Chapter 11
Setting her feet on the coffee table, Connie frowned. The polish on her big toe was smudged again. She had painted the errant toe twice and still the pink polish wasn't right. Sighing, she shifted so that the phone was in between her ear and shoulder and started to go about taking the paint off with a cotton ball and polish remover.
"He kicked you out?"
"Not really, Mel. It was…like he was suddenly awake or something. Like, he was dreaming and then an alarm went off."
Her friend paused to take in a deep breath. "That is weird. You know that, right? Connie, he's probably got bodies in a crawl space under his house. Are you sure about this?"
Letting out a single laugh, she threw the soaked cotton ball in the garbage can next to her and picked up another one. "I don't think he's that weird. Maybe, like, anti-sex weird."
"Anti-sex weird is bodies in a crawl space weird."
"You're oversexed. "
"Yeah, right. So, what are you going to do?"
Streaking the polish on very carefully, she took a moment to delay her answer while she concentrated.
"Well! Connie, are you there!"
"Sorry. I'm going to go over there again and wear something very sexy and knock his socks off with how great I am."
Connie could hear her friend drinking something before she responded. "Well, that's a plan." The deep sigh and hesitation told Connie there was something coming she wasn't going to like. "Connie…can't you just live normally? Do you have to do this?"
"Yeah, I think I do. You only live once, you know."
"You could live in other ways. Go skydiving. Learn to ski. Connie, bedding billionaires is not an acceptable hobby."
Billionaire. Singular. It isn't like I've been doing this or as if I'm going to continue doing this. It's just…fun. It's fun." She paused a moment, for effect. "I want to have fun."
"Fun is one thing, but this is insane. And you don't sound like you're having fun. You sound frustrated."
Blowing on her toe, she leaned back a little to admire the un-smudged paint. "No, it's fun. I…I don't want to end up with regrets. Mel, just support me, okay? No judging."
Melanie sighed. "No judging. I'm just concerned. Why don't you come home, Connie? Be with your friends and your family."
"I have friends here." She had heard this request before. "And I don't want to be around David right now. I can't see him."
"I know. I get that. But we're here."
"Dad's gone now, and mom's been gone for a while. David was all I had, Mel. And he left me. Boston is in my rear view mirror, and I refuse to look back. I like Gotham. I'm doing good things here."
At Melanie's silence, Connie continued. "And Bruce is nice. He's funny and sweet and I think he's going to be someone I can have some fun with."
"Don't break his heart, Connie."
At that, she took in a sudden breath. Licking her suddenly dry lips, she leaned back against the couch. "He doesn't seem like the type. He's the heart breaker. I don't think he'll mind a fling, Mel."
"You met his kids. You met his grandkids. Please, Connie. That's a recipe for disaster."
Swallowing, Connie played with the hem of her blouse for a second before taking another deep breath. "Listen, my long distance is going to kill me this month. I'll talk to you later, okay?"
"I love you, sweetie. I know you'll do the right thing."
Ending the conversation, she stood and grabbed an afghan from the back of the couch. Wrapping it around her shoulders, she sighed and went to her balcony doors. She had spared no expense on her apartment. It was in the well to do neighborhood of Gotham. Her neighborhood had the lowest crime rates.
There was a balcony and gas fireplace in the sunken living room. The bathroom was huge; it was almost as big as her bedroom had been in Boston, after she had moved out of her house. The tub was huge and there was a shower too, with beveled glass doors. She had loved the place the moment she saw it, and figured it was worth it. Most of her savings had gone into a down payment, but she now owned a little piece of the city.
Sighing, she leaned her head against the cool glass of the sliding doors and watched the rain fall. Lightning flashed through the sky and she smiled. Lighting was beautiful, she thought. Lightning and sunrises were her favorite parts of nature. Forcing herself away from the view, she started into the kitchen and put the tea kettle on.
After leaving the manor earlier, she had found it impossible to sleep. Knowing Melanie would be awake, most likely working on an article for the magazine she worked for, she hadn't hesitated to call. Melanie rarely slept until the early morning hours. Sniffling a little, she rubbed her suddenly blurry eyes.
Taking that as a sign to sit down, she took herself into the living room to wait for the kettle to alert her. The alcohol she had consumed had clouded her head, but during the hour which Bruce had shown her the house and flirted with her, she had felt most of the effects wear off. Now, she was tired and cranky and disappointed.
Turing the television on, she frowned at the news screen. A reporter was reporting live from Arkham Asylum. Sighing, she shook her head. She had to move to the city with the infamous nut jobs, she thought. Flipping through the stations, she frowned. The only shows on at one in the morning were re-runs of her favorites, which she had seen, or things that didn't interest her. She was glad when the kettle started to whistle.
