Gotc: So how many of you have I frustrated so far with the cliffies? Sorry (kinda). Anyway, just finished watching the Superman/Batman Public Enemies and I have to say: Who in their right mind would have put this in the kid section of Blockbuster? On the same note, it's a great movie and anyone who loves Batman and Superman should definitely watch it in the near future. The banter between the two made the movie and had me laughing my head off. Still, not for the small children. Watch it and you'll see why…
Now back to the task at hand! I don't own any of this stuff. That'll change when I rule the world, but until then, no suing please and thank you!
Quarantine
CHAPTER 3: Symptomatic
Bruce hadn't had a good night's sleep since he was 8 years old. The nightmares of that fateful evening in a Gotham alley haunted his vision every time he closed his eyes. For years he'd searched unsuccessfully for a way to sleep without being haunted by his past. Hypnosis, pills, acupuncture and herbal teas from every country had all done him no good. In the end, the only thing that drove the nightmares from the few hours he did slumber, was working his body to the point of absolute exhaustion where the black veil of unconsciousness could claim him and the dreams could not find him.
But tonight, even that wasn't enough.
Voices echoed in the dingy Gotham streets; a taunting, mocking laughter following Bruce as he raced through crowds of faceless people. As he pushed through one group, he bounced off of their mass and his head struck a burnt out lamp post. A sharp note rang out in the night as his head bounced off of the rusting metal. The faceless crowds all stopped in their tracks and turned in a single motion to face him.
Several reached out to grab him, their cold hands stinging bitterly against his flesh. He managed to land a few good punches that freed him from their grip and bolted down into the nearest alleyway. He could fight a few dozen of them, but there was no way he'd be able to put down every one of them before they'd overwhelm him. His head pounded furiously, making the normally familiar backalleys twist and turn in an unfamiliar manner until they had robbed him of any sense of direction.
That's when he heard it. A harsh report that sounded just around the corner from where he stood. Bruce didn't want to look, though his legs continued to move him against his will. He knew what would be waiting for him as he rounded the corner, but what greeted him was something that went beyond his definition of a nightmare.
Crimson was sprayed across the dingy brick, painting a ghastly scene on the narrow walls, but one that paled in comparison to the one still taking place. Diana let out a choking gasp as the dark figure that held her by the neck let her fall onto boneless legs. Her eyes stared at him in a lifeless stupor, while the ruby ichor relentlessly trickled from the gaping hole just below her throat. He half ran, half stumbled to her side, and pulled her cold form to his chest all the while screaming her name as if it would bring her back to him.
Bruce turned to the dark figure in the shadows, ready to kill the murderer still casting a malicious presence over the gruesome sight. He reached out to grab the menace by the collar and drag him into the poor light so he could at least see the face of the man he was about to kill. But it wasn't a face that he saw enter the light first, it was the black symbol of a bat.
Bruce released the fabric as the man stepped into the light on his own, the towering figure of his alter ego bearing down on him, still holding the glistening gun that killed the goddess at his feet. He could see the demon's smile shine in the poor light, and even through the lenses of the cowl, two eyes red as the pools of blood at their feet….
Bruce jerked upright in bed, torn between the renewed agony in his head and the fresh churning that brewed in his stomach. He had only a second to shove his head into a small trashcan, before the bile forced its way up his throat. A deep cough brought the contents of his stomach splashing against the thin metal, the acrid smell of the acids quickly filling the air.
He tried to catch a breath between the rolling heaves, but only managed a brief gasp of air before the next wave would crash down upon him. The nausea continued for what felt like hours, his stomach continuously giving up more and more fluid, when it felt like it should have been emptied long ago. To make matters worse, every heave forced blood towards a head that already felt as if it were on the brink of exploding from the pressure. With every round, the force of his stomach's rant caused the room to spin and dim for a moment and relent only long enough to start it all over again.
Bruce finally caught a long enough break in the relentless pattern to stagger to the bathroom, and ended up nearly collapsing against the sink. The sharp contrast of the chill of the marble and the heat now radiating off of his own body in its own right felt as if it would burn the flesh off of his bones. The sensation didn't last long, before his stomach rolled painfully again and had him doubled over the toilet's edge.
His renewed efforts echoed hoarsely in the bowl, and summoned the only other person in the manor. Bruce never even heard the old man step in, before there was a firm hand supporting his quaking shoulders. He hated being like this. He could be fatigued, beaten and tortured and still manage to fulfill his self-appointed duty every night. Had his stomach not had complete control over him, he could have perhaps appreciated the irony of it, after all, the time tested "mind over matter" was the foundation of his entire life. Except for this. There was no willing this away.
The heaving at last became less and less until all that remained of it was the nauseating reminder that still churned in his gut. It was miserable, but at least he could breathe again. Bruce slumped heavily against the wall, no longer sure if his own muscles could support him anymore.
