Light beamed from the grimy windows through Barry's eyelids. As he eventually opened them, he gasped at the grayscale around him. The beams above him and the bed rails. A mounted steel table with its share of scratches, adjacent to a row of cabinetry. Even the odor of rust and buzzing of appliances, he could describe as gray. His eyes lit up for the first time in days, despite his stomach ache.

The Batcave. This was a section he hadn't seen yet, which made him even more excited than he'd been the first time Bruce brought him in. And the second time, and every time after that. It was probably the exasperation that made his bandaged hand come up to his chest.

He fidgeted with the tube that trailed down the side of his neck. Trailing down out of his nostril. The lubrication in his throat and the fact he didn't remember it being put down into his stomach were the only things stopping him from wanting to vomit everywhere. The tape that kept it in place was clinging to every tiny hair in his cheek. Rolling the corners of the tape wouldn't make it feel looser.

The prong in his other nostril led to a cannula. The cannula only being over one ear made him recognize just how heavy tubing is. That ear had beared the weight of a tube long than his other ear. Not to mention the mild odor of iron that came from a dried recent nosebleed, which was being forced in with the oxygen.

How clean they managed to keep his clothes was able to take the edge off. No stains that could've been prevented. His shirt was perfectly fit, no fabric rolled up between he and the bed, even after they'd pulled it up for a heart monitor. And, apparently, to wash some of the sweat off of him. His black jeans and boxers were refitted after a catheter bag, with a very careful attempt to return them to the exact same spot on his hips. Feeling his urethra stuffed with lubrication - and plenty more lube still slathered on his tip, he didn't have to worry about it being inserted carefully. His socks weren't bunched up, with the gray strictly on the heel and toes. With no way to imagine how many times it'd take for them to fix it in case he woke up. A mint gray Egyptian cotton blanket was folded back and tucked into the footboard of the bed.

Diana returned to the infirmary. Her face glossed over from his full consciousness, how he and his full curiosity had sprung back to the world.

His eyes were on his hand. The gauzed arm had become a bandaged arm and hand.

She sat onto a stool at his bedside. With a grab of his arm, she stroked his fingers with her thumb and said, "Your fever is under control. The infection spread, somehow. Papercuts and dry skin on your hand opened up, and began to swell. We were able to control the edema and bleeding. We are doing what we can to prevent it from spreading any more." She cut herself short. Without realizing, she was observing his fingernails. The bitten nubs were growing brittle, gradually at a minuscule level.

"A-a-and, what does that mean for me?" He suggested the same for the IV line in his elbow. It was unsure whether he was truly able to feel the liquid being dispersed into his bloodstream or if it was just his sensitivity to every stupid little thing.

"If you feel like you can eat some food, I'll take you off."

In that instant, his belly growled violently. An ache shot through his tract. Food was more than appetizing. He tried suppressing his groans when Alfred appeared in the doorway at cue, wielding a tray.

She inclined his bed to 110 degrees. Dodging his hand as it tried helping her remove the cannula, she assured him, "Yes, I will take it off." She had to stop him from trying to pull the tube out from his stomach, at least until Bruce came back. He was disappointed that she left the needle and port protruding from his arm, but she was able to distract him with one of his favorite foods.

His tongue peeked from his lips when Alfred brought an overbed table to Diana's side. A large plate, a small protein shake, and a tall glass of cider, with a water glass and a satisfyingly neat pile of folded napkins on the side. Almost two pounds of carbohydrates, sugar, and fat made his nose perk up. Softened butter being mixed into homemade mashed potatoes was making his mouth literally drip like the condensing water glass. A few days of having no food hit his palate were starting to feel like months. His shirt brushed the tip of his ribcage, which has never been out of his waist that much. The IV and nasogastric tube were serving as no more than an attempt to keep his heart going until this meal.

She tucked the end of a cloth napkin into his shirt collar. Barry's chin collapsed on her hand as he tried watching what it was doing. He felt a big clump of napkin on one side, that wasn't on the other. It wasn't being folded the right way, it wasn't being distributed against his skin in the right amounts, it wasn't covering his fifth best shirt as much as it needed to. She wasn't doing any help, only prodding her fingers on his collarbone.

Diana stopped and moved her hands onto her lap, patiently waiting for him to cooperate. He thought he was fixing it, but really he was just slowly dragging it back out of his shirt. Upon realizing, he sighed and splayed it out to find the creases from where she'd folded it. She was incapable of watching him, weakly trying to press the folds back in and lining it up to his collar. "Barry... Please."