Dunking the tea bag in the water, she sighed while thinking of Bruce. He was handsome, witty, and incredibly successful. She was having a hard time thinking of a reason not to be attracted to him. Wrapping the afghan tighter around her, she looked at the clock. It was a good thing she wasn't expected at the hospital in the morning.
Sitting back down on the couch, she contemplated calling another friend to talk. Leslie was normally up at all hours at the clinic. No, she decided, that wouldn't be fair. The elderly doctor was probably getting some much needed rest in between patients. Besides that, Leslie wouldn't have any time to talk to her. Looking into her tea, she frowned. There was little chance of her getting any sleep in the next few hours.
Standing, she sipped her tea and started into her bedroom. Donning navy blue scrubs and a white lab coat, she drank the rest of the tepid liquid before setting the mug in the kitchen sink on her way to the door. If she was going to be awake, she might as well do something useful, she thought.
The soft cotton scrubs felt like pajamas on her skin and she was tempted for a moment to go to bed. Shaking her head, she grabbed her rain coat and umbrella and locked the door behind her. There were people that could remind her that her life wasn't so bad, she thought.
The drive to the clinic wasn't long, but the transition from one side of the city to the other reminded her of science fiction shows where people traveled through portals and into new dimensions. The streets became darker, there were people huddled on street corners in short skirts with garbage bags held above their heads. The faint glow of fires in burn barrels could be seen down alley ways.
Parking on the street outside the clinic, she locked the doors and almost laughed at herself. As if locking the car doors would persuade someone not to steal her vehicle. It would take armed guards or a conscious on behalf of the thief to desist from thievery. In this part of the city, survival was held in higher regard than morality. There could be no morality when people were starving, she thought.
The clinic was bustling, like at all times. The heavy set African American nurse behind the desk was trying to explain in broken Spanish a child's condition to a hysterical mother. Shrugging her coat off, she threw it to a passing nurse with a quick apology and thanks and started towards Roberta.
Her Spanish was better, but it seemed the language barrier was not what had caused the mother to be hysterical. No matter how Connie explained that her baby boy had a cold, the mother seemed not to listen. Finally, taking the toddler in her arms, she started towards a small room in the back.
Examining the child, she winced. The mother had a right to be worried, she thought. The baby didn't have a cold, but a rather severe ear infection. Shaking her head, she supplied the mother with the proper medications and went to seek out whoever had made the misdiagnosis.
"Hey, Roberta, who saw that baby that just left?"
Shifting through the pile of paperwork on her desk, the woman sighed. "I don't know, Dr. Marsters. There's a physician from The General here and two nurses from an agency. You can ask them."
Frowning, she nodded and turned to waiting room to find another patient. The search took about one second. There was no point to finding the responsible party for the baby. Nurses were not supposed to diagnose patients, but they did out of necessity sometimes. Leslie just wasn't able to see every patient, and with only one other doctor, it was impossible for everyone to see a physician. Connie often thought that they were asking for a law suit, but no one in this area of the city could afford a lawyer.
It was eleven patients and one hour later when Connie stopped to take a break. She still hadn't seen Leslie; there was no time to find her friend in the mayhem. Grabbing one of the nurses, she asked for a cigarette and started towards the back of the building.
Lighting the cigarette, she shook her head. She had quit for a few weeks, but she never seemed to shake the habit entirely. After thirty years of addiction, it was hard to do. On nights like the one she was currently having, it seemed impossible.
"That will kill you, you know."
Startled, she shrieked a little and jumped a few inches. The voice had come from above her. Looking up, she poked her head out from under the awning enough to get hit with rain and to see a young man clad in a red and black costume. Swallowing hard, she tried to find her voice. Patients at the clinic swore the Batman and his partners were not urban legend. She was now inclined to agree with them.
Swallowing hard, she pulled her head back under the awning and wiped the rain from her forehead. "Well, something has to, right?"
She thought she heard an intake of air that could have accompanied a smirk.
"I'm looking for Dr. Tompkins," the voice said.
Shaking her head, as if he could see her, she inhaled deeply, pulling smoke into her lungs. "I haven't seen her yet. I think she's been with patients in the private rooms. I can get her, if you want."
Robin was more than a little surprised that she was being so calm. Most people shrieked and backed away or stuttered a response. She sounded as if they were having a conversation in a grocery store, dressed as regular people.
"I'd appreciate that."
Throwing the stub to the ground, she ground it out with the toe of her sneaker. "You could come out of the rain while I look for her. No one will bother you."
