In the Emergency Room of Gotham General, it had been a surprisingly quiet evening. This, in and of itself, was not unusual—even a city as fucked up as Gotham had its slow nights—but that it was a slow night so close to Christmas was a little off. Usually there were a few auto accident victims (products of spectacularly poor judgment following an evening of over-indulgence at a holiday party), a few people on the losing end of an ongoing family feud, one or two heart attacks (the holidays were pretty damned stressful), a case or two of frostbitten homeless folks, and, of course, the obligatory failed suicide attempt. Just because the whole Christmas-being-the-peak-suicide-time had long since been debunked as an urban legend didn't mean that no one was miserable in December.
But tonight, none of that. Earlier, there had been a toddler with a high fever which had turned out to be an ear infection; an extremely overweight 30-year-old who was confident she was having a heart attack (she wasn't), as well as a few broken bones. But other than that, nothing.
At 9:30 PM, Janey did the rounds, checking on the patients and their various states of repair. She left her colleague Elia at the admissions desk, absently playing a game of solitaire.
The overweight woman was the only patient who required a prolonged bit of Janey's attention; she was depressed and in floods of tears. A few moments of sympathetic listening and a promise to refer her to a dietitian were as far as Janey could progress before her pager went off.
Code 99. In other words, Code Blue.
"'Bout damned time something happened around here," Janey muttered as she headed back to her station. Apparently, she wasn't the only one who felt this way; at least five other nurses and orderlies came out of the woodwork as well. They all converged in the admissions area which Janey had so recently left; now Elia was standing up, alert, prepared, and accompanied by the Head Nurse on the night shift, as well as the attending physician, Dr. Tulare. He was addressing them, collectively, now.
"Just got the call—EMTs are still about ten blocks out, but coming in fast. So far, one victim, female, early 30s—single gunshot wound to the abdomen. Massive blood loss, condition critical. First priority is a blood transfusion, but we'll need to get her into surgery immediately after. I've paged the night surgeon, he'll be down in a moment..."
It was then that Janey realized that the Head Nurse was beckoning to her. Still trying to listen to the doctor, Janey inched her way over to where she and Elia were standing.
"Janey, I'm taking you off of this one."
Confused, Janey glanced from the Head Nurse to Elia, who was looking uncharacteristically grim. "You're kidding, right? What did I do?"
"Nothing—you're fine. But I don't want you working this shift tonight. The victim that's coming in is one of the hospital's part-timers, and you're listed as her emergency contact. Janey, it's Annabeth."
"You're shitting me!" Janey saw a few of the orderlies glance over at her, and so lowered her voice before she continued. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Details are sketchy. We don't know much of anything yet. But I know this—you can't be objective. This is too close, too personal."
Elia was nodding in unhappy agreement with her supervisor.
"But you might want to stick around," the Head Nurse added. "Things aren't looking good." She turned back towards the physician, and after one stricken look, Elia did, too, leaving Janey to struggle with this sudden, horrible reality.
She was still trying to grasp the situation when she caught sight of a tall, older man coming through the doors of the ER. He looked strangely familiar...ah. Bruce Wayne's butler—Aloysius? Albert? Alfred?
"Alfred?" She blurted this without thinking, and again became aware that she had drawn the attention of her colleagues, but she was still too stunned to think properly. As the man looked over to her, Janey knew she had the name right. "You are Alfred, right?" Without thinking, she began to move towards him.
Recognition dawned upon him. "You're Janey, are you not? Miss de Burgh's friend?"
"Yes, I am. I work here. I guess...I guess you heard?"
"A little," Alfred confirmed. "How is she?"
"Don't know—she's not here yet. I'm freaking out here, I just found out." Janey glanced back at her colleagues; by that time, they were beginning to scatter to prepare and man their stations. "The EMTs should be coming in any time now." A thought occurred to Janey. "Where's Bruce? Isn't he with you?"
A valid question, Alfred thought unhappily. Where indeed? "Master Wayne had some other, pressing, obligations to which he had to attend, and he sent me here in his stead. He'll be along as soon as he can."
