Returning to work after taking a week off is like getting slapped in the face with a brick: you can see it coming but there's no way to prepare for the shock to the system.
The mechanical doors open in sync as if the hallway beyond is a grand ballroom. It provides a different feeling after not seeing it for a week because I can sense goosebumps crawling up my spine at the excitement (and dread) of returning to the hustle and bustle of Gotham General. The mechanical beeps, hissing air from pressurized rooms, and chattering of physicians during rounds electrify me in an infectious, addicting way. I inhale the scent of chemicals through my mask and step through the door.
Mark, one of the SICU nurses I've gotten to know fist bumps me in passing, "Welcome back, Lurch."
"Hardy har har," I roll my eyes but hold up my fist anyway to accept his greeting. "I see our resident wackadoodle is up and running."
He snorts, turning to get a look at the Batman struggling to maneuver his way around a walker. "Not yet, thank god. But he's been more alert. He knows where he is and why he's here, but getting him to talk is like pulling teeth. He kinda just stares at you."
"Yeah, from what I hear that's his modus operandi."
Bruce is tall, I think as I pass him. He looks freshly washed, as none of the grease paint is visible through the eyeholes of the sheet anymore. He doesn't make any indication he recognizes me. I peek into his room to see if Selina or Alfred are here, but it's empty except for a barely picked-at tray of food at his bedside. Looks like his swallowing improved enough for rehab to advance his diet, which is a massive win in my book. I can't imagine not eating or drinking. I don't care if it all goes to my lungs, just give me coffee and cheesecake and I'll die happy.
The novelty of my first shift back wears off quickly. My night gets caught up in a code blue and a fight between a patient and visitor. Luckily, the detective and Martinez are on Bat-duty and can handle the drunken disorderly who snuck in earlier to see his ex-wife. The rush of it keeps me from getting distracted by the mustached cop who makes sure to give me a smile and an awkward half-wave every time he walks by. It's cute, I think, trying to hide my blush behind the computer screen.
It's at this time of my shift when the early hours of the morning turn me into a monotonous drone. My patients are fed, watered, drugged, and sufficiently alive to allow me a respite at the nursing station. I throw myself into the chair with a sigh and plop my head into my hands. Although my patient in question is no longer on life support, the pump-hiss of the neighboring ventilators creates a soothing wave of sound just enough to make my mind drift.
The yellow lights penetrate dimly through my eyelids as I sink into a light slumber. Maybe it's my deep desire to have complete darkness that brings it into being because for a blissful moment I think the lights went out.
I squint one eye open only to see blackness. The minimal lights in the ICU are coming from the emergency beams spread out along portions of the hallway, only enunciating the dingy quality of the hospital as if the old Arkham Asylum clawed its way into it this era. It's eerie. The checkered ceramic tiles of the walls are illuminated by the metal-grated lights casting shadows into every corner. Just gazing into them starts the prickling along the back of my neck.
My coworkers whisper to each other through their masks and I make eye contact with Mark from across the nursing station. A fire drill, I hear the nurse beside me say. But that doesn't make sense. Some blackouts are intentional, but they're usually during the daylight hours to test the emergency backup system for the hospital's machinery. But this… this was not that. I stand to get a look at my famous patient through the windows.
But the bed's empty.
My breath catches in my throat, and I stumble in my haste to get to his room. There's no way the Batman disappears under my supervision. If that man is gone I'm in deep shit, especially during whatever the fuck this is. With a quick push on the latch, I force my way in only to find Bruce standing deathly still in front of the door, his white gown and mask a striking image against the black backdrop of the old hospital. With intense eye contact, he slowly brings a finger to his mouth to either shush or calm me, I'm not sure which.
"What's going on?" I manage to get out between heavy breaths. He says nothing.
There's movement behind him. A woman dressed in all black with a mask poorly concealing her identity rushes by, whispering, "Get in the room and hide."
"What?"
With a huff and smacking of gum, Selina takes me by the hand and pulls me deeper into the room. "Where's his gear?" she jerks her head toward Bruce.
"Um… We have patient lockers in the nursing office. It's probably there."
"How do I get in?"
"You have to badge in–" My hospital ID disappears from my chest before I can finish my sentence. "Wait, Selina–"
"Stay here," she reiterates firmly and turns away. "Come on Vengeance, let's g–"
The white noise of the confused ICU populace eeks to a stop as the most blood-curdling cackle emerges from the intercom. The lights flicker. Everything is quiet except for the sinister gibbering echoing through the halls. My shallow breaths and the sound of blood whooshing through my ears deafen me to my thoughts.
I look out into the unit. Everyone is still, looking at each other with eyes wide, hands shaking. The laughter dissipates just long enough for me to believe that was it—just a quick scare. But before I can let out my breath, I realize Bruce and Selina are remaining stock still and alert. My heart rate doesn't seem to want to drop knowing that the two vigilantes in the room aren't appeased just yet. And rightly so.
The silence is replaced by heavy breathing and a gravelly yet hypocritically high-pitched voice, "Why hello there, Batsy. Can you come out to play?"