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 XXII
Although a part of him wanted to stop, question his parents at that moment, he didn't waste any time. Realizing that he might need the gentleman's help, he ran to Alfred first, hit a pressure point that would wake the older man, then darted across the room to Diana's side. Alfred would be conscious in a few seconds – he wouldn't wait until the other man was functioning before helping Diana.
Her convulsing had nearly stopped, which was both bad and good, Bruce knew. It meant that she was closer to death – but also that she wouldn't hit him with an involuntarily flailing arm as he worked over her. Her strength was too great; she might accidentally hurt Bruce very badly while she seized, and he couldn't take that chance.
But he also couldn't risk waiting. He knelt beside her, cataloguing everything she'd provided for him: the auto external defibrillator, the drugs, the instructions. He knew what to do, forced himself to stem the rise of panic that he felt as her seizing slowed, forced himself to remain calm.
He hit her three times first, on the points which she had pressed to knock herself unconscious, that stopped her breathing and heart. It wouldn't cause those functions to restart, but it would release the hold it had on her, allowing him to begin CPR, allowing the CPR to work. He checked her pulse, her breathing…nothing.
His hands were steady as he gently wiped away the saliva that had gathered around her mouth during her convulsions, tilted her head back, and pressed his lips to hers.
He breathed, forcing air into her lungs, then sat up and began cardiac massage. He began counting to himself, feeling her ribcage flex under his hands.
His father was counting with him. "…fourteen…fifteen…breathe for her, Bruce."
He had already pressed his mouth to hers again, watching her chest rise as he did.
"Good." Thomas knelt on the other side of her body, Martha next to him.
Bruce returned to her chest, pressing down again and again, watching her face, then bending to force more air into her lungs.
"I made sure that she used a pressure point that would send her heart into ventricular fibrillation, son, instead of completely stopping it. If the CPR doesn't work, the AED should."
"I didn't feel a pulse," Bruce said.
"You wouldn't, it's probably too weak and irregular."
"…four…five…" Bruce counted the chest compressions, continued counting them internally as he asked, "You knew she was going to do this?"
He caught the glance his mother and father shared. "You might even say we suggested it to her." Martha's voice was quiet.
"Respiration, Bruce, then go ahead and defib," Thomas commanded.
Suggested it? Bruce couldn't question that, his mouth was on Diana's again, her lips slack and cold under his own.
Last night, they had been warm, moving sweetly against him, her breaths and urgent whispers parting them.
This was taking too long.
The AED was on and ready for him. He ripped open her buttoned shirt, thankful that she wasn't wearing her uniform underneath, nor any undergarments that would take an extra second to remove – just an amulet around her neck, which was out of the way.
The buttons flew around before landing on the rug, rolling to the hardwood floor with tiny clicks.
…his mother's pearls falling to the ground…
He set the paddles against her skin, checked the monitor. The machine analyzed her condition, recommended he press the button to shock her.
"Wait, son."
Bruce looked up.
Thomas held his gaze. "She's about to die. She has to die for the curse to be stopped."
Bruce shocked her, flinching as her back arched, her body flopping up, then down. He checked the monitor again – no change. He bent down, breathed into her lungs again, waited for the AED to analyze her condition and recharge.
"I don't care about the curse," he said, his voice harsh.
"She does. She loves you," Martha said. "We chose her because we knew she could do this, survive this."
"She'll survive because I'm not going to wait around, letting her die," Bruce ground out. The machine beeped, and he shocked her again. "Love doesn't have a thing to do with saving her, or her ability to live. You two died."
The monitor read that she was still in fibrillation, and he pressed his mouth to hers, trying to will her to breathe, knowing that she was slipping away.
"We loved you, Bruce." Thomas's words struck him, hard. "We've always loved you, wanted the best for you. And we want you to be happy, not haunted by things that were never your fault."
"That you loved me was never in doubt," Bruce said, his throat tight. Another shock, and he closed his eyes briefly, unwilling to watch her body jump again, then settle back lifelessly. He looked at his parents. "But convincing the woman I love to commit suicide in order to save me is the last way to make me happy. You know I can't…after this…I can't bear it."
