Author's Note: This chapter is a biggie and comes with a slight angst warning. I do hope you enjoy it, though. I'll be anxiously awaiting your thoughts regarding several new developments. Cmbmsu, thanks so much for betaing and giving me that dose of encouragement. Thank you to all of you who've read, reviewed, or followed last chapter, too. I appreciate your comments so much, more than I'd be able to express. :) I'm not sure when my next update will be, but...this is the only story I'm working on now..so maybe in two weeks again? Thanks for reading!
Bang! Pop! Pop! Bang!
Startled, Lois jerked her gaze up from the motionless couple on the dance floor. The lights above flickered on and off, casting a series of murky shadows all around. The ceiling trembled, appearing to crumple under a mysterious weight.
The series of stuttered sounds repeated and Lois' eyes widened as balloons, confetti and water came down in waves, conveniently barring the view of the center of the dance floor.
From the corner of her eye, she watched a beam collapse to the ground. It landed with a thud at the opposite end of the room, away from the throes of people scrambling around. Laughter and screams mingled in the air creating an ear-splitting cacophony that created even more mayhem. Lois clenched her hands, resisting the urge to cover her ears. Bodies shoved and pulled, some guests falling over in their haste onto the ground or into the tables.
She didn't see Lex in the chaos, but it was clearly an event gone wrong. She was certain this wasn't quite what Lex had planned for his masquerade.
For one important reason - a dark-haired man who hid his powerful eyes behind dark-rimmed glasses.
"Clark?" Lois called out, suddenly remembering her partner.
She knew before she looked that he was gone. Determined that he wouldn't get away without her, she twisted her head in her search for him.
She'd have missed Clark coming into view in a brief spotlight, but she'd memorized the bottoms of his shoes. Or, at least, the way he'd hurry off, pretending to be clumsy and acting the fool. She would have chased after him, something she seemed to be doing a lot these days, but three people stepped in front of her. She leaned back, careful not to press into them and create a domino effect of falling bodies. She craned her neck, trying for a better view, but saw nothing other than the haziness of the ensuing chaos.
"Pardon me, uh, miss?" Clark's voice barely rose over the noise.
It was just like him to continue being polite at a time like this, but she wasn't cut from the same cloth. Hearing Clark's voice further and further away from her as he tried to apologize his way through the crowd, Lois resorted to backing up. She hit the man behind her.
"Do you mind?" The man barked.
"Excuse me," she said hastily.
Ignoring the man's glare, Lois twisted around and found a break in the crowd.
"Uh, pardon me," a familiar voice came from just ahead.
Lois maneuvered through the opening, wiping at the water dripping into her eyes. Her vision cleared just as Clark raised his arms in the air.
"Ex-excuse me," he huffed. "I uh...ma'am? Can you...I-I mean..."
Unable to see Percy and Marguerite anywhere, but certain that was where Clark was headed, Lois rushed forward. A barrage of balloons attacked her, hitting her in the face. She swatted them away only to be sprayed with confetti, the black and white shiny pieces raining on her head.
"Oh, for crying out loud. Cl-Clark," she sputtered, wiping as many of those party remnants from her face for what seemed to be the millionth time.
"Lois?" He called back, his voice sounding further away than before.
Hair and shiny particles plastered to the sides of her face, she forged ahead. If Percy and Marguerite were as smart as they appeared to be, they'd have fled the dance floor as soon as the mayhem had begun. Maybe even fleeing the premises after ruining their own performance, to save face.
It didn't make any sense to Lois. Percy looked almost lost, curling into his partner's arms. Appearing to be in another world completely.
What had made him stop dancing? So close to the very end?
"Excuse me..." Clark pushed his glasses up his nose. He inched his way into a large puddle, movements stilted as he obviously tried to sidestep the woman who'd slipped and fell. "D-do you need a hand?"
He held out his hand, lifting up the woman with far more ease than he usually showed in public.
"Come on, Smallville," Lois muttered, grabbing him by the elbow before he could offer to help someone else. She pushed Lex's guests aside with brute force, making another path for herself and Clark. "You'll never get out of here like this."
His expression was confused, although not a single soul was paying him any attention. He looked just as normal as they did, just as bedraggled as the rest of them.
"Lois, where—"
"Hang on," she hissed, pulling him along.
She had no idea where they really should be going to find Percy and Marguerite, but the exit off to the side of the ballroom seemed like a good place to start. They were through the doorway in seconds and standing in the corridor. Lois strained to see the faces in the intermittent light.
"You did all of that on purpose," she whispered to Clark. "Are you trying to find—"
"Yes," he clipped, switching into his quiet Super mode, as she liked to call it.
He all but removed his glasses, looking around the people flowing past them. Lois didn't see anyone resembling the peacock and his wife. Where could they have gone? Where could they have gone that quickly?
Lois chewed her bottom lip. Clark usually moved faster than this.
"They couldn't have gone far," she said, staring up at him in curiosity. What was taking him so long?
Hand on his arm, she scooted closer to him as a group of five rushed out of the doorway.
"No, they couldn't have," he murmured, mouth dipping down into a deep frown. He swept an arm across his face, wiping away an excess of water.
"Why not?" She asked, brushing off confetti from her shoulder.
Clark narrowed his eyes, looking right at, or through, a wall. "He's hurt."
"Then, why can't the other you help him?"
"No," he shook his head. "I need information first."
"Okay," she frowned. "But it's taking you longer than usual to find someone."
"There," he said sharply, indicating his head towards the right. "Down the corridor and around the corner," he added, tearing off before he finished the explanation.
Lois scrambled after him, losing him before she could count to three. It was useless to tell him to wait when someone needed his help.
She ran the fastest she could in her Cleopatra tunic and sandals, still running as she turned the corner. Spying Clark at least another hundred feet away, she slowed. Once she came beside him, she could finally see beyond his broad shoulders.
Percy was slumped against the wall, his head bowed and an arm thrown around Marguerite's shoulder. The part of his face that Lois could see was slick with a mixture of water and sweat. He breathed heavily as if he'd been the one running. To get this far in the chaos, Lois decided that he may have done just that.
"Your husband's hurt," Clark stated, eyes fixated on lower part of Percy's left leg.
Marguerite took a sharp breath, as if just noticing them both now. "Y-yes, it's an...an old injury," she struggled to say, bending under her husband's weight.
"Yet you were able to get this far..."
"He's stubborn," she said, smile strained. "And we thought it best to leave when that mess in there began, whatever it was."
"Where do you need to go?" Clark asked, taking Percy's other arm and placing it over his own shoulder.
The injured man was too out of it to protest. Otherwise, Lois had a feeling he would have made a great stink about being practically carried.
"A hospital?" He asked.
"No, no hospital," Marguerite said, looking down at her phone in her free hand but struggling to work the keyboard. "I just need to make a phone call—"
Clark's hand flashed forward. He took the phone from her before she could react and held it to his chest.
Marguerite's eyes filled with panic.
His eyes softened. "Let us help you. It will be difficult to get out of here without being seen and making a fuss as it is."
"Okay," the woman said nervously. "Anything to get out of here quicker for his sake."
He handed the phone to Lois, ignoring Marguerite's continued apprehension after he'd taken her phone. "Which contact?" He asked.
"The fifth one down," Marguerite said after a pause. Face pinched, she added. "They...she came with us."
Lois tilted the phone in her hand so Margurite couldn't see that she was snooping. She scrolled down the short list of names but also found the log of phone calls, all identified with a first name only except for a Dr. Chase. Alex was the most frequented number. Was that her husband's real name? Counting five down, a "Leslie," she dialed.
She looked at Marguerite. "What should I ask her?"
"She needs to take a look at my husband's injury before we move him again. Also, ask if her escort can secure a taxi." Marguerite closed her eyes, brow furrowing as if in thought. "We'll take it from there."
"And go to a hospital," Clark asked, scratching his nose. "I'd...I'd say that would be the wisest thing, if you were, in fact, asking me."
Marguerite opened her eyes, narrowing them. "She's a doctor. She'll help us take care of it."
The phone rang. Unsurprisingly, it was static-filled in this underground area. Lois placed a hand over the other ear.