"Unbelievable." Janey turned away for a moment, and when she looked at Alfred again, the anger in her eyes was scorching. "Un-fucking-believable. You work for a worthless sack of scum, you know that? You are aware, aren't you, that your employer's future child is at risk? This isn't just Annabeth's life we're talking about, here."
Alfred didn't even bother to go on the defensive; nor did he take offense at her words. To the contrary, he had long since developed an amazingly thick skin and become adept at deflecting assaults aimed at Bruce Wayne through his affable butler. "All very good points, my dear, and perhaps it would beneficial to all parties if you pointed that out to the nice surgeon in charge over there?"
Glancing back over her shoulder, Janey saw that the night surgeon, Dr. Andrews, had arrived onto the scene and was now consulting with the Head Nurse. "You're absolutely right," she agreed. "And you should be the one to tell him."
Dammit. Bloody well figures. Alfred wasn't often outwitted or out-maneuvered, but he had to admit, Annabeth de Burgh's friend had temporarily given him a run for his money.
They caught up with the surgeon just as he was about to head off to inspect the operating theater. "Dr. Andrews?" Janey called softly.
"Yes, Nurse Lightoller?"
"A very quick moment of your time." She saw him about to protest, so she hastened to forestall him. "It's about Annabeth de Burgh, the woman you're about to save."
Dr. Andrews shook his head at what he clearly saw to be misplaced optimism. "Lightoller, I know she's your friend, and I'll do my best, but I can't make any-"
"Would you make any promises if I told you she was the fiancee of Bruce Wayne?" Even as the words popped out of her mouth, Janey was caught by surprise. Where the hell had that come from?"
Thankfully, Dr. Andrews didn't notice that she was bluffing. "Oh, shit." He looked away for a moment. "Anything else you care to share with me?"
"And that she's carrying the unborn heir to the Wayne family fortune?" This came from Alfred, who had quickly and successfully covered his surprise at Janey's outrageous lie.
"Fuck." Dr. Andrews stalked off abruptly, leaving Alfred and Janey alone and in suspense.
"Fiancee?" Alfred looked askance at Janey.
"It's about as accurate as 'heir to the Wayne family fortune,'" Janey retorted. "Figured it would have more cred than 'another one of Wayne's conquests.'"
Alfred had to admit she was right on that one. "And now what?"
"Now we just wait. And stay out of the way."
They didn't have long to wait for the next development. Annabeth de Burgh came into the Emergency Room less than five minutes later.
From where they sat in the slick, cold waiting room chairs, Alfred and Janey could hear the sirens approaching. Wisely, they stayed out of the way as the hospital staff began to scurry about. They stayed out of the way as the EMTs and the stretcher burst through the doors, and they stayed out of the way even as they saw Annabeth's deathly white face and the blood-soaked hands of the EMTs. They stayed out of the way as the medical staff and the stretcher bearing her disappeared behind the "Authorized Staff Only" doors.
Only as the swinging doors whispered shut did Janey have a blind moment of instinct. She moved into the direction of the doors behind which Annabeth was even now being treated, but Alfred's surprisingly firm hand on her forearm kept her from making that mistake. "Let them do their work, my dear," he said softly.
So they waited.
And waited.
And waited.
At one point, Janey shifted in her hard, uncomfortable seat and grimaced. "I am going to have so much more sympathy for the patients' families when they come in here from now on."
At another point, Alfred nearly dozed off. Janey watched in sympathy as his head sank lower and lower into his chest, until, suddenly, with a quick, in-drawn breath, he jerked completely awake again.
"If I were you, I'd ask for a bonus," Janey said. Her disapproval over Bruce Wayne's absence was still palpable. "What's Bruce playing at, sending you here?"
"He's a busy man." Alfred was studiously avoiding her gaze. He may have been an accomplished actor, but even he had to cringe in the face of such righteous indignation. "He will get here as soon as I can, I promise."
And they waited some more.
Two hours after Annabeth had gone into the ER, Janey checked her watch. "It's almost midnight. And no one's come out of there with news yet."
