|
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. |