"I must say Master Bruce," Alfred said sympathetically, "It's been quite some time since the last time I saw you in this predicament."
"Came…n Is..lands…." Bruce panted, before his stomach threatened to reenter his throat.
A hiss escaped through his clenched teeth as he fought through the feeling of his intestines tying themselves into knots. The sound of running water reached his ears, before a cool cloth pressed itself against his burning forehead. Bruce reached up to hold the cloth, while Alfred turned away to clean up after his surrogate son.
It wasn't long before the marble became increasingly uncomfortable and drove Bruce to his feet to totter back in the direction of his waiting bed. Creature comforts, however, did not interest the muscles of his legs, which promptly gave out a few steps into his journey, letting him crash back into the sink counter instead of hitting the ground. He turned to push himself off of it, and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.
His skin had turned the color of diseased alabaster, flecked with what he assumed would become a growing number of starry red spots that had taken advantage of the new color to make themselves known. Sweat dripped down his face, a combination of his sudden fever and recent activities, the rivulets finding their way down his features. They eyes were their own horror story. The force of his stomach didn't break open his skull like he felt it would, but the blood vessels of his eyes were another matter. The rouge crimson fluid stained the corners of his eyes, slowly creeping ever closer to the center as it moved to fill in the available space.
He might have cared more about his appearance, had the pounding in his skull not resumed its duties. He managed to stumble into his waiting bed, with a little help from Alfred who had produced a glass of water and a new basket in the likely event his stomach would turn on him again.
"Shall I inform Miss Diana of your condition and reschedule your evening?" Alfred asked, once Bruce was back in bed.
"Nhn.." Came the mumbled reply, followed by a slight nod.
Alfred frowned. He'd seen Bruce come home black, blue and all the shades that were in between, and still have the fight in him to follow through with his daily obligations with Wayne Enterprises. It was a rare occasion, when he didn't have even the strength to stand on his own feet. Reluctantly, the old butler left the room and started towards the Cave to make his call.
-----
"Red or blue?"
"On you? Please. You could make a trash bag look good."
Diana rolled her eyes , as she renewed her assault on her meager closet looking for something to wear for her rapidly approaching date. Shayera picked through her rejected outfits, putting different pieces together to make up new outfit hopefuls with little success.
"Di, the man invited you to dinner," Shayera pointed out, "If he doesn't like anything you wear, he's not good enough for you."
"It's not about the outfit, Shay." Diana sighed, "I just don't want this to be a onetime thing, you know?"
"What makes you think it would be?"
"I don't know," Diana shrugged, "I just get this feeling…..like it's not meant to last. Of course, I know what Bruce would say if I ever told him that-"
A ping in her ear cut off the rest of her thought. The tone was lower than the general tone she heard when it was one of the League trying to contact her, which meant it was only one other person. Batman.
"Wonder Woman," She answered, putting a hand to her ear.
"Miss Diana," Alfred's voice came over the com-link, "Forgive me for the interruption."
"Alfred?" Diana said, surprised to hear the older man's voice, "What's wrong?"
Shayera suddenly became interested at the old butler's name and waved her hands trying to get Diana to reveal more of the situation.
"Well my dear….I'm afraid Master Bruce is not going to be able to attend your engagement this evening." Alfred informed her, "He's….well, incapacitated."
"Oh! He's not hurt is he?!" Diana asked, her mind suddenly churning to the worst case scenario.
"No, no. It would seem Master Bruce has contracted a case of the stomach flu is all and is currently in bed." He assured her.
"I see," Diana tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice, "Is there anything I might be able to do to help?"
There was a slight pause on the other side of the line. She'd met Alfred only a few times before, and she was fairly certain that had the man been born a few thousand years earlier, he would have been a revered seer by many. She had no doubt he'd picked up on her subtle change in tone.
"Unfortunately, there's not much that can be done for the flu, save for letting it run his course." He said thoughtfully, "He'll need fluids to make sure he doesn't become dehydrated, but the Master's never been an exemplary patient when it comes to him being ill. I've never been able to get him to stay in bed until he's fully recovered, but perhaps you'd have better luck than I?"
Diana let a small smile spread across her face. It certainly wasn't what she had pictured, but still. Baby steps.
"I'll be there in a few minutes Alfred," She said, before breaking the connection.
"Well!!?!" Shayera demanded impatiently.
"Bruce is sick, and I'm going down to help Alfred until he's better," Diana said simply, picking out a black turtleneck from the pile of discarded clothes. No need to get dressed up if Bruce wasn't going to be able to appreciate it.
"Tsk, tsk, Di…" Shayera clicked her tongue, "Taking advantage of a man while he's down?"
Diana said nothing, but let the grin on her face grow wider as she shoo'ed Shayera from her room while she got dressed.