Alfred nodded, but he didn't respond. He knew that this was—relatively—a good thing. If no one had come out to tell anything to Janey, the emergency contact, well, it meant that they were still working on Annabeth. Small comfort, perhaps, but they'd take what they could get.
Not long after that, things began to happen.
First, Janey's boyfriend, Jason, burst into the Emergency Room. He had gotten Janey's text a while back, but his shift at the factory had just ended. He rushed directly to Janey and enveloped her in an enormous hug. "Any word?" he asked, his voice muffled in her hair.
"Nothing. Not yet," Janey told him as she untangled herself from Jason's arms. "I think they're still in surgery."
Jason eyed Alfred suspiciously. "Who's he?"
"Chill, Jason. It's...a friend of Bruce Wayne's." Janey didn't elaborate, and thankfully, Jason didn't ask her to. He simply stepped back and eyed Alfred for a moment, before he briefly nodded. "I guess he's alright then."
His slightly hostile nature didn't perturb Alfred in the slightest. He had gotten the measure of Annabeth long ago, and had thus assessed that Janey and Jason were her support network, the closest thing to family that she had—well, that she knew she had, at least.
The three of them settled back down into the waiting room, but they didn't have long to wait before the next stir alleviated the tension. Following the same path that Jason took, Maya hurried through the doors less than half an hour later.
"Jesus jumped-up Christ!" Jason ejaculated.
Even Alfred, seasoned as he was to the various injuries his employer had sustained, had to cringe as he beheld the battered woman in front of them. Maya was barely recognizable; her left eye was nearly swollen shut, her upper lit was split, and other bruises, angry and colorful, marched down the left side of her face.
Janey had met Maya a time or two before, but was having a difficult time ascertaining that her instincts were true. "You're...from Safe Haven, right? Mona?"
"Maya," Maya corrected. "And you're Janey? Annabeth's friend?"
Janey nodded reassuringly. "I am." She paused, considering the appropriate way to phrase her next words, and then gave up. "What the fuck happened to you?"
"I got off lucky." Maya glanced at Alfred and Jason questioningly, and Janey took the cue.
"This is my partner, Jason, and this is...Alfred. I guess he's Bruce's butler." Janey cast a frowning look at Alfred, who blithely ignored it.
Distracted as she was, Maya didn't notice the tension, but she did pick up on the omission. "Bruce's butler? But...where's Bruce?"
"A valid question," Janey remarked acidly.
"Master Wayne will be here shortly," Alfred said, sounding for all the world as though he were annoucing Master Wayne was only running late for his tee-off time.
Maya didn't look happy, but she didn't have a say in the matter. And as of a couple of hours prior, she had bigger problems. "Have you heard anything about Annabeth?"
Janey shook her head. "As clichéd as it is, right now no news is very good news." She studied Maya's facial injuries. "Have you gotten all of that treated?"
Shrugging it off, Maya snapped, "I'm fine." There were other things on her mind. "Did anyone tell you what happened? How Annabeth got shot?"
Janey and Jason shook their heads. Alfred remained discreetly quiet.
"Some of the Arrows mob got into the building tonight...they were looking for one of the clients. And they took us hostage, and there was this one guy...Seth, I think his name was..." Maya frowned as she recalled his icy stare. "He had it in for Donna and Annabeth both. I think he was just looking for a reason to hurt them. And then he started talking about some jacked-up shit about having married Donna, and I think he was trying to imply..." Here she drifted off. "The thing is, I don't know a lot about Annabeth's family or her life, so I can't say absolutely that it's not true."
"That what's not true?" Janey demanded.
"He said that...that Donna was Annabeth's mother."
Hardened Gotham natives though Janey and Jason were, this was not something that they encountered every day. Stunned, they stared at Maya for a moment. Only Alfred wasn't surprised; he had discovered as much during the course of the harrowing evening. But this was not something he could share with the people who were even now learning the truth behind Annabeth's past.
