Author's note: Alfred's really is the hardest dialogue to write. Actually, this whole chapter was pretty hard, especially to edit and refine.

Thanks for the feedback/comments, and enjoy.

Chapter 4

Diana crossed her arms, fuming. "Bruce, talk to me."

The object of her ire lay on a gurney in one of the manor's many bedrooms, stripped from the waist up. Alfred was bent over his shoulder, peering at the line he was threading through the other man's skin. Bloody gauzes and bandages lay on a tray next to them.

"Bruce!" When he didn't respond, she shifted her gaze to the butler. "Alfred, make him talk to me."

The old man didn't look up, pulled tight on a suture. "Unfortunately, Miss Diana, at the moment I am here solely in a medical capacity. I'm afraid the role of messenger will have to wait for a later time."

"Men!" With that exasperated cry and a stomp of her foot, the princess of Themyscira stormed out of the room.

Alfred gently threaded a line through flesh, wrapped it around to tie a knot. "Master Bruce, if I may remind you—"

"Don't."

He gave it a few more seconds. "Sir, I really would suggest—"

"Alfred."

"Very well, sir."

He worked in silence for the next few minutes. After a final knot and snip, he straightened his aching back and examined his handiwork, then offered his employer a hand.

With his butler's assistance, Bruce sat up. His head felt oddly detached from his body, a side-effect of the painkillers they had used. He grimaced as he tried to rotate his wounded shoulder.

"Don't move, sir." Alfred began winding a strip of clean white bandaging around Bruce's body. His hands moved with a practiced ease. "There will be significant bruising in the chest area tomorrow."

Bruce nodded. "They were point blank," he said, referring to the bullets that had struck him in the battle earlier. Most had had hit his torso and been stopped by the body armor beneath his suit. One had grazed his shoulder; another had ended up inside it. The bullet now sat in a deformed lump on the medical tray.

"You will be fine, sir. On your typical injury scale this rates a piddling three or four."

"Thanks, Alfred."

"I daresay I'm not the one you should be thanking, sir."

Bruce sighed. "What can I say to her?"

Alfred was busy clearing medical supplies and bloody wrappings from the makeshift surgery table. "I would imagine that I've taught you better manners than that, Master Bruce. Might I recommend a 'thank you', for starters?"

"I already said it."

"There is a significant difference between a heart-felt 'Thank you for saving my life,' sir, and the 'Thanks. I'm fine. Go home,' that you offered to Miss Diana."

"I didn't say it like that."

"I believe those were your exact words."

Bruce tilted his head to stare at the ceiling, lolled it around in a slow circle. "She's pretty mad at me, isn't she." It wasn't a question.

The butler chose his words carefully. "If her demeanor when she left the room was any indication, sir, she certainly cares a great deal for you and your well-being."

"Alfred, I—I'm not used to being rescued…"

The uncertainty in Bruce's voice gave Alfred pause. Scalpel in hand, he straightened to look at his charge of forty years and waited for Bruce to return his gaze. His own voice was firm. "Master Bruce. Believe me when I say that she does not consider it a weakness in you."

"She tore open a ship to get to me, Alfred."

"A most commendable trait in women."

"Being the weaker one in a relationship isn't something I'm used to. She's so..." Bruce paused, unable to find the word. "We're completely different. It wouldn't work."

"I believe the saying is, 'opposites attract,' sir." Alfred had loaded everything onto the tray, which now balanced in his wiry but capable hands. The tabletop was sparkling clean. "Master Bruce?"

"What?"

"In my opinion, sir, this is something you should be discussing with Miss Diana. I will send her in, if you wish, while I tidy this mess."

Bruce didn't answer. Instead, he tentatively flexed his left shoulder, testing its limits. "It's a good dressing, Alfred."

"Only the best for you, sir."

***

Diana had been perched on the edge of a chair, but was on her feet before Alfred had even stepped into the room. "How is he?"

"Miss Diana," Alfred said in greeting. "Master Bruce is fine. Ill-tempered and sore around the shoulder, I would imagine, but more than ready to continue in his never-ending quest to drive me to drink."

She blinked at that. "How is he…emotionally?"

"A psychiatrist would have a field day with that question, madam."

"Alfred…"

"Miss Diana, I do believe that is an issue the two of you should resolve together. Privately. In the meantime, I must get this," he gestured at the crimson stains on his clothing, "cleaned up before the blood becomes an absolute fright to remove."