He didn't initially respond. The firmness in her voice clicked in his brain and sent his eyes towards her.

"What's wrong, Barry?" His problem was clear and simple, though she knew there was a wrong beneath his surface. Those chocolate eyes rarely ever gave her or anyone that look. Glossed over in aggression, despite for a composed face, relaxed neck, loose torso. Cheekbones hiding a grimace that destroyed him from underneath the skin. His skin crawled in hysteria, like his cries were waiting to come out. Crying, for Barry, had consisted of hiccuping and dry heaving out of hysteria or exhaustion - one of very few things that was strong enough to rip Diana's heart out. "Barry."

He put the napkin and his hands on his own lap. "I'm sorry, Diana. I don't know." His foot fidgeted with the blanket, in the same fashion that he'd kick alleyway gravel. "It's just bothering me."

She paused, turning her head around in listening mode.

Hair swept on his forehead as he bounced his head and torso around. He was looking around the infirmary for something to say. It was hard trying to explain, the things he was aware that she knew but was waiting for him to release. He wanted everything perfect, he was dependent on her to do things the perfect way, and something was making him unable to wait for her. And a part of him was doubtful of Diana, paranoid that she would disregard the magic god or whatever that told her what he needed. He hated himself for thinking that way, for thinking she could ever be unloyal. Really, all he'd said to her was, "It's complicated when things aren't perfect and I'm famishing." A simplification of an issue that they both knew wasn't simple.

The gloss of his eyes had disappeared when they returned contact with hers. His body sunk into the bed slightly more, in malaise and in an overall surrender.

With nothing to say at the moment, she apologized. Her concern and natural dominance had gotten to her and was getting to Barry too.

"No, I'm sorry." His face went down into his shoulder.

"No," she firmly said. "We're both sorry. And it's alright."

Barry's teeth chattered. He wasn't capable of arguing her.

Diana changed the subject to his feet. The gray toes burrowed under the blanket. All of his energy was going toward becoming comfortable. She stopped herself from reaching over the bed and instead told him, "I'm going to cover you up and make you comfortable."

His face came back up to see a small grin in her lips and eyes. He smiled back.

Her hand lightly took the napkin from his fidgeting fingers and placed it on the table. She tightened the fitted sheet on her side to avoid wrinkles and lumps. Then she leaned over him as gently as possible to get the other side.

With his eyes growing wider than capacity, he flattened his nonbandaged hand out to avoid any awkward brushing. He was quite comfortable indeed. The softness of her breast sent a shock through his torso. It was more feelable than absolutely anything. Her breasts were spontaneously brushing along his body. His member didn't care that it had a tube in it, and that Diana was scoping out the entire bed. Being weak made him even more capable of trying to suppress.

His mind crumpled like tissue paper. On the other end of his torso, it was getting stiffer than a tree. How about the time he'd fallen into Wonder Woman, exactly 67 days ago? It started with him trying to save her, and instantly turned into him being on top of her. She hadn't said anything, so he banked on having been too quick for her to notice. He thinks about it more often than a moraled hero should. He remembers being sprawled out on top of her, like a disoriented turtle flailing its arms in confusion. Almost every part of him regrets not risking every type of humiliation to get just a few more seconds with her body. His mouth a millimeter away from where her nipple would've been. Absorbing the heat of her body through his suit. And how close his excitement hard-on had been to her sugar shack, with his thin codpiece nestled between her thick thighs. It's been impossible to forget the scent of her body lotion, to the point where he'd scavenged the entire city for some and started using it when the memory came to mind.

He really needed to stop thinking. It was making him throb. He was plastered with the expression children have when they're pretending to not have stolen a cookie from the jar. His entire body was tensing. He swallowed his entire throat, watching her bring the blanket up over him.

"Getting comfortable," she crooned, trying to keep Barry's stiffening body from going into a possible anxiety attack.

She began tucking the blanket into his legs and hip. As he began worrying. Was she able to see the throbbing? Was the smell of a peculiar women's lotion wafting through the cotton?

Had she smelled her lotion when she applied the catheter? With the way things were going earlier between she and Bruce, it's plausible she'd taken private-part duty. This was another thought that drove his hard-on, but in a naughty/terrifying way. If she had smelled what happened to be her most commonly used lotion, it wouldn't have been a coincidence. Especially since he had no reason to be lubing with, or even own, something that smells like a flower's asshole. Obviously she wouldn't mention it to him, if she either had or had not noticed. Fuck...

