He'd had worse than this. He could feel himself want to get up, to move. To check his injuries; but most importantly, to stand up. Resurfacing in the world of the living had been a disorienting process. He'd felt that strange traveling sensation, like his body was being dragged across the ground. Comically enough; this time the sensation was based off truth. The snort of the dog's snout so close to his ear was heard through a filter that his mind had no doubt installed of it's own accord. A dog was dragging him. His six foot frame was being strewn across and moved by a dog? Well sure, it was a big dog but…Oh, that was why. The canine wasn't his only unassigned tow truck. The pull on his right was thankfully absent of whiskers. Attempting to skim through his previous consciousness he found himself disappointed to recall he couldn't find who the hell was dragging him. Yet, the memory of being injured, of pain, now that was Chrystal clear. So why couldn't he sense the stings, pulls, and throbbing of his body now? It was an Algebra test at six thirty in the morning, it was Tetris while he was drunk, it was a memory clouded by infuriating packing peanuts; and somehow it was fine. He could easily write the movement off as drifting across the ground.
His previous experience of what he thought was consciousness must have been a delusion built by his brain. For the next time Batman graced the world with his grim open stare, he most certainly felt the pain of his injuries. The room was dark save for two candles by the bedside that illuminated a glass of water which was ignored. Instead, the mind beneath the mask set to work. The room was clean without any offending stenches and his eyes were already well adjusted to the dark which was almost a regret given the shadow of the dog in a mostly dark room had been enough to give him a start that clenched all the muscles in his upper body in preparation to rise immediately. Fortunately, the dog seemed rather apathetic, and considerably less threatening. At the man's tension, however, he tilted his ears. Bruce made a scowl that hurt his head, but didn't stick to his mask like he'd been expecting. His heart rapidly developed the habits of a blacksmith, filling each and every vein with steel. He couldn't feel his mask. Frantically his fingers searched his face, his hair, his neck.
Bare.
Naked, exposed, stripped.
Save for his collar bone. Continuing his needy examination he found stitches, on the back of his hand he found an IV. On his ribs he found bandages, on his leg more stitches and some sort of antiseptic jelly by the smell and feel of it. Was this…? What was this? Where was his ignorance? The numb caused by ripping his body into pieces, by crucifying his humble alias, by Rachel's death, and Dent's fall to earth that was so forceful he shattered it and went straight to hell? He tried to will it all back, pull it to him so at this moment he would not care so much that someone had seen his face. As usual, fate was not so kind, there was the gentle creek of the door, that produced the reaction of the watchful mutt even though he didn't move, Bruce could distinctly hear the beast's tale thumping against the wood floor. Deciding it was best not for the stranger entering the room to notice his tension so instead he focused it into making a plan the first chance he got to…well the first chance he hoped to get to do something to possibly better this situation.
It wasn't a saucy criminal sauntering confidently into the room, nor was it a child innocent to the concepts of; secrecy, crime fighting, and darkened heroes. Something in between. A woman. Full grown, white lace shirt, strange sort of button up sweater filled with pattern, jeans, and mismatched socks. Most importantly, a lowered head. She'd went to the dog, silently offering it something from her hand. The silence save for the dogs sloppy tongue over her palm would have been awkward, if she knew she had any conscious company, and fortuitous circumstance would have it that she would look up at the thought.
Her lips parted as if she'd uttered an 'oh' but no sound wandered to his hearing abilities. The bat watched her with a stony expression he usually wore under the mask. But he himself was having a bit of an identity crisis with that himself. Given if she knew both his faces, which one should he put on? This was all unnecessary given she'd made a jerking motion toward the door, as if she was going to fear in flight.
Directly assuming the worse; that she was not in fact the one who brought him here and was frightened he was awake because she was supposed to have retrieved her superior before he'd woken, Bruce did something that would no doubt deserve the guilt that would well up in him later.
Used to fighting through physical and emotional pain that would paralyze a lesser man, the blankets were hardly a problem, neither were the wide steps he'd taken, nor was the form of a creature with arms half the width of his own, and the IV was thankfully on a stand with wheels so it didn't rip from his arm. She jolted in wide-eyed pain as she was thrown against the wall, her lower back nearly impaled by the doorknob now jammed into her right kidney area. But there was no sound above a dull thump, he was careful to do it silently, and furthering that theme, he'd clasped a hand over her lips that nearly covered half of her face. Breathing hard as he recognized that pain of newly sewn wounds stretching on skin unusually taught, he allowed himself to lean on her also to ascertain she didn't have any weapons.
She did not whimper, or close her eyes, or grace him with shaking, but there was no question with her stare that she was most decidedly intimidated.
"Who's out there?"
He asked, his voice slipping in and out of the tone that belonged to the bat, unable to comprehend who he wanted to be in this situation. She shook her head immediately, and he realized dimly she was waving her hand at the dog who had started in a threatening growl, one he'd heard before.
