The snowstorm that had blown through on Christmas Eve had passed, considerately dumping only a little snow on the ground. Within hours, the snowplows had made their way through the streets, banking the snow up almost onto the sidewalks. The temperature plummeted, however, and the frigid temperatures ensured that the snow didn't melt—only turned a nasty, dingy grey as the hours and then days slipped past.
Fitting, really, Bruce thought to himself as he strolled past one such dirty snowbank. The embodiment of Gotham. Perfect backdrop.
Normally he didn't dally about on the streets too much. He preferred to take one of his cars and maintain a necessarily flashy presence around town. But on the morning of the 27th, he had decided to take a walk and explore the route that the rally would follow: from the gates of Gotham University, a mile and a half through the city, to the front steps of City Hall. He had no reason to believe that anything dangerous or risky would develop, but he had been in the Batman business long enough to prepare for the unexpected. So he walked slowly, keeping an eye out for any potential danger areas, any suspicious lurkers.
So far, nothing. He passed a few dozen cops erecting the barriers to mark off the parade route; a few curious onlookers, and a few more homeless people who were completely oblivious. Other than that—nothing. With any luck, it would remain that way.
At City Hall, the stage, the podium, and the sound system were being erected, all under the watchful eye of the Events Director of the Wayne Foundation. There was a rather large contingent of security officers—privately employed through same said Foundation, of course—swarming the parameter, occasionally speaking with a bemused Commissioner Gordon. Perhaps the security was unnecessary, but again—Bruce wasn't willing to take risks with anyone's life but his own.
Satisfied that all was well and quiet, he turned and headed for the nearest cab queue. It was time to head back to the hospital, and back to Annabeth.
All was not well and quiet at the hospital. Annabeth was in rare form—fretful, moody, and not at all pleasant to be around. Judging by her sharp tongue, she was either feeling much better, or much worse.
"Why the hell do you keep turning up? Don't you have some sort of apocalypse to divert?" she snapped when he appeared in the doorway of her room. She glanced over at Alfred, who was sitting beside her bed, his face arranged in a blandly amiable expression. "For that matter, why the hell do you stick around all the time? It's creepy. Wherever Bruce is, there you are. Don't you have a life of your own?" Without waiting for either of them to respond, she sank back down into the pillow and gazed up at the ceiling.
Bruce cocked a questioning eye at Alfred, who only shrugged noncommittally and rose. "I'll be back momentarily, Miss Annabeth."
"Whatever."
Alfred quietly rose from his seat and moved to stand by Bruce. "To the corridor, Master Wayne," he murmured.
Out in the corridor, the harsh lights illuminated the tired lines and sleeplessness that were evident on Alfred's kind face. Bruce felt a brief stab of guilt, but forced himself to tamp it down. One disaster at a time. "Annabeth seems...feisty."
"She is." Alfred glanced back into the room for a moment. "The nurse came in to take her vitals this morning, and she said that Annabeth had an elevated temperature. They paged Dr. Thompkins about ten minutes ago, and she's on her way. Miss Annabeth's a bit...cranky this morning, and I suspect that she's in pain and not wanting to admit it."
Bruce was already heading back into Annabeth's room, leaving Alfred talking to empty air.
Less than fifteen minutes later, Leslie turned up, bursting with energy and concern. She saw Alfred sitting in the corridor, gave a brief nod and a briefer smile, and headed straight into the room. Bruce was sitting in the chair that Alfred had so recently vacated, and Annabeth was either asleep or studiously ignoring him. Alfred heard Leslie's cheerful voice saying, "What's this, then?" as the door shut behind her.
All around him, the hospital bustled; nurses and orderlies and interns and doctors intent on their work, family members distracted by their concerns for the patients in various states of living or dying. And Alfred paid them no attention to them at all. His mind was in several places at once: with Annabeth and Bruce and Leslie in the hospital room; with the impending rally, with Gotham and all her obligations and concerns. It never once occurred to him that he had taken on Bruce's burden as his own.
"...Alfred?"
He came out of his reverie to find Maya standing over him, and right behind her, the figures of Commissioner Gordon and his daughter, the much-talked-of Barbara Gordon, Jr. At least, Alfred guessed the tall, gangly woman was Barbara; with her punk haircut, various piercings, and the hint of a tattoo creeping up her neck, Alfred couldn't see that it could be anyone else.
"What are you doing out here, Alfred?" Maya asked. She glanced at the closed door.
