Chapter Fifteen
We didn't speak the whole journey. I stared out of the window, not really seeing, but it slowly dawned on me that we were not heading for my apartment, or for Lacey's house. As I turned to look at him in bewilderment, we swung off the street, down a ramp into a secure, small underground car park beneath a building I felt I ought to know. Before I could look about me, and register what I could see in the dimly-lit, cluttered space, he took my elbow and steered me into a small service elevator.
See me
I followed him out of the elevator into a corridor, then into a small sitting room – kitchenette: some sort of guest suite somewhere, I guessed. Trembling, I took off my coat and put down my purse as he removed the cowl, gauntlets and cape, dropping the first two on to a coffee table, the cape on to the floor. When he saw my face, he ripped open the Velcro and removed the epaulettes and the top half of the suit. I had my arms round him and my face pressed to his chest almost before he had put down the last piece. The dam burst, and I started to cry.
Feel me
He embraced me, holding me tight, pressing his cheek against my head, stroking my back occasionally. I could feel him shaking. When I got control of my emotions, I let go of him. I could see the shining of tears in his eyes and dampness on his face. We were alive; we had survived. Through a partly-open doorway off the little room, I glimpsed a bed. Stepping towards the doorway, I held out my hand. For one long, awful moment, I thought he was going to refuse. Then he put his hand in mine.
Touch me
I understood now, his need to connect: that was what I needed to do.
For a while we lay in each other's arms. He relaxed against me, settling himself with a heartfelt sigh. After a time, he got up and disappeared into the kitchenette, coming back after a few minutes with a bottle of Japanese whisky and tumblers filled with ice. This was definitely his turf, his territory, then, but not his home. On his return, he left the door wider open, so more light came in.
Heal me
We drank in silence for a while, him propped up against the pillows and the head of the bed, one leg bent up, me lying on my front, propped up on my elbows, over a pillow. Every now and then his eyes would fill, but he bit his top lip and never let the tears fall.
See me
'It's okay,' I said, stroking his arm.
He put his hand on mine. 'Are you okay?'
'I don't know.' It was too soon to say, but I didn't think so.
'You didn't kill him, although God knows he deserved it. You did what you had to do. Don't beat yourself up.'
'Easier said than done.'
I had shot someone, and that would live with me for a long, long time. In my eyes, that was still wrong, even though it had been the right thing to do at the time, and had saved a life. Possibly two.
Feel me
Bit by bit, as the whisky worked its magic, we lay there, changing position, dozing occasionally, and saying a few words, a few sentences. I put a consoling hand on him if I thought he was emotional, and he did the same with me, or held me when I cried. However cool he pretended to be, he needed reassurance that I wouldn't have shot him. I had held two lives in my hands; his life in my hands: something I could not yet begin to comprehend or process, it was so shocking. He could not have encouraged me to shoot someone else: he had had no choice but to offer himself as the victim. And knowing even the little I did about what had happened to his parents, I didn't know how he was able even to consider it. He said nothing about it, but those intense grey eyes told me he needed to know that he had been worth saving; that he mattered. Oh, he mattered. More than he knew.
Touch me
Every now and again, one of us would slide over to lie next to the other, and we each entwined ourselves round the other, to feel the warmth of them, a living body. I kissed his face, the red marks on the inside of his wrists where the shocks had burned him. Tenderly I touched the bruise on his cheek and my fingertips found the cut on his head, expertly stitched by someone. He pressed his lips to my shoulder or hid his face against my neck. In the quiet of the small hours, lying in my arms, when I couldn't see his face, he told me what had happened to his parents. There were no names, but he somehow crossed a boundary with me and let me into somewhere intensely private and hidden. The need to tell and be understood, to lay down the burden of exactly what he had done in the hall of mirrors, must have been overwhelming. I had no words to console him, none that could get near or soothe the depth of that pain. I could only offer the embrace of my arms, the warm touch of my hand resting against his cheek. Feeling the dampness of his tears, I held him close till he seemed calmer. Hiding his tears from me was his choice, but if he had allowed me to see them, I would have cried with him. I wished I knew how to encourage him to let the tears go, but he had had over twelve years' practice at holding them in. And now he was dealing with the idea that his parents' deaths may well have been a hit ordered by the Archangels, not the criminal underworld. So much for him to process.
Heal me
Eventually we slept. At some point, in the cool of the early morning, I was vaguely aware of him covering us with the duvet.
Light was streaming in through the slats in the blinds when I was woken by the sound of his voice. He was sitting on the side of the bed, on his cell. It sounded like he was talking to Mr Pennyworth.
'Hey,' he said with a gentle smile. 'Just checking in with base.'
Mr Pennyworth's concern for him was heart-warming. I was glad there was someone capable who looked out for him. I watched him gather up his clothes.
'Get the coffee on.'
He pointed out a robe hanging on the back of the door before he disappeared into the shower. By the time he reappeared in his fitness gear, towelling his hair dry, I had managed to follow the instructions for the coffee machine and make two passable cups. It was definitely a guest suite, only the basics in the cupboards, but fresh milk in the small fridge.
Although he showed me the towels and the toiletries in the bathroom then took himself to drink coffee in the living area, I could tell he was restless, wanting to be gone, back to where he really lived. I did not have the luxury of taking my time, of enjoying the shower, the expensive towels, the quality toiletries. I wondered if this was the Wayne Foundation tower, and whether Bruce's penthouse – and his other life – was on the other side of the walls.
When I came back into the living area, as clean and refreshed as I could be with no fresh clothes, he had put the suit back on.
'You need your coat and purse,' he said.
'Why?'
'I'll drop you at Ran's.' He paused, to hold my gaze for a moment. 'You should go to him.'
I have my books, and my poetry to protect me
'He thinks – he thinks we're lovers.'
'Then tell him the truth.'
I knew the truth, really, but I didn't want to admit it. It was hard to hear him confirm it.
I am shielded in my armour
'He has suffered as well. He went through hell last night, worrying. About you. He's dealing with it on his own. You should go to him.'
I won't disturb the slumber of feelings that have died
Slowly I found my coat and purse. My shower had removed all trace, all scent of him. Like last night had never happened.
If I never loved, I never would have cried
We drove in silence. He pulled up outside Ran's house. I didn't ask how he knew where Ran lived: I knew he knew how to find out. And he knew that I knew.
'What if he isn't in?' I asked.
'He's there. I'll wait here till you're safely inside. If he won't let you in . . . well.' He shrugged.
The car door opened. I swung my legs round, to get out. The Bat put his hand on mine for a moment.
'You will always be my Conscience,' he said.
'Likewise, Nemesis,' was all I could manage to say.
I bit my lip. He nodded, I got out. The door closed.
I am a rock, I am an island
Tears streaming down my face, I walked up to the door and rang the bell. It seemed a lifetime before it swung open and Ran appeared before me. His eyes flicked immediately past me to the kerb, then back to my face. My tears alarmed him, and he enveloped me in an embrace.
'Em. Oh my God. Em. I thought I'd lost you.'
I put my arms round him. As he led me inside the house, I heard the low hum of the engine, felt the deep, heavy vibration of the air, heard the car glide away. I made the effort not to look back.
And a rock feels no pain; and an island never cries
Quotations (in order) from:
See Me, Feel Me, written by Pete Townsend, from the rock opera Tommy. If you have never heard this, do listen to it for Roger Daltrey's sublime vocals
I Am A Rock, written by Paul Simon
This chapter has been edited in order to comply with Fanfiction's maximum rating of T for this genre. As before, if you are 18+ and want to know what happens beyond the bedroom door, head over to AO3.