Of course, this was the owner of the canine who'd stood in front of him, and the pair of men he'd witnessed before. All right, well that explained that. He searched her eyes for surprise or fear, but in all likelihood if she was the owner of the dog, and the one who found him here, she was not in work of some higher power that existed behind the off white door. Releasing her mouth, and some of the pressure on her body the pair stared at each other. He; at her eyes, and she, somewhere near his nose…then forehead…then over his shoulder, then his mouth, then up. Realizing she wasn'going to say anything was when she looked down within herself, no doubt pulling herself into her mind, her tongue running over her bottom lip as if to ensure that it was free.
"Who are you?"
He inquired as Bruce now, though his tone uncharacteristically harsh next to the usual velvet. Her lips parted, in small quivering motions before she shut her eyes, and given the lack of space he could distinctly sense her heart speed. It took a second for her to make the slightest of sounds, and even then it was nothing intelligible. Fuzzy from blatant bewilderment he came to the conclusion with wide eyes; she had a stutter. And a rather awful one at that given she was instantly beginning to panic when she couldn't force a word out of her cherry lips. No doubt, being pressed against the door wasn't helping for any nerves that often made a stutter worse. But he could not let pity quell his heart. Instead, he cooled his voice and put additional space between the two of them as the dog to his right whined at the image before him, no doubt testing the waters. She'd waved at him again, and Bruce determined it would be best to ask yes or no questions to sate his curiosity. He couldn't keep standing forever, he was on one leg, and it was the side of his body with the broken ribs.
"Do you know who I am?"
A nod. She hadn't moved from the door looking as if he'd hung her on a hook by the back of her shirt. Bruce sighed.
"Is there anyone out there?"
A shake of her head. And somehow, he believed her, even though she didn't make a word, and she didn't even try to make eye contact he didn't really have much of a choice. He was safe now, with probably one of the few people in this city that would have saved him without wanting to offer him up for blood. He'd cleared away from her at this point, though completely not satisfied with the conversation he made the move to simply sit on the bed. The stranger, however, had different plans. For she'd moved much more elegantly this time, disappearing quietly behind the open door and shutting it with a click.
After at least a half an hour, he'd leaned against his borrowed pillow. He went through paranoia, acceptance, burning-eyed need for sleep, curiosity, nausea, grief, and acceptance of everything yet again, and then he felt…fidgety. Briefly, he'd wondered how long he'd been out. But he also needed a bathroom. Testing his legs, on the floor to see if he'd bothered anything he now came to notice that he was not, in fact rid of his suit entirely. The armor was gone, but the one who stitched him up had been so kind as to slip back the lining of his pants over his legs. It was…painful, but manageable.
He'd opened the door with caution that would not easily been thrown into the wind. And it wasn't much of a surprise that the dog followed him. Even while standing, it still came up near mid thigh on his rather lengthy form. Brushing up against him with a closeness he did not expect given the lack of wagging tale it probably wasn't of affection. Wondering its purpose he'd found himself in a kitchen. These homes, when originally built had been family oriented. Averaging on two to three bedrooms, with a charming kitchen and a sitting room they were homey and comfortable. But the poverty had stretched its lustful fingers out to even here. Now, you didn't raise families in these homes often . Most fell into disrepair, or controlled by much less conventional means of societal family. This however was, for lack of a better word; charming. It smelled like a home. One that was cooked in, slept in, and cared for. The walls were all painted with Victorian stenciling, not wall paper like one could assume given it's precision. The texture beneath his feet was only linoleum, but had the smell of lemon like it had recently been washed. There was a large ceramic tree without leaves off in the corner with notes attached to it he couldn't read from where he was standing, mostly due to the fact that even in here, everything was lit with candles. The habit usually associated with romance or perhaps being amish, was more practical given they were organized in pairs of two or three at a time in places where it was deemed necessary.
On the circular table, his eyes picked up the sight of a plate covered with a pot lid. Taking in the details, he'd also made the note that the door to the outside was double bolted, but no guard, no tripwire. Nothing, it appeared to be his own decision whether to leave or not. Not exactly what one would expect to find in Gotham's underbelly. But he couldn't leave when the thought of his identity was compromised. Now; everyone hated him. It didn't matter if he fell into civilian hands, the mob's, or the officials. So…What was the real circumstance?
The door across from him, painted a dark blue, opened cautiously having no doubt heard his door open as well. She'd taken off the sweater. There wasn't any heating in the house from what he could notice, but the candles kept it warm. Appearing much more comfortable from the other side of the room eyes of a currently indiscernible color observed him from the other side. Finding him stationary and silent, she'd suddenly broken into the sort of smile that would weaken the knees and strengthen the heart of anyone he could think of.
