And maybe, I'll find out
A way to make it back someday
To watch you, to guide you
Through the darkest of your days
If a great wave shall fall and fall upon us all
Then I hope there's someone out there
Who can bring me back to you
Wherever You Will Go, The Calling
No therapy was scheduled for the following day to give Mardi's overtaxed muscles a chance to rest. By the time her lunch tray was taken away she was bored out of her mind. There was nothing on television, which she knew after having surfed through all the channels fifteen times; the magazines were thoroughly depressing due to the fact their 'current events' reminded her that this was still what she'd considered the past; and she couldn't bring herself to even touch the book a kindly volunteer had offered her from the rolling cart – a dog-eared paperback of Charlotte Bronte's classic novel 'Jane Eyre'.
Outside a heavy spring thunderstorm offered a different type of entertainment, the rain creating and recreating abstract patterns on the window glass. With a dire need to be out of bed, she decided that watching nature's own stage show might keep her occupied for a while. Not wanting to disturb the nursing staff, Mardi raised the head of the bed to its uppermost position and removed her bed sheets in preparation to make the journey alone. Pulling first her right leg then her left over the edge of the bed, making sure she didn't allow her upper body to fall backwards, she sat and stared down at the ground below. Shouldn't be too much trouble since gravity would do all the work, she figured. She pushed herself over the edge and dropped to the floor with a groan of pain as her knees cracked against the tiles. Now resting on her hands and knees, she eyed the chair in the corner, estimating it to be about an eight feet crawl. No sweat.
She willed her knees forward and they did, inch by inch, slowly but on their own power. By the time she could reach up and rest her arm on the seat of the chair she was worn out and obscenely proud. She was debating to herself the best way to get her butt into the chair when a soft swishing sound alerted her that the door was opened. She waited patiently for the sound of Becka or one of the other nurses to chastise her, but none ever came.
Soft footsteps closed in and a deep, slightly amused voice asked, "Need a hand?" A pair of large white shoes appeared on her peripheral vision.
"No I'm good – " she started to respond but suddenly found herself lifted into the air and set in the chair like an unruly child. "I thought physical therapists were supposed to encourage independence," she muttered, trying to retain as much dignity as possible after having been found scuttling across the floor.
"I'm not here as your therapist," was the enigmatic reply.
"Then why are you here?"
He stared purposefully out into the gray, dismal day and spoke as if to the rain itself. "Yesterday, during your session, I had the uncomfortable feeling as if I had already known you, but I never forget a face and we've never met before yesterday, have we?"
"Not in this lifetime."
He glanced at her over his shoulder. "You believe in reincarnation?"
"No," she said with a small laugh.
"But you feel it too don't you?" He looked at her intently and she couldn't bring herself to answer the question.
"Do you have any children?" she asked instead.
"Two sons."
"Let me guess, one of them is named Dick?"
"How did you know?"
She shrugged. "Lucky guess."
"There's something you're not telling me."
"Time flies when you're having fun?"
He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything the door opened. Becka slipped in and stopped when she saw the two of them. "Well what do we have here?"
Wayne looked down at Mardi. "You will tell me some day," he said in a low, serious voice and then passed Becka without comment to leave the room.
Becka watched him go, then turned back to Mardi. "He never comes up to the wards. What did you do to him?"
"It's just my charming personality I suppose."
"Yeah, well speaking of charming personalities, I came in to tell you that your husband's here to see you. He's got some papers for you to sign."
Mardi's mouth dropped open. "Already?" She shook her head in disgust. "Didn't waste any time, did he? Send him in."
"You want me to help you back into bed?"
"No way."
Becka left the room and seconds later Darren swept in, a thick folded document in one hand. "How are you doing?" he asked.
"Better every second. What's that?"
"Oh this?" he held up his hand. "It's what you wanted remember?"
Mardi reached out and he handed her the papers, getting a pen out of his pocket as she unfolded them to see 'Decree of Dissolution of Marriage' writ across the top. About a quarter of the way down the front sheet she saw her name listed as the defendant in the legal petition. Nonchalantly, as she was flipping through the half-dozen pages, she asked, "How long have you had these?"
