Note: I am going to go ahead and say this one is "M" also. It isn't as graphic as Chapter Nine, but still. . . .

And the part where Buffy says "pan out of the bacon" is not a typo. That is the way I wrote it. Buffy-isms.

I do not own the characters or anything like that and I am not making any money off of this. I forgot to put this in the previous chapters.

Chapter Twelve: Healing

"She is healing up fine. Better than fine, actually," Lucius Fox stated. He checked the wound, shaking his head in astonishment at the healing abilities the young woman had. "She was lucky, though: the knife didn't hit anything vital."

He looked over at Bruce Wayne. It had been his frantic call, waking Lucius up at three o'clock in the morning that had brought him out here to Wayne Manor. All he had known was that someone was badly injured, and he had guessed that it had to have been the young woman that Mr. Wayne had spoken to him about a few weeks ago.

After he had tended to her wound, which had already been closing up by the time he had gotten there, Alfred had explained to him the situation, including who and what the young woman was. During the time, and all the time since, Bruce had not left her side. He had sat in a chair at the foot of the bed, his chin resting on his clasped hands, refusing to give up his vigil for a second. When Lucius had given him the word that she would be just fine, only then had Bruce left the chair, only to crawl into the bed beside her. He had eventually fallen asleep.

Seventeen hours later, the wound was practically healed, but she had lost a lot of blood and had several other injuries besides: two busted ribs, a dislocated knee cap, and a severe bump on her forehead and lacerations on her left cheek. All were miraculously healing well beyond anything he had ever seen.

"Too bad we can't bottle that," he whispered to himself. Bruce Wayne was now awake, sitting on the bed, his darting back between the girl and Fox. "I imagine once she wakes up, which should be soon, she will be back on her feet by the end of the day."

"Thank you, Lucius," Bruce said, standing and walking around the bed. He shook the older man's hand. "I really appreciate it."

"No problem at all, Mr. Wayne." Lucius patted him on the shoulder. "As soon as she able, I think it is time you bring her to Wayne Tower. I am sure she would love the R&D department."

Bruce smiled, nodding, and then returned to his post by her side on the bed. Mr. Fox put his hat on his head and stepped out into the hall.

"There comes a point in your life when you think that you are old enough to have seen it all, and then you get proven wrong," he commented to Alfred, offering a thin smile.

"Isn't that the bloody truth," Alfred returned as he escorted Lucius to the door.

Bruce was still tired, but he couldn't sleep for long. Not only because he wanted to be awake when Buffy regained consciousness, but because the injuries he had received fighting the vampires still hurt like hell. His armor had taken the brunt of the hits off of him, but still the damn things had been really strong.

He had nevertheless managed to pick Buffy up and carry her to the Tumbler. Once inside, he had called Lucius and then Alfred. Back in the Batcave, he hadn't even bothered to remove his armor: he had just taken Buffy up to the house to his bedroom. Lucius had arrived only moments later. Bruce had refused any treatment until Buffy had been attended to, and by then the adrenaline had worn off, and he had had trouble breathing. Alfred had helped him get the suit off, and Mr. Fox had wrapped up his ribs after deducting they were cracked, not broken.

He had not left her side for a single second since.

His mind drifted back to the night before when she had collapsed at his feet, blood soaking her clothing and running down onto the pavement. Alfred had thought that he had been stabbed also; there had been so much of her blood on his bat suit when he had brought her into the mansion. The bleeding had stopped on the way, but he was sure that there was plenty in the Tumbler also. Alfred had said he would take care of it.

He ran his knuckles over her cheek, praying that she would wake up soon. He wanted to look into her eyes. He wanted to hear her voice when she told him that she was alright. He wanted to hold her and never let her go.

He not only wanted all of this. He needed it.

He knew she had been angry with him when he had left, and he didn't blame her. He had gone from telling her he loved her, to practically kicking her out of his home, a home he had told her that was hers now as much as it was his.

There wasn't any doubt in his mind that what he had said was true – that he did love her – and he would go to any lengths to prove that to her, but a part of him was still afraid of what could happen, and last night had only brought those doubts more to light.

What she and he did, fighting crime and evil, was dangerous. There was no fooling around about that. And at any moment, something could happen, one little misstep, and one of them could lose that fight.

Was it better to let go and face all of this alone, or hold on no matter what?

He chose to hold on.

