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It felt like he was surrounded in a thick, black fog, one that refused to release its hold on him. It swirled and pulled, attempting to draw him in deeper, but he railed against it, refusing to give in to its grip on him. There was something more, some flickering light that was attempting to lure him away.
He reached out towards that light, to the melodic hum that accompanied it. It was soothing and comforting, and he wanted more of it. He wanted to find the source of it and hold on to it with all that he had inside of him. He wanted its warmth and compassion, its love and tranquility.
Slowly over time, the thick blanket began to dissipate, separating and finally releasing him. It felt as if he was being drawn up out of a murky, black quagmire, sitting at the bottom of the sea and finally being pulled up to the surface to breathe again.
As realization gradually began to chip away at the murkiness, he became acutely aware of two things. First, there was a pleasant weight on his side and, secondly, a heavenly scent accompanied that presence that seemed to be pressing against him.
Bruce attempted to lift his eyelids but found them far too heavy to raise. The task was exhausting, but his iron will refused to surrender. He forced his eyes to open, thin slits trying to make sense of the blurry shapes and colors that greeted him.
He opened his mouth to speak, but discovered he had no voice. His throat was parched, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. He closed his eyes for a moment, resting before deciding to try again to find out what had happened and where he was now.
His eyelids fluttered open again, but this time his vision was a little clearer as everything around him abruptly came into focus. He was in his bedroom in Wayne Manor, a small lamp on his bedside table providing the only light that cast a dim glow about the darkened room.
Tilting his head slightly, he noticed long raven hair splayed on his chest, but was unable to see her face. Grimacing, he frowned as he tried to make his brain work, struggling to connect the dots only to find that there were several dots were missing.
The last thing he remembered was being out on patrol and feeling a warm rush of blood from the wound in his side, one that he had received a few days before. The stitches that Alfred had used to sew him up must have broken loose, causing him to lose consciousness.
So many questions swirled in his brain with no answers to be found. Had he bled out from his wound? If he had, then how did he end up here in his bedroom? And who had found him?
He attempted to lift his left arm but discovered that he couldn't due to the body laying on top of it. Trying to move his right arm proved to be almost as difficult, but he finally found the strength to raise it up off the bed only for it to fall back down.
He silently cursed to himself, angered by his weakness and more so by the fact that she was here to witness it. He never wanted her to see him like this—vulnerable, weak, frail. It was all the things that he despised in himself, loathed even more when witnessed by another…especially her.
Bruce felt her begin to stir against him, her even breathing falling out rhythm as if she had just been wakened from a terrible nightmare. He closed his eyes, pretending to still be asleep as she sat up. He immediately noticed the sense of loss from her laying against him, wishing that she hadn't moved.
He felt fingertips gently brushing aside hair from his forehead before caressing the side of his face. Her touch sent tingles through his body, awakening something deep inside of him. There was such a gentle caring to her touch, an affection that he felt he didn't deserve.
He didn't know why she was here, but he unexpectedly discovered that he kind of enjoyed this attention from her despite the fact hating her seeing him like this. It was a weird combination of wild excitement and overt irritation, a war between both parts that made him who he was.
The billionaire versus the Bat, the human versus the hero, his heart against his mind, the lost little boy who only wanted to be loved warring with the broken man whose heart refused to be healed. It was a constant battle that typically ended with logic overruling emotions.
This time, though, he felt too weak to even fight anymore….didn't want to fight his feelings for her anymore.
He felt a cool, wet cloth softly caressing his face, taking care to bring him even a small measure of comfort in his pitiful state. "I hope you wake up soon, Bruce," her voice spoke to him. "I miss you."
His insides tensed with the sound of her voice that was like a soothing balm to even the deepest wounds. He wanted to open his eyes, to let her know that he was awake, but not yet. He wanted to hear what she would say, what she might confess to ears that supposedly couldn't hear.
"It's been four days since I brought you home," she told him.
Four days? He'd been unconscious for Four days?
"Nightwing and Robin have been doing a great job of protecting Gotham for you," she continued, the washcloth disappearing for a moment only to reappear against his neck once more. "You should be really proud of them. You've raised and trained them well, Bruce."