He flushed and looked uncomfortably at the wall over her head. "Um, since before the accident."
She took in a deep breath and nodded. Taking the pen she signed and initialed in all the marked spots. "I've already moved my things out of the house," he told her. "You can stay there as long as you like."
"That's great, just great," she said bitterly handing him the papers. "What happened between us?" she asked with a suddenly urgent need to know.
"I don't think this is the time…."
"Please."
"You were beautiful and unapproachable, like you were playing hard to get. It was a challenge mostly, but then I realized too late that you weren't playing hard to get, you really think you're better than everyone else. You're conceited in the worst way Mardi, with your opinions and righteous indignation, and you never give an inch on any subject. No man is ever going to want to deal with your constant emasculation and head games. You are a high-maintenance shrew and the fact is you're just not worth the effort."
"Go to hell Darren," she choked through her tears. "And stay there this time."
True to his word, Mardi was standing with the use of a walker by her third session. At the end of the following week she was walking with only minimal assistance, and though she wasn't quite ready for a marathon, after almost four weeks she jogged along at a modest speed on a treadmill, a huge smile on her face as her legs pumped away easily a set of headphones blaring some popular rock music.
Wayne walked up and stood in front of her, hands on his hips. She pressed a button to halt the treadmill's conveyer belt and then reached down to shut off the tape. Her mouth was dry from panting and sweat dripped down her face. "Hey," she said happily to him.
"I've just talked to your doctor. You're being released tomorrow."
"Oh," she replied numbly. "So that means…"
"You're done. You can leave now." Then he was gone, out of her sight, and seemingly out of her life forever.
She quelled the urge to run after him and proclaim her undying love. That was an adolescent response. She was afraid to let that one last connection to her dream finally be severed. Better to have a clean break and a fresh start, no matter how painful that may be.
"If you need anything feel free to call," the elderly doctor said to her as she clutched the bag of few belongings she'd acquired during her hospital stay. They were standing between the main lobby and the admissions desk, with the elevator kiosk off to the side. She kept looking at it longingly, admonishing herself for her silliness.
"Thank you, Doctor," she replied absently, not bothering to look at the man.
"Was there anything else Mardi?"
"No. No I guess not."
"Very well then. Take care."
"Sure. Thanks."
He walked over to the elevators and pressed the Up button. Dejectedly Mardi turned and started for the door, shoulders slumped, feet shuffling along. Halfway to the door she heard the melodic ding signaling the elevator's arrival. Heavy footsteps advanced on her from behind and a deep voice called out, "Leaving without saying goodbye?"
Mardi whirled around, amazed to see him. "Oh," she muttered. "I thought that…well…yesterday being…you know…" Words seemed to fail her.
"You still owe me an explanation," he reminded her. "Let's sit down." He took hold of her arm and led her to a set of chairs provided to accommodate visiting family and friends. They sat across from each other, Mardi clutching her bag like a life preserver. "Well?" he prompted.
"It's a little farfetched," she began, but he gave no sign that he was worried. "I had this really vivid dream while I was in the coma. You were there, only different. Your parents had been murdered and you dedicated your life to…to…"
"Go on," he said gently.
"You became this urban warrior called the Batman." She laughed uncomfortably. "I know it sounds ridiculous." She scratched her nose. "We were married. For quite a while. Had a beautiful daughter. Just a stupid dream."
"What's the last thing you remember about the dream?"
"I was having a baby. Our second." She frowned and unconsciously placed her hand over her stomach. "Something went wrong. I don't even know if the baby survived." Her head shot up. "What am I saying? It was just a dream."
"Maybe it wasn't," he said to her.
"What?"
"Maybe this is the dream."
"Don't be ridiculous!"
"How can you explain the fact that I was in a dream when we had never met before or that I felt like I knew you or that you knew my son's name?"
"You can't be serious! This is real. This is normal! People do not go around in costumes fighting crime. My daughter does not have to save me from an assassin. And no one is a walking toxic waste dump." She stood up, her bag falling unnoticed to the floor. "This is the real world," she declared again. "This is right!"
