Chapter 12…

A/N: A bit shorter update for everyone this time. Less action – or more, depending on your definition ;-) This one is an interlude of sorts. Thank you for the reviews for the last chapter. I'm glad you liked it.

As always, thank you to my beta, DaisyJane.

Disclaimer: Characters are property of their respective owners. No profit is being made - I don't own or control anything. Sigh…

ANCHOR

youtube - xcFCJKoZ_f8

For Diana, the minutes ticked by agonizingly slowly. Robin and Nightwing were out shaking down possible informants as she waited in the cave, listening to the communications between them and Barbara Gordon and sipping the tea Alfred had given her. She hadn't had any contact from Batman. The last she'd heard, he was still in the Waterfront District investigating the crime scene.

Some time ago, she had asked Barbara for an update. In response, Diana had received the digital crime scene photos recently deposited on the Gotham City PD mainframe. On the large monitor in the cave, Barbara had pulled up for her a similar perspective of both crime scenes. A closer look had done nothing to ease Diana's concern. Even on the computer, the visual image was striking in its similarity to the crime it replicated; for Bruce, actually being there had to be nothing short of horrifying. Aside from the precision and deliberation of the bullet wounds, this crime scene matched the Wayne's to the last detail. It was a different alley, but it looked almost identical to the one that now was behind the walls of Arkham City. She had no idea if this person was deliberately sending Bruce Wayne some sort of message or was just using the copycat crime as a way of getting attention. She desperately hoped it was the latter.

Of course Bruce hadn't checked in with anyone since he provided a vague description of the killer to Barbara hours ago. From the GCPD radio transmissions, Barbara was able to tell her that the coroner had taken the bodies to the morgue and Milo Mueller to Gotham Children's Hospital. Apparently the boy had shut down after a brief conversation with Batman and was now completely uncommunicative. He was taken to Children's to be treated for shock and seen by a child psychologist. His maternal grandparents had been contacted and were taking the first flight the next day from Central City to Gotham. Fortunately for the boy, his parents had blessed him with a large extended family that included grandparents, aunts and uncles, and cousins. He'd have a large support system going forward. As wonderful as Alfred had always been, he was the closest to family – the only family – that Bruce had. Diana wondered if things would have been different for Bruce he'd had the support of a large family. She suspected Batman would have still come to be, but maybe he could have been less emotionally tortured.

Her musings were interrupted when Diana's enhanced hearing picked up the low rumble of the Batmobile several miles away. As he drew closer, she began to pace, barefoot, her black Manolo Blahniks long discarded. Her anxiety began to build. As much as he'd had to deal with over the last month, for Bruce, nothing else had ever – or could ever – hit so close to home. His mission had been wrapped up in and driven by one singular purpose, to prevent what had happened to him from happening to someone else. As he would see it, this crime mocked that purpose and screamed his failure unlike any other. Despite how well she knew him, she had no idea how deeply it would affect his emotional state. She feared he would be completely broken by it, although she believed that he would survive this as he had everything else. And maybe this time he'd let her help him.

Finally, the car blasted into the cave and came to an abrupt stop. The door did not immediately open as she had expected. Diana spent a few moments at the edge of the platform, listening to the sound of her heart pounding in her ears while she waited for him to climb out of the car. Eventually the door slowly opened and Batman climbed out. He stood beside the car, turned in her direction and froze, looking at her but making no move in her direction.

They gazed at each other for a moment before he sighed deeply and pushed back his cowl. Diana felt her throat tighten as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. His handsome face was ashen and haggard, his eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed. Although his expression was frozen in his typical cold, impassive mask, his eyes, locked with hers, revealed utter desolation and despondence.

As she felt the tears well up and threaten to overflow, he looked away, focusing somewhere behind her toward the back of the cave. Finally, with heavy footfalls, Bruce began to walk toward her. As he approached, Diana reached out for him, as his intent to pass right by her became evident.

He stopped just out of arms reach. "Don't," he croaked out in a hoarse whisper. She dropped her arms to her sides as he continued by, watching as he sat something on his desk and stared at it for a moment before walking back to the changing area. Diana knew that even with her, he was determined to maintain his composure; however, she was just as determined not to allow him to push her away in order to do so. Stubbornly, she followed close behind.

As she crossed the threshold to the changing room, she found him already seated on the narrow bench, immobile, his head hung and his eyes closed. His cape, cowl, and belt had been carelessly tossed aside and lie in a heap beside him.

