Author's Note:

I'll give a warning. This chapter is a bit...ahem...steamy.

It's innocent steamy, but steamy all the same. :

At the end of my recovery, I wasn't as messed up as I thought I'd be. Instead of cracking me and then letting myself build wall after wall to protect the scared seed that I could have turned into, I blossomed. I functioned quite normally when I could get up and walk again, I wasn't paranoid, I didn't stare off into the distance and have the horrible memories take hold of me. It was almost as if I'd never left. Granted, subconsciously was an entirely different story. The nightmares were the only indication that I'd been through the trauma.

But I think the experience further stressed to me the idea that life is very, very short. And not just mine. Everyone's life was just as short and breakable as mine, maybe even more so.

Like Bruce's. I think that realization in itself is what led to that night at the three week mark of my recovery.

My stitches had been out for a few days, the color had come back to my face, my eating habits returned to normal, I could get up and walk around just fine –the only thing that still plagued me were my nightmares.

So, as if fate were rewarding me for my triumph through my hardship –I slept with Bruce.

Okay, okay, I didn't sleep, sleep with Bruce. I literally just slept with him, as in the same bed. No sex. None. Whatsoever. Sure, there was definitely some PG-13 stuff going on, but we did not have sex. Disappointing, right?

Actually, it wasn't really all that disappointing.

I don't really know how it all came about. In those heated moments, does anyone ever? There was no rewind on the event, no fast-forward, no slow motion (just kidding) - it just simply happened. We weren't even drunk, and I wasn't even in a skimpy cocktail dress. That's what made it even more special, I was convinced he really cared. Because it all happened with me in grungy sweatpants and a tank top, with my new boy-hair in a messy heap about my head.

Sure, he's a little old for me. But Clark's adoptive parents were eleven years apart. Bruce and I were only nine, so it wasn't so weird. I mean, honestly, a friend I worked with at the Dailey Planet had an uncle and aunt who were forty years apart. Now that's creepy. This wasn't.

Bruce called me into the living room at around eleven. I was down in the bat cave searching like a madwoman for any mention of Luthor and his arrest. Clark still wouldn't tell me what happened so I was left to my own devices, which turned up fruitless again and again. I was frustrated and eager for any sort of break, so I quickly came up the stairs and met Bruce at the top.

He led me to the couch and sat down. I sat down across from him and folded my legs pretzel style. The warmth of the fire to my right kissed my bare shoulders and erased the chill from the cave. I watched the color of the flames flicker on the elegant shape of Bruce's cheekbone. He smoothed his large hands on his knees.

"We're going to try and get rid of your nightmares," he said softly and with an affirmative nod.

"How?" I asked nervously. I was a bit wary of where the conversation was headed.

He gave me a reassuring half-smile and leaned back against the couch.

"Let's talk," was all he said, and the deepness of those two words rumbled in his chest that was covered by a plain blue t-shirt that did nothing to hinder the subtle accents of the muscle over the planes of his torso.

He took the best approach he could of, which wasn't a surprise to me. Bruce always knew what to do and what to say and how to go about things. He just sat back and waited for me to talk about what happened. It was so much better than Clark's stupid approach –which was to drown me in questions like I was being interrogated for a murder.

Clark made me feel like I was being punished when he asked me questions. Bruce just sat back thoughtfully, drinking in every word I said and wearing that face he did when I knew he was really, really listening to me. It was stress-free environment, with just a few probing questions here and there to keep me on track.

I spilled everything to him.

I started with my kidnapping, and then my hair, the slices in my skin (which had become angry pink scabs) and what their purpose was, the electrocuting sessions –the whole deal. I was surprised how strong I was talking about it, my voice didn't waver for a second and I didn't cry. It was almost weird how robotic I was to the entire situation, and how I was looking at it from a point of view outside my body. When I described my escape back to him I was watching myself from an aerial view.

Because that wasn't Bella running away…that was just an empty body in survival mode.

I spoke this aloud, saying things that only my brain had heard in the last few weeks. Not even Ruby heard my philosophies and ponderings about the ordeal. I had been keeping them all to myself. I kept them to myself especially when Clark tried to force them out of me.

"How did it make you feel?"

"Clark, what the hell is this? You're not a fucking physiatrist."

"Answer the question, Bella."

"Jesu- I don't know Clark. It made me feel absolutely fucking peachy."

Bruce didn't try and force my feelings out of me. They came naturally under his inquisitive blue gaze.

But this is all the boring part –all I did was repeat what happened to him. The interesting part was when my throat finally went dry.

