Haunted
Ugly_Girl (mickerella@yahoo.com)
Disclaimers: Don't own 'em, don't make money off 'em. The only real crime I'm committing is the overuse of adverbs, and ending far too many sentences with prepositions.
HAUNTED
Part XI
Diana looked up from the book she was reading to the girl on her lap. Bruce stood in the waiting room, leather briefcase in hand, his perfectly tailored suit out of place among the patients in ragged, worn or dirty clothing. The other people in the room had quieted, as if uncomfortable around such obvious wealth. Diana saw envy in more than one eye.
"What happened then?" Little Teresa drew Diana's attention back to the book, and Bruce's attention to them both. He began walking toward her. Diana ducked her head and focused on the story.
"And then Cinderella's two stepsisters cried, and realized how mean they'd been to their sister. They declared that Cinderella's unwavering kindness and faith in human goodness had convinced them that they, too, should strive to bring peace and happiness to the world. From that day forward, Cinderella and her stepsisters lived together in their house, joyous in the knowledge that they shared a connection of love, touching the lives of everyone who knew them."
She could see Bruce's legs in her peripheral vision, but didn't glance up. He spoke. "What about the prince?"
Teresa's eyes widened, and she turned her head from Diana to Bruce. "What pwince?"
Diana smiled sweetly. "Little sister, there is a prince in this story, but of what use is he? Cinderella doesn't need him to escape from her stepsisters – it is through her cleverness and good heart that she changes them, and teaches them to love."
Bruce grinned, his white teeth flashing, Diana thought, rather wickedly. He sat down next to them, placed his briefcase at his feet. "But he is an extraordinarily rich prince, not to mention devastatingly handsome and ridiculously clever."
"But Diana says that money and pwettiness don't matter," Teresa said. "That Cinderella is good because she is kind, not because she is pwetty."
"But what about cleverness?" He said the words to Teresa, but Diana could see him watching her. "If the prince is smart, isn't that good? Shouldn't Cinderella find a nice, smart prince?"
Teresa scrunched up her face, thinking about that. She finally turned to Diana. "Can she marry a pwince like that?" Her expression turned hopeful.
Diana threw a glare Bruce's way; he simply smiled beatifically. She opened the book again, turned to the last couple of pages that depicted the marriage of the prince and Cinderella, and pretended to read. "One day, the knowledge of Cinderella and her two sisters reached the ears of the prince, which were long and pointy—" A choked noise came from Bruce, and Diana realized he was trying not to laugh. "He was a good man, who helped the citizens of his kingdom – even though many in the kingdom didn't realize it. He went in disguise to Cinderella's house one evening, and although her sisters screamed at his ugly mask, Cinderella wasn't bothered at all because she never judged people by their appearance. (Her sisters were making a lot of progress, but they hadn't learned everything yet.) But she didn't fall in love with him immediately, because she knew that it takes time to get to know someone well. As they spent time together, however, she eventually realized that he was a very kind, very clever man who would always treat her with respect and honor."
"And they got married?" Teresa asked. "And had little pwincesses?"
Diana hesitated. "Well, Cinderella thought that declaring love and commitment should have been enough; however, since it was the custom in the kingdom to officially marry the person one loved, she eventually married the prince. And her sisters lived with them, too," she added the last part quickly. "And together they raised strong, thoughtful, kind little princesses."
Teresa sighed happily. She clapped her hands together, then paused. She glanced at Bruce, then at Diana, and whispered, "Did the pwince ever hit Cinderella after they got married?"
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bruce stiffen slightly. "No, little sister." Diana said softly. "They argued sometimes, but they didn't hit each other when they did. And they didn't hit the princesses, either."
"Because they loved each other and the pwincesses?" Teresa said. "My mommy and daddy love each other, and they hit. Daddy hit her today, until the police took him away."
Diana's throat tightened, and she squeezed the little girl gently. "Love doesn't always keep people from doing that. You have to respect the other person, never want them to be hurt." She smiled at the little girl. "And some people, they just don't know any other way to act when they are angry. That's why it's important to try to teach people not to hit, to find some other way to talk or express their anger."