"Should I go…see him?"

"Certainly—and Miss Diana…"

"Yes?" She was already at the door.

"Despite his…outward demeanor, Master Bruce is still only human. That is something that distresses him at the best of times, let alone in moments like these. Do remember what I said earlier about letting him push you away."

She nodded thoughtfully. "I understand, Alfred. Thank you."

"My pleasure, madam."

***

She tapped softly on the door. "Bruce?" There was no answer. She tried again. "I'm coming in."

The door opened smoothly: no squeaky hinges on Alfred's watch. The lights were off, the only illumination coming from the bit of moonlight that straggled in from the open bay windows. It took her a few seconds to adjust to the dark.

Bruce was sprawled on a recliner facing the door, his chest and shoulder heavily bandaged. His eyes were closed but she knew from his breathing that he wasn't asleep.

"Bruce," she said hesitantly.

He opened his eyes. To her surprise, he looked haggard—it was one of the rare moments that he didn't appear comfortable in darkness. "Diana." He struggled to get to his feet.

"Don't get up," she said, stepping into the room. "Sit. How are you feeling?"

She supposed that it was an accurate measure of how worn out—or drugged—he was that he did as he was told and sank back into his seat. Even his voice was tired. "I'm fine. A couple of bullet wounds. I've had worse."

She smiled and began to move towards him, then thought better of it and instead went to the bed in the middle of the room. He watched as she sat down. The mattress was surprisingly soft.

"I'm not used to being rescued," he said abruptly, before she had the chance to speak. "Thank you. For saving my life. I'm sorry if I—"

"I understand," she said before he could continue. "You don't have to apologize."

"Good, because I'm not used to that, either," he said dryly.

"Hrm. In that case, a little practice might do you good." She cracked a smile. "Abase yourself, knave."

He chuckled and bowed his head as gallantly as possible in his situation. "Fair princess, I humbly beg your forgiveness for being an oaf and offending you earlier. Please allow me to make restitution to restore your honor."

"You can buy me dinner next week."

The teasing look disappeared as he studied her. He gave a sudden yawn, clapped his hand to his mouth. "Sorry. It's the drugs."

Diana nodded and rose to her feet. "You need to get some rest, Bruce. But we're going to have to talk about this sooner or later." She strode toward the open windows and glanced outside. An owl hooted somewhere in the darkness. "I'm going home."

"Stay," he said suddenly. She turned to him, startled. "If—if you don't mind, I mean. Stay a while. We can talk."

She wavered. He needed his rest, and she really should be getting home to get some sleep. Not to mention think about everything that had happened—

"Please."

That decided it. Surprised, she floated back onto the bed. The spot she had vacated was still warm, an odd little comfort. She sat down and waited, looking at him curiously.

He cleared his throat. "What I said back in the limo," he began, "about relationships not being a good idea in our line of work." She nodded. "Do you still want my reasoning?"

"Let me guess," she said. She had been going over the list all night. She lifted a hand and began ticking off the points on her fingers. "First, you think it might compromise our professional behavior and our ability to function objectively for the greater good of the league." Her voice imitated his official tone during league meetings; his lip twitched.

"Second, you're human and I'm not. Third, Gotham is your life and you don't think you can devote time to anything outside of it. And fourth and most importantly, if something happened to me, you would blame yourself for hurting another person who got close to you." He gave a slight nod at each of her points. "Close enough?"

His chuckle sounded forced. "You know my arguments so well, you might as well make them for me."

"Then you make mine," she challenged. "Play the devil's advocate. Tell me why a relationship might work."

He was taken aback by that. "I don't think that's the wisest—"

"Afraid of what you might find?"

Provoked, he sat up and his features shifted into what she recognized as Batman's look. She had seen that particular set of his jaw countless times, when pure, unadulterated resolve met human limitations and weaknesses, and won. Always.

"Fine. Why a relationship might work. We have chemistry and the mutual attraction to spark a romance." He spoke very matter-of-factly, but she couldn't resist a shiver at the memory of his fingers brushing against her neck. "You already know my identity so that isn't an issue that might drive you away or come between us. We're in the same line of work so we can understand the possible complications—the danger, being apart at times, and so on. We have each other's mutual trust and support." He paused. "We work well together on the battlefield, as a team; that could translate into normal, everyday activities, and…other things, too."

