradled her face in the crook of his neck, his hand on her
hair. His breath whispered past her ear as he spoke. "I'm not going to
die, Diana. If it makes you feel better, I'll not go to sleep tomorrow
morning." She
shook her head violently. "It doesn't happen while you are asleep, like
it did before. They attack you, and you can't call for help. You never have
time." He
stepped back, raised her chin with one gloved hand, made her look at him
squarely. "I'll be fine, Diana." "Not
if you are in "I'm
not going to let them run me out of my city, Diana." His thumb stroked a
tear from her cheek. "No,
I know…and you shouldn't." She took a deep breath. "But will you do
one thing for me, just for tomorrow morning?" He didn't answer, and she
realized that he wouldn't make a promise without knowing what he was
promising. "When you are done with your patrol, just for tonight, will
you come to the Watchtower, sleep there this morning?" "Diana—"
"You
can use my room," she said urgently, before he could argue. "I have
monitor duty early, I won't even be in there by the time you've completed
your patrol and gotten to the satellite." He still didn't answer, and
she added, "I know it's an inconvenience, but…please…" She lifted
her hand, laid her palm alongside his jaw, "I would feel so much better
knowing you are safe. Just for one morning. Please. For me, if not for
yourself." "Diana—"
He broke off again, listened to something Oracle was saying, then told her,
"I have to go." He
turned, and she caught his hand. "Will you come?" He
shook his head, and her heart dropped until he said, "I don't know,
Diana." She
let him go, knowing she'd have to accept that as an answer for now. Jason
materialized beside him, followed him over the ledge. "Keep
him safe, Jason," she whispered. Part XVIII Diana
lay in the dark, unable to sleep. Her clock read only 3:30 am; she had
monitor duty at six, and she knew that Batman usually didn't end his patrols
until four thirty or five. She would be up and getting ready for the day
before he would arrive – if he arrived. There was no reason for her not to
sleep, then. But
she couldn't. Her mind raced, as she examined and re-examined her plan, tried
to think of any flaws beyond the obvious one: she was going to have to die.
She had absolute faith that she would be revived, but she couldn't pretend
that there weren't risks. And
she knew that the biggest one she was going to take was with her heart. She
turned over on her side and sighed. If only she felt it was safe to take more
time. If only she could have a few more days or weeks with him before she
destroyed every possibility that could have existed between them. If only— The
door to her room slid open, and her breath caught. She could see him
silhouetted against the light from corridor before he shut the door, locked
it. Her eyes quickly adjusted, and she watched him as he looked over toward
the bed. "You're
awake," he said. She
realized he wore his night vision lenses, could probably see her open eyes. "You're
early," she returned quietly. "It
was a slow night. Should I leave until you are ready to get up?" She
sat up slightly, lifting her head and propping it up on her hand, her elbow
against the mattress. "No," she said. "My bed is big enough
for the both of us." He
walked to the other side of the bed, sliding off his cowl. "I've set the
lock so that only my code and yours can open the door. I don't intend to
sleep in my mask." She
nodded, then realized that he couldn't see her now without his cowl.
"That's understandable," she said. She didn't look away as he
pulled off his tunic, but she felt compelled to tell him as his hands went to
his waistband, "I can see in the dark." His
grin flashed briefly. "Then close your eyes. My uniform is loaded with
armor – I don't intend to sleep in it, either." She blushed and rolled
over, her back to him. He chuckled. "Don't worry, Princess, I'm not
completely immodest. I've brought pajama bottoms." She heard the slide
of fabric, then felt the give of the mattress under his weight. She
turned back over, watched him as he settled into position on his back, his
arms bent and hands laced under his head. "Thank you for coming,"
she said. He
didn't respond for a few moments. "I'm becoming used to this bed,"
he said finally. "Maybe one day I'll be able to return the favor, and
you'll become used to mine." Her
throat closed. She understood clearly what he was saying, but knew that by
tomorrow he wouldn't be saying it anymore. She was suddenly glad that he
couldn't see in the dark, couldn't see the tears that flooded her eyes. "Maybe
someday," she echoed hoarsely. He
turned onto his side, looked directly at her although she knew he couldn't
see her. "Diana…it really was a slow night, but I came here early on
purpose." She
stopped breathing, rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling, certain
