Chapter Twenty

I wake and, for a long, odd moment, have absolutely no idea where I am. Then I become aware of the medical machinery softly beeping around me – and everything comes rushing back in a surreal instant. I am alive. This is truly the last thing I expected.

It takes me a couple of tries before I can turn my head, and then I see him, standing at a large computer bank with several screens, focused intently on something.

My mouth is even more uncooperative than my neck, but I finally get some sound out.

"Where are we?"

He looks up instantly and comes to my side. I experience another surreal moment. The cape, cowl and gloves are gone, but he wears the rest of the … uniform? He is both men at once and I want to laugh at how bizarre it all is, but it would hurt too much.

"In the caves beneath the Manor," he says.

I know I am staring, but I can't not. So much that I haven't had time to process is welling up as I look at him. "Caves beneath the Manor," I repeat slowly, eyes moving up to try to see into the shadows hanging above. Caves – that's why the air was so strange.

Inwardly, I laugh at myself – right, that's why this is strange. What am I going to say to him? Dying would have been easier than this.

I move to push myself up a little, forcing my muscles to obey. He frowns at my efforts and reaches to hit a button on the side of the bed, activating a motor to tilt it up. I look myself over. Everything hurts with a low, hot ache, except my leg, which is numb. He is saying nothing, but keeps those unrelenting eyes on me. Finally he goes back to the computer and thumbs a button.

"Alfred, she's awake," and my reprieve turns out to be brief as he returns to stand beside me.

I concentrate on trying out various muscles, but cannot stand the silence.

"I've got to hand it to you," I say, "This is the last place I would have thought of for your base of operations." My eyes close suddenly. I'm so tired…

"That's the idea," he says.

That makes me laugh a little.

He looks up into the shadows on the far side of me, and then I hear the steps of his butler approaching.

"Good evening, Ma'am," he says in his clipped London accent, and I laugh again. Unbelievable. "How are you feeling?"

I am still smiling as I say quietly, "Never felt better."

He raises an eyebrow, "Indeed?" As he proceeds to examine me, he explains the damage the bullet had done and my current condition. I feel the strangeness of everything again as I realize that he had been the one who operated on me.

He finishes and says, "I imagine you are hungry. I will bring you some broth," and he moves to leave.

"Mr. Pennyworth," I say softly, and he stops, looking at me. This is certainly a new feeling. "Thank you."

He takes it like a perfect gentleman, bowing his head slightly, "Not at all, Miss DeSeve." He smiles faintly. "All part of a day's work here at Wayne Manor. And please, call me Alfred."

My God. I feel … shy. "And I'm just Marlowe. I don't have a family name."

"Very good, Miss Marlowe," he nods and withdraws.

"DeSeve," Bruce says and I make myself look at him. "Deceive."

I can't read his tone, but mine is ironic, as I nod, "Aren't I clever?"

And I see something move across his face but I don't know what it is. I can imagine though. Might as well get on with it. No point in pretending. I'm done pretending.

"I… didn't know. Until you were in my apartment. I wasn't even close to putting it together. And I didn't lie to you – very much. The things I told you about growing up in Gotham were all true."

"I know."

My eyes close in relief. He believes me. Keep going.

"Have you looked at the disks?"

"Yes."

It takes every ounce of courage I ever had to meet his eyes, "Then you know about my part in it."

He nods. I cannot read his face at all.

Say it. "As soon as I am able, I'll take the disks to Washington myself. I just want you to know I won't try to…" I feel like a fool, trying to prove myself before this man. "I'm going to take the consequences of my actions."

I won't let myself look away, but he just stands silent and inscrutable.

Finally, and his deep voice is quiet, "What will happen then?"

"First Fagen's political allies will drop him like hot coals in a an attempt to protect themselves and use the situation for some patriotic posturing. Fagen and Young and General Wolfe will be indicted for treason. Young will deny that I was working for the CIA at the time and claim that I was obviously a rogue under contract to Fagen alone. It might be enough to get him off. Wolfe, though, has little wiggle room – and he'll have even less when they send investigators to Angola and they find the American military weaponry. Since the whole operation was to benefit Fagen's overseas business interests by putting in power a faction more easily bribed to sell their people into wage slavery, his various business partners are going to have to deny knowledge. But a few will go down with him."

