Bruce waited until Jim Gordon's back was turned before rubbing his eyes beneath his cowl. It was 4.00am and he dared to admit he was exhausted. He stood at the end of a hectic scene, with only a few officers remaining now, the Commissioner being one of them. The flashing lights of the police cars bounced between the tall buildings, reflecting sharply in the shattered glass that littered the floor.
An attempted jewellery robbery by a small gang of low-level criminals, all of whom were now in custody. Nothing major. But after the events surrounding the wrath of Waller, of bringing down John Doe and the rest of The Pact, Bruce's body was now more damaged than ever. He rarely had time to allow his wounds to heal before he was out again, often tearing open stitches and deepening his collection of bruises. But Bruce didn't need to ask himself why he kept doing this, Alfred already asked him that enough.
"I know you've heard this a thousand times before," Gordon croaked, turning to face him again. The nicotine patch on his neck pulsed along with a throbbing vein. Bruce knew this was taking a toll on him, too. "But I can't thank you enough, Batman. They're no Harley Quinn and Joker, but every criminal off the street keeps civilians safe."
"No need to thank me, Jim," Bruce said, his voice distorted by his cowl, raising a hand.
"You say that every time," Gordon chuckled, "you're too humble, y'know?" He stifled a yawn.
"Go home," Bruce ordered, "you need some rest."
"Heh, now you're starting to sound like my wife," Gordon chuckled, touching the patch on his neck. His trench coat was fully buttoned up to his throat, his collar up to his ears.
Fall was coming to a close, with only a handful of scattered leaves on the streets to show for it, and the nights were becoming dangerously cold. The closing darkness and bitter chill of winter always seemed to drive people to desperation, especially those without a warm home. Bruce's lips, the only exposed part of his body, felt nearly frozen shut.
Before he could say another word, Bruce pulled out his grapple gun, fired at the closest building and pulled himself into the air, leaving Gordon to watch him fly out of sight as he always did.
Once he was safely out of earshot, he reconnected his earpiece and pulled some painkillers from his pocket.
"Alfred, I'm done. I'm coming back," he said, throwing the pills into his throat.
"Good to hear, Batman," Alfred's comforting voice said in his ear, "I'll prepare you some tea, no doubt you need warming up."
Bruce chuckled, the thought of a cup of hot tea and his warm bed now too tempting to resist. Perhaps he would treat himself to a little more sleep than usual, to give himself that extra time to heal. He lifted his forearm, pulling up the computer screen concealed there, and called for the Batmobile.
He stood waiting, hearing the roar of the engine draw closer, when suddenly Alfred's voice filled his ear again, now panicked.
"Batman, our line has been intercepted," Alfred said feverishly.
"Open it," Bruce said firmly, all thought of his tea and bed quickly forgotten.
"Opening now," were Alfred's last words, before the line dropped to a far weaker signal, the bitter wind now crackling in his ear. Bruce's brow furrowed in concentration, focusing on picking out any audible voice. And then he heard it.
"B-Bruce," Selina's voice was faint, but Bruce knew it well enough to tell she was in pain, "…help…please."
"Selina, where are you?" Bruce barked, a panic rising in his chest. But her voice had gone, only the fierce static of the wind remained. He held on for a few seconds more, before switching the line back to Alfred. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard the Batmobile waiting patiently for him on the street below.
"Alfred, it's Selina," Bruce said, pulling up his arm once more, "get me the co-ordinates of the signal."
"Getting co-ordinates now," Alfred said firmly, before his voice softened, "Is, uh, Miss Kyle alright?"
"Her voice was faint and she said my name," Bruce said as the co-ordinates loaded onto the map of his screen, "she never says my name when she knows I'm in the suit."
"Oh dear, then perhaps she's in trouble," Alfred murmured, before his voice piped up, "there we are, the Gotham Museum of Art. No surprises there."
Without another word, Bruce shut the line and leapt from the building, straightening out his cape and soaring toward the Museum. That area had been quiet all night, and Bruce couldn't help but feel unnerved that Selina had said his name. They both had identities to protect and an unspoken rule between them had existed until tonight.
The Museum stood overlooking a patch of lawn where families often sat during the day, shadowed by a statue of Batman created by a local artist, unveiled by the mayor. They had hoped he would show up for the occasion, but Bruce felt he was nothing to be commended.