her heart was breaking. He was offering this to her now…now, when she knew it
was going to be taken away? How could she stand this, knowing she would never
get this opportunity again, living her life knowing how it could have been,
but never able to experience it more than once? What
would hurt more, she thought – knowing what it could have been, or wondering
about it her entire life? Was the hell of knowing better than the torment of
wondering? He
sighed, and she realized that she had taken too long to answer, that he had
probably mistaken her indecision for rejection. She
made her choice. "Bruce…"
Her voice trembled slightly, and she didn't trust herself to say anything
more, except, "Yes." She
felt him tense, as if disbelieving. "Yes?" She
nodded, and he must have sensed it, because in the next moment his hand
touched her cheek, stroked through her hair. He reached past her, turned on
the dim lamp next on the nightstand. She
blinked. He leaned forward, placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "I
spend most of my time in the dark, Princess. I don't want this to be there,
too." She
couldn't speak, so she reached up, brought his head down to hers, captured
his lips with her own. Forcing
herself not to think about the future, she concentrated solely on what she
was feeling now, the way Bruce softly tasted her mouth, urging her lips to
part, sliding his tongue over hers. The way he swept his hands down her body,
pulling her against until she felt the heat and hardness of his body against
her own. The way he cupped her breasts in his palms, causing her to arch her
back, moaning into his mouth. The
words they spoke were incoherent, urgent whispers as he worshipped her form
with his mouth and hands, tasting, testing her responses, wringing cries of
pleasure from her. She learned his body, desperate not to miss anything, to
experience every sensation possible, to make him feel everything she did. She
sighed in protest when he stopped, poised above her, trembling from the
effort it took to restrain himself. He rested his weight on his elbows,
brushed her hair from her forehead, damp with perspiration, and looked down
at her. Her skin was flushed, her lips swollen from his kisses, and her
eyes…he recognized the emotion in her eyes: beyond desire, beyond anything
he'd ever seen before. He knew what he was seeing, but wouldn't name the
emotion, wouldn't admit to himself that it was possible. "Diana."
He softly kissed her. "Are you sure?" In
answer, she wrapped her legs around his hips, pulled him down to her. Heat
enveloped him; her eyes widened at the unfamiliar sensation, and he bent his
head, capturing her gasp with his mouth. He waited there, slowly kissing her,
letting her get used to his weight, the feel of him. She
began moving underneath him, her breath coming in small pants. Matching her
rhythm, he watched her, locked his gaze with hers, neither one of them
looking away. He slowed their pace, wanting it to last, but knew it wouldn't
be much longer when her thrusts became more urgent, as she began to tighten
her muscles under him, her hands clenching on the muscles on his shoulders. "Bruce…?"
Her breathy plea was a mixture of uncertainty, excitement and arousal. He
read the unnamed emotion in her eyes again, had to keep from closing his own
against the intensity of it. "Give in to it, Diana." He reached
down between their bodies, stroked gently where they were joined, forcing her
over the edge. She
bit her lip, her body arching, her head thrown back, shuddering. He let her
ecstasy feed his, let himself join her. They
lay there, the air cool on their slick skin. He finally turned to the side,
pulling her with him, unwilling to separate himself from her yet. He slid his
fingers into her hair, kissing her softly before letting her rest her head on
his chest. "Bruce,
I…" Her voice trailed off, but he knew what she wanted to say, hoped she
would say it. He held his breath, but she finally said, "I'm glad you
came." Trying
not to feel disappointed, he murmured against her skin, "Me, too." ********************* He
woke the next morning, felt across the bed for her, but the sheets were cool
where her body had been, and she was gone. In
the silence of the empty room, he let himself smile, remembering the look in
her eyes, the feeling of her. Diana
loved him. His
smile widened. Part XIX Batman
swept into the monitor womb. Diana sat at the console, staring pensively into
space. She didn't notice his entrance. After
ascertaining that no one else was in the room, he walked to her side; she
finally broke out of her reverie and glanced up. A blush spread across her
cheeks, and she quickly looked away, back to the monitors. He
couldn't see any regret in her expression, and he found himself breathing
more easily. "Good
morning, Diana," he said softly. Her
blush deepened, as if his simple greeting had been rife with suggestion.