"Catherine! Where are you?" The doctor's frantic voice broke with static.
"She's in a corridor outside the ballroom with us," Lois answered smoothly. "Turn right out of the doors and make another right at the end of the hall."
"What? Who is this?"
"This is Lois Lane, reporter for the Daily Planet. I'm calling on behalf of...Catherine...and her husband, who's injured."
"I did notice Alex's misstep." In an instant, the woman's voice became calm but commanding. "Is it his leg? Where exactly are you?"
"Is it his leg?" Lois asked Catherine.
"Ankle," Catherine clipped.
"Yes, it's his—Alex's—ankle," Lois said, hesitating slightly.
"Sick," Alex rasped, a sound so feeble that Lois couldn't believe he'd just put on a show at the masquerade.
"Dammit," Catherine whispered, her other hand coming up to stroke Alex's masked cheek. "Hold on. Let me—"
Clark frowned, pulling the man from Catherine's arms.
"Wait—it's a headache," she protested breathily. "Be careful. Probably a migraine."
She didn't have time to finish, Clark having already eased the man to a seated position on the floor himself. He was careful with Alex just as his wife had asked him to be, gently adjusting his injured leg.
Catherine knelt beside her husband and none too soon. He hunched over, face twisted in a grimace. She braced him, her arms around his chest right, just before he lost Luthor's banquet fare.
Lois knew enough about migraines to understand this man needed a bed and a serious painkiller.
"I'm sorry, so sorry. If not for me, you wouldn't have pulled this crazy stunt in the first place, wearing those ridiculous ruffles, trying to get my mind off things," Catherine murmured, cradling Alex's head in her lap. "I should've just told you what was bothering me."
Catherine pressed the back of her hand against Alex's jaw and whatever portion of his face not covered by the mask.
"You're warm," she whispered. The way she continued to whisper in his ear and rub his back signaled to Lois this may have happened before. "I hope you don't have a fever,"
"Why don't you take off his mask?" Lois suggested. "It may help him not feel so constricted."
The other woman stiffened, but only for an instant. "You're right, it would," she said smoothly.
Catherine removed his mask and swept the hair off his face that had escaped from his ponytail. Even so, Lois couldn't get a good look at the man under the mask. But Clark could.
In fact, he stood opposite of Lois, this strange couple between them and the oddest expression on his face.
Lois frowned, trying her best to gauge his reaction. Quite frankly, it alarmed her.
She'd never seen Clark this confused, and now, for the second time in mere minutes, he looked like someone had just told him Luthor could fly, too.
"Miss Lane? Miss Lane?"
Lois blinked, finally remembering what the hell she was actually doing. "Yes. I'm still here," she said in a rush. "They'll need a taxi, but her husband should be examined before they attempt to move him. I'd hurry. He seems to have a pretty bad migraine, too."
"Oh dear," Leslie said. "I wondered if the stress of..." She sighed. "He pushes himself too much. Tell Catherine I'll be right there."
The connection ended. Lois refused to relinquish the phone, itching to explore more on this woman's device.
"I hate that he's so uncomfortable," Catherine's voice trembled like a feather being blown by a simple gust of wind.
Lois would go as far to say it sounded delicate. But that seemed too weak of a word for this masked woman.
"What do you need?" Clark asked, squatting beside Catherine. He peered at Alex, who lightly groaned. "Does he get these headaches often? If he does, you should think strongly about taking him to the hospital to get it looked at."
That was the third time Clark had mentioned the word hospital. Something must be wrong, but not wrong enough for Clark to pull a Superman and take the man to see a doctor, himself. Clearly, his plan involved something far different than that
"A cool cloth. And water," Catherine sniffed, glancing up at Lois. "It may help to get him moving again once the doctor arrives."
Lois' brows raised. She wasn't an errand boy. But, on the other hand, she didn't like seeing anyone sick as a dog. Neither did she want to jeopardize whatever it was that Clark wanted to find out.
She looked at Clark. He nodded slowly.
"Okay," Lois said, reluctant to play this part but seeing no other option. She set Catherine's phone on the ground next to her. "I'm sure I'll find my way back here before too long."
"Thank you," Catherine said, hand running through Alex's hair.
Her husband didn't respond, curled on his side with his head on her lap. In fact, Lois agreed with Clark. This man needed medical attention - at a hospital.
Catherine glanced up at Lois, eyes wide and worried. "I don't know how to repay you."
"We're just...just glad to...to help," Clark said in his bumbling way when Lois didn't answer. He pushed his glasses up on his nose.
After exchanging a glance with Clark, Lois turned to leave.
These two were quite the uncanny actors. She had a feeling that this was a fool's errand, after all.
oOo
Selina pressed her lips against Bruce's forehead. He had no fever. It was only wet from the water, salty from the exertion and the heavy mask which had covered most of his face.
Removing his mask had been a huge risk, but one that had to be done for the sake of getting Miss Lane off Selina's back—and the reporter's fingers off her phone. She'd had to make it seem that Bruce was worse off than he really was, though it was highly probable the dancing had aggravated his old knee injury.
Yet, the monstrous, debilitating headache had come out of nowhere.
"I guess you really are that fragile butterfly," Selina whispered against his cheek. It was spoken only for Bruce, but she imagined he hadn't even heard.
She vowed that this would be the last time Bruce sacrificed his well-being for anything, even if that "thing" happened to be as big and important as his own company. The last damn time.
Dr. Chase had given her a job—making sure Bruce remained retired in every sense of the word. She'd obviously failed, caught up in the moment, caught up in her own selfishness. If Bruce would forgive her for this, she would wear the pants in this relationship. Do everything that was within her power to limit his every action from now on.
But, first, they needed to get to that taxi. More importantly, they needed to get far from any probing eyes.
She set her jaw. "Alex," she said firmly, squeezing both of his hands. "You need to get up. We need to move...now."
Mr. Kent sucked in a hasty breath beside her. "But, I th-thought you were waiting...for your...the doctor," he finished hurriedly.
"You need to get up, Alex," she gritted, ignoring the bumbling reporter. "You've been in situations far worse this."
"I really wouldn't suggest..." The reporter suddenly stopped when Bruce scrunched his face.
Bruce grunted, the tight grimace on his face good news. It meant he was at least somewhat aware of the situation they were in. Now, to get him actually on his feet.
"I swear, Alex, if you don't get up, the next time we go to a masquerade I'll be in charge of the costumes," Selina hissed, wrapping her arm around his back the best she could to support him. "And I won't be the one wearing the dress."
Bruce faintly snorted.
"And it won't be black," she added, goading him more. "You do know what my least favorite color is?"
Bruce sent her a glare through the narrowed slits of his eyes that he, indeed, did know her least favorite color.
The goading made him look like the vigilante he used to be, and selfishly wanting to see it again, she said her favorite color just for show.
"Pink," she proclaimed loudly.
His eyes tightly closed again but with a grunt, he came to a sitting position with her help. She almost smiled in triumph, but there wasn't anything triumphant about it. He huffed shallow breaths of air, lost in his world of pain. His head dropped on her shoulder like a ton of bricks, telling her he was barely holding on. Her stomach rolled with nausea. She'd hated seeing Bruce in this helpless state again. They'd had enough of that, hadn't they?
She glanced sideways at Mr. Kent. "Wanna give me a hand, here?"
"Well, I-I really don't think you sh-should move him," he stammered. "What...what about the doctor? Leslie was her name?"
The "doctor" had surely picked up on the thing about Bruce's "ankle" and would be meeting them at the southwest entrance. The only entrance they could get to on foot, as they'd detailed in their escape plan prior to the benefit.
"I'm not waiting for her, and she knows it. Besides, I'll move him with or without your help," she retorted. They had to hurry, especially if Luthor was walking around. Out of anyone here, he'd be the one to immediately recognize Bruce. "It would be better with the extra pair of hands."
Clark took a hesitant step backwards. The look on his face was ridiculous, as if he expected to be shot for actually helping them leave without proper medical attention.
