A/N: To everyone who has read this far, you have my supreme thanks and admiration for your perseverance and open-mindedness. For those who have left reviews or sent me your personal comments, I owe you a tremendous debt of gratitude for you truly kept me going! I'm going to leave you with a two-part, soap opera-style finale fitting for a story that has essentially become a soap opera! It's strange, but I think it wraps things up quite nicely. I hope you enjoy it.
In Another Lifetime (Part I)I recognize the way you make me feel
It's hard to think that you might not be real
I sense it now, the water's getting deep
I try to wash the pain away from me
Away from me
'Cause you're everywhere to me
And when I close my eyes it's you I see
You're everything I know that makes me believe
I'm not alone
I'm not alone
Everywhere, Michelle
Branch
Mardi leaned forward and grunted painfully. Bruce held one hand in support. She was sweating profusely and her face was flushed from the exertion. Each contraction seemed to sap more and more of her waning strength. He was growing increasingly worried.
She lay back on the bed as the spasm passed and gasped for air. Bruce dotted her clammy forehead gently with a towel and tried to smile in assurance. She just looked up at him in silence. And that was perhaps the most disturbing element. When she'd given birth to Isabella she had reached deep down into her lower middle class upbringing and invoked every curse he'd ever heard, and a few he hadn't. Now she just shivered and gnawed at her lower lip.
"I don't think she can do this much longer," he quietly told the doctor, a middle-aged woman named Sabine Brinkman.
Dr. Brinkman glared at him, and then said, "She's doing just fine, aren't you Mardi?" In response Mardi screamed and doubled over as another contraction rolled through her.
Bruce was extremely unhappy with the situation. He was ambivalent about the arrival of a new baby, though he supposed he would grow to care about it. But when she had first told him that their liaison following his brief rejuvenation had produced an unexpected side effect, he was concerned for her well-being more than anything else. She'd told him that the doctor had assured her it was not uncommon for older women to successfully give birth, and with the exception of a few precautions things should be business as usual.
And now, almost twelve hours after she'd felt her first labor pain on Christmas Eve, a full month ahead of the due date, his concerns continued to climb.
He was about to tell the doctor that they needed to do something a little more proactive when he felt a change in the pressure from her hand. He gazed down at her and watched as she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. Her mouth opened slightly and a small hiss of air escaped. "…love you," she sighed. Then her eyes rolled back into her head until only the whites were visible.
Before he could say anything a voice on the other side of the bed cried out, "She's crashing Doctor! Pressure and heart rate are plummeting!"
Dr. Brinkman jumped up from her perch at the foot of the bed. "Get her prepped for surgery."
"What's happening?" Bruce demanded.
"I'm sorry Bruce, you're going to have to leave. I don't have time for explanations now." A nurse appeared at his elbow and escorted him to the exit. As the double doors closed behind him he heard the doctor's voice yell, "Let's get that baby out before we lose them both!"
The world came back to her small pieces at a time – a snatch of conversation, the sensation of being touched – but nothing solidified. Her thoughts jumbled and at times she felt weightless. Was this what dead was like?
And then like a swimmer breaking water her consciousness surfaced and took hold. She breathed deeply and felt the weight of a sheet on her rising chest. She was lying in a bed, she surmised. That was a good start.
Somewhere around her people were speaking, soft voices, intimate voices. She tried to open her eyes but the light stabbed at her brain and she closed them again tightly. Much better. Once the reverberating pain had subsided she tried to concentrate on the words that were being said.
"…just can't take it anymore. How much longer?"
"…never can tell…have your own life…I'm here for you."
"If it wasn't for you I don't think I could have survived this."
"Come here and show me your gratitude."
Mardi attempted to open her eyes once again, this time taking it slowly, raising the lids a mere crack to let her pupils adjust to the light. Once she was able to open them fully she looked around her surroundings. White walls, white floor, white curtains, white bed linens. Tubes and cords of all sizes and colors stretched from her bed to surrounding equipment. Hospital. The baby. It was all coming back. There'd been something wrong when she went into labor. Where was Bruce?
In the corner she saw two people clutching at each other so desperately it was almost impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. The shorter of the two sported a long white lab coat with slender nylon-covered legs poking out beneath and ended in a pair of shapely feet inserted into what looked like very expensive shoes. The other was male with brown hair. They're faces were melded in a kiss that looked as uncomfortable as it was passionate.
She was about to alert the couple that the patient-in-residence had awakened when something about the man caught her attention, something so familiar it was eerie. Then she recalled the bits of conversation. The male voice had sounded familiar as well. But that was impossible.