"Barry."

The only scent she had today was from her shower. Not saying it wasn't nice, but, more importantly, it wasn't a problem when it easily could've been. This might've been the most glad he could ever be.

"Barry."

He easily recalled first meeting her. How he'd stood there, his jacket sleeves balled into his fists, staring at the biggest breasts he'd ever seen. Like a moron. An easily amused, eager, obsessive moron. He'd called her Barry, introduced himself as Diana. Having completely forgotten how to act, forgotten how to even fucking talk. Infants, as young as three months, can talk. Even birds can fucking talk. Diana had tolerated his shit, and had the heart to bear a smile that was genuine rather than pitiful or kind. She had tried referring to him as an intelligent individual, by saying, "So, this is us?" He'd ignored it, before throwing a finger up in the air and screaming at a cloud. Embarrassing Bruce - the poor man who had to lug around a moron who wasn't even as capable as an infant - who had trusted Barry enough to present him to an important person.

He was broken from thought when Diana tucked the blanket into his armpits. She'd moved his arms and pulled the blanket up completely, after guessing what he would've wanted if he'd have answered her.

Diana stared into his eyes, checking for glossiness, or for the odd black streak.

"I just..." he muttered. "I was spacing out."

She chuckled. "Happy to know you're alright." Sitting back down and reaching for a new napkin, she followed up with, "Some daydreaming?"

He froze.

She asked Alfred to reheat Barry's food with an advanced thank you. Then turned back to Barry. Even if he wasn't making eye contact, it was still good for him to get hers. "Sometimes I will space out, too. I will have old memories come back to me, pleasant or often ugly, and it's good to take the time to reflect on them."

His breath got stuck in his throat. His entire esophagus tightened up around his NG tube. He couldn't even glance at her. He was perfectly certain she was reading his mind right now. She knew about everything; the lotion, him being a moron, his raging erection that was slowly dying off, no doubt. And now it was time for her to rub it in his face. To fuck with his head. She knew she was doing a good job of it.

Her tucking him in at his armpits was probably her testing him. For weak spots. Why, he didn't know; she already had him vulnerable as fuck.

She continued in a softer voice, her fingernails running through the side of his hair, "Do you ever daydream about traveling?"

Yeah, he often did.

"Getting out, seeing new things? Even often creating locations or attractions that aren't existent, so you can discover them within your mind?"

Yeah, certainly. His imagination would take him places. He'd often wonder what the city itself was like, outside of his book cave. The furthest he'd go would be dragging himself to the bus stop to go, once again, see the fate of his father. Otherwise, life was within a 3 mile radius of his broken fence. Walking down a long trail of alleys, to do projects that weren't available online or in text reading. Hitting the gas station across the corner for hot pizza and Teenycakes, praying he wouldn't have to use his powers. Then he'd have to abandon his favorite objects, shave his hair, and find some other unbroken place to live.

He seriously needed to get out more. He'd recreate his own city of residence in his head, from lack of an actual image. How insane. But, radical. Maybe it could be a world record, or a little section of a Believe It Or Not book. Next to the picture of a guy with tattooed scales and nipple piercings.

"Thank you, Alfred."

Barry took a huge whiff of the mashed potatoes. He then remembered, the napkin. He felt it graze on his neck, stuffed into his shirt collar.

Diana reassured him, "It's perfect. That is a bigger one that I thought would work better."

He looked down at it just to make sure.

She rolled the table over the bed, with generous space between him and the table but with the food in close proximity. He wasn't too responsive to it, so she assumed he was starting to get tired again. Hopefully he would eat enough and fall asleep to a full belly.

Barry glanced around the table as she named off what she'd be feeding him. He watched the spoon stir through the potatoes, beating the heat from it. The spoon started for his mouth. He looked at Diana.

She was looking back, smiling at how cranky his face was. He might not have realized it, but his eyes were slightly squinted and his jaw was grinding to one side, so defiantly. "Open up," she insisted.

His hunger came back to him. He took the bite and swallowed it before Diana could even put the spoon back to the plate.

She fed his open mouth another bite, smaller than the last. "Barry, it's soft, but you still need to chew it." She guided him with, "Chew... chew... chew... chew."

He had no other option. Knowing Diana - and Diana knowing he knew how she was - she'd probably make the bites smaller for each time he defied.

She delivered immediately when his mouth opened, as a way to return his cooperation. "You can have as much as you'd like. Though you need to enjoy it, and be gentle to your stomach."