"Good morning…Batman." She said the name in obvious deference to
the suit he wore, and he was suddenly pleased that she made an effort to use
the name that concealed his identity, even when they were alone. He
sat in the chair next to hers, swiveled it so that it faced her. He let his
eyes trace the line of her profile, her jaw. "You shouldn't be
embarrassed, Diana." She
darted a surprised glance at him. "I – I'm not." She took a deep
breath. "I'm just not certain of how one is supposed to act after…"
Breaking off, she searched for the correct words. "After…" He
leaned forward out of the chair, pressed his mouth to hers, letting his
tongue sweep between her open lips briefly. He sat back down. "After a
night of that?" She
nodded numbly. "I
don't think there are any rules about how to act," he said. "Just
try to be yourself, do what you usually do." She
smiled. "Do you usually kiss whoever is on monitor duty?" "Yes,"
he said, keeping his expression serious, glad that her shyness was finally
fading. She didn't realize it, but he was acting – and thinking – very
unusually at that moment. "I especially like mornings when it is GL's
turn." She
laughed aloud. "Shayera might have objections
to that." "Shayera? Why?" Had some aspect of the relationship
between John and Hawkgirl escaped his radar? "You
mean you don't already know?" She grinned, and raised her eyes toward
the ceiling. "I've finally figured out something that he doesn't know
first," she said jokingly. His
eyes narrowed as he thought about that – not that he could say anything, he
realized, especially now that he and Diana were…were… He
forced himself to think it: Lovers. They were lovers. He
wondered why the idea didn't bother him as much as it should have. He
couldn't afford this type of attachment, shouldn't have sought it out last
night, and not sure that he would have under different circumstances. But
recent events and the hauntings had brought him
closer to Diana in ways that he hadn't thought possible, and shouldn't have
allowed – yet he had. "What
are your plans for this evening?" He thought that a dinner at the Manor
probably wouldn't be possible, or even desirable considering the other
'guests' that might show up, but a meal in Metropolis might…be… His
mental planning ground to a halt as he saw the expressions that flitted
briefly across her face: despair, resignation…regret. Finally, she forced an
apologetic smile, but it didn't reach her eyes, and he could see by the
tightness of her skin that she was barely able to maintain the expression.
"I…I have plans with Shayera." She looked
away from him, at the monitors. He
stared at her profile, trying to ignore the feeling that he'd just been
kicked in the gut. She was lying. Why? Was she wishing that she hadn't said
'yes' the night before? Was she simply uncertain, or scared by her feelings
for him? "Diana,"
he said, his voice quiet, "are you regretting last night?" She
jerked her head around, her eyes wide. "No!" She said the word
forcefully, her face earnest. Her eyes softened, and she said, "I…I am
just a little overwhelmed. Everything is happening so fast." He
could tell that wasn't quite the truth, either – at least not the entire
truth. He
stood. "Perhaps tomorrow, then." She
nodded, then caught his hand before he could go. Her words came out in a
rush. "I get off duty in a few minutes, then I have to go to Dr. Thompkin's clinic, but I planned to drop by the Manor to
return Alfred's books, and then maybe borrow a couple more." She
hesitated, and that strained look passed over her features again before her
expression became resolute. "Can I see you then?" He
lifted her hand, pressed a kiss into her palm. "I will be working in the
cave," he said. "Once you have finished in the library, have Alfred
show you down." He
turned, strode toward the exit, was almost there when Diana grabbed him, spun
him around, pressing his back against the door. She raised her face to his
and kissed him desperately, her arms wrapping around him, fingers bunching
his cape. He returned the kiss, slowly taking control of it, softening it
until she relaxed against him. He eventually lifted his mouth from hers,
their harsh breaths mingling. "Bruce…"
Her eyes and lips were moist. "I need to tell you so much." He
smiled reassuringly. "Tell me later, Diana. We'll have more time
then." She
stepped back, a sad smile on her lips. "Later," she echoed. Part XX Alfred
appeared on the monitor that acted as an intercom between the house and the
cave. "Her highness has arrived, Master Bruce." Bruce
knew that -- the sensors around the house tracked anyone coming into the
area. He'd been keeping an eye on them for more than an hour now, wondering
when she would arrive. Her shift at the clinic had ended at three, and it was
almost four. "Show her to the cave when she's finished in the library,
Alfred." The
butler nodded. "Very good, sir." The
monitor darkened as Alfred broke the connection, and Bruce forced himself
back to work, trying not to be distracted by thoughts of the woman in his
house, or memories of the night before. It
didn't work. The cave suddenly seemed full of intriguing possibilities that
he could try when she got down there -- his chair, the medtables,
maybe even the Batmobile… He
shook his head, made himself concentrate. He analyzed DNA for one of the
murder cases he was working on, updated his files. It was past five when he
looked at the clock, frowned. He
considered tapping into the intercom in the library, suggesting a few books
for her to speed her along. He could do it in his impatient Batman voice so
that she wouldn't realize he just wanted her in the cave as quickly as
possible -- she would just think he was being his normal, abrupt self. Or…the
library was full of possibilities as well. Tables, chairs, sheepskin rugs in
front of the fireplace… He
stood, but before he could turn to go Jason appeared beside him. "Bruce…"
The young man stared up at him through the Robin mask, his eyes brilliant
with emotion. "I just wanted you to know that you were a good father to
me." Bruce
sucked in a harsh breath. "Jason…you were a good son. And partner."