The fire had fully warmed me by then; I could feel my cheeks were flushed from the heat. I'd been running my hand through my hair so it ran in weird waves to the side and curled around my left cheek. My mouth was dry and the sticky strawberry of my chapstick tasted weird on my tired tongue. My muscles were tight from sitting in the same position for a little over an hour.

Bruce had stayed more or less immobile through all my talking. He looked picture perfect and untouched, as always. His broad shoulders were relaxed against the cushions and he had his body twisted towards me so he was leaning up against the arm rest.

I came to the end of my "monologue".

"So I guess that's when Clark picked me up, even though I thought he was like an angel or something because I thought I was already dead, ya know?"

Bruce nodded.

I ran my hand through my hair again. It had already become a nervous habit.

"And then, I guess...he brought me back here and you…saved me," I chuckled uncomfortably, thankful for the fire as an excuse for my red cheeks.

I let my eyes finally meet his. I had refused to let them throughout my entire story for fear I'd be thrown off guard. But now all I saw the deep, pure color of his eyes, reflecting the fire. He stared right back at me. The hardness of his mouth faded.

We stayed like that for who knows how long. We just stared at one another, staring, staring, and staring. It should have been awkward, but strangely enough it wasn't. It was comfortable even, just losing my head in his eyes and letting everything else fade.

Suddenly he leaned forward off the arm of the couch. This broke the smoothness of the moment just for a moment, and the room quickly came back to life.

"I went out and looked for you every night," he murmured close to my face. His voice rolled languidly as the fluidity of the moment returned.

Oh lord, I remember thinking. I felt my breath hitch.

My nervous eyes went to his perfect brown hair that danced with orange from the fire, and then to the sharp line of his jaw, and the softness of his mouth, the slant of his regal nose, the fair lashes that cradled his dark eyes.

"Thanks," I whispered idiotically, completely ruining the romantic moment.

But Bruce apparently didn't notice, or didn't care.

His hand slid up around the back of my neck and to the base of my skull. He held my head gently as our lips met.

This time there was no curiosity in the brush of flesh. We both knew, or at least subconsciously knew, this was right. And we both seemed to realize at that moment that we lived in a world that could rip up either of us into little tiny pieces in the blink of an eye. We knew we could loose each other, and that our lives were so dangerous that either of us could be extinguished tomorrow. We were frantic in that moment.

Our lives were both short, and we needed to make the best of us while we still had the breath in our lungs. We needed each other, right then, right there –while we still had the chance.

The kiss deepened, he crawled forward as I fell gingerly back against the couch. I ran my hands up his chest, feeling the warm grooves of muscle through the thin material of his shirt. He smelled wonderfully crisp and fresh and his face was smooth and cool against my warm one as our mouths continued to stay connected.

His mouth moved down to my jaw, sliding down the bone until his lips sweetly brushed my chin.

I wasn't thinking about Clark when my hands rolled up the end of his shirt. I wasn't thinking about Ruby, or Alfred or Lois, I wasn't even thinking about Caleb. I was just thinking about him, his scent, the coolness of his skin, the warmth of his breath, the strength in his kiss –you could have dumped us both into the ocean and I wouldn't have noticed. He filled up every part of my brain and there simply wasn't room for anything else.

His shirt slid up and over his wide shoulders and it got tossed to the floor. His bare skin glowed amber against the fire.

Suddenly he heaved me up in one swift motion; still managing to keep our mouths pressed together, and then let my legs fall. His hand wrapped around my back to keep me upright and I leaned into him as we both staggered like drunkards through the living room.

We made it haphazardly to the stairs, stumbling and tripping all the way while running our hands through each other's hair. My shirt was off by then and I was quite happy with myself for wearing my best bra that day. It was smooth leopard print (an essential factor) and fit just perfect. I wasn't even thinking about my newly formed scars.

We staggered and blundered up the stairs. It's really not as easy as movies make it seem. I almost did a face plant and we both almost went reeling back down the flight at least six times. We both had our eyes closed the entire time and we were writhing around and gripping what ever we could of each other –those elements made for a turbulent journey. Bruce somehow managed to get his jeans off in the midst of all that chaos and even during my euphoria I noted his briefs were black.

Very fitting.

We finally made it into his room. I'd always pictured it much bigger and more furnished. It was pretty simple, really, which I guess made sense. Fulfilling the Batman role meant he probably didn't go in there much, since most of his nights were spent on the streets.