Teresa snuggled into Diana's chest, laid her head on her shoulder. "I see Superman hit bad people. And Wonder Woman hits them, too. I see it on the TV."
Diana's eyes met Bruce's, and she struggled to find something to say.
Bruce said, "I don't think Superman and Wonder Woman want to hit the bad people. They only do it because the bad guys are trying to hurt little girls, and their mommies and daddies. They hit them because it is one of the only ways they can get them to stop hurting people."
"Maybe Diana should read Wonder Woman and Superman the story about Cinderella, and how she used kindness to change the bad stepsisters. Then they could change the bad guys, and wouldn't have to hit them."
"Maybe I should," Diana said quietly. "I just wish it were that simple, little sister."
"Me, too." Teresa yawned; Diana and Bruce sat quietly as she went to sleep.
At the little girl's first tiny snore, Diana glanced over at Bruce. "What brings you to the clinic today?"
"Business," Bruce said. "I was supposed to meet Leslie for lunch so that I could give her the check from the fundraiser; but, at the last minute, she called and said she was going to be late because of an emergency surgery. So I decided to wait here until she was ready."
Diana nodded, and looked down at the little girl in her arms. "Teresa's mother came in with several broken ribs. One had punctured her lung."
"The father?"
"Yes," Diana said the word on a sigh. "I don't understand Man's World. There are no abusive relationships on Themyscira."
"And there is no poverty, no unemployment, no low esteem, no parents who start the cycle of abuse, no power plays between men and women or parents and children—"
Diana's eyes flashed as he made his list. "Do you think those things are an excuse?"
"No." His voice was Batman's, for just a moment, then he became Bruce Wayne again. "But people are driven to a lot of things in 'Man's World' that Amazons would never consider, because Amazons aren't desperate to feed their children or to have power over something. It's not an excuse, but it is a reason. The world is not perfect, idyllic and as peaceful as we'd all like it to be, or think it should be."
Diana frowned. "Then do you sympathize with the abusers?"
"I don't condone it, but I understand them," Bruce said. "And sometimes things can be done if the root problems are understood."
He wouldn't, of course, go into detail about what he had done as Batman here, Diana realized. And she realized something else, and she smiled. "You think that I don't understand them, and therefore am simply pushing an ideal onto them that they can't uphold – because the ideal doesn't address the root problems that make them act abusively in the first place."
He held her gaze. "Yes. Ideals aren't practical, and can't apply to the lives of most of the people on Earth. It only works in an ideal society."
"Like Themyscira," Diana said.
He agreed, and added, "I can't fight with ideals. They don't mean anything to many people, and the others that yearn for them can't make them work in reality. So I fight with the tools of the real world."
She looked at him thoughtfully. "Do you think that I should give up my idealistic views, then?"
A tiny smile touched his lips. "No. Someone has to have them." He chuckled, then grinned outright. "And I don't think you could give them up, anyway."
She grinned back. "Probably not." She bent her head, inhaled the scent of the little girl's hair, and then noticed an…absence. She looked around to make sure. "No, um, visitors today?"
He leaned back in the seat, casually placed his arm along the back, tugged at one of Diana's curls that had escaped her braid. "No," he said. "They leave me alone most of the time during the day, except for one or two very persistent ones."
"Have you been sleeping well?" She repressed a shiver as his finger traveled from her hair to neck, tracing a line down the nape.
"If I say no, will you attack me?"
She looked down at Teresa. "My hands are full right now. But perhaps I would, later." He shifted closer, and she looked at him curiously. "Are you trying to hit on me?"
"Of course," he said. "I have a reputation to protect. The idea that Bruce Wayne wouldn't sit next to the most beautiful woman in a room, or wouldn't try to take advantage of her inability to defend herself because of a child she's holding, would simply destroy any façade I've managed to create. My cover would be blown." His voice lowered conspiratorially. "You wouldn't endanger the citizens of Gotham by demanding that I stop trying to seduce you?"
"Is that what you are doing?" Diana asked dryly…and her eyes narrowed. "You are just trying to keep me from asking about whether you slept or not."
