10

AWAKE

84 HOURS LATER

Bruce became aware of sound first. As the drug induced fog lifted from his mind he felt like the volume of the world was slowly being turned up. A rhythmic beeping coming from somewhere. Voices, though he couldn't quite make them out. He tried to remember where he was, but realized he had no idea. He kept his eyes closed, in case he was being monitored, but strained to hear more. Bruce did a mental evaluation of his body starting with his breathing. He wasn't on a respirator, good news. Next, he checked his toes. He moved them slightly under the covers, making sure they were still there and functional. Satisfied, he moved to his leg muscles, slightly flexing them. He repeated the process for his major muscle groups and fingers. Satisfied, he now focused on his head. There was a dull ache that he somehow knew would hurt even worse later. Good. The pain will give me something to focus on. Now, where am I?

He focused on his olfactory senses. Disinfectant... plus the rhythmic beeping. Hospital of some sort. I hear... Spanish? Sounds like television in Spanish. Could be Gotham still. Could be Santa Prisca for all I know. ATV. Last thing I can remember is being on an ATV... for what? It was his last thought before he fell asleep again.

3 HOURS LATER

Bruce woke up again, made the same assessments, his body still seemed fine, his head still hurt, but the television or monitor with someone speaking in Spanish was off. Bruce concentrated on his breathing, trying to get as much oxygen to his blood as possible. He made an effort to stay conscious, trying to take in as many sounds as possible. He faded in and out a few times, until eventually he heard footsteps coming towards him. Soft soled shoes. Short intervals. Probably female. He felt something small enter his ear. Thermometer. Bruce then smelled something. A scent of perfume he'd known all his life. Leslie. Unless it was a woman with the same perfume. Let's find out.

"Who's there?" he asked weakly.

"Bruce, it's Leslie," she said softly. "You're in the Cave. Try not to move." Bruce's eyes slowly opened and he said something she couldn't quite make out. Leslie leaned in. "Say that again."

"Sitrep," he said more strongly.

Leslie sighed. It never ended with him. "Here's your situation report. You were nearly beaten to death. You had surgery and you just came out of an induced coma. You've been unconscious for almost four days. You need rest."

"What happened?"

"Plenty of time for that later. How do you feel?"

"Head hurts, groggy."

"You'll be that way for a bit. Any other pain?"

"No..."

"Good. Your vitals have been stable and constant. You're lucky to be alive."

Bruce was more awake now. He started processing what was happening. "Head trauma?"

"Yes, Bruce. You nearly died."

"You said surgery. Tommy?"

"Tommy's been read in, yes. He was the primary for your operation."

Another one, Bruce thought. Another person at risk, another vulnerability. It was a position he never wanted to put Tommy in. "How'd he react?"

"Like you'd expect. Shock and a lot of questions. He seemed good with it though. Add one more to the team."

They heard footsteps behind them as Alfred approached with a plastic cup of water with a straw. "Good to see you awake, sir," he said as he placed the straw towards Bruce's mouth. Bruce took a small sip and nodded. "You gave us all quite a scare."

"What happened?" He was still speaking softly, every sentence an effort. "I remember being on an ATV in a tunnel, not much else."

"You were trying to intercept Beals before he walked into a trap. The assassin. Do you remember the assassin?"

Bruce sat still for a moment as flashes came back. The hotel, the fire, tracking Beals. Bits and pieces were returning. "I remember surveillance on Beals, tracking him through a crowd. The tunnel, ATV... and Oracle. The synthesized voice on our coms." He frowned, trying to recollect more. "That's it."

"We tracked Beals to a warehouse, where he was attacked," Alfred replied. "You engaged the assassin and were rendered unconscious. Your lenscam captured most until then. It was damaged during the fight."

"How did I end up here? What happened to Beals?"

"Beals was killed. Another subject intervened and rescued you. The assassin escaped. Do you remember the chap who stole the Batmobile in Park Row?"

Bruce furrowed his brow. The man had attacked him and stole his car. Why save him? "Yes..."

"He stopped the assassin from killing you and brought you here. He saved your life."

"You told him where the Cave was?" Bruce asked incredulously.

"Your cowl had already been removed. He'd seen your face. You had already been compromised, so there wasn't much to lose. Weighed against saving your life it was the right decision," Alfred replied. "He's been here recovering as well."