Lips parted and she attempted to say something, anything, but all that came out was a dull croak. She cleared her throat to try again. By this time the lovers had jumped apart and were looking at the bed with wide eyes and expressions of disbelief that must have mirrored Mardi's own as she looked into the face of her long-dead husband.
"Darren?" she said, her throat coated with sandpaper.
"Mardi, baby!" the man exclaimed. "You're awake. It's a miracle! Isn't it a miracle doctor?" he turned and posed the question to the other woman, who smiled chillily and nodded.
"Well, well," the doctor said approaching the bedside. Her hair was a frosted blonde, styled so perfectly a hurricane couldn't move a strand out of place, and her eyes were an emotionless icy blue. Beneath her white coat were clothes both fashionable and extravagant. "So you've decided to join the land of the living, hmm?" she asked Mardi. "I'm Dr. Evans, I've been caring for you since you came in."
"I'm sure," Mardi responded, then looked beyond her caregiver to the man who shouldn't be there. "Darren, is that you?"
"Of course it is, baby. Are you having trouble seeing?" He looked to the doctor with concern. "Maybe the blow to the head affected her vision?"
"There's nothing wrong with my eyesight. But you're dead. You died in the car accident. You can't be here."
"Oh baby, no," he said. "You were the one who was hurt. I'm fine." He smiled unpleasantly and patted her leg. "Don't worry baby, I don't blame you for almost getting us killed."
"Mrs. Shelbey, you've been in a coma for three months," Dr. Evans told her, almost gleefully. "You do remember the accident, right?"
"Of course," Mardi snapped and turned her head away to look out the window. Something was wrong, so very wrong. Was it some sort of prank, a bad joke? She didn't think so, and besides that didn't explain the dead man standing before her trying to hide his guilt with a not very convincing mask of concern. It would be so like him to be making out with a woman in front of her unconscious body. Probably got off on it, the pervert. "I've got to go to the bathroom," she announced, throwing the bed sheets off her.
"Oh no!" the doctor exclaimed. "You can't just get up. You've been inactive for three months, you won't even be able to walk."
Mardi narrowed her eyes at the woman. "I'm getting out of this bed and I'm going into that bathroom. You can either help me or get the hell out of my way."
The doctor's head reared back in indignation. "Well if you insist, I'll call a nurse to assist you," she replied, voice taut with ire.
Appeased for the moment, Mardi settled back against her pillow as the doctor pressed the call button. The three people avoided eye contact during the interim, Darren shuffling his feet impatiently the whole time.
The door opened and a young woman came in with a bright smile. "You're awake. That's fantastic!" She breezed past the doctor and stood at Mardi's side. "I'm Becka. What can I do for you?"
"I want to go to the bathroom. I've got to get out of this bed," Mardi told her desperately, the feeling of being trapped in a horrible nightmare becoming unbearable.
"Sure thing honey." Becka went to work removing the IVs, the patches monitoring her heart and brain activity, and other medical paraphernalia used to keep her inactive body alive for so long. Then she went out into the hall and returned with a wheelchair. "Okay, you're going to have to trust me, or we're both going to get hurt, understand?" Mardi nodded and allowed her to maneuver her legs over the side of the bed. She was disconcerted to note she didn't even have enough strength to sit up on her own power. Becka grabbed her arms and hefted her into a seated position, then with an "Alley-oop!" she put her shoulder underneath Mardi's armpit and in one smooth movement pivoted her to the awaiting chair. "That wasn't so bad now was it?" she asked kindly, then got behind the chair and pushed it into the adjoining bathroom.
The room was designed for the wheelchair-bound patients, rails lined all the walls, the shower was wide with a bench along one side, and there was a lowered sink with a large mirror above it angled downward.
"Let me give you a hand," Becka offered.
"No!" Mardi said sharply. "I'll be fine. Thank you."
"Okay," Becka replied with hesitation. "But I'll be right outside if you need anything." Then she was gone and the door closed behind her.
Grabbing the large rear wheels of the chair she positioned herself in front of the sink with a modicum of effort. With trepidation she raised her eyes to the face in the mirror and almost cried out. "No," she moaned quietly as she looked at the face of a woman who wasn't even thirty yet. Reaching up she touched her fingertips to her cheek. The skin was supple and smooth, untouched by age or worry. Though matted and flat from laying on it, her hair was long, flowing way past her shoulders in a style she hadn't had in many, many years. She could even see the blonde highlights she'd gotten for her birthday as a lark, the ones Darren had said make her look like a prostitute.