"Dr. Thompkins is in with her right now." Alfred attempted to arrange his face into a reassuring expression, but it wasn't convincing enough for Maya, whose instincts had been sharpened from her time of working at Safe Haven.
"What's wrong, Alfred?"
Behind her, Gordon and his daughter became more alert. Aware of this, Alfred tried to appear unconcerned while remaining honest. "Oh, nothing much, I daresay, dear. Try not to worry overly much."
"You don't do that unconcerned thing very well, Alfred." Maya shook her head. "But I appreciate your discretion." She remembered her diplomacy skills and glanced back at the Commissioner. "Have you met Commissioner Gordon?"
"I believe we have met, actually," Gordon said, taking charge. "At a fundraiser, a month or two back. You're an associate of Bruce Wayne's, yes?"
"The family butler." Alfred confirmed this readily, recognizing and respecting the authority that Gordon exuded. "I've been with the Waynes for decades. And you're here because...?"
Gordon recognized the prompt. "I'm here to see Annabeth de Burgh—to see how she was doing, et cetera. I didn't want to come too soon, thought it would be good to give her some time to recover. How is she doing?"
Alfred wasn't sure how to respond to this question, considering as how he was as much in the dark as anyone else, but by an unusual stroke of good timing, he was saved from having to answer. Just then, the door opened, and Bruce slipped out of her room. He blinked in momentary surprise as he took in the increased number of visitors, but after a moment, he nodded in recognition. "Commissioner."
"Mr. Wayne." The two men exchanged the requisite hearty handshakes, and then Gordon got down to business. "I thought I would stop by to visit Miss de Burgh before I headed downtown to prepare for the rally." He glanced back at Barbara. "And my daughter wanted to come as well. Miss de Burgh made quite an impression on her before..everything."
"Now's not the best time," Bruce told them. "Her doctor's with her right now—"
"What's wrong?" Maya demanded.
"Nothing too much," added the unperturbed voice of Dr. Thompkins. She had slipped into the corridor unnoticed. "Her temperature's a little bit elevated, and it looks like her body's trying to fight off a little bit of an infection. I've given her a mild sedative, and I'm putting her on a course of antibiotics. She'll be fine..." She quirked an eyebrow in amusement as Bruce abruptly disappeared back into the hospital room. "I'll be around all day, keeping an eye on things. In the meantime, I'm going to consult with the nurses."
She left them in various states of concern and preoccupation. Maya and Gordon particularly were anxious—in a day already fraught with anxieties and potential complications, this was a most unhappy development. "We need to leave for the rally," Gordon remarked to no one in particular. "Sooner, rather than later. It can't exactly happen, now, without Wayne."
Alfred considered the situation. "I have an idea—Maya, my dear, would you go in and attempt to convince Master Wayne to leave with the Commissioner?"
"Sure—although I don't think he's going to listen to me."
"Dear girl, he's spent the last week trying to get you to take on the mantle of leadership...have you learned nothing?" Alfred gave her an encouraging smile and nudged her to the door of Annabeth's room. "I'm going to see if I can track down Janey."
A nurse happened to be passing by at that moment, and she was fortunately one of the ones who had the presence of mind to stay on the good side of the VIP clients. "I'll page her."
"What are you going to do?" Barbara asked. It was the first time she had actually spoken up.
"It's what you're going to do, if you are amenable, my dear," Alfred said. "Would you care to spend a little time here at the hospital today?"
Barbara had intended to go along to the rally; it appealed to her decidedly feminist and admittedly ball-busting nature. But she had grown up in an environment where public service was not merely a job, but a way of life, and she went where she was needed. "Sure, I can stick around."
"I don't want her here."
Three sets of eyes swiveled around in surprise to take in the stern visage of Bruce, who once again had emerged from Annabeth's room, Maya right behind him.
"A little early in the game to take a dislike to me, don't you think?" Barbara pointed out. "Have we even been officially introduced?"
"A valid point, Miss Gordon," Alfred said, smoothly covering for Bruce. "I believe Master Wayne is simply concerned about Annabeth awakening to strangers rather than familiar faces. Isn't this correct, sir?"
"Exactly, Alfred," Bruce agreed. He had remembered, almost too late, that the only time he had met—and had been given reason to dislike—Barbara Gordon had been when she was interfering with his "work" as the Batman. "I apologize for being so abrupt. It's been a stressful time. I'm Bruce Wayne, and you must be Barbara Gordon."