"Bruce, I know him," Leslie informed him. "He's from the East End. His father was a thief who worked for and was killed by Harvey Dent. His mom is an addict and prostitute. God knows where she is. She comes in and out of his life. He's been on the streets for years. He's had it pretty bad, but he's not a bad kid."

"Kid?" Bruce asked.

"He's seventeen or eighteen."

"He's got skills for that age. Disabled the security on the Batmobile, set up a tripwire and took me out, engaged the assassin. And won. He's either metahuman or was trained by someone. You said Dent killed his father. I was tracking Dent when he took the Batmobile. Can't be a coincidence. How did he beat the assassin?"

"According to him with a flashbang, a batarang through the eye, and then running him over with the Batmobile. The assassin was missing when the police arrived. Either he walked away on his own power or he had associates who grabbed him. He might very well be alive."

Bruce sat for a moment in silence. It was a lot of information to process upon waking up. Then he remember something. "I heard Spanish in here at one point."

"That was Jason watching television," Leslie answered. "He's Cuban."

"Half," a voice said behind them. All three turned to see Jason standing at the far end of the room. Bruce noted that none of them had heard him approach. "I'm half Cuban. Mom's white. Sorry, heard you guys talking and thought I should come over."

"Come closer," Bruce ordered softly.

Jason approached before realizing he was following the order. The man seemed to exude authority, even with a whisper from a hospital bed. Jason had survived on the streets partially by learning to read people. He looked at Bruce's face and felt himself being evaluated. Dissected. Even incapacitated as Bruce was Jason still felt intimidated. It was an unusual feeling, even when facing danger on the streets. Bruce Wayne radiated danger.

"Thank you," Bruce said quietly.

Jason looked to Alfred and Leslie, unsure of how to respond. He looked back to Bruce only to find he had fallen asleep.

"He needs rest, " Leslie told him. "Let's get some food and let him," she said as she led Jason and Alfred out.

Leslie Boxer got off the subway a block from her house and made her way slowly up the stairs to the city street. She was still mad at herself for not bringing comfortable flats with her on her date, though the purse she had to go with her dress wouldn't wasn't large enough anyway. Her four inch heels had been excruciating for the three blocks she had had to walk from the restaurant to the subway after she had stormed out.

She had met the guy through her dating profile. Steve had seemed nice enough at first. They had "sixty seven percent syncronisity" according to the matchmaking site. Same general movies, same love for BBC shows, even her favorite musician Cobie Caillat. They had sent private messages to each other for three days before deciding to meet for coffee. That had gone well and she had agreed to a proper first date.

It had started out well. He picked her up in his late model BMW and they drove to a nice side of the city and a fairly nice restaurant. Ten minutes into what had so far been comfortably nice Steve informed her that he had the best tongue and the best dick she'll ever meet and he couldn't wait to use both on her. Not wanting to cause a scene she politely excused herself to go to the ladies' room and exited through the kitchen, making her way towards the subway. Before she had gone underground she had received three texts from Steve asking where she was and what had happened. She didn't respond and was grateful that the underground tunnel blocked signals.

By the time she exited the tunnel and gotten a signal again Steve's texts had grown decidedly angrier and culminated with calling her a fat cow who needed a pity fuck.

"Asshole," she said to herself as she said as she got close to her building. She immediately blocked his number. She was beginning to give up hope. Since she had set up her profile she had been on seven dates with different types of men. Each had been sexist in his own disappointing way. Even the "nice guy". Especially the nice guy, she thought. He had thought he was owed sex in exchange for being polite and called her a cunt when it didn't happen. Needle in a haystack would be easier. I'm going to end up a crazy cat lady at this rate. She smirked at the thought.

Walking up the stoop of her building she heard a sound from the alley, followed by a meow. Curious, she walked back down the stoop and went to investigate in between the buildings.

"Edward!" she exclaimed when she saw her cat on top of the dumpster. "How did you get out?" She approached the dumpster to grab her pet when a man stepped out from a crouch. For a split second neither one moved. Then incredibly fast the man stepped toward her, put a hand on her mouth and she saw a flash of something metal. She heard a sound and felt pressure in her abdomen and looked down, unable to make a sound. Blood was flowing from her stomach and a large knife was embedded. She looked back up into the man's eyes.

"Uppity bitch," he said with a sneer as he stabbed her twice more, twisting the knife after the third puncture.

The last thought Leslie Boxer ever had was one of confusion. She had never seen the man before in her life.