"I'm glad your up, I figured you wouldn't stay down for long…"
Her voice was even, cheerful. With the tone that suggested she thought of everything she said before it escaped her lips. Gesturing to the table she pointed out what he'd questioned before.
"It's for you, but only if you want it. I would suggest you eat but-"
"Who are you?"
He'd questioned again. The smile faded, her tongue running across her bottom lip as she'd done before.
"Rebecca."
"Rebecca…?"
" Rebecca Michelle Harth"
Going through the files of names in his head to attempt to match a name and therefore perhaps a purpose to the strange set of cards having dealt themselves, she surprisingly interrupted him.
"Born September 13 1987, no arrests or misdemeanors, I was not Gotham raised."
Listening to her, he'd had a shift of heart and took a seat at the kitchen table. Even the hardwood of the chair was soothing to a man recovering form injury.
"Where did you learn to treat people?"
"I had to."
"Why?"
The confidence that she had now, in comparison to the woman in his room made the well trained vigilante both curious and paranoid. She was…pretty. Very pretty. And even though he knew she was biased, given for the time being she was the only reason he was stitched and clean at the moment, he knew that 'pretty' might not have cut it. She looked like a doll, nearly untouchable. She looked like a babysitter a child would have a crush on. He could see her as a woman who got married to her childhood sweetheart of fifteen years. Was it this that dulled his sense to danger? Was he deep in a trap he couldn't get out of? The mob didn't go for this affect, and neither did any villain he'd encountered. Then again, he'd never seen a person with a face like hers outside of a criminal either. As she skimmed her tongue over her bottom lip yet again, he found himself mirroring the action, his mouth stuck with thirst, his stomach hollow, and he was reminded yet again of his need to find the bathroom.
"My baby brother had a neurological disorder that he could not feel pain. We don't live with our parents so I had to take care of him, you learn things faster under those circumstances." Her eyes had lowered again, he'd sucked the confidence out of her without meaning to. But she didn't look to be contemplating, or upset. Just, vacant for a moment. "Congenital Insensitivity to Pain with Anhidrosis…" He'd muttered, catching her interest immediately once more. "Since he couldn't feel pain…he'd probably inflicted some pretty awful wounds on himself." "Yes…well, taught me fast. But uh-" She smiled lightly, the grin a bit sheepish. The dog had abandoned his side, nudging into hers instead. How was this the creature with the harsh bark of a voice he'd heard in the alleyway? Bruce couldn't label it. She was probably as good about throwing her voice as he was. "Never had to use morphine before, so you were kind of my guinea pig." She laughed, the sound was nervous but managed to stay pleasant. Rebecca's ease was nearly infectious, and the dim light of the candles made it all seem a bit more surreal. "I believe, I gave you too big of a dose the first time, I miscalculated your weight while you were still in that suit. But I mean, I couldn't move you when you were like that…I just didn't want you to wake up and start swinging, you know?" He nodded, but stood. "Bathroom?"Until the sun bled into the night, alerting the pair to morning, their words ran easily. As the conversation continued, he noted her oddities. This wasn't a person that talked at length, and she often stared into space, or got distracted midway through sentences. Unfortunately, he was unable to write it off as stupidity because she was truthfully sharp as a tack just…scatter-brained to the umpteenth degree. The only way he could label it was that she acted a bit like an elderly person; infinitely kind, a little nutty, easy to talk with, but it was the quiet way she held her tea and the way she couldn't stand any sort of silence that unnerved him. He'd previously thought that she'd instantly found liquid courage given the accent of the stutter had evaporated. But the chocolate eyes of the vigilante missed very few things. And he spotted all of her physical habits that took over when she wasn't stutter. She spun the ring on her finger, licked her bottom lip, didn't make worthy eye contact, tapped her fingers, chewed on her bottom lip…yes the list went on and on. And he couldn't detail it all given his obvious exhaustion which she did not fail to notice. She'd gotten him to eat the scrambled eggs she made previously. Though when questioned about why scrambled eggs, she justified that they were easy on the stomach and good for those who wanted to build strength. The dog returned to his side when he'd stood, his slightly shaking hands recognized his melon sized head and understood the dog was trained to help the injured stand. Applying just enough pressure to make it easy for himself the massive thing hardly even flinched. He was now strongly considering investing in a dog for a sidekick…perhaps even this one. As he rose, his hawk like features glanced down to his unlikely caretaker. This whole thing was, absurd. She wasn't the only one who was awkward here, this man with two bodies trying to fit in both skins at once. Who was he in this room? "…How can I believe, that you will not fetch someone and tell them you've caught the batman?" She raised her eyebrows. "Are you trying to tell me…you're the batman?" She'd replied purposely, taking a sip of her tea. Regardless of her lack of training, and his lack of not knowing her for the majority of her life she was the ideal nurse. She supplied books for him, and the paper. Food when he needed it, and clothes