Jason
smiled, then looked behind Bruce at the large computer screen. "Don't
treat her too harshly, afterwards. She is doing this because she loves
you." Bruce's
eyebrows drew together in confusion, and he turned to look at the screen.
"What are you--" The
monitor filled with Diana's visage, then she moved backward, and Bruce could
see the interior of the library, the medical items laid out on the table,
Alfred reclining on the sofa behind her. Her
lips were slightly blue, and her hands trembled. Bruce
slammed the speaker button so that she could hear him, see him. "Diana,
are you all right? Alfred? Were you attacked by the ghosts?" Her
voice shook from the tremors that wracked her body, but her gaze never
wavered from his. "No. We've induced hypothermia in me so that I have a
better chance of being brought back, like a drowning victim in icy water. It
slows the process of death." She paused, gestured toward Alfred.
"Alfred is fine as well -- I put him to sleep using pressure points, so
that he couldn't stop me or try to warn you before we were ready." She
smiled a little. "Or bring me back too soon." "Bring
you back?" he repeated, horror and realization dawning. "We've
calculated that it will take about two minutes for me to clinically die, but
not long enough for irreversible brain damage to occur if you bring me back
before four minutes," she said softly. "That's just enough time for
you to run from the cave to the library, and to save me." We?
Bruce noticed for the first time, on the edges of the monitor, the
apparitions that flickered in and out of focus, as if the electronic signal
couldn't carry their image. Innocents -- Roxana; Jim Gordon's wife, Sarah; countless
others who had been victims of the criminals of Gotham
City, all whom he'd been unable to help, or too late to help. He
leaned forward, his voice urgent, trying to keep his fear from showing.
"Diana, you can't do this--" She
touched the monitor with her fingers, and he imagined her stroking his image
on the small screen in the library. He could almost feel her touch.
"Bruce, I can. I'm the only one who can do it, who can survive it. The
curse needs to be broken, or eventually you will be victim to it." His
mind raced, searching for some way to stop her. He made his words cold,
harsh. "Diana, you can't lift this curse. It has to be lifted by one of
my loved ones. You can only see the ghosts because you are 'sensitive to
magic'" He spat the last words out as if the idea disgusted him. His
face was an emotionless mask as he said, "I don't love you, Diana. I
couldn't ever love you." Her
hand falling away from the screen, she smiled sadly. "Liar," she
said softly. She took a deep breath, added, "In a moment I'm going to
hit three pressure points in myself -- one to stop my breathing, the other to
stop my heart, the last to knock me unconscious so that I can't help myself
if I start to panic." "Diana--"
She
interrupted him. "I've got the defibrillator, an oxygen mask, lidocaine--and everything else you might need--with
detailed instructions laid out for you behind me." His
throat was so tight his next words were whispered. "Diana, please don't
do this." She
hesitated, and her eyes filled with tears as she looked him directly in the
eyes. "I love you, Bruce." She
held his gaze for a moment, while he stared at her helplessly. Then, with
stiffened fingers, she jabbed at her neck twice, her chest once. She fell to
the ground, out of sight of the monitor. "Diana!"
He shouted her name even as he turned, taking off at a run, his heart
pounding. Jason
followed close behind him. Bruce
calculated and recalculated the fastest route to the library, forcing down
the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. Up the stairs to the main house,
down the northwest corridor, up the three flights of stairs to the fourth
floor, then back up the corridor on that floor until he got to the library –
he was halfway to the main house when he cursed himself softly – he hadn’t
brought a grappling, which would have cut down the time by at least twenty
five or thirty seconds, allowing him to bypass the stairs and hallways,
shooting a line from the bottom floor of the main hall up to the fourth
floor. He
reached the main house: thirty seconds had passed. Her image flashed in front
of his eyes as he sprinted down the hallway, his bare feet slapping against
the hardwood floors. I
love you, Bruce. Forty
five seconds, and he was on the first flight of stairs. He was pushing himself
to the limit, but his breathing was even, his muscles moving perfectly,
fluidly. His body wasn’t going to betray him— —even
if she had. She
is doing this because she loves you. Second
flight of stairs, and he tried to force any thoughts of betrayal and love
from his mind. The only thing that mattered was getting to her, stopping her
from dying. He
reached the top of the third flight of stairs, turned…and skidded to a halt.