"This can't be happening." Tears dripped down her face. Gone, they were all gone. It had been some sort of prolonged, coma-induced dream. Burying her face in her hands she sobbed uncontrollably. Gotham wasn't even a real city, there was no such person as Bruce Wayne. She'd never had a daughter.
But it all still felt so real, her heart breaking even as her mind caught up with the facts. She was going to have to live her life all over again and without the people that meant so much to her.
A soft knock at the door pulled her away from her contemplation and Becka called out, "Are you okay in there?"
Mardi reached forward and pulled on the lever for the cold water. She cupped her hands under the stream and brought them up to clean her tear-streaked face. Then she rolled the chair to the door and went back into the room. "Sorry," she mumbled and rolled over to the bed. Becka was there in an instant and helped her back into it.
"Feel better?" asked Dr. Evans, arms crossed over her chest.
"I will when I get a new doctor."
"Excuse me?" the woman sputtered as a frown threatened to crack her fine porcelain skin.
"I saw you snogging my…" she closed her eyes and swallowed, "husband. Get out."
"Now baby," Darren came forward. "Don't overreact like you always do."
"You get out too. For good. And I don't want to see your face again unless it's to tell me we're divorced. On second thought just send a telegram."
"Mardi…"
"Get out!" she screamed with such force that all present reacted physically.
Dr. Evans and Darren looked at each other and then departed together, the door swishing gently behind them. Mardi felt herself relax a little in their absence. Becka clucked her tongue and pulled the sheet up to Mardi's chest. "She's known as the hospital slut. Of course my mama always said that men like him are the reason God created shotguns." Despite the black hole of desolation that was her existence, Mardi smiled at the woman weakly. "Try and get some sleep."
"Don't you think I've slept enough?"
"Maybe, but you need your rest. Tomorrow's going to be a big day. You'll be starting physical therapy. You'll be walking out of here in no time." Then she was gone.
Mardi stared at the empty wall trying not to think about what had never happened, but the memories were too powerful. Eventually she did close her eyes, hoping that in sleep she would revisit her dream world.
First thing following breakfast the next day Mardi showered in the large stall and then Becka helped her into a set of gray hospital sweats that were soft and comfortable. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she felt like the world's oldest teenager.
Becka pushed her in the wheelchair down the hall and to a bank of elevators that took them down two floors. "You hit the jackpot hon," Becka told her as she leisurely strolled along. "You've got the big guy himself, Wayne."
"Wayne?" Mardi gasped. "That's his first name?"
"Yep. He's the head therapist. Some people call him The Bulldog because he's so tough and bullies the patients. He's the best though, always gets results, no arguing there. Personally, I call him Wayne the Pain. Got an ego the size of Jupiter on him."
It's just a coincidence, Mardi told herself. Just something to get used to, small reminders popping up everywhere.
"Of course he is to die for. Every female in the building would like to shag him silly."
"Including you?" Mardi asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Hey I'm not stupid, I wouldn't kick him out of my bed, but any woman who wants to be in a long-term relationship with the guy needs to have the patience of a saint and the attitude of a dominatrix."
Mardi sputtered in laughter as the elevator opened and Becka shoved her out into a small corridor and then through a large set of double doors. Inside was a cavernous room filled with a variety of machines and equipment to rival the most pretentious health club. Becka wheeled her into the center of the room. "Wonder where the mah-ster is?" she affected a British accent quietly to Mardi, then yelled out, "Hey anybody home?"
From a back corner office a man immerged, dressed completely in white from his white polo shirt to the white crepe-soled shoes. He closed the gap between them slowly and Mardi's head buzzed as she has plenty of time to take in each and every feature. His hair was jet black and he appeared to be in his early to mid forties, but other than that he was the spitting image of the man she'd dreamt about.
He stopped and held his hand out to her. "You must be Mardi. I'm Wayne." The nametag on his shirt proclaimed his full name to be Wayne B. Thomason. She took his offered hand and felt a thousand volts of electricity shoot through her at his touch. "Are you ready to work?" he asked in the rich voice that she remembered so well.
"I'll be back for you in forty-five minutes," Becka said patting her on the shoulder. "Don't let him boss you around. Despite what he thinks, he's not God." She turned and headed back out the doors.
Alone, Mardi looked at him and asked as naturally as possible, "Well is that true?"
"As far as you're concerned, if you want to walk again, in here I am God," he responded then surprised her by bending down and lifting her easily out of the chair. "Don't get too used to this." He walked over to a large mat in the corner and set her gently down on her back. "You were in an accident? No spinal damage?" he asked her as he lifted one leg bending it at the knee and slowly pushing it towards her chest.