At that, she turned and was through the door. Her hand was shaking a bit, but she thought she had hid her fear and awe rather well. It wasn't every day she spoke to superheroes. Of course, she had once taken care of a patient that swore he was Batgirl. A gentle reminder of his gender had not dissuaded him from that belief. Another time, she had set the broken arm of a man in the emergency room that told her he was caught by Batman. He hadn't told her his crime.
She had seen enough atrocities during her tenure as an emergency physician that she was hard to shock. Working twelve hour shifts at Gotham General and volunteering at the clinic had served to harden her. Boston's emergency rooms didn't seem so colorful, compared to Gotham's. There had been one time she had heard that a victim of The Joker had been brought in, though she hadn't treated him.
Searching through the halls for Leslie, she poked her head through a doorway to see her aging friend setting the broken leg of a little boy. The boy was crying but Leslie spoke in controlled tones. The nasty cuts and bruises on the other leg were enough to convince Connie that the child needed Leslie more than the ridiculously clad man outside did.
Stealing herself, she took a deep breath and went outside again. The rain was still pelting the ground and the costumed hero was no where to be seen. She spoke to the wind. "She's with a patient. If you're hurt…um…if you're hurt, I could help. I'm a doctor."
She swore she could hear his hesitation. Finally, he responded. "A bullet grazed my shoulder. I would take care of it myself, but I have more to do tonight."
Robin grasped his bleeding shoulder. There was no time to go back to the cave and have Alfred tend to him. He needed to catch the mugger that had shot him and check out the break out at Arkham before calling it a night. He wanted to make sure no one had discovered the changes to the wiring of the surveillance cameras he had made. Besides, he felt bad waking Alfred when he knew Leslie would be awake already. He hadn't expected Connie to be there, and he had expected her offer of assistance even less.
Sighing, he dropped from his perch onto the ground in front of the landing and somersaulted onto the concrete landing and under the awning. She looked frightened, which was good, he thought. That was the proper response.
"I'll…I'll get a room set up. There's one right off the hallway." Turning, she almost ran to the door, her previous bravado gone.
Setting the room up, she controlled her breathing. The man wasn't a criminal. He fought criminals, she told herself. That did little to assuage her fears. He looked strong and she had heard whispers among her patient about brutality. A few patients she thought were in gangs had spoken in languages she wasn't supposed to understand about a vampire Batman and his partners. She prayed she wasn't in danger.
Walking the few feet to the back door, she opened it a crack and waved for him to enter. Leading the way to the examination room, she closed the door behind her. Hesitating a few moments at the door, she swallowed hard and turned to face him.
He had already removed his cape and was pulling the chest piece over his head. Looking at her, he indicated his left shoulder. "It grazed me. I just need a dressing."
Nodding, she swallowed hard and lifted the saline soaked gauze she had prepared earlier. She had never seen or heard Leslie turn anyone away, but she didn't know her boss's policy when it came to vigilantes. Biting her lip, she silently prayed she wasn't going to get into trouble. She liked Leslie and hated the idea of disappointing her. Even as a grown woman, disappointing the doctor, who had her eightieth birthday that year, was an upsetting proposition.
Cleaning the wound, she noticed ugly purple bruises along his chest. Frowning, the part of her mind that was a doctor took over. "I should wrap your chest. Your ribs might be bruised."
Her confidence slowly returned as she worked. This was her element. She helped people. It was only a few minutes until she had wrapped his chest and put two stitches in his arm. The wound could have required more, but she figured he would be moving around and would tear them anyway. Hers was a temporary solution, and she told him so. Bandaging the wound, she stepped back and turned to the table as he pulled the tunic and body armor back on.
"Thank you." Standing, Robin seemed to scowl at her.
Holding her breath, she wondered if he would erase her memory like in the movie she liked about aliens with Will Smith. For the life of her, she couldn't remember the name of the movie. Part of her brain that wasn't suddenly nervous screamed that the movie name didn't matter.
Before she could speak, he had left through the door. Leaning against the exam table, she took a few deep breaths. She could not remember a time she had been so unnerved. Cleaning up the mess she had made, she shrieked when she heard a voice behind her.
"Connie!"
Turning, Connie put a hand to her chest as she smiled. "Leslie. I've been looking for you."
"Are you alright?" Coming closer to her newest volunteer, Leslie couldn't help but notice the pallor of her complexion. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Close enough, I guess." Shaking her head, she smiled wider. "Let me clean up and I'll come back out to the waiting room and pick up another patient."
Throwing the gloves and used gauze into the red garbage bag, she composed herself. She was a doctor, she thought. She helped people. Even men that wore black masks that covered their eyes and silly capes that billowed out like shown in Dracula pictures. Everyone needed help now and again and she was determined to provide the assistance.