"I know it sounds crazy, but frankly, right now that's the least of my concerns." It was obvious that Maya was not having a great day. "That freak shot Annabeth to get to Donna, and then after the cops came in, someone shot Donna. She's dead, Annabeth is in christ only knows what condition, Safe Haven is a wreck, and I've got to find a way to handle the various women who are still desperate enough to still want to have anything to do with us." It sounded selfish, Maya knew, when considered against Donna's violent end and Annabeth's uncertain present, but she was facing a major crisis, the likes of which she had never encountered during her stint as Donna's assistant. "But I had to find out how Annabeth's doing."
"We don't know anything yet," Janey told her unhappily.
Just then, Maya's cell phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID, made an apologetic face at the group, and muffled her voice as she answered. "This is Maya..."
"Something tells me that she's now the de facto Director of Safe Haven," Jason observed to no one in particular. And no one answered him, because at that moment, Dr. Andrews emerged from the emergency theater. Janey and Jason instinctively joined hands, Alfred lifted his weary head, and Maya simply, silently hung up on whoever she had been speaking to.
They waited.
Dr. Andrews smiled, but his gaze was both weary and wary. "I think the worst might be behind us."
Maya let out a choked sound, but other than that, they remained silent.
"Your friend's a very lucky woman. Much longer, and she would have lost too much blood. As it was..." he stopped, then reconsidered his words. "Not only that, but the ammunition that hit her wasn't a hollow-point bullet. It was a full-metal-jacket bullet. I'm going to assume here that most of you don't know much about that, and that's fine—what you need to know is that a hollow-point bullet expands once it's in the body and can cause massive damage. And so, Annabeth got hit by a bullet which didn't destroy her insides, and more to the point, missed the major organs. We got the bleeding under control, removed the bullet from the abdominal tissue...she was in hemorrhagic shock, and her blood pressure dropped a couple of times, but it was remarkably straightforward."
"So she's alive?" This came from Jason.
"Alive, yes. For now, and hopefully for a very long time. If there's no infection, no sudden bleeding, she should be out of the woods in a day or two. She's heavily sedated, and they're moving her up to ICU. The next thirty-six hours are going to be the most critical."
Janey buried her head in Jason's chest and cried. Maya looked immeasurably relieved, but Alfred remained grave—mainly because Dr. Andrews did not have the expression of someone who had just performed a flawless surgery. And his next words only confirmed Alfred's caution.
"Janey, I still need to have a word with you in private."
Her joy instantaneously froze. "What is it?"
"Come with me, so we can talk."
Alfred, Jason, and Maya watched as the surgeon led Janey away. There was no time to speculate about his cryptic behavior, however, because just as they disappeared back into the staff area, the emergency room doors slid open, and Bruce Wayne rushed inside. Maya and Jason, in particular, took in his disheveled appearance as he glanced right and left, at first not seeing them. His shirt was untucked, his cashmere scarf had been draped carelessly around his neck, his coat was unbuttoned, and his hair was profoundly mussed; in short, he looked as far removed from his normal preppy appearance as one could possibly imagine. At least, this was what Maya thought. Jason would later observe to Janey, with much less charity, that it looked as though "Wayne just popped out of a whorehouse without bothering to get completely dressed."
In a way, he was right.
Bruce's eyes finally registered Maya, and he made a beeline for her. "Where is she? Where's Annabeth?"
In response, Maya smacked him, hard. It was a blow which cracked across the lobby and caught the attention of not only Alfred and Jason, but also Elia, still attending the check-in desk and trying not to stare in fascination.
"Where the hell were you?" Maya cried. "This whole godawful night, where the fuck were you?"
Bruce stared at her. Jason and Alfred tried to look deeply interested with their shoes
"I mean it, Bruce. Donna's dead, Safe Haven's completely in disarray, Annabeth's been in surgery...and we heard nothing from you. You claimed to take us on, you claimed a position of leadership...and then you disappeared." Tears were beginning to stream down Maya's bruised face, and then she fell entirely apart.
Blindly, Bruce pulled her to him and held her as she sobbed. Over the top of her head, however, he steadily met Alfred's gaze and raised a questioning eyebrow. Alfred shrugged.
"We're fucked, Bruce," Maya choked out from the depths of his hug.
"Shhh," he said. "We'll figure something out." He gently extracted her and got a good look at her face. "Christ, Maya, they did a number on you. What happened?"