that didn't fit, but didn't matter. She watched him easily from across the room, she didn't feel comfortable approaching anyone, much less likely an undeniably attractive man who could catch her in a strangle hold before she could protest. His dark stare was nerve-wracking but his company was desirable. It had been a long time sicne anyone had joined her, he was consistently different than anyone she'd treated before. Without the heart to inform him that the bounty for his head was chilling she observed him with the tendency of a mother hen. There were times when he would look off for so long she'd thought he might physically fall into himself and the whole his life had created. Her lips practically split at the seems from attempting to hold back the questioning she longed to release. But patience was kind, and sweet. Upon her much more successful dose of morphine to release him of the stitches in his neck was one of the hours that his sculpted face twisted up in on itself into a scowl. Thoughtfully, her blue green eyes traveled to his profile, but took immediate reversion back to his wound. "…the last woman to know who I was, both of me, is gone now. Not even two weeks ago." He'd informed her silently causing the makeshift nurse to blink. "What was she like?" She queried him calmly, not fully expecting an answer. He didn't bother to inform her that he didn't need any painkillers to be stitched up, he doubted she'd accept the circumstance of having to cause him pain. "She was so…I don't know. Warm. And smart. She had these big blue eyes and the softest hair you'd ever feel." He swallowed. Having drawn her hands away from the now pink and slightly angry looking line on his neck which would no doubt be fully healed in a mtter of time, she was silent, watching him from the place that she sat next to him on the edge of the bed. "She died, you know. I didn't save her…couldn't save her." He was amazed at the pressure of tears that flamed up forcefully behind his eyes. His low voice was a distant rumble, and she watched him, transfixed on this astounding person so deep in his grief he was hardly recognizable. Realizing that was what he had to say on the matter, his face turned toward the candle at the nightstand, she went to the stitches on his leg. Somehow making even the action of rolling up his pant leg seem un-invasive and careful. On the tenth day, he touched the keys of a piano in her room. It was the tenth day, and this was his first time entering her sanctuary. Here was where she got the books. One of her walls was painted navy, and drawn over repeatedly with chalk judging by the notes written over it in clean white scrawling. There were books, and a piano. Not a grand one, like the one he kept on display in his own echoing household, but enough to remind him that it was time he got home. "Did you ever find my motorcycle, by chance?" He'd asked out of the blue, the silence permeated by the high tone of the key his finger pressed against. Anyone else, and he would have assumed no, but with her… She'd watched him awkwardly, not fully comprehending why some billionaire wanted to witness her bedroom. And she was hoping, praying out a mantra, he wouldn't look to carefully at the occasionally embarrassingly private note she'd written out on her wall. "Yes…um. It's in the cellar. I locked it up."
He offered her a warm smile. They didn't need batman anymore. But Bruce Wayne was something different. He was a provider for the city, an image that needed to be upheld. It was time he left. "Why do you keep candles lit?" She shrugged. "It's better for the environment, I try not to use electricity." He nodded, the smile sticking. She understood, as he knew she would. That it was time for him to stretch out his batwings once more. Though, it would be difficult to smuggle out a bat suit. "Well, I could deliver it to you later. You know…when you require it again." She'd said it so cheerfully. Like it was an honor instead of a coat of arms. Perhaps, to some eyes, it still was. "I'm worried about leaving you alone, the pair you stopped from having me my first night here…you didn't kill them. They might gain some brains and come after batman's accomplice." She frowned slightly, her mouth puckering. "I couldn't kill somebody." And left it at that. Not 'I couldn't kill somebody for that reason' nor 'I couldn't kill somebody who didn't try to kill me' or any sort of justification. Hitting another key, he then let it slip off the side, walking toward her with his hands in pockets uncharacteristically big for him. "Well, if that's the case, you're going to be thoroughly overwhelmed that anyone who catches wind of you helping me…Not all people are so concerned with that little dose of morality." She held up her hands. "I've done all I could, and I did it the way I thought was right. I don't need any more protection than that." "I disagree." He informed her grimly. "I suppose you're just going to have to come stay with me." Bringing her eyebrows in slightly, she processed the suggestion for tones of sarcasm. "Your dog is, of course, perfectly welcome." She cracked open a smile, and the distinct weight of a solved problem eased the strain on the dark knight's burdened back.
I have this story planned from beginning to end, so I really expect to finish it in good time. I hope you're all enjoying it, I was inspired by some recent fanfiction I read to write a Dark Knight story. If you have comments or questions, please let me know. And next chapter will include some Joker time for sure, locked away in his Arkham cell with no connection to the outside world…if you'd like to believe that, of course, ha! Things are going to be pretty quick getting picked up, so don't you worry.