Mardi gasped as her muscles resisted painfully. "No," she grunted. "Just a concussion, and a nice long nap." He took her through a series of stretches, doing several slow sets of each. Her eyes watered as each time she felt something was close to tearing, but did not share her fears with him, instinctively trusting him. He rolled her onto her stomach and started anew.
Unable to help herself, the silence in which he worked becoming stifling and curiosity bubbling through her, she asked, "Are you married?"
He paused, then responded, "I'm widowed. My wife died five years ago."
"I'm sorry. What was her name?"
He waited even longer this time before replying, "Selina."
"Oh." She was slightly disappointed, hoping that he was even more connected to her dream than his name and face would suggest. Though if he'd said Talia she was sure she'd have screamed herself insane. "What about your parents?"
"What about them?" he asked testily.
"Where are they?"
"They've retired to Boca. They enjoy golf and deep sea fishing."
"Any siblings?"
He dropped her foot and moved into her field of vision. "None. Why the twenty questions?"
She looked into his eyes. "Just curious."
"Didn't you know that curiosity killed the cat?" he asked almost unpleasantly.
"I'm not a cat. Besides considering how, um, close we're going to be, I just thought we should get to know each other."
He blinked at her as if it was a totally alien concept. "Are you married?" he finally asked.
"Soon to be divorced."
"Why?"
"He's an immature jerk who was making out with my doctor while I was unconscious."
"Dr. Evans?"
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Yeah. How did you know?"
"She has a…reputation." He paused for a beat. "Have we gotten to know each other enough to get back to work?"
Mardi frowned. "What does the 'B' stand for? In your name?"
"Bruce."
"Ah." She closed her eyes. "Yeah, that's good for now I guess."
Stretching done, he moved her to a machine in the corner where he laid her down horizontally with her legs bent at the knees and her feet placed against moveable platforms that could have weights attached for more resistance. He removed all the weights and told her to straighten her legs.
"Are you kidding?"
"Push. You can do it."
She tried, grunting with exertion. The platforms moved half an inch and then slammed back into place. "That's it. I can't do anymore."
"Do you usually give up so easily?"
"Are you always so unfriendly?" she said testily, her legs feeling like they were on fire.
"Yes. Now try harder."
"I can't!"
"You mean won't."
"Fuck you."
"Not on my time. Push."
Thirty minutes and five machines later, she was back, face down on the mat as he was doing cool down stretches. She was sore and completely exhausted, but as he gently, almost tenderly, pushed and pulled her legs, she became contemplative. "Do you believe in heroes?"
He frowned. "Like in a comic book?" She nodded. "They're not real. Nothing to believe in."
"But there are real heroes. Like you for instance."
"I'm no hero."
"To the people you help to walk again, I'm sure you are."
He didn't bother to answer. He stood up and stepped one foot over her so that he was straddling her back. He reached down and gripped her armpits and hauled her into a standing position, holding her against his body with strong arms. "Hold on to me and try to stand," he commanded.
Mardi almost panicked as his grip loosened. She clawed at his arms, but still felt herself slipping downwards. "No!" she cried out as her legs betrayed her.
He caught her and held her against him once again. "I know it seems impossible now," he said huskily into her ear. "But in a week you'll be able to stand on your own. In two weeks you'll be walking, and in a month you'll be ready to run a marathon."
"I've never run a marathon," she said softly.
"Then we'll run one together."
His voice was like silk in her ears and his arms felt incredibly good around her, but before she could take a second to appreciate it, a sharp, gripping pain claimed her right thigh as its own. "Oh God!" she yelped, tears stinging her eyes.
He eased her down onto her back gently and she clawed at the rock hard muscle that throbbed unbearably. He moved her hands out of the way and began to apply expert pressure on the area, rubbing, pressing, and smoothing out the knot. She let out a long sigh of relief as the pain subsided. He stopped massaging and left his hand firmly planted on her leg, the heat easily transferred through the thin sweatpants. "Your muscles have gotten lazy after having a three-month vacation. You're going to have to work hard to get them functioning properly again." His blue eyes scrutinized her intensely. "Our time's up."
He deposited her back into the chair just in time for Becka to come swinging through the doors. "Everybody still alive?" she chirped.
"Until next time," Wayne said to Mardi then turned and made his way back towards the office in long, slow strides.
And when I touch your hand
It's then I understand
The beauty that's within
It's now that we begin
You always light my way
I hope there never comes a day
No matter where I go
I always feel you so
'Cause you're everywhere to me
And when I close my eyes it's you I see
You're everything I know that makes me believe
I'm not alone