He prayed she would, also.

It was another hour, right after he had finished the lunch Alfred had brought him and, in a nice, civil tone, had pretty much threatened him to eat, when Buffy began to stir. He sat up from his place leaning against the headboard, and gazed down at her.

She opened her eyes, looking around in confusion before her eyes settled on him. She then smiled at him, and yawned.

"Hey, lunchable you," she said, reaching her arms up over her head to stretch. She then sat up and kissed him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she moaned into the kiss. She began to pull him down with her, but when he broke the kiss and gasped in pain, she released him and sat up.

"Oh! Are you alright? I'm sorry." She lifted his shirt up and saw the bandages around his midsection. "Who did this to you?"

"You don't remember?" He asked in bewilderment. Still grimacing, he pulled the sheet from her body and pointed at the bandage on her.

"Hey!" She exclaimed. And then it all came back to her. "How long have I been out?"

"Nearly twenty-four hours."

She shook her head. "I messed up bad. I rushed in. I went at them wrong." She sighed, looking up into his eyes. Putting her hands on his face, she kissed him again, very gently. "I'm sorry. Your being hurt is my fault. I should have been more careful."

Instead of saying anything, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, ribs be damned. He lay back on the bed, bringing her with him. She laid her head on his shoulder, sliding her leg over his, her foot rubbing against his calf. Bruce closed his eyes, the urge to sleep coming over him with a force he could not fight any longer.

"That's right," Buffy whispered to him, her voice soothing. "Go to sleep, baby." And he did.

Buffy found the robe that she had worn the last time she was here folded up on a chair, so she threw it on, tying it tightly in the front. She pulled the covers up over Bruce, kissing his softly on his right eye, and then tiptoed out of the room.

She found Alfred in the kitchen. He looked both surprised and relieved to see her. "Buffy," he said with a smile.

"Alfred," she returned, smile and all. "Bruce is asleep."

"About bloody time," the butler swore, shaking his head. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving," Buffy admitted, her stomach rumbling to prove her point. "Sustenance good."

Alfred made her a nice, big lunch which she inhaled like she hadn't eaten in weeks. When she finished, she decided it was time she checked in with Willow. It had been a few days since they had last talked.

"Oh my God, Buffy, are you sure your ok?" Her friend asked after Buffy told her all that had happened.

"Peachy-keeny. All healed up and ready to continue fighting the good fight." She had to remind herself not to spill the beans about Bruce being Batman. "Thanks to Batman coming to pull my pan out of the bacon."

"Wow! That must have been exciting?"

"Well, I was injured and then I was unconscious so I don't remember much of the rescue, but he must have left me on Bruce's doorstep. You know the ol' ring the bell and run kinda thing."

"Good thing he didn't take you to a hospital. That would have been awkward." Willow giggled. "So, how is Mr. Wayne?"

"Salty goodness wrapped up in sugar baby sweetness with a sizeable portion of chocolate drizzle, complimented by a side order of sprinkles."

"That good, huh?" Willow laughed. "So, is this Dateville?"

"Oh no. We are way past Dateville. We waved to it as we sped past it on our way to Twosome Burg." Buffy pulled her feet up onto the couch, folding them under her as she stared at the window at the green rolling hills there. "I thought for a second he might leave me at the rest stop, but he waited on me."

"That's great, Buffy. I am so happy for you," Willow's voice was all agreeable with her words. "Hey, hating to change the subject, but I found out something about the dagger."

"Spill," Buffy urged.

"I found a reference to a Dagger of Hell's Wrath. The picture is very old and hand drawn, but the markings match the picture you sent me. It says in the very little text there is about it that the dagger was used in concurrence with a heart of a warrior to banish into obscurity that which manifested with vengeance."

"That doesn't make a lot of sense," Buffy stated, running her free hand through her hair.

"I know, but that is all it says. And I haven't been able to find any other references to this dagger. Giles is coming up with the big empty, too. It's so strange."

"Yeah, well, thanks, Will, for everything."

"No problem. Take care of yourself."

"I will and hey! Do you think you could send some of that witchy stuff you make? You know the stuff that helps a person heal faster?"

"Sure." Buffy gave her Bruce's address. "I will send it with great speed."

"Thanks." They said their good-byes and hung up.

Buffy tossed her phone onto the table and then settled back onto the couch. When Bruce came down stairs an hour later, she was still there, her eyes focused on the outside.