He blinked innocently. "You brought up the question of whether or not I was hitting on you."
She wouldn't be swayed. "And you started hitting on me when I brought up the question of your visitors. Have you slept?"
"Many times, and twice in your bed," he said.
"Don't be evasive, or I'll get out the lasso."
He gave an exaggerated shudder, his eyes rolling back in feigned ecstasy. "Oh, don't tease."
She laughed aloud. He constantly surprised her, but she wondered if this was just another mask. Although he was giving projecting the image of a spoiled billionaire to the rest of the room, their conversation had been both serious and humorous – and not at all shallow as the Bruce Wayne at the fundraiser had seemed to need to be.
Deciding she had nothing to lose, she asked him. "Which one is you?"
Surprise crossed his features, and he didn't pretend to misunderstand her – but he didn't answer, either. "Which one do you think I am?"
She studied him, thinking about his personality when he was Batman – how dedicated and serious he was. But, like now, he was also charming and funny, which couldn't be faked. It could be used, she knew, to further his activities as Batman, but it was as real a part of his makeup as the Bat was. "Both, I think, depending upon the situation. You just compartmentalize aspects of yourself until they are required, or until they are suitable to use."
He inclined his head – not in agreement, Diana realized, but in acknowledgement of her opinion. "Perhaps," he said. "And perhaps I am a schizophrenic with a God complex."
She gaped at him.
He smiled. "I'm kidding." He touched her jaw, pushed it up until her mouth closed. He leaned closer, until she could feel his breath on her face. "I have something for you."
"You do?" She wished her voice didn't sound so squeaky all of the sudden. She couldn't take her eyes from his.
"Mmm-hmmm." He glanced at her lips. "It's from Alfred."
She blinked. "Alfred?" Why would Alfred want to kiss her?
"It's a book. Shakespeare. We knew you volunteered today, so he had me bring it in to you. It's in my briefcase." But he made no move to grab his case; it remained at his feet.
"Are you trying to seduce me again?" she whispered.
"Yes." His eyes were intensely blue, and Diana realized she hadn't breathed in almost a minute.
"Why?"
His hand traced the line of her jaw, his mouth was inches from hers. "Because Leslie just came into the room, and this distracts you sufficiently so that you don't return to questions about my sleep – I'll be able to get away in a moment without ever answering you."
Her eyes widened, but before she could retort a scathing comeback he was standing, greeting the doctor.
"Distracted, my ass," she muttered under her breath, then resisted the urge to kick him when he turned, winked at her.
***************************
Distracted. An hour later, Diana was finishing up her duties, and still fuming. She imagined a million things she wished she had said to him.
No, Bruce, she should have said, a sweet smile on her face, just thinking of all the ways you look so ridiculous in your costume.
That was a lie, though. She knew his costume had the exact reaction that he intended it to – it inspired fear, especially in the dark. She imagined him in the dark, in costume, out of it…
She stomped her foot, made her mind obey.
No, Bruce, I was distracted by your stinky breath.
She grimaced. That wouldn't work – he had excellent hygiene. He could afford it. He probably visited a spa once a week for manicures and facials, too. Not to mention that such a comeback was incredibly childish.
No, Bruce, I was imagining twisting your body into a pretzel, dousing it in salt, and selling you in Philadelphia.
That was at least satisfying.
I was thinking about trapping your lower lip between by teeth and sucking on it for an hour…
She frowned. That one had started off well, with the word 'trapping' – it was kind of violent and Amazonian – but then her stupid mind had betrayed her again.
"It's not like I find him good-looking, or brilliant, or humorous, or anything like that," she muttered to herself. "His looks don't mean anything to me, anyway. Nor his brain. Nor his sense of humor."
"Or his kindness and compassion," a woman's voice said in her ear, and Diana jumped, landing on the other side of the small examination room she'd been cleaning. Martha and Thomas Wayne smiled at her.
Thomas said, "Smart and kind are the two requirements, right? That's what you told the little girl, Teresa."
"I'm not Cinderella," Diana said slowly, trying to come to terms with the fact they were standing in front of her – ghosts. "And I don't think you are my fairy godparents."