"Just don't push her away." Martha leaned forward, touched her hand to Bruce's face. He wanted it to be warm, comforting – but it was cold.
He didn't respond. The monitors showed no change – except that her heart spasms were weakening even further.
In a moment, he knew, there would be nothing left for him to push away.
"Diana." He whispered her name, kissed her cheek briefly before beginning another round of respiration.
He felt her go, saw her spirit gather and seem to coalesce, lift away from her body. It touched his lips, and he welcomed the bitter cold.
Then her ghost was gone. As were his parents, he realized dimly.
It worked, then. The curse had been broken. Diana, gone.
His parents gone, again.
He felt the strength drain from him. The curse was broken, and it felt like he was, too.
A hand touched his shoulder, and it felt like he'd wanted his mother's to feel: warm, comforting.
"Master Bruce?"
Grief welled up in him, rage accompanying it. "I'm not giving up yet. I'll be damned if she'll get away with this. Alfred, prepare the I.V. and sodium bicarbonate and epinephrine. And we may administer an intracardiac injection. I'll do everything, anything."
He thought he heard pride in Alfred's voice. "Of course, sir."
Bruce began CPR again, sweat beading on his face from the effort. "I'm not letting you go like this." He knew the time; it had been just over four minutes. She needed to come back, now.
"Diana, please…" He said the words against her lips as he lifted his head from hers. He compressed her chest harder but just as rythmically, becoming more frantic. He felt a rib give under his hands, but kept pressing, up and down.
He saw Alfred slide a needle into a vein in her arm, picked up the AED, trying it one last time. She was gone, but her heart was still spasming weakly, enough for the monitor to pick up. "Clear, Alfred."
Her back arched again, and he watched, feeling helpless, the grief and rage slowly dying from him as she fell back down, her body slack, limp.
And the monitor picked up a faint pulse.
He looked almost disbelievingly at the readout. It was weak, but it was there. And then a thready, tortured breath issued from her lips.
He stared as Alfred picked up an oxygen mask, placed it over her mouth. The color in her face began to return. He looked up, met the older man's eyes.
"Very good, sir," Alfred said.
Part XXIII
Diana's chest ached; it hurt to breathe, and she kept her eyes closed for a few moments, trying to remember, trying to ascertain her condition now.
Her ribs were taped -- probably injured from the CPR.
She felt the itchy point of an I.V. insertion, but could tell that the needle had already been removed.
She was surrounded by Bruce's scent.
Bruce.
She opened her eyes, saw him standing beside the bed, watching her with his arms crossed, his features blank. He didn't change his expression when he noticed she was awake.
"I'm in your bed," she said. Her voice was hoarse, and she coughed, trying to clear and moisten it. He silently bent to the side, gave her a glass of water from a nightstand. She took a sip, studying him, trying to find some hint of emotion but seeing nothing.
She had known it would be like this.
Trying to smile, she said, "It looks like you've returned the favor, and I've ended up in your room this time. But I'm still not as used to this bed as you are to mine."
"You've been in a coma for three days." He took the glass from her, set it down. "Now that you've woken, we'll move you to the Watchtower." He crossed his arms again -- a defensive gesture, Diana realized -- and added harshly, "I want you out of my house."
Her heart twisted, but she nodded numbly. "I understand," she whispered.
"Do you?" he asked, and she watched as his control crumbled, as his eyes grew dark with anger. "Do you understand?"
"You feel that I've betrayed you," she said softly. "That I went behind your back."
He stared at her for a few moments, and she could see him visibly rein in his temper. He suddenly gave a short, humorless bark of laughter. "I go behind the League's back constantly, Diana. I always do what I feel is best for the League and its members -- I'd hardly judge you for the same thing."
She sat up, her ribs groaning in protest, but suddenly feeling at a distinct disadvantage with him towering over her while she was lying down. "Then what is it?" she cried out, her own frustration boiling up. "I can feel you pushing me away -- I knew it would happen, but I went through with my plan anyway. Why, if not out of a feeling of betrayal?"