She thought of the mushroom cloud over the bay and the mysterious way Bruce had survived the blast. She considered the multitude of times she'd later learned about, times when Bruce had had to care for himself.
Mr. Kent really had no idea.
She supposed she shouldn't be surprised, given how many times he'd actually suggested they take Bruce to the hospital. Unlike the man she'd fallen in love with, he obviously preferred to follow the rules.
Unfortunately, she didn't have the patience for anyone who adhered to protocol.
Selina rolled her eyes. "Fine," she muttered. "Have it your way."
She shouldered Bruce's weight the best she could. But as she heaved him to his feet, it wasn't as hard as she thought it would be.
She lifted a brow at Mr. Kent. He'd taken up the other side of Bruce so quietly and quickly she hadn't even noticed.
"Where are you going?" he asked, small frown on his face.
"Isn't it obvious?" she said dryly. "Luthor has his money. My husband had already written the check before the dancing had even begun, for more than what we promised. We're leaving this place. We'll continue down this hall, up the stairs-"
His brows shot up.
Selina sighed impatiently. "Listen. Either you're going to help us or I'll have to do this all by myself, making my husband use his foot more than he should."
"I can't allow you to do that," he stated, clearly offended by the suggestion.
She'd hoped for that all along. And it was another reason she'd sent Miss Lane on a wild goose chase, so to speak, and not him.
It didn't take them nearly as long to get to the exit with his help, Mr. Kent doing most of the work. Not that she didn't appreciate the help, but his strength surprised her. Also, his silence. She'd half expected him call and tell his partner where they were headed.
He didn't, and Selina didn't quite know what to think about that.
They headed towards the one exit Luthor had closed off, gratefully alone in the corridor the entire time. Bruce was quiet as they walked. Too quiet. It was with a magnanimous amount of relief that she pried open one of the double doors and was greeted by Leslie.
Leslie rested her palm on Bruce's cheek, taking in his disheveled appearance with the practiced eye of a doctor. In particular, the practiced eye of a doctor who'd dealt with this stubborn man before. She inspected his knee, pulling the pant leg up partway.
Selina sucked in a quick breath. His knee was free of that damned torture device. His brace. And without his brace, Selina could see that this was much worse than she'd first thought.
"His brace?" Leslie asked, glancing up at Selina
"I had no idea he'd left it off tonight," Selina said, feeling her face pale.
She could think of only one reason why he'd ignored the knee brace—maintaining his cover as Sir Percy at all possible costs. She kicked herself. Why hadn't she asked him about the brace? She should've known he'd pull something like this for the sake of his cover.
Leslie cautiously examined his knee, the faint touch causing Bruce's leg to twitch. He hissed in a breath.
Leslie's eyes grew pained and she pulled the pant leg down. "The taxi's over here." She said, indicating with her head to the right. "As soon as we get to your hotel room, Catherine, I'll need several ice packs. I know that much without looking at his knee."
"Knee?" Mr. Kent echoed. "Isn't his ankle injured?"
"Mr. Kent, is it?" Leslie said, walking in line with them towards the taxi. "I'd recognize you almost anywhere. You have a...distinct presence."
Clark shifted some of Bruce's weight back on Selina. "Yes," he grunted, out of breath.
"Well, I'm sure you understand, but I'm not at liberty to say more about my patient's health without his permission," she said primly, staring straight ahead.
"Fair enough," he nodded. "In fact, you can be sure of my silence on the matter."
"How is he?" An accented voice of an older man, cracking with worry, interrupted.
Alfred, gratefully masked, rounded the cab like a man twenty years younger.
Clark stopped in his tracks, halting their progress. He blinked several times when he saw the older man, as if trying to place him.
Selina's heart sank. And place him, he could, if he'd recognized Bruce despite the wig and other oddities and if he'd paid any attention to Miss Lane's stories about Bruce Wayne in the past.
It wasn't Alfred's fault, for she could tell the man was beside himself with worry for his son. He'd simply never seen Bruce in such a state. Nor had he ever been so helpless to do anything to ease his pain.
Alfred reached Bruce, hand out in an effort to touch him but at the last second, refrained. "Well, you've gotten yourself in a pickle, haven't you, sir?" his voice wobbled. "How is he?" He repeated without looking at Selina.
"He'll be fine," Selina assured him, though she herself didn't know. The way he misstepped worried her. And this migraine he was having—it wasn't the usual migraine. Something else had happened in the middle of the dance floor. "Just as soon as we get him to the hotel room where he can lie down," she lied.
Hotel room, her ass. They'd head straight for the hospital. But Mr. Kent didn't need to know that.
The men took the hint and began to move. It was quite the task to get a mostly unresponsive Bruce into the taxi and seated in the back, but they managed without bumping his knee.
It wasn't until he was manhandled into the car, his leg bent, that Bruce made another sound. The sharp cry that escaped from his lips might as well have torn her heart in two.
Selina clenched her fists at her side. There was nothing she could do. There was only so much room in the back of the taxi, as Mr. Kent blocked the way in his effort to aid Bruce. She was forced to the sidelines, watching as her husband pushed his face into the vinyl, muffling the desperate sound.
The reporter straightened Bruce's leg, not much of an adjustment, but it did seem to settle Bruce at least somewhat. A single shiver wracked his body before he was completely still once again.
Poor, meek Mr. Kent looked almost as miserable as Bruce. Most likely because he inadvertently caused someone else's pain.
"Dammit," Selina breathed, debating their options. She would have to sit and hold Bruce's head while he remained stretched out across the seat. It was the only way. "Leslie, I'll ride with him. You'll have to use another cab."
"I agree," the doctor swiftly concurred. "He needs you more than he needs me right now, because I can't do anything for him. Not yet, anyway. We'll take care of things as soon as we get to the hotel room. It isn't far."
Leslie tugged Alfred away by the elbow. The man wasn't able to tear his eyes off of Bruce until Selina actually shut the side door.
"I'll call Dr. Chase," Leslie whispered in her ear. "See what he thinks happened to Bruce out on the dance floor. And what to expect with his knee. I'd rather take him to a hospital, just to be on the safe side."
Selina nodded, relieved she felt the same way. When Leslie and Alfred walked away, she took a step towards the other side of the cab.
Mr. Kent stopped her before she could cross the curb, his body barring the way.
"Yes?" she asked darkly, anxiously looking past him and at Bruce in the taxi.
"If there's anything else I could do," he said, eyes darting back and forth between her and some vacant spot beside her. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture repeated not another second later. "And I- I mean anything at all…"
Selina wondered if that nervousness ever bothered his partner at the paper.
If Bruce ever acted this way around her, she'd do everything to make sure it would be for the last damn time.
"Getting him up to your room may be difficult," He added hastily.
"We'll handle it," Selina said in a brusque tone, in too much in a hurry to think too hard about his suggestion. Or why he seemed meek one moment but the next, assertive in this strange, passive way.
She sidestepped him, hurrying to the other side of the taxi as much as her heels allowed. Exhaling a shaky breath to calm her own nerves, she gripped the door handle. She really should hurry this along, but something made her stop. The sixth sense she usually had when someone was watching her.
She couldn't help but glance up one more time, just to see if she was right. Of course, she was.
Mr. Kent hadn't budged. He was studying her. Lazily studying her, she clarified. The confident gleam in his eye causing a significant amount of unease to pool in her stomach.
"I hope your husband gets the treatment he needs," he said after a controlled pause. His lifted his chin. Tilting his head, he added offhandedly, "Mrs...?"
There it was. The questioning.
She forced a smile. "You have all the information you need for a fine story, Mr. Kent," she said, "save for this little misadventure that I'd rather you keep quiet. We wanted to donate anonymously. We don't need the recognition."
"That's admirable," he said slowly.
"Anonymity is what my husband prefers," she explained.
"So it would seem," he said so softly she strained to hear him.
Giving Mr. Kent one last look, she got in the cab and vowed to put the night behind them. All reporters, too.
She stared out the window, stroking her husband's head, the only thing she knew to do for him.
But she should've thought to call Dr. Chase right away. Had it not been for the reporters, she probably would have.
"Remembered."
Her hand stilled. "Bruce?"