Martha laughed. "Oh, no – if anything, we are Bruce's."
Remembering Batman's pain as he had stood on that rooftop, freezing, Diana said angrily, "You hurt him more than you help him. He needed to talk to you, but you wouldn't acknowledge him. And now you come to me instead."
"There's two reasons for that, Diana," Thomas said, sitting down on the examination table as if he were alive. "One is that the key to his escape from these hauntings is you. You are the strongest person around him, the one who could do what needs to be done, and survive."
Martha added, before Diana could ask what needed to be done, and why it was dangerous, "And the other reason is that he won't hear us, won't listen to us. We did try to talk to him that night, but…he's simply too stubborn. He can accept everything else he is seeing, including Jason – but we are simply too painful a reminder. He shuts us out, without having any conscious recollection of doing so. We can't get past that. His disbelief, when it regards us as ghosts, is simply too strong." She looked over at Thomas, her face sad. "I imagine it would take some severe rattling of his emotions for him to actually hear us."
"He was rattled the other night," Diana said, her voice cold.
"But his emotions were focused on us, the grief and pain was too strong. It only blocked him from us more powerfully." Thomas sighed. "We wish we could have spoken to him, believe us." He took Martha's hand in his own, and the gesture touched Diana, made her soften toward them.
"I don't know if I believe you," she said, "but I'm willing to listen. How can I help him?"
Thomas stood, as if to leave. "We can't tell you much. We can just guide you in the right direction. In a decision as big as this, it has to be reached on your own. The solution has to come from your heart, or else all will be lost, and Bruce will be more unreachable than ever."
Diana lifted her hands in bewilderment. "I don't know how—"
"Go home, think about it," Martha interrupted. "The answer will come to you." She smiled, and began to fade away. "Relax with the book Alfred gave you. Try Romeo and Juliet , it's a personal favorite of mine."
They disappeared, and Diana was left alone, wondering what in Hera's name was going on. They obviously thought she could help, but they gave her absolutely no clue where to start.
But—perhaps Bruce had, she realized. He'd told her about the old woman, her curse. He'd told her where the shooting had taken place. She was positive she could find the apartment.
Maybe it was time, she thought, to pay the woman a visit, and to find out exactly what that curse meant.
Part XII
"I am Uzana Costache," the old woman said stiffly, eyeing Diana with suspicion. Diana could see the lines of grief and exhaustion etched into the woman's face, but her eyes were dark and flashing -- vibrant. Her iron gray hair fell over her shoulder in a long braid, her brightly colored silk shawl in stark contrast to the black dress she wore.
Diana held out her hand as was the custom in Man's World, but the woman did not take it. Lowering it awkwardly, Diana said, "Mrs. Costache, I know that you have recently suffered a terrible loss. But I desperately need to speak with you about a friend of mine."
Uzana's lips firmed, and her eyes narrowed. "You speak of that Bat-Man."
"Yes," Diana said, and held her breath, wondering if the woman would turn her away.
Uzana stared at her for several moments, then finally made a sound of disgust and opened wide the door. "Come in then."
Diana followed her into a small living room; the furnishings were cheap but of dark, rich colors: reds, greens, oranges and royal blues. It was a room designed for comfort, but now Diana sensed that it brought the older woman little of that.
Uzana sat in a wooden rocking chair, folding her hands on her lap. Diana didn't wait for an invitation to sit; she stood, facing the woman, trying to think of the most tactful way to approach the subject.
"That Bat-Man, that devil-man, you come here for him, to help him, yes?"
"He doesn't know that I am here, but yes," Diana nodded, "I've come out of concern for him." She paused, then added, "He is…seeing things."
The old woman began rocking back and forth, her chair creaking. "He did not see enough, that night. He did not stop them from shooting their guns, from killing my Roxana."
"He couldn't have known that would happen, Mrs. Costache. He is being punished for something that he couldn't have stopped, because he didn't know it would take place. These hauntings have become dangerous; the ghosts almost took his life."