But that night, the plainness was more than perfect. It was small enough to be cozy but big enough to be exhilarating. The bed that I tripped backwards onto (only I could pull something off like that) was lavish and comfortingly unmade –the sheets and blankets strewn at the foot of it. I sunk into the cushioning as if the mattress was eating me up. I slinked out of my pants, not bothering to check what underwear I was wearing, and continued to play tonsil hockey with the billionaire play boy.

I wondered how many girls would kill to be in my position, as Bruce crawled over me and ran his hand gently down my bare side and then let his palm rest at the groove of my hip. He pressed against the bone as he lowered himself farther into the kiss.

Well, maybe not too many, I realized. Because we both knew realized it wasn't going to happen –we couldn't…"do the deed". Neither of us was ready for that step in our relationship, and we knew no one else would be either. It just wasn't the right time. And sure, we were already out of most of our clothes –but that's as far as we were going to get.

And I was okay with that. I was content to kiss the daylights out of him in my underwear that night. I expected nothing more, and I yearned for nothing more. This was a safe step in our relationship with all the benefits. I was having a ball.

I ran my hands around his back, feeling his heavy muscles roll under my smooth palms. His breathing was quick as was mine, and our breaths through our noses sounded enraged because we refused to break our mouths apart. He rolled over suddenly and I flopped on top of him –quite ungracefully I might add- still kissing him hungrily. It was as if we couldn't get enough of each other, we needed more, and more, and more –like one of us was going to fade away forever in the next second.

My fingers raked through his brown hair which was soft and thick in my hands. It was no longer perfectly combed and professional about his head, it stuck up every which way at the work of my passionate hands. I'm sure mine was even worse, because it had looked like a dead animal before we'd even started.

His hand slid down the back length of my thigh and lingered at the indent of my knee. His touch was so surprisingly gentle and soft. For a man as big and as intimidating as him, his hands and demeanor in this situation were that of a curious, sweet boy.

I ran my hands all over his torso, feeling the rise of his many scars –there were enough of them to give even my lacerated body a run for its money. But however marred he was, he was still godly –the meager moonlight that dropped in from the open window at our right dusted his impressive physique in silver and made him look like something right out an art museum.

And here I was all bruised and busted up, too skinny for my own good, etc. It was at that point in my quick comparison of our bodies that I wished I had a more impressive cup size. But then my eyes drifted closed again and our mouths reunited, he smoothed his palms across my skin, and I felt beautiful. I felt like the most beautiful thing on the damn planet in his arms.

Was this how love was supposed to feel? My memories with Caleb were fuzzy and fading, and were tainted with the elation of young, inexperienced love. So now that I had matured, was I sure this was the real thing?

You bet your boots I was.

I leaned my head up and let my mouth stroll up the side of his face to his warm temple.

His lips touched at my warm shoulder –I was burning up by then- and then danced sideways down the rise of my collar bone. Goose bumps rose despite my heat as his mouth ended up at the base of my throat. He made a soft sound that washed against my skin, it could have been my name, and then his fingertips grazed my spine. He ran his fingers up and down the groove of my back hypnotically and I sank, limp against him. I rested my head right over his heart.

My eyelids drooped with the lulling movements of his fingertips up and down my back. I was pretty much lying blissfully on top of him, with one of my hands lying limply curled on his chest. His free hand was running softer now through my hair, the heated craze gone and a sweet tenderness in its place.

We caught our breath together, just lying there until our chests relaxed and started rising in slow, even beats. I was so sleepy that I couldn't even collect my thoughts enough to say anything, or even take an inward victory toward Lois, or be nervous about what repercussions this would have, etc. My mind was still filled with him, and now the intoxicating perfume of sleep that was gnawing at the corners of my consciousness.

We had certainly come a long way. I thought back on just months earlier when I was the weird misfit girl at the Daily Planet, watching sadly on as the, he strange, handsome millionaire, whisked away my bitchy rival –and then being that weird girl stuffing myself with ice cream as he, the dark and mysterious Batman, came swooping through my apartment window. It seemed like such a long time ago.

It really wasn't.

The window in his room blew a chilling fall breeze through the room and stirred me from my comical memories. Bruce gently moved me up a bit until I felt a pillow under my head. He rose into the sitting position, leaving me for just a moment. But in less than a second he was back at my side and pulling up the blankets with him. Silky fabric slid over my supple skin and Bruce's and the cold air could no longer get to us.

He came close again and I wriggled my legs a bit, which felt like a colossal effort for some reason, to press myself to his side. I felt like I was a million pounds as I nuzzled my head against his shoulder and then wrapped a lazy arm over his stomach. I brought my knees up just a bit so they were entwined with his. He gave a long, warm sigh moved his arm around my head.

His fingertips ran through my hair until I fell asleep.