She looked down at him, hoping—no, wanting—to see a lightness in his eyes or something other than pain etched on his features.
But nothing had changed. Not really. Only the increased whiteness of his face, if that counted for anything.
"That night," he whispered, licking his lips.
Remembered. That Night.
An idea burst in her mind. "You remembered something that happened, about the time of the blast?"
He breathed out slowly, his body relaxing into the seat as if completely spent. His head lulled to the side, reply forgotten.
Bruce became utterly motionless, his chest not even rising.
Selina's heart leapt into her throat. "Bruce?" She patted his cheek, brisk in her movements. "Bruce? Talk to me." She swallowed, somehow convincing herself not to panic when nothing beckoned a response. Just like Sir Percy had said, she knew his talents. Or most of them. Not breathing could possibly be one of them. "Bruce?"
When she patted his cheek a second time, his chest lowered. It took another moment but his breathing finally slipped into slow even breaths.
She cupped a hand over her mouth.
She would not cry. No, she wouldn't.
"God, Bruce. You're so dramatic," she whispered, voice quaking. "Even when you're sleeping."
She watched him closely the rest of the ride, unable to tear her eyes away from him. Willing him to snap out of this. Like it was his fault and he could control his body's physical and psychological responses to past trauma.
But it wasn't his fault. It was hers. How much worse she'd made things, not telling him about her unfortunate infertility from the beginning.
Blinking back tears, she averted her gaze and found herself staring morosely out the window as she waited for word from Leslie.
She'd explain to him their future as soon as he was coherent enough. How else was she to get Bruce to move forward, to leave absolutely everything of his past behind?
It was up to her. All of it.
oOo
"You're still awake."
The baritone voice hit her ears like soothing music. Lois looked up from the small sofa in her hotel room. Clark moved from the shadows and came into the light, already dressed in a t-shirt and jeans.
"You were gone for awhile," she said nonchalantly.
Eight hours, to be exact. It was now nearly four in the morning. She should've gone to bed hours ago. They were leaving tomorrow, and she usually had a serious case of jet leg coming back from whirlwind trips like this. But, even though Clark hadn't detailed a single thing to her, she was far too curious to settle under the covers.
"I followed them," Clark said, sitting down beside her.
He folded his hands in his lap. He bowed his head and was silent.
"And?" She cast her papers aside, impatient for Sir Percy's identity.
Although, they had a juicy story, either way. A lot had happened at Luthor's benefit.
"Are they really married?" she couldn't help but ask.
"Yes," he said quietly. "And on their honeymoon, just as they told Lex."
"And their hotel?"
"They didn't go to a hotel at first. They went directly to a hospital after calling Alex's doctor,." He said, shoulders tensing.
"You said he needed to go a hospital," Lois said slowly.
His shoulders strained against the shirt. "He's being treated now."
Lois narrowed her eyes. "So why the long look?"
"It's worse, far worse than I expected." Clark suddenly stood to his feet, turning his back to her.
"Life threatening?" Lois hoped not. She'd liked the intriguing couple.
"No," he answered in a low voice.
"Oh," Lois said softly, trying to understand. "But he's at the hospital. He'll get the medical attention he needs."
"No," Clark said again, shaking his head. "I should've acted sooner, just like I should've acted when Bane took over Gotham."
Lois bit back a sigh. Things these days with Clark usually came back to this. Always.
"This isn't your fault. Neither was that," she argued instead, choosing to try to steer him from the guilt he kept torturing himself with all these months. "You weren't ready, Clark. It wasn't your time."
"I could've done something, Lois," he said, voice torn with emotion. "I've could've done something. To save Gotham, instead of Batman risking everything to do it himself. He didn't have to go to his death in a nuclear blast."
"He did what the Batman had to do. What the Batman does, Clark. You weren't ready, and if you'd acted, more people may have been killed," she stressed. Clark could've been killed, for all she knew. "Because of the bomb. The citizen who held the trigger."
He turned his face toward her, eyes haunted like they'd been for weeks following Bane's demise and Batman's heroic sacrifice. A one week vacation with Martha Kent at the Smallville farm had helped begin to pull him out of it. That, and his first steps into the public eye as a hero.
She hated that he was putting himself through this again.
"You don't understand the guilt I feel," he pleaded, reading her mind. "I carry it every day. It's on my shoulders. Just like this cape rests on my shoulders. But, unlike the cape, this guilt is so heavy I can't—I can't breathe."
"I understand that it's not your fault," she said, getting up and wrapping her arms around him. "And you're helping people now, Clark. You've stepped up."
"Not soon enough," he replied hoarsely.
He pulled her to him, but she could sense the unease throughout his entire body. She pressed up against his chest, soaking in his strength. Strength of both heart and body.
She wished he could see himself as she saw him.
But, for now, she would take his attention off of the Batman.
"Tell me. Sir Percy. Is he who you thought he'd be?" She asked.
"No. That's just it, Lois. He's not who I thought he'd be," Clark's voice practically withered. He bowed his head like before. "He's not who I thought he'd be at all."
oOo
Bruce struggled to break through the haze of sleep. He knew he'd been forced to walk, then taken somewhere in a car. No, a taxi. Then he'd been moved several times, the murmur of voices surrounding him when his pain had abated a little and he was more aware of his surroundings.
At one time, he'd gotten a glimpse of Selina standing at the foot of his bed, talking to a figure in white. He didn't get a look at faces, but he knew it was her just the same. The pain in his knee had been excruciating at that time, the migraine even worse, and someone had warned him about a pinch before jabbing his arm and then his knee. Sometime later, he'd been thirsty and called out for water. He'd hardly been able to crack open his eyes, but a man wearing red and blue had given him water through a straw.
He didn't recall much after that. Or before. Maybe the trickle of cool water down his throat, or warm broth. His time had passed much like it'd passed in the early days of his recovery from the blast, the debilitating migraines preventing him from even living but making him dependent on everyone around him. The seconds bleeding into minutes, minutes bleeding into hours, and hours into days.
But now, he felt himself on solid ground. Or, rather, a soft bed that reminded him of the one they had at their hotel. The one in which he'd made beautiful love to his bride countless of times.
He peeled his eyes open after another moment, expecting to see Selina, wanting desperately to see her. It felt like days—weeks—since they had been together. But that was the pain and exhaustion talking, taking over his brain. Compared to the last time he'd laid eyes on her, he actually felt coherent enough to thank her for getting them both back to their hotel room in one piece.
But his hopes were quickly dashed. Instead of Selina, he was greeted with the unsmiling face of his physician. The one supposedly back in the States.
"Dr. Chase." He blinked at him, confused.
"Bruce," the older man nodded.
"What day is it?" Bruce rasped, already dreading the answer. "Where's Selina?"
"It's been three days since you ignored my orders," Dr. Chase replied, then took the pencil from behind his ear. He scrawled something on the notepad on his lap. "And she is in the other room, waiting."
Bruce found himself blinking several more times. His thinking was way too slow to follow where this conversation was probably headed. He had broken his doctor's orders, several times over. His mind was far too thick to believe this conversation was even real. How could Dr. Chase be here in Paris? How could he be here, sitting on the edge of the bed in the hotel room? When he was supposed to be helping Thomas?
"What are you...? How?" Frustrated, Bruce brought a hand up to his head and kneaded where a small headache had immediately begun.
"It's alright," Dr. Chase said, manner gentler than before. "You can take a moment to get your bearings. You've been mostly out of it for three days, Bruce. I left as soon as Leslie contacted me. I didn't want to take any chances, given the situation. After I arrived, I discovered my concerns were warranted. We have a lot to discuss."
"I..." Bruce stared at him in disbelief. "Thomas? You left Thomas? Why? For this?"
"I did," Dr. Chase said adamantly. "Given the same choice, I'd do the same thing again. But, we'll get to that later. First, did you not understand when I told you before that you must stay retired?"
Bruce braced himself for the doctor's wrath. Underneath the bedside manner was a man who had expected Bruce to remain on the straight and narrow. "I understood. I put away everything. The cape. The cowl."
That was a poor excuse for running—then dancing—on the same damn day. But, it was the only one he had.