"As Roxana's was taken." The woman touched her breast. "I felt her die as I held her. She was taken too soon."
"And unfairly," Diana agreed. "But your curse is equally unfair."
But Uzana seemed not to hear her, continuing, "Roxana taken too soon, her brother, her father and mother -- my daughter. All taken from me, all taken since coming to this city." Her eyes met Diana's. "All of them. We came to this country for a better life, and now they have no life, and I am the only one left." She stared at a point beyond Diana, seemingly lost in her memories, rocking slowly.
Diana stepped forward, knelt at Uzana's chair. "Batman is alone, too. He has lost his entire family to the city, swore that he would do his best to protect the people within it, so that they don't feel the same pain. Every time someone, like your granddaughter, is lost he punishes himself mercilessly, blames himself tirelessly." She felt the woman's eyes on her, pushed what little advantage she might have gained. "He is haunted enough without the curse, Mrs. Costache; these spirits he sees only put him, and therefore the city -- other daughters and sons -- in danger."
"Let them lose them," Uzana said, but her lips were shaking. "Let them know this pain."
Diana heard a sigh behind her, then a softly said, "Oh, Mamma, you don't mean that."
Stiffening in surprise, Diana turned. On the other side of the room, a beautiful young teenage girl stood watching them, dressed in a simple nightgown. "Roxana?" Diana whispered, uncertain how she knew the girl was a ghost, but positive that she was.
Uzana jolted forward, her hand suddenly gripping Diana's tightly. "You see her? Do you hear her?"
"Yes," Diana replied, suddenly wishing she had kept her tongue still. What if the older woman was hurt by knowing her granddaughter's spirit was in the room?
Uzana sighed, sat back in her chair. "I can only see her. Tell me what she said."
Remembering what the Waynes had said about Bruce being too close to the grief to hear them, Diana wondered if the same was true of the older woman. And if Uzana could see Roxana, but not hear her…how exactly did one get the ability to see the ghosts? "She said, 'Mamma, you don't mean that,'" Diana repeated the spirit's words.
A tiny smile tugged at the corners of Uzana's lips, her eyes filled with tears. "'Mamma.' That's what she's called me since she was a baby."
"She took care of me since I was tiny," Roxana said, coming to kneel beside Diana.
"She must have loved you very much," Diana replied, after repeating Roxana's words to Uzana.
"Too much, maybe," Roxana said.
Uzana frowned at that after Diana relayed it to her -- although Diana could see that the expression was also filled with pride. "You can never love too much, child."
"When you love so much that it hurts another person, that might be too much, Mamma." Roxana sighed. "You know that Batman isn't to blame for this. If anything, it was that man who shot the gun; but even he didn't intend to kill me."
Tears spilled down the old woman's cheeks, but she made an decisive motion with her hand. "What's done is done, granddaughter. It can not be undone."
Diana, hating to interrupt their moment but needing to know, asked, "You can not reverse the curse?"
Uzana shook her head. "It is done. Only the loss of one of his loved ones will stop the hauntings." She glanced at her granddaughter, and shame entered her voice. "Roxana is right. I should not have done this."
"Batman would rather die himself than pay that price for freedom from the curse," Diana whispered. "It would destroy him." Diana looked at the floor, suddenly aware of the enormity of the consequences. "Either the hauntings will eventually wear him down, or catch him unawares -- or he has to lose someone he loves." She shook her head. "Either way, he can't win."
Roxana turned to her grandmother. "Is there no way, Mamma?" The young girl hesitated for a moment, then said, "This curse is keeping me here as well, Mamma. I am one of the ones for which Batman feels guilty, and I am trapped here by his punishment."
Uzana closed her eyes. "I know, granddaughter. That thought has tormented me since I uttered the words of the curse. But I can think of no way to break it, other than the terms set by my grief."
Diana's shoulder's slumped. "Then he is doomed," she said. How long before the ghosts happened to finish what they'd started the other night, freezing him to death, burying him in his own guilt? How long before he lost someone, and blamed his freedom from the curse on his failure to save Roxana, mixed with the pain of his loss? How quickly would that eat away at him, until he couldn't function anymore?