"I don't know," Maya said. "I still don't know much. I don't suppose we'll learn anything for a while. But Annabeth..." she started to tear up again. "I think she'll be okay. But I don't know about Safe Haven. Things are pretty bad right now."
Bruce nodded. "Tell me what you know."
Before Maya could say anything more, Janey emerged back into the lobby. Whatever relief she had previously experienced had since vanished from her face, and in fact, she looked as though she had aged several years in several minutes. Even when she saw Bruce, there was no anger in her eyes—if anything, she only looked more defeated.
"Janey?" Bruce asked. "How is she?"
"She's..." Janey's voice cracked, and she seemed to lose her nerve for a moment. After a moment, she regained her composure. "The doctor says it looks promising. They got the bullet out, and there wasn't any organ damage. She's still under anesthesia, and they're taking her up to ICU right now."
Still, she looked profoundly unhappy. Devastated, even.
"Janey?" Bruce prompted.
She approached him, and the heart-wrenching pity in her eyes was answer enough. Gently, she placed a hand on his arm. "It...there was a lot of blood loss. Annabeth survived, and they think she should recover, but..."
He just stared at her for a moment, and Janey began to wonder if he had understood. "You know what I'm saying, right? Bruce, the baby miscarried."
She stood there, waiting for him to respond, to indicate that he had heard. And then when he finally answered, it was not the answer she was expecting.
"That's not possible." He said this almost angrily. "You're wrong."
Even Alfred looked surprised by this less-than-logical response.
"Bruce..." Janey tried to soothe him, but he wouldn't let her.
"You're wrong...people can't miscarry because of blood loss." Bruce's voice started to grow louder. "What the hell do you know? Why would the doctor tell you, anyway? Annabeth didn't miscarry. The baby is fine."
"No, Mr. Wayne, it's not."
Dr. Andrews had appeared again, no doubt summoned by Elia as soon as the commotion began. He gazed at Bruce with the practiced but rote sympathy of a professional who had done this many times before. "I told Janey in private, as she was the designated next of kin. Seeing as how she's chosen to tell you all, I'll explain the best I can. The baby miscarried because it was likely going to miscarry at some point. I'm not Annabeth's primary physician, but I've been made acquainted with her medical history, and from what I can see, her uterus was ultimately going to provide a hostile environment for any fetus. She was going to lose the baby—this might have been a catalyst, and so it happened sooner rather than later. Perhaps for the better."
The words were cutting enough, but delivered in such a clinical, detached tone only sharpened the blade that pierced the hearts of those who knew and loved Annabeth best. Janey stared at Dr. Andrews in amazement, and for a moment, Bruce did too. And then his face twisted with an expression which could only be described as an ugly, primal rage. Alfred moved towards him, a restraining hand outstretched, but as quickly as the rage came upon Bruce, it left once more, leaving in its wake a face sculpted from ice.
"Dr. Andrews," he said grimly, "I'm so pleased to see she had such a stellar surgeon to guide her through this unscathed. So nice to see how much you value every human life."
For a moment, Dr. Andrews stared at Bruce, attempting to gauge the amount of sarcasm in his words, but Bruce's uncompromising gaze gave nothing away, and so, finally, the doctor gave an abrupt nod, choosing to ignore whatever irony there was in the air. "I'll let you know when we have her settled into a room in ICU."
After the doctor departed, leaving behind him the worst news, letting it wreak havoc in the world of so many, what was there to do? Dumbly, Alfred and Bruce stared at each other; in all that they had faced, all that they had prepared for and battled against, this was something entirely, altogether new, a strange grief. Janey and Jason simply embraced and drew comfort from each other, even as they contemplated the loss that Annabeth would face when she emerged from the anesthesia. And Maya simply stood, uncomprehending, as she struggled to come to terms with this latest piece of information.
And then, once more, her phone rang. She glanced down at it, in confusion, and then her expression cleared. "I think it's the Gotham PD. I've got to take this."