The doctor's eyes bored a hole through him. "It's not about those things, Bruce. It's about the simple things you think you can do in this new life of yours, but that you cannot. No running. No dancing," Dr. Chase clipped. "No pretending you are someone other than Alexander Stonestreet. I realize you do need a cover while you are living at Winterfield, and your next job will be a desk job. Your body will only allow for sedentary work."
Bruce winced. "The university?"
"Yes. In fact, Selina already submitted your "resume" for the part time position. I also gave them my recommendation, since I am friends with many on the board. I'm sure you'll hear from them soon about an interview."
"Thank you," Bruce breathed, anxious to see Selina. "Can I see her?"
"Not yet," Dr. Chase narrowed his eyes.
"You have more to tell me, don't you?" Bruce said, resigned that he'd have to listen whether he liked it or not.
"Yes, and it's better we have this talk alone. I'll try keep this succinct so you can get your rest," Dr. Chase continued, getting up from the bed. He crossed his arms and stared down at Bruce. "You remembered something. You told your wife you remembered something about that night. Did you mean before the blast? Or Bane?"
Bruce exhaled a long breath. "Yes, I did remember something. The tunnels, before I met with Bane."
Dr. Chase looked at him thoughtfully. "That explains it."
"Explains what?" Bruce asked.
"Your memories were triggered. We explored the possibilities of various words that could trigger memories during your initial rehabilitation, but we missed this," Dr. Chase sighed and shook his head. "Your mind responded to the underground canals and tunnels- and maybe even the mask you wore. Quite possibly the adrenaline you experienced, too. The thought never crossed my mind that you'd be in an environment so similar, at least by appearances. It's the only explanation I have for how severe both your blackout and migraine were. For having remembered something that took place right before that fight in the first place."
Bruce thought quickly, finally catching up. "So the triggered memories come at a cost."
"They do, and frankly, Bruce, I'd rather you not face them again," the doctor remarked. "These headaches aren't pleasant for you. But neither are they pleasant for those around you. I am also concerned about your short term memory, as this migraine you experienced lasted for over forty-eight hours, causing strain to your brain. That will take a bit longer to determine."
Though he was thankful for remembering his time with Selina in the tunnel, Bruce wasn't sure he wanted to trigger another memory, either, for many of the same reasons being mentioned. "I understand."
Dr. Chase shook his head. "I don't think you do. Tell me, what do you remember about the last few days?"
Bruce recalled a distinct scent, beeps of machines, and a blur of red and blue. "I was in a hospital."
"You were," Dr. Chase nodded. "You were released earlier this morning into my care, and then we brought you here."
"Selina was there," Bruce asked, even more confused by the blur of faces he'd seen. "Who else?"
"Two nurses and one of the hospital's physicians, though I have connections at that particular hospital and was able to take control of your treatment."
"Alfred?" he asked.
"Alfred and Leslie took turns at your side, too."
"But I thought I saw..." Bruce shook his head. "There was no one else?"
"No," Dr. Chase said. "We kept hospital personnel to a minimum. Selina and I both thought it best for you."
"I can't believe I don't really remember any of that." Bruce glanced at his knee under the covers and winced again. It ached. But it wasn't just his knee. His leg felt like it was slowly splintering. His other leg ached, too, a particular pain he'd never felt before in that one. "It gave out at the masquerade. I do remember that much."
"It did give out, Bruce. Your knee simply can't take any more," the doctor said quietly. "Although reconstructive surgery may give you a little more mobility in the far future, it won't repair the major issue and I don't recommend it because of the risks. What is left must heal naturally to give you the best outcome."
"What are you saying?" Bruce asked slowly.
Dr. Chase stood, running a hand through his hair and looking more upset than he'd ever seen him.
Bruce's heart raced in the silence. He was sure he'd never felt so nervous about anything in his entire life. He knew this doctor well enough to recognize his apprehension, but the pure sadness in his eyes was new.
Dr. Chase released a heavy sigh. "Bruce, I'm saying that the damage has been done. Irreparable damage, and you must make changes in your life to adapt. You cannot take the stairs—only the elevator and if there is no elevator you must be carried or find an alternative. When standing, you must not lift anything over twenty pounds, for if you do, it will be at the expense of your leg. You cannot walk any faster than a leisurely stroll—your legs won't allow it. You will need to use your cane at all times, no exceptions. You will require a wheelchair on days—"
Wheelchair? Bruce practically choked on the word.
Voice fading in the background, the doctor watched him, waiting.
"Please...go on," Bruce managed hoarsely.
Dr. Chase's eyes softened. "You will require a wheelchair when the arthritis and strain is too much to handle, when your other leg isn't capable of holding all of your weight, which may be more often than you can understand at this point in time. Your lifestyle did not spare either of your legs and neither did the activity before or during the masquerade. I'm sorry, Bruce. You truly are crippled."
The sentence fell on Bruce like a ton of bricks, the silence suffocating. He thought of Alfred, the older man's heart breaking as he watched Bruce struggling to walk. He thought of Selina, shouldering more guilt and regret when he had to resort to using a wheelchair on bad days. He thought of Cora, a little girl he adored and loved to put on his shoulders—a sweet child that he now couldn't and most likely wouldn't ever pick up again.
He could hardly swallow. He could hardly breathe.
He'd always known, at the back of his mind, that his previous lifestyle would never stop causing his loved ones fresh pain. He'd always known.
He'd always known.
"S-Selina," he rasped, fighting the cry swelling up from his chest with all that he had. "Does...she know?"
"She does, and she's holding her own about it," Dr. Chase's expression softened more, giving Bruce some comfort. "I also told her that from the tests we've run, that this stems from the injury you incurred years ago. About the time you rescued Jim Gordon's son. It was not Bane's doing."
Bruce blinked. "The Joker. Not Bane."
"That's right."
Bruce rubbed both of his hands over his face. Who would've ever thought that the Joker would be his ultimate downfall. Not the man who'd broken his back.
Not Bane. But the Joker. Not the man central to Talia's game. But the madman still at Arkham, who hadn't even touched or seen Bruce in nine years.
The man he'd refused to kill.
He laughed bitterly at the irony.
Dr. Chase frowned. "Bruce..."
But...there was Selina, whose guilt had worsened when Bane had broken Bruce.
"Not Bane...but the...the madman sitting in Arkham as we speak." Bruce laughed again, this time embracing the silver lining in the clouds.
"Bruce," Dr. Chase stepped closer, eyes filling with concern.
"Good," he retorted, before the doctor could claim that he was crazy, too. "At least she'll know how irrational it would be to blame this on herself, too. She can blame him."
In fact, he couldn't even lay complete blame upon the Joker. Hadn't it been Bruce alone who'd decided to suffer his injuries alone, without the consult of a physician? Hadn't it been Bruce who'd sequestered himself in his mansion, wallowing? Instead of seeking treatment? Punishing himself as long as he could?
Dr. Chase regarded him as was his way. Serious and patient, never piteous.
Bruce sighed and pulled himself together, sensing the doctor wanted him to elaborate. "I have to believe there is some good that will come from all of this," he explained. "That it's not dooming me to the life of a cripple but the life of a man who now understands his limits. Who has limits."
"Considering how worried she's been, I will agree that it is a positive aspect of your situation. Your injury aside, Bruce, she seems to be under a lot of strain," Dr. Chase said.
"Yes," he said hoarsely. "She has been and I haven't been able to figure out why. It's why when I saw the benefit—"
He clamped his mouth shut. He'd said too much already, but realization dawned across the older man's face.
"You did this for her." Dr. Chase rubbed his chin, emotion filling his eyes as he stared at Bruce. "For your wife. For Selina. It all makes sense to me now. I should've realized...I'm sorry. I placed most of the blame on your stubbornness, your eternally burning desire to do the impossible."
"No offense taken. If I were in your shoes, I would be thinking the same thing of me," Bruce admitted. "Though the information I gained will help Fox, you're right. It was mostly for her sake. For seizing the moment, for embracing and living life with her while I still could. Because I'd read between the lines of your first diagnosis all those months ago."
