Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Batman universe.
The months slip over me like a river of silk, leaving only faint memories on my skin of cold needles and Bruce's hand in mine. There are shocking flashes of pain, rips in the silk, baring open the extent of my love. But after two months of time lost quickly, Dr. Miller releases me.
Bruce sneaks me away in the dead of night, wrapping me in thick blankets and depositing me in a wheelchair for the trip outside. Outside, I haven't been outside in two months. The realization shakes me and it feels as if my soul is trying to rip itself away from this revolting body. Two months without wind in my hair, two months without pure sunlight on my face.
As we near the automatic doors, my fingers, lying dead for two months and now back with a vengeance, slam the brakes down on the wheels, throwing me out of the chair. Bruce yelps, and rushes to pick me up, but I have not fallen to my knees yet. I stand, shakily pushing his hands off my shoulders, and determinedly walk through the doors, collapsing in the Rolls Royce that waits at the edge of the sidewalk.
Bruce walks around, sits down next to me, and nods to Alfred. "I'm not amused," he says, looking straight ahead.
"Me neither," I sigh, sinking further down in the seat.
"This is going to be harder than I thought, isn't it?"
"Pro'ly." A yawn forces itself out.
"Please," Bruce turns to look at me, "just listen to me. It's going to be a long time before you're yourself again and you can't exert yourself too soon or all your progress will be lost."
"Progress?" spitfire stirs in me, a good sign surely, "You call this progress? I haven't taken more than twenty steps in two months. I can't even use the bathroom by myself."
"You're better than you were at the start of those two months," Bruce says softly.
"I didn't need all those surgeries, all that medicine," I strain to sit up, my body as weak as a newborn's.
"That's bullshit, and you know it. You would've died."
"I do know. And it's not bullshit." Bruce gapes at me, but cannot force out any more argument. Alfred sits stonily listening in the driver's seat, his knuckles white in the dark.
"Did you … not want to live?" Bruce asks quietly, his energy suddenly as depleted as mine.
"Not like this," I regret the words the instant I say them, for Bruce's face scrunches up, and I can see a little boy in there, crying for his parents, hearing things he wished he never would. "Sorry. Just tired," I fake a quick yawn for him, and settle my head on his shoulder. Mechanically, he wraps his arm around me.
I wake up in an unfamiliar room. For a moment, I believe that last night was a dream, and that I'm back in the hospital. One wall is windows though, the sun streaming across me, and the city sparkling as well as it knows how outside. I recognize the place as Bruce's penthouse. Alfred bustles in, just like he used to, only this time with more wrinkles.
"Good morning, Ms. Breezy. Can I interest you in any breakfast? An omelet, perhaps?" he asks, pulling the covers down and holding out his arm to help me. I ignore it, too stubborn to accept his help.
After I slowly make my way to my feet, my face splits in a wide grin, "You're the best, Al."
He just smiles, no reprimands or anything. He must've really missed me.
As he leaves, I stretch my arms up as high as they'll go, my repaired ribs screaming in protest. My legs jerk towards the door, and my face tenses in concentration. Hello, you're just walking, my brain yells at my body. Bruce enters and holds his arm out for me just like Alfred did. I straighten completely, and stroll past him, only giving myself away with a slight wince. I can see Bruce shaking his head in my peripherals.
I literally inhale Alfred's omelet and bacon, stopping only to take sips of milk.
"I employed a personal trainer to help you," Bruce announces. I practically spit out my food and shake my head vehemently at him.
"Yes," he replies, "Don't worry." I roll my eyes.
"Just do this. Please?"
I swallow the lump of egg and frustration, and say "No."
"Yes."
"I don't need a personal trainer. I'm my own personal trainer, remember?"
"Please, Breezy. This man will really help you if you give him the time," Bruce says.
"I don't have the time," I mutter.
"What?" Bruce glares intently at me, his eyes burning.
"Nothing," I take another monster bite to avoid more talk. Bruce lets the conversation drop, but he's still full of suspicion. After breakfast, I ask Bruce to take me to Wayne Manor. He looks unsure, but I convince him it's because I want to salvage for any of my belongings that might have survived the fire.
There is nothing but ashes, mere shadows of the great mansion. We get out of the car, and Alfred kills the engine. "Be careful," Bruce tells me. I nod.
Alfred shadows my every movement as we scour the ruins, most definitely on Bruce's orders. After an unsuccessful hour, and much annoyance because of Alfred's behavior on my part, I gather the courage. Bruce doesn't need to protect me, I don't want him to, and he needs to learn that before he pushes anything else on me. Let's see Alfred follow me here.
I break into a wobbly run, and explode into the sky. I can hear Bruce yelling for me on the ground, and I ignore him happily. My wings are stiff with under-use, but they hold me aloft. A stream of wind catches me, and I am off above the trees. I tire quickly though, and spiral to the ground. My landing ruins the whole show. My legs buckle underneath me, and I collapse on the ground, covering myself in soot.
Even though the landing was much less than satisfactory, I grin as I pop to my feet.
Bruce, however, is not grinning. "What the HELL do you think you're doing?" he yells, sweeping over the mountains of ash like the Ares, the Roman god of war.
"Going for a little flight. I figured I couldn't do it in the city," I shrug.
"Never again!" Bruce rubs his hand over his face, trying to scrape the stress away.
"Never again?" My hands orbit to my hips.
"Not until you're healthy!" Bruce revises.
"I'll do what I want …" I sneer the ultimate motto of rebellion.
"Not. Until. You're. Healthy," Bruce growls.
"When I want," I finish with a glare.
"Don't do this to me, Breezy!"
"What?! Why do you care anyway?" I explode.
"Why ... "Bruce mutters angrily, and then responds, "How could I not?"
"Don't lie to me. You're just doing this out of pity. Well, drop it," I know it's true. It's true.
"You don't know what you're taking about!" Bruce cries, and then says quietly, "How can you think that I don't care for you anymore? After all that happened?"
"Who could?" I cross my arms across my chest resolutely, guarding my heart.
"I could, Breezy, I could," Bruce takes a step nearer to me, and I take one back.
"Just stop it!" I scream, my lungs squeezing the last bit of air out and my voice squealing on the last word. "Stop trying to protect me, stop suffocating me, just stop caring about me!"
Bruce is silent for a few moments, and then he whispers, "Why're you doin' this?"
"It has to be done," I respond mechanically.
"No, it doesn't."
"It's the best way."
Bruce shakes his head, angry again, "Have you ever tried letting anyone in, Breezy? Are you even capable?"
"No. I can't be that confined, Bruce. I can't be that vulnerable."
"You only focus on what you can't be. What about what you can be?" Bruce holds his hands out to me, and the mood around us morphs, and I can feel that we are no longer strictly talking about my own fear of commitment.
"I can be weaker," I say bluntly.
"It's not weakness, to love someone," Bruce says, but the tone of his voice is much more begging than assertive.
"Yeah it is. It's weakness to let someone in so close that anything they do will hurt you. It's weakness to allow them to be hurt, and by doing so hurt yourself," the words tumble unknowingly from my mouth.
"No, it can't be that way."
"It is. I'm sorry, Bruce. It should have never gotten this far. I knew from the beginning that this was set up to fail." I hate to break him like this, but it needs to be done. After what happened to me and the way he reacted to it, I could not let myself be in the way again. I refuse to be his weakness, and I pray to God that he figures it out eventually. Leading the life he does, he can afford no more weaknesses.