He placed his knee on the bed, leaning forward, bracing his arms on the headboard, his hands on either side of her shoulders. "I loved you," he said softly.
She felt the breath from his words on her cheek, could scarcely believe he said them -- but didn't miss the past tense of his declaration. "Then why?" she whispered, her tone matching his.
He shifted his weight, lifted one hand to trace the line of her jaw, rubbed a thumb over her trembling lips. "I've devoted my entire life to one thing, Diana: making sure that no one in Gotham loses what I lost years ago, or goes through what I did." He paused, kissed her gently.
Her throat tightened. It wasn't a kiss of love or passion, but of farewell. Her arms reached up, intending to hold him to her, but he drew back and the mask he wore -- that emotionless expression that worked as well as the Bat mask -- was back in place. When he continued speaking, he was the thoroughly the Bat. "By trying to kill yourself, you did exactly what I've been fighting against all these years: you tried to take away a life, your own. Someone whose loss would have been devastating, not just to me, but to the League, your friends and Amazons. And worst of all, you did it for me. I've never wanted nor asked for that kind of sacrifice."
"But I'm alive, Bruce. You saved me."
"And if I hadn't? If you'd been wrong?"
"I wasn't," she said firmly. "The curse was broken, and I'm alive now."
"Congratulations," he returned, his voice hard. "But what is different now? Do you think that just because I can't see them that I am not still haunted by them? That I don't question the last twenty years of my life, the effectiveness of what I do every time I don't save someone? That I don't feel guilty now? And imagine how I would have felt if I hadn't been able to--" He broke off.
"Your life was in danger, Bruce," she nearly shouted, and her ribs screamed in response. "What was I supposed to do?"
"My life is in danger every day," he said. "That's the life I chose."
"And so is mine," Diana responded, shaking her head. "And I chose to risk it one more time to help you."
He nodded abruptly. "And that is your choice to make. Risking your life -- I just don't want it to be for me again."
A short, disbelieving laugh escaped her. "So I can risk my life anytime, but my death only matters if it is for you?"
"It would always matter, Diana," he said, his voice soft. "But I've got to draw the line somewhere -- Alfred, Dick, even Jason…they all take risks with their lives, but they were never for me. I can't let it be for me, only for the mission, and they know that. But you--when you love someone, you'd risk everything for them."
"You're wrong." She threw off the bedcovers, turned and stood on unsteady legs. "Everything they do is for you, because they believe in you, in what you believe. And me--" She broke off, smiled. "You're right. If I love someone, I'll risk myself for them." Her face turned serious then. "But if I don't love someone, I'll risk myself anyway. Bruce, if you send me away, whether I love you or not, it doesn't mean I won't risk myself for your life again."
He shook his head. "If I remove you from my life, except as a teammate, then it won't be me you save, the man you love -- it will be the life of a teammate."
She took a step forward; he didn't move, but she saw him draw back internally from her. She stopped, suddenly angry again. "You are being a hypocrite. Every day you go out and risk your life for other people, yet you won't let me do the same for you."
"You didn't just risk it, Diana -- you died."
She stared at him, realizing that they were talking in circles, that there was no way to convince him. Her shoulders drooped, and she walked forward, passed by him without making a sound.
"Diana?"
"I'll meet you in the cave," she said tonelessly over her shoulder. "Then you can take me to the Watchtower. I'm going downstairs to say goodbye to Alfred first." She stopped at the door, but didn't look back at him as she said, "You can take your congratulations back -- you were right, breaking the curse didn't do anything. You're still being haunted, and will be haunted for as long as you push those who love you enough to die for you away. And I've just realized that a thousand of my deaths couldn't change that, nor a thousand of my lives." She opened the door, stepped through. "Nor a thousand times my love," she finished sadly.
He let her go, staring wordlessly at the door, his arms crossed over his chest.
It was for the best, he told himself. A little pain now instead of much more later.
Only his pain wasn't small, and the further she walked away, the more it seemed to grow.