Jason stopped next to him, and together they looked at the ghosts crowding the
hallway. You
couldn’t save us, you won’t save her… Your
torment won’t end this easily… Your
time has come, Batman. We’ve waited for this moment for a long time… There
were at least a hundred, maybe two, swarming in the corridor, their faces leering
at Bruce, their ghostly blood and gore dripping onto the carpet in a stain
only Bruce could see. He tried to see a way around them, over them – and
realized that he would have to go through them. Jason wouldn’t be able to
fight them all, not quickly enough for Bruce to get to Diana. He
took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and ran forward. It
was like being dropped into icy water; his legs, arms immediately felt heavy
but he continued to plow through them, his hands and face numbing quickly. He
heard Jason shouting behind him, but couldn’t make sense of his words. He
could tell that he was slowing down, and he ground his teeth together and
pushed on, the freezing air burning his lungs, his eyes watering. His
numb feet slipped on the floor, and he fell, but he still crawled forward.
"Diana…" They were both going to die, and for a moment he almost
welcomed it. I
love you, Bruce. He
forced himself to his feet again, then realized that something was happening
around him. The ghosts were backing away from him, distracted by something.
Bruce felt the warmth returning to his extremities as they dispersed, and in
a glance, he saw what was taking place – the innocents, led by Jason, were
fighting the ghostly criminals. It
was you, you shot me and my boy. Why? I
was just standing there, I would have given you my purse! Some
of the innocents singled out, fought the ones who had killed them – others
simply pounded on any available opponent. Jason
was in the middle, fighting five or six at a time, a smile on his face. He
paused in the middle of a kick, saw Bruce, and shouted, "Go!" One
minute thirty seconds. It felt as if he had been in the middle of the ghosts
for much longer than fifteen seconds, but the feeling was quickly returning
to his body, the icy sensation easing away from his limbs. Five
more seconds and he burst through the library entrance, took in the situation
in one glance: Alfred on the couch, the medical supplies laid out neatly,
waiting for him – Diana, convulsing on the floor, her body seizing from the
lack of oxygen. And
his parents, looking at him with expectant expressions on their faces. Part XXII Although
a part of him wanted to stop, question his parents at that moment, he didn't
waste any time. Realizing that he might need the gentleman's help, he ran to
Alfred first, hit a pressure point that would wake the older man, then darted
across the room to Diana's side. Alfred would be conscious in a few seconds –
he wouldn't wait until the other man was functioning before helping Diana. Her
convulsing had nearly stopped, which was both bad and good, Bruce knew. It
meant that she was closer to death – but also that she wouldn't hit him with
an involuntarily flailing arm as he worked over her. Her strength was too
great; she might accidentally hurt Bruce very badly while she seized, and he
couldn't take that chance. But
he also couldn't risk waiting. He knelt beside her, cataloguing everything
she'd provided for him: the auto external defibrillator, the drugs, the
instructions. He knew what to do, forced himself to stem the rise of panic
that he felt as her seizing slowed, forced himself to remain calm. He
hit her three times first, on the points which she had pressed to knock
herself unconscious, that stopped her breathing and heart. It wouldn't cause
those functions to restart, but it would release the hold it had on her,
allowing him to begin CPR, allowing the CPR to work. He checked her pulse,
her breathing…nothing. His
hands were steady as he gently wiped away the saliva that had gathered around
her mouth during her convulsions, tilted her head back, and pressed his lips
to hers. He
breathed, forcing air into her lungs, then sat up and began cardiac massage.
He began counting to himself, feeling her ribcage flex under his hands. His
father was counting with him. "…fourteen…fifteen…breathe for her,
Bruce." He
had already pressed his mouth to hers again, watching her chest rise as he
did. "Good."