"That's who I am most of the time," Barbara smiled enigmatically. "I'm sorry things have been so difficult. I actually came along with my father today to offer my help—I met Annabeth just the once, but I quite liked her. I'd be happy to stay with her, and I promise I won't be too bad of an influence."
Thus, Bruce's sudden and short-lived rudeness was swept away, forgotten by most. Janey turned up just then, adding a welcome distraction, and so everyone focused back on Annabeth and the unexpected complications.
"You don't want to leave her," Janey instantly divined. "She's a little sick, and you don't like leaving her."
"Pretty much," Bruce agreed.
"Tough shit." Janey saw his surprise and shrugged. "For some crazy-ass reason, my best friend likes you, rather a lot. She approves of you. You really think she'd forgive you if you ditch this? You're in her inner circle, that means you have to meet her expectations and standards. And that means Gotham always comes first."
Alfred had to turn away to hide the uncharacteristic smirk that he felt trying to creep its way onto its face. Usually, telling Bruce Wayne that Gotham came first was like reminding an Islamic terrorist to praise Allah. But apparently, in the wake of the events of the week, Bruce had temporarily lost track of his commitment to the city.
What was most disturbing—Alfred wasn't at all sure that was a bad thing.
Still, the wake-up call had come. The irony of Janey's mini dressing-down had the necessary effect upon Bruce, and he nodded. "You're right."
Gordon and Maya breathed tiny sighs of relief.
"I'll be here with Annabeth all day," Janey promised.
"So will I." The grin that Barbara flashed at Janey was both impish and conspiratorial. "We have things well in hand, so I think it's time for you all to get moving, yeah?"
Still, Bruce didn't look happy. But he saw how anxious Maya was, and he saw Janey's reassuring nod. Most comfortingly, he remembered Leslie,who was no doubt raising hell and demanding a troop of nurses to be stationed right outside the door.
"She'll be fine, Master Wayne. It's just an infection—it does happen. Let her rest and she'll be back on track soon." Alfred did his best to sound reassuring. "All will be well."
He was only partly right. Annabeth would recover physically, that much he knew, but it was far too soon to say what effect the strange and painful tragedies of the past week would have on her. Still, not something to think on just yet, he reminded himself as he ushered Bruce, Maya, and Gordon down the hallway. He glanced back at Janey and Barbara; the two women were already heading back into Annabeth's room. Really, what worry was there? She might not be aware of it, but Annabeth had a devoted team of people who were rallying around. The thing that tugged most at Alfred's heart was the knowledge that Bruce Wayne had so few.
There were still a few hours to go before the events of the day commenced, but there was plenty to do. There were officials to meet, sound systems and microphones to check, speeches to practice, agendas and schedules to review. Gordon was immediately caught up into these preparations, and had to leave them. But in the warm, well-equipped City Hall Conference Room where they had been ensconced, Bruce and Maya had a view of the goings-on on the street below.
Every now and then an aide would pop in, solicitously inquiring if they had all they required, and could she get them anything to drink? But other than that, they were left to their own devices, which for Maya mainly meant pacing the room, and for Bruce, meant watching her.
"Calm down," he advised at one point. "By the end of the evening, this will all be over. And you'll realize that everything went well, due in no small part to yourself."
Maya felt herself, inexplicably, goaded out of her typically mellow good-humor. "Easy for you to say, Bruce. You're pretty much a celebrity in this town—how many of these kind of events have you organized?"
"Well, none." Bruce saw her look of amazement and extrapolated. "Mainly because up until recently my philanthropy was from a distance, a lot more hands-off." He ignored the suggestive smirk that immediately danced its irreverent way across Maya's lips, and plunged on. "And even I were to get involved in something like this, I'd outsource it to someone in the Wayne Foundation."
"Of course." Maya rolled her eyes and resumed her pacing. "What if no one shows up? Can you imagine how humiliating that would be?"
"I don't think that's going to be an issue." More to amuse himself and bait Maya than anything else, Bruce had decided to slip back into his indolent playboy demeanor. It was almost refreshing. "I mean, Gotham enjoys a good spectacle. And I think Vicki Vale ran a piece in the Gazette about it this morning. So you should find something else to worry about."
Maya rolled her eyes in a manner which confirmed that she had spent far too much time being trained by Annabeth, back when Safe Haven was a functioning halfway house. However, he didn't have the opportunity to follow this up, as Maya abruptly ceased her pacing and ground to a halt in front of one of the windows overlooking the steps of the City Hall. "Oh, shit."