She stepped outside, and it was as if a spell had been broken. Hateful, harsh reality descended on them all once more. Annabeth and Bruce had lost the baby they had barely begun to expect, Donna was dead, and Maya was struggling to keep Safe Haven from falling to pieces. There was still business to be done. Numbly, Bruce followed Maya outside, not only to see what he could help with, but to distract himself from the frightening, yawning grief that had unexpectedly taken root within.
Only Bruce was awake and waiting when Annabeth finally emerged from the anesthesia.
In her status as surrogate sister and BFF, Janey had co-opted the seat closest to Annabeth's bed. She had finally fallen asleep around two that morning, her head drooping in snoring defeat as she succumbed to exhaustion. By the time that Annabeth began to stir, Janey was in a deep, peaceful sleep, a quiet place untouched by the worries that had sent her to sleep to begin with. Bruce had seated himself further away, in the corner, but what he lacked in proximity he made up for in vigilance. As Janey sawed gently away, and the machines surrounding Annabeth beeped on, Bruce sat silently, unhappily accompanied by only his morose thoughts and his watchfulness.
And so, fittingly, it was Bruce who was awake and ready to accompany Annabeth as she slowly began the struggle back to wakefulness. It was Bruce who was immediately there by her bed, grasping her hand, and it was Bruce who Annabeth first saw when she opened her eyes. It was Bruce who was there to offer her the guidance she needed to confront this brave new world of fresh disappointment and heartbreak.
Behind Bruce, Janey slumbered on.
"Bruce?"
Her voice sounded small and frightened, but her eyes were clear.
"Hey," he said softly, leaning against the bedrails. "How are you feeling?"
For a moment, it looked as though she was struggling to speak. She tried once, and her voice came out a raspy croak. She swallowed and tried again, and this time, her voice was surprisingly strong. "I feel as shitty as you look." It was true, too—she felt like hell, but Bruce certainly looked like it. The shadows under his eyes were sharper than she had ever seen them before. He hadn't shaved in almost a day, and the stubble was beginning to show. "Am I...I must be in the hospital."
"You are."
"Figured I'd end up here eventually." This was the last bravado Annabeth could spare; as she became more fully awake, reality began to rush back. And so did her memories of the nightmare that had unfolded. She began to struggle to haul herself into a sitting position. "What happened? Safe Haven—Bruce, what happened?" Her breath caught as a searing pain tore through her stomach. "Oh jesus."
"Annabeth...stop. Please." With deliberate calmness, Bruce placed his hands on her shoulders and began to press her back down into the bed. "You've been shot, which you know. You're going to be fine, I promise. I've got a doctor, an old friend, coming in tomorrow to help. And I'm going to stay here with you...but they'll make me leave you if you get upset. I really don't want that to happen." His hands moved from her shoulders up to her head as he gently stroked her hair. "Come on. Breathe slowly...breathe..."
Behind him, he heard Janey finally begin to stir to wakefulness. She got up and placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed once, gently, before ducking out of the room, presumably to get the doctor.
Now Bruce and Annabeth were completely alone. He watched her, lying still on the hospital bed, pale, so dwarfed by the machines which loomed around her tiny frame. And, gathering from the pinched look around her mouth, she was still in some pain. "Bruce?"
"I'm still here," he said. "I'm not going anywhere."
"I need to know..." She opened her eyes, and though the pain was evident, they burned as intensely as ever. "The anesthesia...when they put me under, I didn't say anything? Anything that could get anyone into trouble?"
He knew exactly what she was referring to. "No one knows anything. You didn't breathe a word." He didn't know that, actually, but Alfred hadn't reported any federal agents paying the Manor an unannounced visit, or gathering to arrest him in the waiting room, and so he assumed Annabeth had remained circumspect, even when in the throes of whatever anesthesia or pain medication they had given her. And even if she had inadvertently revealed something, he would never let her know. Whatever words would keep her calm, keep her healing, he would say. "You didn't say anything."
Even as he was reassuring her, utter admiration was creeping into his mind. She had been traumatized, shot at, brought near to death, she was about to be given some truly horrible news—and one of her first questions was to inquire about Bruce's "work." Up until now, he had never truly realized the extent to which Annabeth was a very formidable partner. The kind of partner he would do well to have by his side, in both work and life.