"Right for you," he stated softly.
"Of course for me! You weren't there. You don't have any idea how awful it was."
"How can you be so selfish?"
"Wha…? I'm not the one who lied about who I was for fifteen years. I'm not the one who ran off with some woman, yet insisted it was just nothing."
With a sound of disgust she turned and stormed out the door, walking into the bright, warm sunshine, feeling the heat permeate through her, comforting her.
"What about your children? What did they do to deserve your punishment?" he asked, following her out into the day.
"How dare you!" she yelled as she faced him, finger pointing accusingly. "I would never do anything to hurt my children! They mean more than anything…Oh no," she groaned, dropping her hand, defeated, dejected, confused. "Even if what you are saying is true, I have no control over this."
"Is that so?" he asked and pointed over her shoulder. Where the parking lot should be was a wall of shimmering blues and greens reaching to infinity in every direction.
"Oh."
"You have a choice to make."
"Yeah," she said weakly.
"You could stay." She looked at him in question. "You could choose to stay here with me, but I'm sure you wouldn't be happy knowing it wasn't real."
"No," she agreed softly. "Maybe in another lifetime."
Then she turned away from him and made herself move forward, one foot in front of the other, step after step, walking, walking towards that shimmering curtain that symbolized the edge of her subconscious.
"How are you feeling?" Dr. Brinkman asked kindly from the side of her bed.
"Like I just gave birth to an entire football team," Mardi responded thickly.
"No," the doctor smiled. "Just a beautiful healthy baby girl."
"Can I see her?"
Dr. Brinkman looked across the bed to Bruce. "I'll call the nanny and have her brought up this evening," he responded.
"Nanny?" Mardi asked.
"You don't think I'm going to be changing diapers myself?" he said.
Mardi laughed weakly. "Right, like you were such a big help the first time around. What I meant was, how long has it been?"
Another look was shared across the bed. Dr. Brinkman finally answered, "Three weeks."
"Why? What happened?"
"We don't know Mardi. The surgery was touch and go for a while, but you pulled through famously. You just…didn't wake up. There was no medical explanation for it." She squeezed Mardi's shoulder. "I'll give you a thorough exam in the morning, but I expect I'll be discharging you."
"Really?"
"Absolutely, unless you think you need to stay a bit longer?"
"No. Oh no. I've had enough of hospitals."
Dr. Brinkman frowned in puzzlement, but then said, "I'll leave you two alone now."
"Does she have a name?" Mardi asked Bruce after the doctor was gone.
"Dr. Brinkman?"
"No, our daughter," Mardi groaned, with an idea she was being teased.
"Grace Elizabeth Wayne."
She blushed and grinned with glee. "You named her after me," she said softly. "Did you come up with that on your own?"
He nodded. "Though Isabella suggested Elizabeth, as in the queen."
"Of course." She pushed the sheets down and slid her legs over the side of the bed.
"Are you sure that's such a good idea?"
"You bet." He held a hand out and she took it as she stood up. With a smile she said, "See? No problem." Turning serious she looked him directly in the eye. "Am I a shrew?"
"You have your moments."
"Meaning yes," she grumbled.
"Meaning I wouldn't have it any other way. What brought this about?"
"Let's just say I had a conversation with an old friend, and it wasn't very pleasant." She bit her lip. "I realize I've handled things badly. It's just not every day a man says to his wife, 'Hey I'm Batman.' You blew my mind, but I know you weren't trying to hurt me. I'll be better, I promise. I'll be more helpful."
"I don't need your help," he replied not unkindly. "I need you to be yourself. I need you to raise my daughters and be happy. Is that too much to ask?"
"No," she whispered, and then she fell forward and embraced him happily. "Bruce?" she murmured against his chest.
"Yes?"
"Tell me about…Selina."
She felt his muscles tighten beneath her cheek. "She was a thief," he responded gravely.
"Mmmm. How…normal." For Gotham at least.
If I could, then I would
I'll go wherever you will go
Way up high or down low
I'll go wherever you will go
The end.