Diana dropped to the floor, kneeling in front of him. Taking his heel in her right hand, she lifted his foot to rest on her upper thigh. She glanced up just as his eyes flew open. He gazed down at her in silence as she lowered the long zipper on the inside of his boot, pulled it off, and then repeated the action with the other. Sitting his boots to the side, Diana next reached for his hands, pulling off one black gauntlet, then the other. They were deposited neatly next to his boots.

She pushed gracefully off of the floor and stood. Moving gently yet quickly, she divested him of his body armor from the waist up, baring his muscled, battle-scarred chest.

Diana stepped forward between his legs, gently resting a hand on each shoulder. Bruce gazed up at her for a few more moments before he released another deep, bone-weary sigh and went limp, sagging against her. He turned his head and pressed his cheek against her abdomen, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist. As he held on to her, Diana found herself feeling very much like an anchor that was preventing Bruce from sinking in the depths of despair. He'd been through so much – far too much. Even for someone as strong as he was.

"The boy knows," he said softly. "He knows that I'm to blame for his parent's murders – or if he doesn't yet, he soon will."

Diana threaded her fingers through his hair and wrapped her forearms around his head, the sweat-dampened locks of black hair curling and sticking to her silver bracers, condensation forming from his body heat.

"He won't blame you," she replied and began to stroke his hair. "How could he, Bruce? If anything, you could give him some comfort – you continued your father's legacy, became successful, honoring both of your parents."

"No Diana. Not Bruce Wayne. He'll blame Batman – probably already does. And he should. He might not know why, but it's my fault. His parents are dead because of me."

"I don't understand."

"The killer gave him two pearls as a message. He told the boy to give to them to me – only to me."

Diana's hand stilled its soft stroking of his sweat saturated hair and her eyes went wide as her mind raced through the implications of what Bruce had just told her. It almost certainly meant that whoever killed the Muellers knew Batman's real identity. She swallowed down her panic, knowing that wasn't what Bruce needed from her right now.

"Let's go upstairs," she whispered. "You need to rest." He reluctantly pulled away and allowed her to take his hand and lead him upstairs.

Bruce followed her into the bedroom and crossed the room, stopping in front of the expansive row of windows while Diana locked the door behind her. He stood very still, staring out the across the bay, the lights of Gotham City visible in the distance. She walked around to stand in front him, wordlessly forcing his gaze to meet hers. Ice blue eyes stared back at her bleakly. Restraining the flood of emotion over the last few hours seemed to have exhausted him completely. She could see that he was just barely hanging on.

Slowly, she lifted her hands to his forearms and up over his shoulders. He closed his eyes and she linked her fingers at the nape of his neck when he suddenly pulled her tightly against him and buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply.

They stood there, holding each other until she felt a hot wet sensation along the soft skin of her collarbone. She pulled back, grasping his head between her hands. His eyes were lowered, so she leaned forward, first kissing his eyelids and then the dampness on his cheeks. He lifted his eyes to hers. In spite of the horror he'd had to face over the last few hours - reflected in them was desire. But this time, the desire was darker – it was laced heavily with desperation and undiluted need. A shiver ran through her followed by a surge of warmth to her core. He was looking at her as if taking her right now was as necessary as taking his next breath.

Diana leaned forward to softly trail kisses across his cheeks again, until finally covering his slightly parted lips with hers. Immediately Bruce responded by taking control and hardening her soft, comforting kiss. He fisted her hair in one hand and holding her head, he pressed her lips against his. His kiss was fierce. His touch – his hands, his lips, and his tongue against hers – was frantic and primal. Diana felt so lightheaded from his passionate embrace that she barely registered a muscular forearm under her backside until she was suddenly being lifted from the floor and tossed roughly onto the bed.

She looked up at him – his expression was now almost angry as he covered her body with his. She felt it – his tense body was awash with emotion he had no idea how to handle. Diana could let him simply release his frustration on her and exhaust his body but she knew that wouldn't soothe him, if he could be soothed at all. As he circled her wrists with his fingers and moved to hold her hands above her head, she suddenly rolled out from under him and flipped him onto his back.

"Diana –"

She could hear the panic in his voice. He thought she was pulling away from him.

"Shhhh." She rose to her knees and crawled over to him. Slowly, she climbed on top of his torso and straddled his waist. He looked up, eyes locked with hers, his forehead wrinkled in confusion.

Diana smiled gently. "Shhhh," she admonished again. Reaching down, she grasped the hem of her black dress and lifted up and over her head. She tossed it aside, leaving her clad in only a pair of lacy black boy shorts.