"I know how this works, Bruce." Annabeth's voice broke into his thoughts. "All the damned doctors and nurses will be in here before too much longer. And they're not going to tell me anything, not yet. They're going to say 'stay calm' and 'try to rest.' So I'm going to ask you, and I need for you to tell me, because it's my right to know what happened. So tell me."
Bruce had gone into many situations that had required a great deal of courage—or an equal amount of stupidity—but into no situation had he gone with the same kind of dread which was now so powerfully pulling down his soul. "Percival shot you...and you lost a lot of blood. The bullet lodged in your abdomen, but it didn't damage any organs, which was damned lucky. If we can keep infection at bay, you should be fine." He tried to smile encouragingly, but he was horribly aware of how fake and hollow the smile was. "I'm sure Seth Percival is supremely annoyed right now."
Annabeth wasn't fooled, and Bruce's obvious avoidance set off some warning alarms. "What about the baby?" Her voice became smaller, afraid. "Bruce? Our baby?"
Up until that point, Bruce had held it together like a pro—like the Batman. But as Annabeth gazed up at him, her eyes already knowing the news he was about to give her, he finally, nearly lost it. "Annabeth...the baby...our baby didn't make it."
For one brief moment, grief overcame his efforts to remain calm and stoic, and to his dismay, he began to feel the stinging of tears—of sorrow, of anger, of desolation, as much for himself as for Annabeth—assaulting eyes.
It was the sight of the tears that helped Annabeth to stifle her natural reaction. The pain was growing greater, but it was a boon in that it sharpened her focus, brought her to utter alertness. Bruce was near tears, and there was a howling grief within her soul, just waiting for her to acknowledge it and give it free reign to run rampant, unleashing the bitter sobs that she was even now struggling to hold back.
Not now.
She nodded grimly. "I thought as much. There's pain...down there, and I figured that was why." Keep it together, de Burgh. Keep it together for Bruce.She knew, instinctively, that he did not want to cry. Tears were useless to him. Action was the only thing that would help. And so she resolved to make every effort to hide her own tears; burdening him with her pain was too much to ask. She summoned up all of her remaining strength and wits and began to speak again. This time her voice was lower, as fatigue was beginning to overcome her. Bruce had to lean in close to hear what she was saying. "What's that? What are you saying?"
After a moment, her words registered. "Don't cry. Don't you dare cry. If you cry, we're all fucked."
Astonishment made him jerk back for a moment, and drove back the tears, as well as the awareness of them lurking. Was that humor? Sure enough, a tiny, brittle smile was playing at Annabeth's lips. "Seriously. Real Batmen don't cry."
Suddenly, his hands grasped hers once more, and together they held tight as though an unseen force was just beyond the bed, waiting to try to tear them away.
That was how Dr. Andrews and Janey found them—silent, holding hands, each one with an expression of agonized determination on their face. For Janey, it was heartbreaking to watch: she could see, instantly, that each of them were determined not to burden the other with their pain. For Dr. Andrews, there was no such perceptive sensitivity. He was utterly oblivious or utterly indifferent, and he bustled in, the picture of rude health and ruder emotions. "Miss de Burgh! So glad to see you decided to wake up." He glanced at Bruce and Janey. "I'm going to examine her, and if she seems up to it, once I'm done you can both come back."
They recognized it as the dismissal it was, and Janey, better versed the medical arrogance of Dr. Andrews, gently took Bruce's arm. "Let's go tell Alfred the good news."
After one long, unhappy glance back at Annabeth, Bruce allowed himself to be pried away. He remained stoic and quiet as they emerged back into the hallway, and he stayed that way until they had made their way halfway down the hall. And then, abruptly, Bruce tore away from Janey and started back up the hall.
"Bruce!" Janey hissed, taken aback. "What the fuck are you doing?" She took off after him and grabbed on to his arm. "Come away...come on."
He shook her off with a violent force that took her by surprise, and when he looked at her, Janey had the strange sensation that he didn't see her at all. His eyes were...not wild. Rather, they were narrow, focused, and icy with rage.