All was quiet, a little slice of Gotham that appeared untouched. Bruce landed silently onto the lawn and raised a hand to his cowl to switch on his thermal vision. Looking at the Museum he saw only two figures, pacing, one upstairs and one down. Security guards. Temperature normal, both walking at a leisurely pace, seemingly untouched.
Bruce frowned and continued searching, but he soon found only one other body, slumped against the wall of the alleyway alongside the building. Temperature lower than normal, bordering mild hypothermia, no surprise in this weather.
"Selina," he said aloud, switching his vision back before he broke into a sprint toward her. As he launched himself over the barbed wire gate, he saw her sprawled on the floor, her black catsuit unrecognisable beneath ripped fabric and blood, a small painting laying at her feet. She didn't move at the sound of his cape.
"Selina," Bruce shouted now, landing in the alley and running toward her. He dropped to his knees beside her and winced, the extent of her wounds now fully visible. She had been slashed repeatedly, blades had sliced through the fabric and deep into her skin. She was covered in blood, it pooled on the concrete beneath her.
"B-Bruce…" she whispered, turning her head slightly to meet his gaze. Even beneath her black lipstick her lips were turning blue, and one of her eyes was swollen shut.
"Oh God, Selina, what happened?" Bruce asked, glancing around the alley to be sure they were alone.
"They're gone," Selina croaked, noticing Bruce's movements, "the painting…it was a fake…" She tried to gesture to the painting at her feet, beside it her smashed goggles, but was too weak to move. "They…stabbed me…I can't…I can't breathe…"
"It's okay, you're okay," Bruce assured her, his heart aching at the sight of her so helpless. Her wounds were deep, many of them still oozing blood, her entire body was shaking.
Bruce re-opened the line and said immediately, "Alfred, prepare the medical bay, Selina's badly injured."
"Right away," Alfred said firmly, as Bruce once again called for the Batmobile.
"C'mon, Selina, I've got to get you out of here," Bruce murmured, his voice still harsh beneath his cowl. His slid his arms beneath her body, and as he lifted her from the ground she cried in pain.
"It's okay, it's okay," Bruce hushed, hoisting her into his arms, "I've got you." Selina was so strong, so capable, but holding her seemingly weightless body now only confirmed to Bruce that she was like him, damaged beneath a suit.
Bruce kicked apart the lock on the gate and charged through it, Selina clinging weakly to him. He raised his forearm, re-called the Batmobile and turned his attention back to Selina as the car once again roared toward them.
Her head rolled back gently toward the sky, tears leaking from beneath her swollen lids, and inhaled jaggedly.
"Look at the stars, bats," she whispered, a smile tugging at her lips, "they're…like diamonds."
Bruce looked to the sky and, for the first time that night, observed the stars. Selina was right, tonight was a rare cloudless night in Gotham and the stars shone magnificently.
"They're beautiful," he whispered, but when he turned back to face Selina, her arms had fallen limply from his body and the iris of her visible eye had rolled into the back of her head. The last of her air was pressed out of her lungs in a shudder, and then she was still.
"Selina, no!" Bruce cried, shaking her in his arms, where she rattled like a doll, "No!"
The Batmobile was rounding the corner and Bruce sprinted toward it, Selina hanging from his arms. The car stopped with a jolt and Bruce threw Selina into the passenger seat, gripping the lever and pulling the chair completely flat. Her single open eye was still wet with tears and as blank and reflective as glass. Bruce straddled her and slammed the door shut, and the vehicle roared to life again immediately, speeding them through the streets.
"God, no!" Bruce screamed, ripping his cowl from his head and throwing it aside. He ripped the defibrillator from the storage unit of the car, unzipped Selina's suit down to her naval and pressed the metal plates to her chest. The shock convulsed through her body, her limbs rising briefly before falling limp again.
"Come on!" Bruce's screams now hoarse with rage as he pushed another shock through her body.
"Bruce, what's happening?" Alfred's voice cried from the monitor of the vehicle, but Bruce barely noticed. His eyes were swimming, Selina's body drifted out of focus as he threw the plates back to her chest and her body jolted with another shock.