-------
The moan found a path through Bruce's tightly sealed lips. He'd tried several times to fall back asleep , but the pain that had started in his head had begun to spread to the rest of his body. It wasn't the acute throbbing pain that beat away behind his eyes, this was a slow and steady burn that worked its way deep into every muscle he possessed. It was nearly worse than the headache in its own right.
Bruce rolled over again to try and relieve the returning churning of his stomach, when a small noise of someone entering the room reached his ears. The footsteps treaded far too lightly, and did not adhere to the strict posture with which Alfred carried himself.
"D..ian..a?"
"I heard you weren't feeling well," Her voice whispered quietly next to him, as the bed shifted slightly with a new weight, "And I thought Alfred could use a hand. l I heard you were an unruly patient."
"Heh….I ….never liked….being sick……" Bruce's weak chuckle evaporated into a pained groan.
The bed shifted again and a cool rag was pressed over his face and eyes, but not before light fingers brushed a few stray pieces of hair that stuck to his head. The touch lingered for a second, trailing along the edge of his face. In any other situation, he would have drawn away or reprimanded her for such an act. Then again, it wasn't they weren't the usual circumstances. Bruce reached up to catch her hand before she could pull it away. He didn't know if he was dreaming, but it was certainly better than the last one he'd had. At any rate he wasn't ready for it to end just yet. Maybe she would have been more than willing to stay like that for the rest of the day, had a sudden and familiar feeling break over him again.
Diana wasn't sure what she was expecting when she entered the bedroom. The contrast of pale skin and the fevered flush in his cheeks seemed impossible. He looked like he was sleeping, until she heard him moan in pain. She crossed the room as quietly as she could, but even in his state he still could manage to infuriate her with his uncanny ability to sense her presence.
"D..ian..a?"
Diana sighed and steeled herself for the eventual eviction from his house. Still, she wasn't about to go quietly, so she decided to head him off before he could get that far.
"I heard you weren't feeling well," She said no louder than a whisper, sitting next to him on the bed, "And I thought Alfred could use a hand. I heard you were an unruly patient."
"Heh….I ….never liked….being sick……" Bruce managed to dig up a sense of humor, before it evaporated as quickly as it had come.
She could tell his fever was bad, if not from the color rising in his face, then the pained breaths that would manage to escape him every now and again. She noticed a damp cloth next to the table and reached to lay it across his face. Absentmindedly, she reached out to brush away a few strands of his dark hair that had fallen across his forehead.
"What am I doing?!" She scolded herself, unable to draw her hand back.
"I'm monopolizing," she reasoned with herself, "When in the Gods' names am I ever going to get an opportunity like this again?!"
Deciding that she would just have to take the chance, she let her fingers trail across his face. Even before she touched him, she could feel the heat almost rolling off of him in waves. Now, it shot through her arm via her fingertips. He stirred slightly and raised a hand to hers. Aware her time had come to an end, Diana move to pull her hand away, only for his to hold it in place. It was a different contrast, to feel his hand without the always present Kevlar in the way.
Then it happened. She felt him shudder violently, and almost throw her off of the bed as he lunged for the waste bin next to them. Unsure what to do, she held onto his shoulders until as the heaving continued. It wasn't until he started coughing, though, did she hear something splash into the bottom of the container. The smell was the next thing to assault her senses. It was familiar and alien all at the same time, smelling like everything but what it should. But the heaving was relentless and carried on for several more minutes, each deep cough bringing up more and more to fill the trashcan.
Bruce muttered something unintelligible between gasps, a single word over and over whenever he caught his breath. The shuddering became worse, even as the heaving subsided, though the liquid continued to spill from his stomach. Something wasn't right here. His stomach should have been empty already, especially if he'd been this sick all day.
"Alfred!" Diana called out, fumbling with a lamp to get some light into the dark room.
"Bl…..ood….." Bruce panted, as the light finally flared to life.
Diana turned back to him to see his lips dripping thinly with crimson, and a larger quantity of it coating the bottom of the trashcan. He seemed to fall utterly boneless and nearly tumbled off the bed, had Diana not caught him in time. Gently she rolled him onto his back, kicking the foul-smelling can away from the bed. She was a warrior, trained not to panic even in the worst of circumstances, but even she could feel her heart begin to race as fast as his drummed under her fingers. But it wasn't until he looked up at her, did horror finally manage its grip on her.
The blue eyes that the mask hid weren't the ones staring back at her.
The eyes staring at her were blood red.
Gotc:Buahahahahahahahaha…….Ah….cliffies….They're so much fun. For me. Well, I gave you your first big clue here folks. Anyone know what he's got yet? Well if not, you've got until my next post to figure it all out…… So if you want to know, well you guys know where the review button is!!! Laters!