"What's so interesting?" He took a seat beside her, put his arm around her, and pulled her close.

"I was just thinking."

"About?" He urged. She shrugged. "Was it about us?" A tentative nod. "Was it good or bad?"

She sat up, twisting around so she could face him. "Good to me."

"But you don't think it will be good to me?"

"I don't know."

He kissed her, slow, and tender. "I love you. That fact can't be anymore true."

"I know and I love you," She said, then shook her head. "No, I mean, I am in love with you. "So much so that it is to the point of no return, but after everything that has happened, and everything that you now know, I wouldn't blame you if you decided that you didn't want this anymore. That you didn't want me in your life anymore."

"Buffy, there is nothing I want more than you in my life," he said, speaking every word slowly and with emphasis. "I know in the cave yesterday that I was cold to you, and I'm so sorry for that. It's just –"

"Bat mode," she finished for him.

"Yes, Bat mode." He chuckled. "Is it a sign I need therapy when I begin to refer to Batman in the third person?"

"Oh, sweetie, it was a sign you needed therapy the first time you put on the pointed ears." They both got a good laugh out of that. "But don't feel bad. I do the same thing with the Slayer, and I don't have a separate wardrobe for her. So which one of us needs the Industrial Sized Therapy more?"

"You," Bruce joked earning him a poke on his thigh for it. "But it will make you feel better that I would probably go broke paying for my therapy bills."

"I think in the department of questionable sanity," Alfred began, coming into the room with a tray on which was two glasses of milk and some chocolate chips cookies, "I think both of you are on even footing."

"You do realize I am almost 32 years old, don't you?" Bruce asked, motioning to the tray.

"Sir, there are times when I just have to make a judgment call. I usually base it on action, so actuality."

"I'm not complaining," Buffy announced, grabbing a glass with one hand and a cookie with the other.

"Well, you made her happy."

"That was my goal, Sir." Alfred walked away, leaving the room the way he came in.

"What about me?" Bruce yelled after him.

"Secondary, Sir," was the response yelled back. Bruce harrumphed, a smile on his face.

"You have changed my butler's priorities," he told Buffy. "I hope the museum pays you well. He isn't cheap."

Buffy held her cookie up to him. "I'll give you a half eaten cookie for him."

"They're my cookies."

"Not if I have taken a bite out of them, they aren't." Reasoning, even her reasoning, was golden and true. "It's a rule: The more bites you take of a cookie, the more ownership you have of said cookie."

"When you put it that way, it makes perfect sense." He took a bite of the cookie. "I have good cookies," he said around the baked goodness.

"You have delicious cookies," she corrected, popping the rest of it into her mouth.

"Is that innuendo?"

"If it is, it doesn't make a damn bit of sense."

"You have a milk mustache." Before she could wipe it off, he kissed her. It started out nice, but he deepened it, his hand coming up over her knee, opening the robe she wore as he traveled up. When his tongue probed, she opened for him. His hand slid over her hip. She tried to set the glass down, but missed the table. Good thing it was empty.

He continued to move. Up and up. Only stopping when he reached her breast, causing her to gasp into his mouth.

He broke the kiss, getting up on his knees. He grabbed her left leg under the knee pulled it up and swung it over his head, bringing her foot to rest on the back of the couch. He pulled his shirt over his head, tossed it across the room, and then untied the robe she wore, pushing it open. He took her left leg under the knee again, and hooked it over his shoulder and began to kissing her inner thigh.

"What about your ribs?" She managed to ask. She really was concerned. Honest, she was.

He just looked at her, his eyes deep and lust filled. His other hand gripped her other leg under the knee, using it to pull her forward, causing his lips to travel further down. His eyes never broke contact with hers.

Her butt was off the blasted couch, her weight resting on her back and shoulders. She was trying to stay quiet: Alfred was in the house somewhere and could come walking back in anytime. Bruce didn't seem to care, though, making her feel a little less fearful. A little. Not a lot.

Her cell chose that moment to ring. She ignored it. She ignored it right up until she heard a very nasal, beyond annoying, but familiar voice coming over it.

"Buffy! Pick up your bloody phone. You told me to call you, but only if it is very important. Well, it is. Come on, Slayer, you have to hear this. There is some badass demon in town, by the name of Fargre'an, and he just put a bounty on the Batman's head."