And then, after what seemed like an eternity, she drew a huge, rattling breath and Bruce collapsed back against the monitor in relief.
"Selina…" he panted, finally replying to Alfred, "I…I lost her for a moment there. She's breathing, she's alive."
"Good Lord," Alfred's shaking voice echoed through the car.
"She's lost a lot of blood," Bruce replied, detaching his cape from his suit. He pressed his glove to one of Selina's wounds and traced the blood with his fingers, "Alfred, I'm sending you details of her blood now."
"Affirmative, Master Bruce," Alfred said, "I'll have A negative standing by," and then the comms fell silent.
Bruce moved to the driver's seat and gently lifted Selina's unconscious body, pulling his cape beneath her and wrapping it tightly around her torso. He gripped her wrist, her heartbeat was low, definitely there, but to Bruce she still looked dead, her face drawn of all colour, her flesh sunken into her cheekbones.
"Selina, can you hear me?" He asked, one hand still gripping her wrist tightly, the other moving to caress her face, "we're nearly there, you're going to be okay."
She didn't respond, but the Batmobile was pulling into the Wayne estate and down toward the Batcave. Bruce slipped Selina back into his arms as carefully as he could and, as soon as the Batmobile came to a halt, he leapt from the car and saw Alfred waiting for him at the large table in front of the computer, a bag of blood hanging from a drip stand beside him.
"Good God, what happened?" Alfred cried, staring with horror at Bruce's bloodied suit as he ran toward him.
"She's been stabbed multiple times," Bruce said quickly, lowering Selina onto the table. Alfred winced as Bruce unwrapped his cape from her and revealed her battered body. He grabbed a pair of scissors and began cutting at the tears of her suit, tearing the leather from her arm to allow Alfred to insert a cannula and begin connecting the blood.
Bruce tore the suit away, revealing her pale body covered in lacerations, her milky skin stained crimson. Bruce snipped the middle of her black lace bra without hesitation, pulling it back to reveal a large, deep cut to the inside of her right breast. Bruce pulled away the forearms of his suit, pulled on the sterilised gloves Alfred had provided for them, and began washing Selina's wounds in antibacterial fluid.
Her vitals were displayed on the computer through the table, and Bruce watched as her pulse strengthened as the men stitched and stapled her wounds and the bag of blood drained. They worked tirelessly beneath the floodlights, Bruce's eyes raw with exhaustion. They began to wrap the wounds, too many to count, and soon it seemed as though Selina's entire body was wrapped in bandages.
"There," Alfred said at last, he too looking exhausted as he replaced another bag of blood, "she'll need another one of these, but her heartbeat is strong. It she wasn't hypothermic, she would have bled out already by now."
And with that, Bruce collapsed onto the floor.
"Master Bruce!" Alfred cried, running over to him "are you alright?"
"Yeah, yeah I'm fine, Al," Bruce murmured, though he was concerned at the ease in which he fell.
"You're exhausted," Alfred said firmly, taking Bruce's hand and helping him up, "and it's no wonder, performing surgery at 6 o'clock in the morning."
Bruce sighed heavily and looked to Selina, whose chest was now, thankfully, rising and falling steadily.
"I can't leave her down here alone," Bruce murmured, eyeing the sharp edges of the cave, the deep shadows.
"I don't think it's wise to move her just yet, sir," Alfred said cautiously.
"I didn't mean that," Bruce said, as he began stripping off his batsuit, "Al, bring down some blankets, I'll sleep in my chair. Oh, and I'll have that tea as well, if you don't mind.
Alfred had been gone a while by the time Bruce had finished the last of his tea, sitting in his chair watching the monitor, the Gotham police feed on one side of the screen, Selina's vitals on the other. Her temperature was back to normal, her breathing had deepened and she had nearly been restored of the 3 pints of blood she had lost.
Placing his teacup on the side, Bruce pushed his chair back flat, pulled the blanket up to his neck and closed his eyes. He would become tired from beating criminals, throwing them, dodging punches, fighting through stab wounds and blows from crowbars, that would make him tired. But he had never felt so emotionally drained, his body had locked up with grief at the sight of Selina's limp body and his chest still felt tight even now.
He exhaled steadily, and managed to drift off to sleep to the reassuring beat of Selina's heart.