"Yes," Dr. Chase said with a nod. "I expected that you'd picked up on that."
"I've always known that someday I really would become a cripple," Bruce said quietly. "No matter what, no matter how careful I was, because my idea of careful isn't your idea of careful—or anyone else's, for that matter. Whether it was because of my back or my knees. I knew that in the end, it would be just like this. But, yes. I'd wanted to give her a distraction and pull her out of this...whatever this is."
"Again, I'm sorry," Dr. Chase's brow furrowed. "I didn't know, though from what Selina said, you'd been adamant about attending the masquerade."
"Don't be sorry." Bruce gave a mirthless laugh. "It's not your doing, or Selina's. I made my own choices."
"Your choices have benefitted people, Bruce. No doubt this will, too."
"I'm not looking for praise, Dr. Chase," he frowned.
"I know you aren't, but I want you to know—your choices have not been selfish. Neither do we think that of you."
"I appreciate that." Bruce paused, suddenly remembering. "Luthor has my cane, unfortunately," he deadpanned. "I suppose that means I'm stuck here in bed all day, which isn't all that different from what I used to do in Gotham."
Dr. Chase lips twitched. "I believe we can remedy that. I'll get another one to you immediately, but..." He hesitated. "Bruce, the wheelchair is beside you for a reason."
Bruce caught on quickly, but refused to look at the wheelchair beside his bed. That he hadn't noticed at all. "I won't be able to use the cane for awhile, will I?"
"No," Dr. Chase replied softly. "Your leg needs a head start in its healing before you put any weight on it. However, I must also tell you that there is a slim chance that your leg will improve with long term care."
"How much improvement?" Bruce asked, moistening his lips. Slim didn't sound good, but it didn't sound bad, either.
"I believe it would free up a small amount of time each day so you wouldn't have to use your cane around the clock, but I can't say for certain," Dr. Chase said, expression turning apologetic. "It's possible, if you practice caution in absolutely everything you do, including the daily therapy required for your legs. Someday, you may be able to handle a half hour walk or some form of light exercise each day without relying on the cane."
Bruce blinked slowly, imagining the scenario Dr. Chase just described. Allowed a thirty minute interval, free from using the walking devices he depended upon every minute of every day.
The problem was, with the news he'd just been handed, he couldn't quite imagine it.
"Bruce?"
"Hmm?" Bruce inhaled a breath, blinking away the thought. "Sorry...I..."
"Don't apologize. I know this is a lot of information to take in," Dr. Chase said calmly. "But, if there's any chance for this to happen, you must listen to my instructions. Starting with the exercises for your legs. Selina will be in charge of those, by the way. If Detective Blake can stick around for awhile, at least until Thomas is ready, it would be best. To help you and Selina both transition to your new normal. You must also be especially careful as you work to improve your upper body strength." He cocked an eye. "Which I am sure you will do whether I permit it or not. You will not be caged, even as a crippled professor."
"What you're suggesting could take years," Bruce said doubtfully.
Not that he wouldn't take every chance given to him or listen to every single thing Dr. Chase said this time around. He would do all of that. For Selina and the best future they could have together. But, this sounded like false hope to Bruce. Something he wasn't sure he could give Selina. It wouldn't be fair to her.
Overall, there were too many factors to consider, including arthritis and Bruce's ability to actually continue those exercises to maintain enough strength and agility in his legs.
"It's still a possibility," Dr. Chase said firmly. "And I will do all that I can to help you keep your hope that someday things will change again and improve."
"And this new brace?" Bruce indicated his head towards his knee. He felt the difference. This one was heavy, but also warm and constrictive.
"Yes, I did put a different brace on your knee. State of the art, in fact, with a remote to control temperature and fit." The doctor paused. "You won't see another one like it."
Bruce's brows shot up. "So, you drop everything and fly to Paris, bringing me a knee brace that hasn't even hit the shelves yet?"
"We do have a partnership, in case you've forgotten. I'm counting on you to fulfill that duty, even now. Especially now," Dr. Chase said pointedly and handed him a small black remote. "It's not as painful as the other to put on and you should only take it off for showering." He lifted the bedsheet, revealing the brace.
Bruce chewed his lower lip. The brace covered far more of his leg than he'd first thought. In fact, it would be an eyesore if he ever wore shorts. Sleeping with it on would be nothing less than cumbersome.
"However, as you can see, it is bulkier, to protect your knee and the other injured parts of your leg. It is also corrective and conveniently adjustable as we continue the monthly injections," Dr. Chase explained. "My hope is that it aids in your long term recovery. By the time you arrive home, you'll receive another brace in a similar but much slimmer design for your other leg. You must wear them both. They will make all the difference in your pain levels as well as your balance."
"Balance?" Bruce asked, his stomach flipping.
Small children just learning to walk had balance issues. The elderly had difficulty maintaining their balance. Not men in their prime or just past it. Not Bruce.
His shock must have shown on his face.
"Yes, balance. It's not going to be easy, Bruce," Dr. Chase said softly. "A fall would only damage your legs more, or your back, and you'd be forced to live the rest of your life in a wheelchair. That's why you will receive the best care and equipment I have within my means to give you."
"Thank you," Bruce said, humbled. "I will need Thomas now more than ever, if he can complete his rehabilitation. I'll need his strength. His legs."
"Yes, Thomas," the doctor smiled, pulling the sheet back over his leg. "He knows I came to help you. Although I didn't elaborate on your condition to protect your privacy, he sensed the urgency. He was very concerned, and I already heard from the physician taking my place for a few days. Thomas is attacking every minute of therapy like there is no tomorrow. He's now completely driven to finish his rehab early and very anxious to work for you as soon as possible."
It was another break in the clouds. If this was what made Thomas to stick to the plan, then so be it. It was a sacrifice Bruce would gladly make.
"Good," he said, relieved. "Good," he repeated in a whisper.
He was also suddenly very, very tired.
"Wait a moment, Bruce," Dr. Chase said swiftly before he could close his eyes. The doctor approached the side of the bed, holding out two pills and a glass of water. "To take the edge off so you can sleep."
Bruce wordlessly took the medication. He drank all the water, then leaned back into the pillows, eyes sliding shut.
This was it. This was his life. For now, his world was as good as it could be. Selina would be able to rest now that he understood his condition. Thomas would continue with therapy with renewed vengeance. And Cora...Bruce would look forward to taking short walks with her and reading to her while she sat curled up on his lap, those simple things they already enjoyed together.
Even if he was crippled and stuck with his cane, these people who mattered to him would be able to go on. They had to.
"S'lina?" he murmured. "You'll see to her?"
A hand squeezed his shoulder. "I will, Bruce. I'll tell Selina you need your sleep, that you're doing fine," Dr. Chase assured him. "It'll help her get that much needed rest. But the next time you're awake, you must eat again. You've eaten a little the last two days, though being under the influence of some heavy medication and in the throes of a migraine, I doubt you remember. You'll be leaving the day after tomorrow to return to your home but you need to regain some strength first. With the help of the most agreeable hotel staff, Alfred prepared a tray of food. A tray that he's warmed once, already, I must say."
"He doesn't have to do that," Bruce protested wearily. "I'm retired for good. Moved on past the life I once had at the manor. No more sirs or Master Waynes."
"He cares, Bruce, just like we all—" Dr. Chase stopped mid-sentence, a shuffling coming from the balcony.
Bruce squinted towards the open doors as the other man walked over to investigate. The curtains swung behind Dr. Chase. He wasn't out on the balcony long. Coming back inside, he merely shook his head.
"What was it?" Bruce asked.
"Whatever it was, it's gone now," Dr. Chase said, shutting one door.
When the doctor began to close the second of the balcony doors, Bruce stopped him. "Please. Leave that one open."
"I know Selina left these open for you, but it's becoming quite the blustery day, Bruce—"
"'know," he interrupted, words slurring in his fatigue. "B'that's the point."
He wanted to feel the breeze, uninhibited and free, on his face.
"Alright," Dr. Chase said quietly. "We'll leave it open. It won't hurt a thing."
oOo
"Looks like we're right back where we started," Bruce murmured, smiling up at her from the bed, though his eyes were void of that smile. Instead, they looked slightly haunted.