A gurgle resonated in his throat. He'd been swallowing a ton of air with a small ratio of food. Being slumped in a bed was keeping it from coming up.

Diana put the spoon down and pushed the table back. She rubbed his belly in circles, kneading with the flesh of her palm. His belly was starting to return to usual size, most of it being from bloating, yet it was a nice sight.

He opened his mouth, in attempt to take advantage of how generous she was when he'd cooperate.

"No, you need a break." Her circles went faster. "You need to burp for me."

The massaging stirred up pressure, causing his belly to send gurgles up his throat. While waiting to hear a burp, she said, "Will you drink some Ensure for me? Then you can eat some more."

Regardless of not being happy about it, a well-needed burp rang from him. There was no room for him to be mad, with how amazingly relieved he felt. He closed his eyes and wished he hadn't tried to discourage her. He tried to make eye contact, but his eyes would slowly surrender.

"Yes, you're definitely getting tired." She continued to rub for another minute, under the excuse that she needed to try for more burps. It was her new favorite thing to see him relaxed and comforted, but she mustn't spoil him.

Diana spoke loudly, just enough to keep him awake but not snap him from drowse. He'd eaten over half the plate and accepted some cider, so she said to him, "Drink some of this shake. I'll brush your teeth and let you go to sleep."

He'd denied it earlier, not being a fan of the odd chocolate bubblegummy flavor. Now he was so tired that he was ready to go with anything.

"Ten drinks." She supported his neck in one hand to keep him from choking or falling asleep. Her other hand slowly poured into his lips, counting each swallow.

By the eighth, Diana decided to let him have his sleep. He was sinking into the bed, his lips parted open more than his fluttering eyes, his breathing on the verge of becoming steadier. She carefully pulled the napkin out, rolled the dropped and spit food into it, and dried his lips with a clean corner.

A slam made the infirmary shake. Immediately Bruce's voice was calling out for her. His heavy footsteps echoed through the entire Batcave as he left the elevator.

She hurried to open the infirmary door and hush him.

Bruce cut himself off when he glanced over her shoulder to find Barry resting, breathing slowly with his eyes draped shut. His gruffy voice attempted a whisper. "I'm sorry..." He headed for the bed.

"So, where have you been?" Her arms came together across her chest. She wasn't going to get mad just yet, but she was curious.

"I had some errands." He took Diana's seat next to Barry. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, watching the young man sleep. "Regular Wayne Enterprise business."

"After Barry woke up, you told me you would be here as soon as possible to take his tube out and check him up."

Bruce sighed. Nowhere in that sentence was she wrong. Barry fell asleep, after having his first solid meal, with a tube down his throat. Diana had watched it, and dealt with it alone.

"Well, now that he is asleep, you'll have no trouble." Diana still had her arms crossed, but was at Bruce's side to watch Barry with him. "I was going to brush his teeth as you came in. He cooperated so well today. A little tough, but I managed."

Bruce had no words. She was speaking them all. It was fantastic to hear about Barry being awake for hours. And how easily and peacefully he was able to sleep. How interactive she was with him, and him with her. How much of a damn good job she'd put up. He looked at Barry's body, how nicely she had him tucked in. He heard Diana spew out all the cute, or rather worrisome, things she's seen and heard that day. And he considered, there was no way to predict just how tough Barry Allen could be on a person, yet Diana hadn't gone insane, and she had him looking almost brand new after a tragic three days. And although she loved Barry and needed to see the best for Barry, she was doing it for Bruce because Bruce loved Barry. Bruce knew he couldn't admit that.

Though, Bruce forced himself to admit that he was disappointed in himself that day. Coming home late, not being here for Barry.

Bruce let another sigh go, slapping a pair of latex gloves up to his wrist. "It's time to get this tube out of you, Barry." He went to peel the tape off the sleeping boy's face, but paused. He told Diana that she'd best do it, since Barry was immune to her.

Very gradually peeling the tape off with her fingernails, she was eager to get this tube out of him. His behalf would love it.

Bruce muttered an almost silent thank you. With the most fragile grip he's ever used, he started stringing the tube from Barry's nostril. He had to pause a few times, out of worry he'd accidentally turn the curved end around and hurt Barry.

Diana placed an assuring hand on his shoulder. She watched alongside him as the disgusting tube finally slipped out.

"Wait..." Bruce muttered.

"What is it, Bruce?"

He went into the beam of light coming in from the window. He held the tube up, brushing mucus and bile and food away, to inspect a large black clump. It was stuck to the tube by globs of wet yellow pus.