As she leaned down and kissed his neck, Bruce's eyes closed and she felt him begin to relax beneath her as she trailed more gentle kisses across the scars of his chest. She eased back and shifted, moving enough to remove the Nomex-Kevlar weave and cotton boxer-briefs that concealed his growing arousal. Once the remnants of his clothing had been discarded, Diana continued to cover him with feather-light kisses, her lips brushing across his thigh and hipbone until he grasped her upper arm and pulled her mouth back to his.

Bruce now kissed her reverently, his fingers gently threading through her hair. Her actions had successfully shifted his mood, exactly as she had intended. Kneeling beside him, she sat back on her heels and gazed down at him. His blue eyes opened slowly and bore into hers.

"I need you," he whispered.

"I know," she replied. Diana quickly slipped the black lace from her hips. His eyes never left hers as she moved over him once again, lowering slowly until she'd taken all of him inside her.

Bruce gripped her hips tightly as he urged her to move. Together they began to build toward a slow, steady rhythm. Two pairs of blue eyes remained locked. Everything around them slipped away until those few precious moments ended with their joint cries of pleasure.

Diana collapsed on Bruce's chest, resting the soft skin of her cheek against the hard wall of muscle, damp with perspiration. Slowly she traced the length of his arm with her fingertips as he did the same up and down her spine with his free hand. As their rough breathing returned to normal, Bruce released a long, deep sigh.

"At least – maybe – if he blames me, he won't live with the same guilt I did."

Diana stilled her hand, unwilling to separate herself from him or move at all, fearful that if she did, he'd stop talking to her.

"When my parents were murdered, I could only blame their killer…and myself for not stopping him."

Diana let out a slow, silent breath. "Bruce…you were eight. As he is. What could you have done – what could he have done?"

"Nothing. Logically, I've known that since I was a teenager. But for years I blamed myself. I wasn't strong enough, smart enough, fast enough – or brave enough to do anything to stop it. As a kid I lived with that. It consumed my every waking minute. And most nights. In my nightmares."

For Diana, this was something of a revelation. Those who knew him believed that Batman had begun as a means to prevent another child from experiencing what he had – quite possibly it was also his way of honoring his parent's memory. But now, listening to him talk to her, his mission seemed to be an attempt at redemption or perhaps a form of self-punishment.

With both hands, Bruce reached to cradle Diana's head, turning her face toward his. His eyes looked into hers, reflecting a deeply intense but as of yet unnamed emotion. "Thank you," he said.

Diana reached up and traced his lower lip with one finger. "For what?" she asked, smiling softly.

"For being here. For everything. I'm sorry I kept you waiting so long."

Diana dropped a soft kiss on the sparse curls of his chest before resting her cheek against his heart. "Bruce, you know I would have waited all night."

With his hands, he urged her to look up at him again. "That's not what I meant," he replied. "I'm not sure what kind of place I would be in right now if I didn't have this…you…to come back to tonight. You give me exactly what I need."

"I've been trying to for years."

"I know. That's what I mean." He paused. "I'm sorry I missed our dinner. And that I had to send Dick after you."

"Stop. I would have preferred to have been with you, but I understand why I couldn't be. Dick was very convincing. And very chivalrous."

"Chivalrous?"

"Chasing away your rivals for my affection," she teased. "Very creepy ones."

Bruce winced as he lifted her gently to separate them and rolled on top of her. "Do I have rivals?" He brought his face very close to hers; his expression was dark and serious, as was his tone.

Diana blinked up at him slowly and realized that although her teasing was a feeble attempt to further lighten his mood, he saw through it to her discomfort and the odd sense of foreboding she felt earlier from the strange man at the bar. At that point she decided that she'd tried to lighten his mood as far as she dared. Obviously he was still deeply troubled, but there was nothing to be done about that for now. At least he was much calmer. She hoped that he could sleep somewhat peacefully for a little while.

"Bruce. In hundreds of years, I've desired exactly one man."

Bruce said nothing as he gazed at her, his expression still very somber. He leaned down and kissed her gently before he rested his head on her chest and wrapped his arms under and around her, holding her tightly against him. After a few moments, Diana could hear and feel the now familiar sensation of his even breathing and knew that he had fallen asleep.

She stared up at the ceiling, sleep eluding her as she struggled with the understanding that much, much worse was yet to come.

E/N: Well, this chapter ended up being one long lemon with some plot movement woven in. More action of a different kind up next. Review please!