He'd slept for four more hours, but it was time to eat and take an excursion outside. It'd been Alfred's suggestion, and surprisingly Dr. Chase had seen nothing wrong with the idea. As long as Bruce was willing.
Don't treat him like he'll break, or he will, Selina, the doctor had warned her.
"Bruce," she said, "Dr. Chase said it would be fine if we spend some time in the garden."
The other words she should say just wouldn't come.
Because he was right. They were back at the beginning. She, the caregiver and he, the invalid. They were back at the beginning, where it'd all started for them, and it was too bittersweet to even consider.
"Alright," he said quietly, casting a quick, dark glance at the wheelchair Selina had positioned beside him.
He pushed himself up, sighing deeply as he inched his body to the edge of the bed and legs over the side. She thought it took longer than it should. But the fact was, it took as long as was necessary.
She wanted to cry, because she imagined that he was being overly cautious for her sake, but she didn't. She gave him the cane to use as a support, instead, also gripping his forearm and holding out her other hand for him to grasp. She dug her heels into the floor as he stood. He blinked, body swaying.
She glanced at the chair. He didn't.
"Just...let me stand for a minute," he whispered, eyes pleading. "Please."
She shouldn't have let him, but she did. His spine straightened, his legs could not, but his shoulders drew back like he'd stroll out of this room without a care in the world.
But they both knew those days were over.
He didn't stand long, he couldn't stand long, even with the cane and Selina holding most of his weight. Before they left the room, she gave him a different shirt to wear. One not so wrinkled. He needed other things, too, but fresh air was more important. There would be plenty time for a shower later, time for saying their farewells to Paris. One more full day, and they'd be headed back home, where his condition would become more real than ever to them all.
They were both silent while they headed for the garden, Selina pushing the wheelchair holding her crippled husband. Her husband putting on a brave face for her.
Not that the passing minutes were uncomfortable. Far from it. He held onto her hand like he'd never let go. He made love to her with his eyes on the elevator ride, their fellow passengers perhaps never thinking about elevators the same way ever again.
It was like the early days of their honeymoon. A lifetime ago.
When Bruce saw Alfred in the center of the garden holding a tray of two wine goblets, beside a table with one chair on one side and the other side, no chair, he simply laughed.
"A picnic for two?" He asked, shoulders relaxing, his countenance giving her hope.
"Of course, sir," Alfred bowed, acting as properly as he would've had it been a black tie event. "You look famished, I must say."
"I am, Alfred," Bruce admitted.
"It just so happens, I have just the thing," Alfred lifted his brows, patted Bruce's back, and set the food before them.
Bruce watched her with a soft expression on his face, paying no attention to the plates of food. Or to the fact that Alfred's smile slipped once or twice, the older man no doubt thinking of his son, now forced to rely on an aid to walk or a chair to move at all.
When Alfred took his leave, after a kind, warm nod to them both, Bruce suddenly found his voice again.
"You're beautiful," he breathed.
"You're hungry," she said, motioning with her own fork to his plate. "Eat."
Bruce grinned. "Don't mind if I do." He tucked into his plate of food, the fare nothing too heavy for a man who's been convalescing for three days.
Hers, on the other hand, was far more tantalizing. After a moment of eating, Bruce noticed.
"We'll be leaving Europe before I can have something like you're having," he said wistfully.
"We'll come back," she promised, switching her goblet of wine for his goblet filled with water.
A spark filled his eyes again. He immediately picked up the glass and sipped the wine, looking at her most conspiratorially.
"Don't drink too much," she warned.
"You gave it to me," he pointed out, taking a larger sip of the liquid.
She rolled her eyes.
The light-heartedness between them didn't last long.
He set down the goblet and stared at her.
"Bruce," she frowned, having second thoughts for bringing him out here after all. "Are you alright?"
"I'm...I'm fine," he said, rubbing his chin nervously. "Selina, if you don't want...that is, if you would like to—"
"Stop right there," she said harshly. "We are not going there."
"I wouldn't blame you, you know," he said hoarsely.
She glared at him. "You will never ask me that again."
"I didn't even get to ask you," he looked at her, confused.
"Yes, I know," she clipped.
"But, how do you know what I was going to ask?"
Was he dense? "Because I do."
"But, you didn't—"
"No."
"But—"
"Shut up, Bruce," she snapped.
His brows shot up.
She huffed a sigh and looked away, fingering the pearls around her neck. "I'm sorry," she said tensely.
"No, you're not," he muttered after a moment, slumping in his chair.
"Bruce—"
"No. You're right. I shouldn't have asked you," he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked at her sheepishly. "Not here, anyway."
"I know what I signed up for," she said, allowing warmth back into her voice.
He winced. "This was a little unexpected, don't you think?"
"Do you really think I would just walk away from you just because you have to use a cane? Or a wheelchair?" She swallowed and took his hand. "I'm not that kind of girl. Or don't you remember me kicking your cane out from under you because you were a cripple."
He snorted. "Still, I won't ask you to stay. I won't tie you down like this, Lina. You're young…"
She cocked her head at him, saying dryly, "So now I married an old cripple?"
"Yes," he defended himself. "You did. Even more reason to let you go."
She sighed. "What if I were the one who had to use a cane?" She asked quietly.
His eyes softened. "My love would only grow."
"What if I were the one sitting in the wheelchair, not you?" She asked even more quietly.
"I would always be behind you," he said, squeezing her hand.
"What if..." She blinked several times but couldn't rid herself of a few tears. Bruce's eyes filled with concern. He placed his other hand over hers, squeezing tightly again. "What if...my mother had miscarriage after miscarriage. What if she almost died having me? What if...I couldn't have children? What then?"
She could hardly bear to look at him, but she did. His eyes were stricken, already wet.
"Is this what...is this what has been bothering you?" He asked, broken with emotion. "All this time?"
She clenched her eyes shut.
"I love you, Lina," he said, voice cracking. "If you can't have children, I will still love you."
"I can't give you what you wanted. What you deser—" Selina broke off, a sob getting the best of her. She exhaled a tremulous breath, trying to find the right words for something so painful. "I can't give you what you want. I can't have what I wanted with you, Bruce."
Bruce let go of her hands. He placed his hands on the wheels of his chair, backing himself up, a large effort, since they were dining in the grass. He got stuck on an extra grassy patch.
"Dammit," he muttered.
Guilty that he was forced to struggle while she merely wallowed, she wiped her eyes and got to her feet. She moved to help him, but he held up his hand.
"No, stay," he said, shaking his head. "I got it."
Recalling the doctor's words to her, she didn't argue and sat back down
He grunted, determinedly wheeling himself over the rut. Once he was beside her, her heart finally stopped skipping beat after beat. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, the tears trailing down her face.
"First and foremost, I want you," he breathed, peering into her eyes. "And I grieve with you, and I will always grieve with you. But this is not the end. If you want children, we will adopt. That's all there is to it."
"Leslie believes we should try a few treatments," she admitted.
"Do you want to do that?" He asked bluntly.
"My mother almost died," she gave a short, dry laugh. "I could never...no, I can't do that to you. No, we adopt."
"Okay," he said quietly.
"Okay?" It didn't seem real to her that he'd agreed so easily.
"Yes, okay," he said, nodding.
"You're alright with that?"
"Yes." He offered her a small smile. "We adopt. If that's what you want, then so do I. We'll take it a day at a time." He leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. "When you're ready."
"But..." She hesitated.
"But what?" He frowned.
Selina sighed and threw her napkin on the table. She slipped out of her seat and stood beside him.
He tilted his head back and stared up at her. "Lina?"
"I don't want to wait," she explained, bending down to kiss him on the cheek. She cupped the other side of his face, tenderly stroking his cheek. "We have all that room. We have time. An awful lot of it. We have more than enough money. I don't want to wait."
"What are you saying?" His eyes brimmed with anticipation.
"I'm saying, Mister Wayne," she whispered. "That I want to us to adopt a child. As soon as we can."
He broke into a wide smile. "A child."
