Again, thanks for the overwhelmingly positive reviews and praise.

This chapter? Well, nothing that special about it, other than the fact that we get a little action from our Mr. Wayne... XD I hope I'm not glorifying his character too much - I'm insanely in love with Bruce and... well... *clears throat* yeah. So forgive me if he's a little too... You know.

Now, let's get back to Bruce in his tropical prison...

Chapter Six

Bruce never knew that a single pineapple could be so delicious, nourishing, or simply heavenly.

The hardest part in eating it was... removing the rough outer skin. Bruce had to keep his hands from shoving the fruit into his mouth before he was even done peeling with the knife. God. The juice. Bruce licked the stuff off his fingers, and nearly fainted with joy. The sweetness of it. And how cool it was! He hadn't even actually eaten the fruit yet!

He sliced a small piece off with the knife, and almost tentatively, put it into his mouth. Bruce had never tasted anything better in his entire life. The next bites came faster and faster. Before he knew it, the entire pineapple had disappeared into his stomach. It was over too soon! Far too soon... But he was full. Heck, he hadn't been full since, what, that Italian restaurant he had gone to a day before the vacation! It felt wonderful to have a full stomach... Bruce found himself realizing this once again. It had been a while since he had first gotten to know what starvation was like. Wow. Already nearly ten years ago...

Bruce looked at the remains of the pineapple. He almost felt sad. It made him laugh at himself. Look at you. Going crazy over food like an animal... Ah, well, it couldn't be helped, could it? In these circumstances... Bruce stood up, wiping the last of the juice from his chin, and took a glance around. It had stopped raining; the sun was shining through the trees. He checked his watch. Three p.m., August the 21st. Bruce found himself wondering what he'd do when the batteries ran out. How was he to keep track of time then? He told himself not to think about it. Only worry about the present. Don't burden yourself with future's happenings, too.

He felt stronger already. Maybe it was a temporary thing; why did it matter? Only worry about the present, he said to himself again. Perhaps he should take this opportunity and look around the island. But then a voice said to him,

Look what happened the last time you took a chance.

Bruce hesitated.

Then another, more aggressive, voice answered him. Stop being a coward. You can't do nothing forever, you fool.

But -

Idiot.

Bruce blinked. This was so strange. Like two people inside him, arguing. What the hell? Was he going mad? But bizzarrely enough he found that it helped him sort out his complicated thoughts and focus. Focus, Bruce, he said to himself. So. What's it going to be? Rot or explore?

He figured that he suddenly didn't fancy shrivelling away - not at all.

After all, what harm could a little peeking around do?

If it weren't for the ferocious man-eating dogs, the island would have been an ideal vacation spot.

Bruce explored it leisurely, looking around for anything helpful (edible) or for some sign of human life. He found none of the latter, unfortunately, but there was enough to eat, to his great relief. He found a couple more pineapples, and some other fruits that he didn't have names for - he put them all in a pile in some bushes near the shore. He tried to ignore his stomach, and his body's, urge to eat something... meatier. Meat. Bruce nearly drooled at the thought of a thick, juicy steak at a five-star hotel restaurant. Shit. Don't be stupid. Don't. Be. Stupid.

He looked for a decent water source. So far coconut milk had provided enough moisture, but Bruce missed the sensation of pure water running down his throat, wetting his mouth and tongue. Bruce didn't have to search for long. He had been taught to listen for water, way back at Ra's al Ghul's monastery. It wasn't as easy, this time, because of the continous lapping of the waves at the shore, but not impossible. Nothing was impossible - it was something Bruce had learned over all these weeks, months and years. Hard as hell, yes, but never impossible.

There was a stream, not too deep into the forest, leading into a rather large pond - it was about a fifteen minutes' walk from Bruce's usual spot at the beach. Luckily he made it, even with his diminished strength - he made a mental note. Keep in shape. Bruce knew it would be vital for more island life.

At some point during his walk he found himself questioning his sudden desire to get moving.

What difference will it make? The voice again. You're not going to get rescued - you know it's not possible. You're a billionaire playboy, how do you expect to survive in a place like this?

I've looked around. It's not all bad here. What about the training I've been through? All the torment back in Gotham? Compared to all that, this will be a piece of cake. Quit whining, stop acting like the people you hate most - weaklings.

It was true - the island wasn't the hell Bruce had first imagined it to be. The pond was another joy. Stripping off his shirt Bruce plunged right in - the cool water felt wonderful on his skin; it also did in his mouth. He cleaned himself in the water, swam around, drank his fill. When he finally climbed back out, nearly half an hour later, he stopped to look at his reflection on the mirror-like surface of the pond. Almost immediately he took out his knife, and began to shave. The blade cut his chin and jaw more than once, but he didn't stop. He didn't stop until all of the unsightly beard had gone - then he proceeded to cut his hair short with the same, now rather bloody, knife. After he was done he wiped the knife on a leaf, and washed his now-clean-shaven face in the water - that was better. He didn't fancy looking like Robinson Crusoe apparently did at the time of his rescue. He was Bruce Wayne. He wanted to stay that way.