Uzana reached forward, touched her cheek. "I am sorry. It was my grief and pain that led me to speak the curse."
Diana couldn't answer. Anger welled up within her, and she wanted to scream at the woman, hurt her for the careless use of power against Batman -- but knew that her anger meant nothing.
If Diana's own mother died violently, she wasn't certain that her own actions would be any less destructive against the person who'd killed Hippolyta. Diana prayed that she'd never be tested that way.
Through numb lips, Diana murmured, "I should go," and stood. She had nearly reached the door when Uzana's voice stopped her.
"Do you love him?"
Diana turned back. Roxana and Uzana were looking at her expectantly. "Why do you need to ask that? Isn't my presence here proof that I care for him?"
"You can see the ghosts." Uzana pursed her lips. "Only those with the power to break the curse can see them, or those who are magically sensitive. I am one of the latter, which is why I can see my granddaughter."
"I thought to break the curse, he needed to be in love with me," Diana said.
Uzana nodded. "That's not exactly true -- it has to be mutual love. But it doesn't have to be romantic love."
Which was why Alfred could see them, Diana thought. Bruce and Alfred shared a deep bond of love and respect. Was it possible, then, that Bruce loved her -- as a friend if nothing else?
Uzana was still speaking. "When I realized that you could see Roxana, I thought you might be magically sensitive as well -- you have an unusual aura around you."
"I was made from clay by the magic of my gods and goddesses, then given gifts of magic," Diana murmured. "And magic was not unfamiliar to me throughout my life, although I can not wield it myself."
"Hmmph," Uzana grunted, then waved her hand. "Depending on his feelings, then, it could be either. No matter, since a woman of your strength is not likely to die soon, anyway."
"No," Diana said slowly, "I'm not."
*************
The next day...
Alfred glanced at the clock and frowned. It was the middle of the afternoon, and Master Bruce had not yet risen from his sleep -- his attempted sleep, Alfred amended. Most likely, his young employer had not managed to sleep soundly, and instead was in the room exercising, or looking at himself in the mirror practicing his Bruce Wayne voice.
He placed the last silver spoon in the tray, satisfied that they gleamed brightly enough, his tiny warped reflection upside down in each spoon. "Dashing. Simply dashing," he told his pinhead image, then rose to his feet.
It took him less than five minutes to gather the items needed for Master Bruce's breakfast -- or rather, lunch. Perfectly balanced nutrition, and delicious, too. Alfred suppressed a smile -- sometimes he impressed even himself.
He heard the whispering before he reached the master suite, and his suppressed smile became a suppressed expression of fear and worry. He opened the door, and despite the scene he encountered, he maintained his formal countenance.
He never broke out of his dignified walk, but he was at the bedside in less that two seconds, grimacing as he had to move through the myriad ghosts that surrounded the bed. They were cold -- freezing. He could feel his joints ache, his fingers grow numb almost instantly. He set his teeth, picked Master Bruce up in a fireman's carry, alarmed at the younger man's blue lips and white fingers, and left the room as quickly as possible.
Exiting, the warmth hit him like a tropical heatwave. The whispering behind him faded as he moved down the hallway toward the entrance to the Batcave.
"Well, sir," he said to Bruce, still unconscious over his shoulder, "We should be thankful that the ghosts seem to be very slow, since they have not yet caught up with us, nor seem to be trying." His legs were shaking from the weight, and his breath came in short spurts, but his speech was as slow and as regal as ever. "Either that or very unintelligent. Considering that they are criminals, I admit that there is a strong possibility it is not the former."
In the Batcave, he set Bruce down on an examination table without a sigh of relief, began removing his clothes, starting up the machines that would begin warming him up. He looked over his young charge with concerned eyes -- he was in a bad state. "I do believe that contacting Dr. Thompkins would be in order, Master Bruce," he said, as if Bruce could hear him. Alfred stiffened as raspy whispers reached his ears. "And hopefully she can bring Princess Diana with her -- I have a feeling that you won't be safe in this medical lab for very long," he added. "The Watchtower might be the place for you, for tonight."