"Yes," she said. "Or two. Give Cora a few playmates."
"Three?" He asked, practically beaming.
She pulled away, but he tugged on her hand, grinning up at her.
She protested, knowing exactly what he wanted to do. "Oh, no. I am not sitting on your lap."
He rolled his eyes. "The doctor's not around."
There appeared to be no one in the garden but them, but that didn't make it right. "If a tree falls in the forest when no one is around, does it still make a sound when it falls?"
"Oh, come on," he huffed.
"No," she said firmly.
"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," he scoffed.
But it would hurt Bruce. "No," she said, drawing out the word for effect.
"But we just agreed to adopting six children." He asked, eyes wide and innocent.
"We did no such thing," she said, wanting to laugh at the utter boyish joy on his face.
His face fell. "But…"
"It was seven," she added. "And not all at once. But we can adopt seven. Eventually."
He broke into an even wider grin than before.
"Seven," he repeated. "Wait until I tell Alfred," he mused, an awed look in his eyes. "Seven children."
She sank down in her chair beside him, content to be watching him be adorably Bruce.
She had no idea how motherly she truly was until she realized she meant what she said, without a single regret. She had no idea how unselfish she was until she saw this fresh joy literally overcoming him. As she watched it unfold before her eyes, and after so much hardship, she simply wanted to give him as much happiness as she possibly could.
And for Bruce and only Bruce, she'd do everything within her power to make it happen.
He twisted in his seat, wrapped an arm around her, and pulled her closer with renewed vigor. Cautious of his legs, she relaxed of her own accord so he wouldn't overextend himself. For when he forgot, when he thought he could do the things he actually couldn't, she would be there to hold him back and compensate for his missteps and mistakes.
It would be an easy task. He held her heart in his very hands.
"I love you, Lina," he whispered. "Seven?"
"At least," she promised him as they leaned towards each other.
She'd never been kissed so sweetly.
oOo
Lois chewed on her nail and glanced over at Clark's desk.
He was working diligently, like he had all morning and afternoon. He'd come in early, probably to make up all the time he'd missed the last several days.
It was obvious to where he kept taking off. Four days had passed since the masquerade, but he still wouldn't tell her a thing. Not one thing about Alex and his wife. And she wasn't stupid. There was more to them, and Clark knew what it was.
Being kept in the dark would be upsetting to her, except…something about the entire situation unsettled Clark. He was almost brooding about it, which wasn't like him. So she didn't press or make a fuss.
She pulled out her phone. Dinner tonight? she texted him.
I should be back by then, he replied.
She should've known he'd be stepping out again. You bring the wine.
Lois...I'll tell you when I can.
More like when he wanted to tell her. She sighed. I know.
When she glanced up to give him a smile that she understood, or would try to understand, he'd already vanished.
oOo
Cora screwed up her face and tried pushing the paper inside the bottle with her finger for a second time. She was getting cold. She had to get back soon before her mother saw she was gone, but the paper was too big.
Even when she tried using a stick, the paper wouldn't budge. She sighed and set the bottle on the ground beside her, too sad to try again. The cork was still in her pocket, but she kept it there. It would be silly to toss an empty bottle in the water.
She stared out across the lake, feeling even more lost than she did before she came out. But, maybe Uncle Alex and Aunt Catherine would be back before the bottle reached them, anyway. Planes traveled fast, just like messages in a bottle. They had to. She missed them both too much.
She bit her lower lip and glanced sideways at the bottle. The glass sparkled just like the water of the lake continued to sparkle in the sun, even as it set. She knew she shouldn't have come down here by herself. But her mother and Uncle John were so busy getting things ready for the wheelchair Uncle Alex would have to use, she'd escaped unnoticed.
"Cora!"
Eyes widening, Cora shot up at the sound of her mother's voice. Her foot accidentally kicked the bottle down the curve of the hill.
"No," she whispered, scrambling after the bottle.
If it hit the water, water would fill the bottle. Her letter would get wet. It would be ruined. He'd never be able to read it.
The bottle rolled and rolled. It rolled some more before hitting a fallen branch and stopping, just inches away from the water. Tears trailed down her cheeks as she scooted on her behind closer to the bank. She knew she wasn't supposed to be this close to the lake, either, but that was her bottle. That was her message.
That was her letter to Daddy Alex.
Briefly squeezing her eyes shut, she hiccuped. Her mother would be unhappy with her if she knew she still secretly called Uncle Alex "Daddy." But she couldn't help it. Uncle Alex had come back for her. Her other daddy hadn't.
She stopped moving down the hill, heart racing too fast. She was usually brave, but now she was scared. She reached, her fingers touching the glass. She almost had it. Swallowing, she stretched out her fingers and reached again—and pitched forward.
Cora screamed.
She continued screaming, even when something took hold of her body and pulled her back almost as soon as she was in the air.
"No, no, no!" She cried, trying to pound who held her with her tiny fists.
"Woah, little one. Shhh," a man whispered in her ear, his arms folding around her. "You're safe."
"M-m-my b-bottle," she sobbed, not caring if she was safe.
"You shouldn't be playing by the water," he reprimanded her.
His voice wasn't familiar to her, but it was nice. It remind her of something, but she wasn't sure what it was.
A little scared but not knowing what to do, she kept her eyes clenched shut and nodded into his chest. "I kn-know," she cried, the sound muffled.
"Stay right here," the man said, setting her down at the top of the hill.
Another sob racked her body. Cora quickly wiped her eyes. She opened them to see a man with a cape retrieve her bottle by the bank and walk back towards her, a smile lighting his eyes.
"Is this what you were looking for?" He asked, offering it to her.
Eyes widening, she nodded. Now she knew why he reminded her of something.
"I've seen you," she sniffed, forgetting he held her bottle. "On T.V."
"What were you doing by the lake?" he asked, expression now serious.
Feeling guilty, she looked at the ground, digging her shoe into the grass. "I wanted to send a letter to Daddy Alex," she whispered, daring a peek at him through her lashes.
His brows knitted together.
Cora blushed. "I mean...Uncle Alex."
"I see," he said kindly.
But she could tell that he didn't exactly "see." He was just being polite, like grown ups are sometimes.
She took a deep breath. "I just...call him Daddy in my head because...because...I wish he was. He pro...pro…tex...prote..." She stopped, embarrassed she couldn't say the word.
"Protected?" he suggested.
"Uh-huh. He pro-tected me and Mommy from bad men and came back for me and I know he's coming back again." She reddened more when the man didn't answer. "Don't tell my mommy I call him that," she whispered. "I don't wanna make her cry."
Cora wanted to cry just talking about it.
"I don't think she would get upset at you for calling him that," he said, bending down in front of her, looking straight in her eyes. "But on the other hand, she won't be happy that you were by the lake, all alone. I don't think your...Uncle Alex...would like that, either."
She blinked. "He tells me not to come here by myself."
"As he should."
Cora cocked her head. "I need to get back to Mommy."
"I think you better," he tweaked her nose. "Would you like me to take care of this for you?"
Cora looked at his hand. He still held the bottle, but now the paper was inside, rolled like she'd wanted it to be rolled. She nodded, dug out the cork from her pocket, and handed it to him.
"You do know, though, that this lake doesn't quite stretch all the way to Paris," he said gently.
"I know," she nodded.
She didn't want the bottle reaching them, anyway. She didn't want Uncle Alex to feel bad reading about Daddy Alex.
He closed the opening and tossing a sideways smile at her, threw the bottle across the lake. Only, it went clear up to the sky, practically to the sun.
"Cora!" her mother called again.
She didn't look to see where it had fallen. She'd already started running back towards the house.
When she glanced back at the lake, the man in the cape who'd rescued her was gone.
Author's Note: I know this one was hard. I do hope you'll forgive me for doing that to poor Bruce. Thankfully, Bruce and Selina are moving forward. Adoption is on the horizon. Going home is, too. I hope you enjoyed the mysterious protector of Cora at the end. ;) And where did that bottle end up? Clark may want to have more facts set in stone before he explains anything to Lois. But, who knows when that will be. :) Hope to see you in two-ish weeks!