And then he blindly punched the wall.
"Bruce." Janey moved in front of him, praying that that she didn't resemble another wall. "You're in an ICU word, goddammit. Pull yourself together." She noted that suddenly, he was breathing quite heavily, as though he has just finished running a marathon. And then he reached out a hand to steady himself against the wall he had just tried to pulverize, and she saw that his arm was shaking. Coming down from an adrenaline high, she realized. As far as she could tell, he hadn't slept at all. "Come on," she said again, this time with infinite gentleness. "Let the doctor do what he needs to do."
"That piece of shit?" Bruce's face twisted into a grimace of pained disgust, and he didn't even notice the surprised look cross Janey's face. "He's an arrogant asshole. You see how he acts, hell, you work with him. Think about Annabeth—you think he has tact or compassion?" Again, he started to move back down the hall, but Janey's voice stopped him.
"I don't think he does, no, but right now, I'm not sure about you, either." Janey could say what needed to be said to her best friend, and she was quite happy to extend the same courtesy to her best friend's lover—or whatever the hell he is, she mentally added. "I can only imagine how she's doing...or how you're doing, for that matter. But going in there while you're in this state is only going to hurt her. I saw how you were when you came out of there—collected and calm. We need for you to be that way again."
Bruce's breathing began to slow down as he stared down at her. "Why does it always have to be like this?"
It was an odd question, coming from him. But once again, Janey had the sensation that he was not seeing her, and that he had not asked that question of her at all. Still, there was nobody else around... "I don't know, Bruce. I sure as hell don't know."
They made their way back to the waiting room, where by now, only Alfred was waiting. Jason had returned home to get some sleep, and Maya had retreated as well, presumably to rest up before she began the struggle of restoring a semblance of order to Safe Haven. But there Alfred was, as vigilant as Bruce in his own way, wide awake and sweetly anxious. "What is it?"
"She's awake," Bruce said bleakly. "The doctor's with her now."
"Oh dear," was Alfred's faint reply. "That is unfortunate."
They didn't have long to wait before Dr. Andrews came to them. He smiled cheerfully at them. "All is well. Her vital signs are surprisingly strong. She should be as good as new in no time, if she's as tough as her reputation claims. Anyway, she's wide awake now. Could probably use some company." With that, he was off again, presumably to impart barbed information to other patients and their families.
"I am seriously beginning to think that man is a sociopath," Bruce muttered.
"Ivy League reject, I think." Janey glanced at Alfred. "Did you want to see Annabeth?"
Alfred glanced at Bruce, but Janey gave a slight, sharp shake of her head. "I know Annabeth wants to see you, Alfred. Room 1208, on the left."
So the older man left Bruce and Janey taking their seats in the waiting room, And he didn't see as Bruce tilted his head back and gazed up at a ceiling which held no answers, and as Janey buried her head in her hands and finally gave vent to the sorrow she had held at bay for too long.
We all love Annabeth, Alfred thought once more. Each of us, in our own way, love her.
This thought accompanied him as he approached her room, and as he came to the door, he listened carefully.
And heard nothing.
Softly, he knocked. There was no answer, so he knocked again. There was still no answer. Briefly, Alfred thought of Master Bruce, out in the waiting room, but then decided not to fetch him. It was entirely possible—in fact, rather likely—that Annabeth wouldn't want to see Bruce again, so soon, and that Bruce needed at least a moment to gather his wits. Hesitantly at first, and then with growing surety, he pushed her door in and entered.
Her bed faced the door, and so he saw Annabeth right away. And she was wide-awake, staring at the ceiling in much the same way that Alfred had last seen Bruce doing. She didn't even acknowledge his presence.
Alfred wasn't sure whether to be flattered or insulted. But it isn't about me, he pointed out to himself. And then walked over to the hospital bed to offer what paltry comfort he could. For whatever reason, perhaps not even known to themselves, Bruce and Annabeth were not yet able to comfort each other, perhaps because neither was willing to show to the other the extent of their pain. And quite possibly, they weren't ready to show anyone else, either.
Sometimes I think they're a little too perfect for each other.