He felt a swell of pride in his chest as she continued to wash him, the washcloth moving across his shoulder where her head had been just a few moments ago. "They captured Scarecrow," she revealed. "He's back in Arkham where he belongs."
Scarecrow. That's who he'd been after before he blacked out. He had been tracking Scarecrow, trying to stop him before he could release his fear toxin on the public. He'd been gaining on him when he'd collapsed in an alley. He'd tried to get back up, but his body had betrayed him.
Diana sighed heavily, her voice nearly cracking as she spoke again. "Please, Bruce…wake up," she softly pleaded. "I need you to be okay again. I need you with me. I lo—"
A soft knock at the door interrupted what she was about to say. "Any change yet, Miss Diana?"
Alfred. He was checking in on them. Bruce felt a sense of comfort with the sound of his surrogate father's voice. "No, not yet," she replied, sorrow lacing her voice.
"Master Bruce is strong," Alfred reassured her. "He will recover from this."
"I know…I just…I hate seeing him like this," she confessed, her voice cracking again. "He means so much to me."
"Miss Diana, might I suggest you take a break," Alfred said. "You've been here ever since you brought him home, barely leaving his side or sleeping."
Diana found him and brought him home. The thought stunned him senseless, but even more so that she hadn't left his side since that moment. She'd stayed right here by his side taking care of him and watching over him like his personal guardian angel.
"No, I'm all right, Alfred," she insisted, her hand caressing the growth of hair on his face. "I want to be here when he wakes up."
"As you wish, Miss," Alfred reluctantly agreed. "Please, do try to get some real sleep and not just the little naps you've been taking. You're going to exhaust yourself at this rate."
"I will," she promised, the weariness in her voice unmistakable. "Thank you, Alfred."
"Call me if you need me," he instructed her.
"I will…good night, Alfred."
"Good night, Miss Diana."
Bruce didn't know what to think at that moment with the revelation that Diana had been keeping vigil at his bedside, taking care of him and waiting for him to wake. It warmed his heart unlike anything else that he'd ever experienced in his life, her compassion knowing no bounds.
He felt the bed dip as she shifted her position next to time. She took her time, running the wet washcloth over his chest and arms, his neck and face. Her care was touching a place deep inside of him that no one had been able to reach since the night he'd lost his parents.
He didn't think anyone would be able to do that for him, but he should have known that if anyone could it would be her. She'd always had a way about her that affected him far deeper and more intensely than any other woman, her light reaching into the cracks and crevices and deep crevasses that marred what was left of his heart.
Bruce was just about to open his eyes to let her know that he was awake when he felt her warm lips against his forehead. "I love you, Bruce," she finally confessed.
Her confession of love hit him far harder than he could have imagined. He had never realized how much he had needed to hear those words from her until this very moment. It was as if something inside of him had been unlocked…set free of invisible chains that had weighed him down for so long.
Bruce opened his eyes to find Diana leaning over him, her lips so very close to his. "I love you too, princess," he hoarsely whispered.
Diana stared at him in shock, stunned by his admission and more than thrilled that he was finally awake. "Bruce," she murmured, her hands cradling his face. "You…you heard that?"
He nodded his head, the corner of his lips quirking slightly. "I heard a few things."
"You gave us all quite a scare," she confessed, averting her eyes as she brushed away a tear that had escaped. "I thought we were going to lose you."
"Never, princess," he rasped, his voice weak. "You can't get rid of me that easily."
"You certainly try your best, though," she said with a frown.
"What happened?"
"The wound in your side became infected," she replied. "I found you passed out in an alley with a very high fever. You've been unconscious for four days."
He raised his hand, his fingers brushing away another tear. "I'm sorry I scared you."
She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his cheekbone as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him. Diana went willingly, moving to lie beside him as they held each other close. She hooked her leg over his as her head came to rest on his chest.
"Sleep, princess," he told her. "I heard that you haven't gotten very much lately."
"You're still recovering, Bruce," she said. "I need to watch over you."
Bruce gently stroked her silky hair as he held her against him, savoring the amazing feeling of having her in his arms. "No, it's my turn to watch over you now, princess."