Something in her tone told Bruce to actually pay attention, and he joined her at the window. In an unusual display of vulgarity, he felt compelled to agree. "Oh, shit."
They took in the crowds beginning to throng around, despite the bitter cold.
"What time is it?" Maya asked, not daring to avert her eyes from the window.
"Just getting on two p.m." Even Bruce allowed himself a moment of mesmerism.
"What time does the rally start?"
"Not until four-thirty."
They stood side by side at the window and watched as another group of people joined the crowd.
"At least we know people are still reading the newspaper," Bruce offered.
Just past four-thirty, as the winter day began its brief descent into dusk and then dark, Annabeth's dream came true.
The twisted pity of it was that she was not awake to see it happen. Dr. Thompkins had been quite vigilant in her watch over Annabeth, and over the course of the day, while the infection abated, Annabeth's discomfort did not. So they had strengthened her sedative, and as a result, she was slumbering quite soundly as the rally began.
Her company, however, was wide awake with their eyes glued to the television. From their uncomfortable seats by Annabeth's bed, Janey and Barbara watched the coverage of the rally, delivered courtesy of GCN.
"Good turnout," Barbara remarked.
"Looks like it. Do they have any estimates yet?"
"Doubtful—oh, look, there's Dad!"
Janey had only spent the afternoon with Barbara, but was already amazed by the way that this tough, tattooed, smart-ass woman seemed to be reduced to something of a daddy's girl every time Commissioner Gordon so much as breathed. She kept this thought to herself, however, and simply kept her eyes up on the television screen.
Commissioner Gordon didn't take the podium, however, but stood off to the side as Mayor Garcia blustered his way to the microphone.
"Citizens of Gotham," he began, and his voice was smooth enough, respectful enough to dupe thousands of spectators into thinking he was a forward-thinking and conscientious public servant, "you are part of history on this evening. This is unprecedented, and entirely new to our city. Crime has been for many years a regrettable stereotype associated with our fine city, and it has only been in recent times that we have begun to successfully fight back. And now this evening, as we Take Back the Night, we invite you to help in this fight. I now turn the microphone over to our beloved Commissioner Gordon, who will lead us in the Pledge of Allegiance."
He stepped away from the podium.
"Son of a bitch!" Barbara howled in outrage. She glanced over at Annabeth, who slumbered on, undisturbed. "Sorry," she whispered to Janey. "Still, that son of a bitch. What the fuck sort of pansey-assed, lukewarm, half-baked speech was that?" Her face was becoming as red as her hair. "He's got an opportunity to court the vote of several thousand feminists, make a stand against domestic and sexual violence, and what the good fuck does he do? He screws the pooch! He drops the ball!" She glared at Janey. "Don't you have anything to say?"
"I'm just trying to think if there are any more metaphors for you to throw into the mix," Janey answered helpfully. "Look, chill. I'm pretty sure this is no surprise about the Mayor. Whenever Annabeth has talked about him, it's not exactly been a glowing report."
Barbara had ceased to listen. "Now what the sweet holy fuck is this?" She was gazing in astonishment at the monitor and watching as Bruce stepped up to the podium. "Bruce Wayne's giving a speech?"
Janey smirked. "Well, it's not like there was anyone else around to do it...Donna Drake is dead, and Annabeth here isn't exactly turning cartwheels. Maya would have had a nervous breakdown...so Bruce was the last remaining option from Safe Haven."
Shaking her head half in wonder, half in disbelief, Barbara could only remark, "Well, this should be interesting."
Neither of them felt the need to acknowledge the bitter fact that Annabeth wouldn't be awake for any of it.
Delivering speeches to several thousand people wasn't really an activity in which Bruce had much experience. Somehow, the whole double-life as a lazy playboy by day, crusading vigilante at night had kept him from such shenanigans. Sure, he has taken a public speech and debate class at some point in his abbreviated and mis-spent college career, but it had all been so theoretical. Nothing like this.