She resisted the urge to blush.

He settled back into the couch. "Now tell me why you wouldn't want a relationship."

"What?"

"It's your turn to argue the other side."

She nodded, recognizing his methodical approach in tackling every aspect of a problem. She also understood his need for reassurance, that as Clark had told her, deep down inside behind the cowl and gadgets and the granite face, Bruce was just a scared little boy who wanted his parents back. And that in some paradoxical, twisted way, stating her own insecurities might help reassure his.

"We're both very stubborn. Relationships require give-and-take. We would be bad at that."

"Terrible. You're very hard-headed, Princess."

She allowed herself the childish pleasure of sticking her tongue out at him. "Look who's talking, Mr. Wayne."

That got a smile. "Go on."

"We're very different in a lot of ways, yet very similar."

"Differences, first."

"Fine, the biggest one. You're human, I'm not. Even if we were to have…something, it would only last until…" she trailed off, not wanting to speak aloud the notion of him dying. He waited patiently while she struggled with the words.

"You see, Princess?" he said at last. His voice was surprisingly gentle. "When you look at it from another angle, suddenly things aren't so black and white anymore. It's easy to say, 'I want a relationship'. It's not so easy to recognize the consequences that come with having one.

"It doesn't have to be so difficult," she insisted. "It can be simple. We could just kiss each other right now," do it, damn you, didn't she wish, "and walk out of the room together."

"It's never that simple."

"Do you always look for the worst in everything? You must be a riot at parties."

Her tone was light, but his face grew serious. "I have to. I'm not invincible, Princess, as you saw tonight. I'm not Clark: if something goes wrong I can't rush into the situation, take a few bullets, and blow out all the fires. I have to plan for every possible contingency. It's how I get by."

"It's a relationship, Bruce, not a battle. I would be working with you, not against you."

"Fine. Work with me to resolve the mortality issue." His voice was neutral again.

What could she say? 'At least we'll have had something'? She pondered that for several moments. The Batman was not the kind of person you offered banal platitudes to. 'I'll have my memories of you long after you're dead'?

She thought of a phrase from a poem she had read in one of the library archives. The line had struck her as a notable insight on Man's attitude towards life. "'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,'" she quoted. It seemed fitting.

"Tennyson. But is it true?"

She thought of her mother's passing. That pain was a smoldering coal waiting to be prodded into a full-blown fire. Would she trade it away in return for never having loved Hippolyta? Her immediate reaction was no, definitely not, but she considered that. Right now, Hippolyta didn't exist, creating a void in her life. And if Diana had not loved her mother, there would be no pain to accentuate that void. But since she had loved her, she was left with her pain—and still no Hippolyta. Did fond memories outweigh that anguish? But no, she had more than just memories of her mother. Didn't she?

She shook her head, confused. "I can't be that objective. I don't know."

He nodded as if confirming something. "Then let me tell you something, Princess: it's not. People who say things like that are ignorant romantics who never actually lost any loved ones." His voice grew bitter. "You live with the pain, the anger. You tell yourself that if you had done something differently, if you had somehow been better, or faster, or stronger, there might have been another way. That they didn't have to die, that you should have done something to—" His words abruptly cut off, and the iron set of his jaw tightened another notch. "That's why I am…what I am today."

Hera, such pain in his voice. She wanted to take him into her arms and comfort him, but he went on.

"In our case, there wouldn't be another way. I will die because, in the end, I'm only human." She flinched, but he was brutal. "Or you would die because you faced something that I was incapable of dealing with. There's no way to resolve that."

Was there? He was human and she was an Amazon. Did that mean they could never have anything together? Was she cursed to be alone in the mortal world, with the exception of those few who shared her long lifespan? Ah, but among those who shared her lifespan was a good example—

"Kal is not human, but he loves one. And—"

"I am not Clark." He said this so quickly, so forcefully, that she was taken aback. "I will never be Clark, Princess. Do you understand me?"

"I—of course you're not, I didn't mean—" For the first time that she could remember, the Batman's cold stare intimidated her, made her shrink back. She hated the feeling.