Thomas knelt on the other side of her body, Martha next to him. Bruce
returned to her chest, pressing down again and again, watching her face, then
bending to force more air into her lungs. "I
made sure that she used a pressure point that would send her heart into
ventricular fibrillation, son, instead of completely stopping it. If the CPR
doesn't work, the AED should." "I
didn't feel a pulse," Bruce said. "You
wouldn't, it's probably too weak and irregular." "…four…five…"
Bruce counted the chest compressions, continued counting them internally as
he asked, "You knew she was going to do this?" He
caught the glance his mother and father shared. "You might even say we
suggested it to her." Martha's voice was quiet. "Respiration,
Bruce, then go ahead and defib," Thomas
commanded. Suggested
it? Bruce couldn't question that, his mouth was on
Diana's again, her lips slack and cold under his own. Last
night, they had been warm, moving sweetly against him, her breaths and urgent
whispers parting them. This
was taking too long. The
AED was on and ready for him. He ripped open her buttoned shirt, thankful
that she wasn't wearing her uniform underneath, nor any undergarments that
would take an extra second to remove – just an amulet around her neck, which
was out of the way. The
buttons flew around before landing on the rug, rolling to the hardwood floor
with tiny clicks. …his
mother's pearls falling to the ground… He
set the paddles against her skin, checked the monitor. The machine analyzed
her condition, recommended he press the button to shock her. "Wait,
son." Bruce
looked up. Thomas
held his gaze. "She's about to die. She has to die for the curse
to be stopped." Bruce
shocked her, flinching as her back arched, her body flopping up, then down.
He checked the monitor again – no change. He bent down, breathed into her
lungs again, waited for the AED to analyze her condition and recharge. "I
don't care about the curse," he said, his voice harsh. "She
does. She loves you," Martha said. "We chose her because we knew
she could do this, survive this." "She'll
survive because I'm not going to wait around, letting her die," Bruce
ground out. The machine beeped, and he shocked her again. "Love doesn't
have a thing to do with saving her, or her ability to live. You two
died." The
monitor read that she was still in fibrillation, and he pressed his mouth to
hers, trying to will her to breathe, knowing that she was slipping away. "We
loved you, Bruce." Thomas's words struck him, hard. "We've always
loved you, wanted the best for you. And we want you to be happy, not haunted
by things that were never your fault." "That
you loved me was never in doubt," Bruce said, his throat tight. Another
shock, and he closed his eyes briefly, unwilling to watch her body jump
again, then settle back lifelessly. He looked at his parents. "But
convincing the woman I love to commit suicide in order to save me is the last
way to make me happy. You know I can't…after this…I can't bear it." "Just
don't push her away." Martha leaned forward, touched her hand to Bruce's
face. He wanted it to be warm, comforting – but it was cold. He
didn't respond. The monitors showed no change – except that her heart spasms
were weakening even further. In
a moment, he knew, there would be nothing left for him to push away. "Diana."
He whispered her name, kissed her cheek briefly before beginning another
round of respiration. He
felt her go, saw her spirit gather and seem to coalesce, lift away from her
body. It touched his lips, and he welcomed the bitter cold. Then
her ghost was gone. As were his parents, he realized dimly. It
worked, then. The curse had been broken. He
felt the strength drain from him. The curse was broken, and it felt like he
was, too. A
hand touched his shoulder, warm, comforting. "Master
Bruce?" Grief
welled up in him, rage accompanying it. "I'm not giving up yet. I'll be
damned if she'll get away with this. Alfred, prepare the I.V. and sodium
bicarbonate and epinephrine. And we may administer an intracardiac
injection. I'll do everything, anything." He
thought he heard pride in Alfred's voice. "Of course, sir." Bruce
began CPR again, sweat beading on his face from the effort. "I'm not
letting you go like this." He knew the time; it had been just over four
minutes. She needed to come back, now. "Diana,
please…" He said the words against her lips as he lifted his head from
hers. He compressed her chest harder but just as rythmically,
becoming more frantic. He felt a rib give under his hands, but kept pressing,
up and down. He
saw Alfred slide a needle into a vein in her arm, picked up the AED, trying
it one last time. She was gone, but her heart was still spasming
weakly, enough for the monitor to pick up. "Clear, Alfred." Her
back arched again, and he watched, feeling the grief and rage slowly die from
him as she fell back down, her body slack, limp. And
the monitor picked up a faint pulse. He
looked almost disbelievingly at the readout. It was weak, but it was there.
And then a thready, tortured breath issued from her
lips. He
stared as Alfred picked up an oxygen mask, placed it over her mouth. The
color in her face began to return. He looked up, met the older man's eyes. "Very
good, sir," Alfred said. Part XXIII Part XXIV Part XXV THE END |