Then he reached into his pocket and took out a fruit resembling a mango he put in there earlier. Bruce had no idea what it was, but it looked appetizing enough. He took a bite - not bad, not bad at all. With his back against a nearby tree, he ate his way through the thing, feeling perfectly content for the first time since he had nodded off on that godforsaken yacht. He spent over three hours, napping contentedly.

Peace never lasts.

It was something Ra's al Ghul had said to him. He and Bruce were meditating on an iceburg - Bruce had indeed felt peaceful, with the cool wind caressing his face and hair, his mind as empty as a sheet of blank paper. Then, very suddenly, Ra's had struck him across the face, nearly knocking him right off the edge of the iceburg. What followed could have been called a beating, but Ra's claimed it was 'a lesson well taught'. Only after Bruce was lying at his feet, bloody, bruised, half-unconscious and very angry, he stopped. Later, when Bruce asked him about it, all he had said was

"Peace never lasts, Bruce. That's something you should always keep in mind. Never get caught off guard. Don't make the same mistake that has killed hundreds, no, thousands, of men before you."

Bruce had cursed himself, many times, for forgetting the teachings of that madman - this time was no exception.

He should have noticed that ominous growling, he should have noticed the rustling undergrowth. But no, he had been too obsessed with that stupid fruit and his own self-satisfaction to do so! Only when the howl exploded from nearby Bruce jumped to his senses. By then it was far too late. The first dog emerged from the bushes, less than five meters away from him, teeth bared in a threatening snarl. It reminded Bruce unpleasantly of the German Shepherds that were always hunting him back in Gotham - at least then he had his armor. Right now he was as unprotected as a sitting duck. Hell, even his shirt wasn't on properly!

Fear closing over him like a set of claws Bruce drew out his knife - the blade glinted in the dim light. But what good would a knife be against that animal? No good, thought Bruce. No good at all. The dog came closer; Bruce stood up, slowly. Vaguely he noticed the other beasts, so very well-hidden in the green around him - Goddamit, he had been so stupid! If he'd been a little more careful! No use now. Focus, and you might be able to get out alive.

The dog growled; as if on cue the others emerged, surrounding Bruce, far more effectively than the police forces of Gotham ever had been. These animals were gaunt, scruffy, lithe and... hungry. Bruce could see that - the saliva dripping from their jowls, the ribs showing through the ragged fur... Suddenly he felt a pang of pity for the dogs. They were just starving wild animals; what would they know? To them, why would eating a person be wrong in any way?

You're an idiot, Bruce, you're a bloody idiot.

How many times had Ra's al Ghul taught him not to feel compassionate for his enemies? Criminals are one thing, unknowing animals are another. He answered himself.

Yeah? But they both want to tear you to pieces. What's the difference?

To Bruce Wayne, the good-hearted, noble young man, they were different. But to Batman, the monster, full of rage and power, desperate for survival, they were the same - enemies. Objects that needed to be destroyed.

This time, Wayne won over.

That wasn't a good thing.

Bruce's hesitation had encouraged the beasts. The one at the front pounced without warning. Bruce had no time to react. His arm shot up to protect his face and throat; it ended up inside the dog's jaws right away. Bruce yelled as the teeth sank into his flesh and drew blood; he fell backwards, the beast on top of him. He tried to tear his arm out from the beast's mouth - the dog's canines had raked all the way down the length of his forearm as he did so. At least he had succeeded in freeing himself. Bruce rolled around, somehow got leapt back up to his feet, and gripped the knife tightly, surprising himself with his own agility and strength, considering all that he'd been through for the past week. Only one explanation was available for that - his survival instincts had kicked in. Or was it the Batman's? It didn't matter.

Another beast came flying at his head. He clenched his free hand into a fist, swung as hard as he could - he had forgotten that it was his bad arm. It probably caused him just as much pain as it had caused the dog. Oh, well. With a yelp, the dog was slammed against a tree, brutally hard, and lay unmoving among the undergrowth. Bruce struck out with the knife, this time, feeling it stab into something, then delivered a ninja chop with the same hand to another dog, at the base of the skull, felling it instantly. He wasn't sure how he was managing to stay alive, here, but he was. In fact, he was doing more than that - he was staying alive and beating those dogs half to death. Was he really this good a fighter? It's desperation, more likely.

But he was tiring. There were too many of them. More blood; he could no longer distinguish between his own and the dogs'. Bruce knew that he needed to get out of this, soon. Or he'd end up as dog food. That wasn't quite what he wanted his future to be.

They broke apart for a moment. The dogs - all on their feet except for one, which lay in a pool of its own blood. Bruce? He'd been through worse before. But this wasn't pleasant, either. A copious amount of sticky warmth was soaking his arm; this was far more painful than the bite he had recieved from the Chechen's Rottweiller back in Gotham, months ago. He gasped for breath, looking for an escape route - anything would do.

Ah, that looked good enough.

A vine, hanging overhead, a few feet away.

Only, a dog was in front of the thing.

Goddammit.

But... then...?

A stupid idea began to form in Bruce's head.

xXxXxXx

That was fun to write. I hope it was also fun to read. Reviews anyone?