"I know all that. I meant, what will happen to you?"

God, did he never quit? He can't have any illusions about me now that he knows I helped initiate a corrupt coup d'etat that even now was bringing misery and death.

So, I give him the only thing I have to give, "I will be imprisoned for treason, and then I will be killed. This will destroy several powerful people, but enough will survive to take care of me. There are a couple of men in the CIA who aren't even involved in this – but they'll send someone for me on principle. You don't betray the Company."

"No," he says, his voice as steely as his slate-blue eyes.

"What do you mean – no? I just told you what I did. And this is only one operation. You want me to tell you about a few others?" What was the matter with him? Didn't he get it? "I once fire-bombed a bus in the West Bank to keep tensions running high in the Middle East. Forty-two dead. Then there was Pan Am 132 – that was me. How about when Fagen sent me to work clean up for a cocaine cartel in Bogota? Took down sixteen men and two women. I orphaned over twenty-five children…"

"Stop."

My voice is ragged, "I have to pay for all that. I have to."

He had turned when he spoke and now his face is shadowed. This is about justice. He has to understand…

Quietly I tell him, "I'm dead any way you cut it. Once this information is released, Fagen will make sure before he goes down that everyone knows it was me. It will be obvious even if he doesn't. The only advantage to my not turning myself in is that I … might be able to fix a few of the things I've done before they catch up with me. But I have no right to ask for that chance."

She is speaking the truth. I should certainly be able to recognize the sound of it from her by now. It is a confession, both profane and sacred. Am I her judge and jury? Am I her priest? Or am I just her executioner?

Because I have already realized in these long hours waiting for her to live, that this information cannot be released without the ultimate consequence of her death. I am not certain why I made her say it. Did I need to know if she was aware of what she has done? And there is what I don't make her say, what I've known since I saw her in Fagen's hands. That I had missed my chance to save her, to trust her, that she had already signed her own death warrant the minute she decided to fight on my side. It is done, and there is no way for me to correct it. Even if I do not use what I have against Fagen, he would have her killed – and then she will die for nothing.

She is relentless. "Don't," she says harshly. "No pity." Then her words become soft, and that is worse, "I don't deserve any. And no guilt. You don't deserve any. This isn't a tragedy. Please believe me," her voice breaks. "I owe you everything," she whispers and turns her face away.

"What… do you mean?"

She is quiet for a long, terrible moment. I can see her throat working silently. "When I was… following you, seeing you… protecting the ones…" Tension is crawling up every muscle in my body as I have to watch her struggle. Has there ever been a time in her life when she did not have to fight like this? "the ones… nobody takes care of. Punishing the ones… no one dares challenge." Her voice is faint, ghostly, "Remembering…" her eyes are closed, "being one of the lost children, knowing I'd become what had once terrified me… what had once destroyed me…" she stops and breathes deeply, but her hand is clenched so tight on the sheet that it trembles.

I can't escape her dark eyes as they turn on me, full of rage and pain and shame, but these are receding behind something … so deep, and so familiar.

"When I finally faced you – this won't make any sense – but I felt as if my whole life had been an illusion until that moment. Realizing… who you were, why you were… Reality just… shattered. I knew I didn't have to be what I was for even one more moment." Her eyes are clear, " If it meant death, it was worth it. It will always be worth it. You showed me there was … hope. Even for me."

How do I…

"What happens to me now isn't important. I finally did one thing right. I know it's not enough to save my soul, and I would gladly spend the rest of my life, however short that may be," and she grins at me, like it's funny, "trying to pay my debts, but I don't expect you to take my word for it. I'll do whatever you want to see justice is served."

I hear the roughness of my own voice and wish I could find some mercy for her, "I won't wait to release the disks."

She only nods calmly. "I can turn myself in later. Get them out there."

I can't stand the acceptance I see in her dark eyes. I turn from her.

But she won't let me get away. "Thank you, Bruce," I hear her whisper.