Why was he suddenly so adamant? Did he think …her eyes widened. He thought that she was comparing him to Kal, that…

"I am not Clark," he repeated coldly. "If he's the one you're really thinking about, you're going to be awfully disappointed with me. I'm not—"

"How could you say such a thing?" she demanded, her own temper rising. "Hours after I confess my feelings for you, you think I'm fickle enough, such a child, that I would throw my emotions around to whoever happens to catch my fancy? You think that after telling you I care for you, I would be thinking of Kal in that manner?"

"I'm suggesting that you think clearly about what it is you really want, and whether someone else might be better—"

"How dare you!" She was on her feet. "You think you know what I want? You sit there lecturing me on relationships when you know so little about them! You're scared of the slightest commitment. You're terrified of opening yourself up to anyone. So you brood within the confines of the perfectly ordered life you've built in your cave, driving away everyone who might care about you, and you think you have all the answers to how I feel! You stubborn, ignorant…" she flailed about for an insult, decided on the worst she could think of, "man!"

She glared at him from her full five feet eleven inches. There was a satisfied gleam in his eye that made her want to break something, preferably connected to his body. But the look contrasted sharply with the tight, sorrowed lines in his face. She blinked, her anger on hold as she wondered at the disparity.

Then it hit her—he was trying to drive her away, or make her drive him away, and was offering himself as a sacrifice to make things easier.

She closed her eyes and took a few ragged breaths to calm herself. She forced her mind into a calmer, meditative state. "That's what you want, isn't it Bruce?"

"What?"

"You want me to be the one that leaves, so you can stay safely behind your mask without having to risk your heart. So you can say, 'Oh, she was the one who decided it wouldn't work,' and you won't have to admit to yourself that you were afraid. And then you don't have to open yourself up to anything."

He didn't answer, but he didn't need to.

His silence spurred her on. "If that's truly what you want, I won't stop you." She thought sadly of possibilities that might have been and still could be, then took a deep breath and steeled her resolve. "A relationship goes both ways, Bruce. Even I don't have the strength to fight for it alone." Her voice broke on that word. Only a little. "If that's what you want. Just say so."

She stood frozen as the minutes ticked by.

He said nothing, just stared at her. Then he looked away.

It was answer enough.

She nodded shakily and turned away from him. "Good-bye, Batman." Her insides felt hollow, as if something there had been removed. It took all her self-control to keep from stumbling as she walked to the window.

The room was deathly quiet. She hovered over the window ledge and was on the verge of flying out when he spoke.

"Diana." His voice was soft.

She answered without looking at him. "What?"

"No."

"What?"

"That's not what I want."

She paused, turned slowly to face him. "What…?"

She was treated to a rare sight: Bruce's face was unguarded and he looked frightened and saddened and confused all at once. His words came slowly, as if each one was an effort to force out. "You're right… I'm afraid of opening myself up to anyone. And I'm…scared by the strength of my feelings for you. But I don't—I don't want you to leave. Please."

She opened her mouth, couldn't think of a response.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, massaged his jaw and mouth several times before he spoke. "Diana," he said finally. "I know the pain of losing someone you love. I don't know if I could go through it again. And I don't know if I could stand the idea that I would cause you that much pain." He trailed off, leaving unspoken the implication of his words.

He loved her.

She had moved toward him without realizing it. She sank into the couch and wrapped her arms tightly around his body, careful not to touch his injured shoulder. "You stupid idiot," she muttered savagely as she buried her face against the crook of his neck.

His arm circled around her body and pulled her closer. "Diana," he murmured. Her shoulders shook. He closed his mouth and gently stroked her hair.

When she finally lifted her head, the bandages around his neck were damp. The tension had drained out of her body, leaving her weak and trembling but feeling very happy and giddy all at once. She looked at him and couldn't resist a laugh; his mouth was hanging open as he stared at her.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

She smiled. "I've never seen you look like that."

He snorted. "It's the drugs. They're getting to my brain. Affecting muscle control."

She laughed again and laid her head on his shoulder, arms still wrapped around his chest. She felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and his own arm snug against her lower back. It was a comforting feeling.

"We haven't really solved anything, you know," he said at last.

She shifted in his arm. "Mmm."

"I'm serious. We still have issues to work out, and we don't—"

"Bruce. Shut up and kiss me."

That did the trick. Looking awed, he leaned in; their lips were almost touching. His breath was warm and heavy and thrilling. "Is that an order, Princess?"

"Just do it, Mr. Wayne."

He did.