And as Bruce stepped towards the microphone and gazed out at the crowds, their faces expectantly tilted up to face him, he couldn't help but to wonder if perhaps his lack of experience would be painfully evident. He thought of Annabeth at the hospital—thought of their child, a pathetic little scrap of life that had never stood a chance. Leslie had said that it would have been tiny, as small as a grain of rice, and it seemed strange that the loss of something so small could cause such a savage pain. Then he thought about Safe Haven, and the women he had encountered there, and their desperation coupled with their stoic bravery. He thought of Marjane, he thought of Trinity, he thought of his mother, even. And then he thought of Annabeth again, as she had been when she was a freshman in college, tasting freedom for the first time, ultimately preyed upon and victimized.
All of this thinking took place over several seconds, as he stood there, silently, at the podium. Alfred and Maya watched apprehensively, and so did Gordon. Mayor Garcia felt the beginnings of a satisfied smile creep to his mouth.
In Annabeth's hospital room, this time it was Janey who began to screech. "Shit, Bruce, say something!"
Obligingly, he did.
"Mayor Garcia is right in one sense—this event is new to our City. But with all respect, Mayor, you failed to mention the most important thing—it is overdue." Instinctively, he paused, waiting for the crowd to take in his words. They did, and they applauded. "This rally has been overdue in our city for many years. For years, we were afraid to say or do anything in our own defense, or in defense of our families, our friends, our neighbors. We have been silent too long. I will remain silent no longer, and I challenge you to raise your voice, too.
"All violence against innocent civilians is a deplorable thing, of course, and I do not intend to diminish the anguish that any person, man or woman, adult or child, has endured at the hands of a violent person. But violence against women and children is particularly reprehensible." He gazed beyond the audience for a moment, and then spoke again. "It is easy for the economically advantaged population to be ignorant of this side to our city, just as it is easy for those who are lower income to forget that violence can permeate all social and economic boundaries. This violence can effect any one, any where, and it is my intention tonight to let the people of this city know that they are not alone. There is hope. There is strength in yourself, and in your neighbor. There is honor. There is an obligation to protect each other. And there is an obligation to Take Back the Night. And we are going to do that now. Take back your lives. Take back our city. Take back the night."
Quickly, he stepped down from the podium, not waiting to take in the surprisingly loud thunder of applause. Katie Moriarty, the wife of the President of Gotham University, stepped forward. "It's time for the March and the Vigil, ladies and gentlemen," she intoned. "I invite you to join us as we unite in this stand against violence."
In the hospital room, both Janey and Barbara had fallen silent as they tried to comprehend what their eyes and ears were telling them. On the television monitor, one by one little golden lights began to appear as thousands lit their candles.
"Huh." Janey glanced over at Annabeth. Maybe she's got better taste than I thought.
"Who'da thunk it?" Barbara asked rhetorically. "Maybe the man can string a couple of sentences together."
In the bed, Annabeth began to stir, and this momentarily pulled their attention back to their current surroundings.
"What the hell is going on?" Annabeth croaked. She was scarcely awake, but already confused by Barbara's presence. "What on earth are you doing here?"
"Someone had to babysit you." Barbara was unfazed by her sour temper. "I volunteered. You're welcome."
"Hey, sweetie," Janey smiled. "How do you feel?"
"Like I'm recovering from a gunshot wound and a miscarriage, how else?" Annabeth's eyes darted to the television. "What's that?"
"Uuuum..." Janey didn't relish telling Annabeth that she had slept through the majority of the speeches, such as they were, but as it turned out, she didn't need to. Barbara would go where angels feared to tread.
"You missed it, lady. Snored through most of it, I may add."
"Well, shit."
"I think she must be feeling better," Janey remarked to no one in particular.
It was, as the speakers pointed out, an unprecedented event: four thousand men and women converged on City Hall, during the week between Christmas and New Year's (in rather cold weather, I might add), to make a stand against domestic and sexual violence. They marched through the streets of Gotham, their candles lit and emitting a golden glow, which seemed a delightfully symbolic talisman against the evils we all know lurk in the shadows of this city...
Vicki Vale paused for a moment and stretched, sneaking in a little back-popping as well. And then she contemplated her column. The feature article (front page, she delightedly noted) covering the rally had hit the streets the morning after, and now for follow-up, she was working on an editorial column...she frowned. Christ, when had her prose gotten so purple? It didn't matter; she needed to get something out, and soon. Time was not her friend...
"Vale!"
As her editor's dulcet tones rang out through the bullpen, Vicki cringed. She had been expecting this all morning, ever since she had woken up and hit the blogs, first thing. It had started as just a brief mention in a paragraph of a well-known gossip blog, and before she could begin to say "scooped," it had gone viral. And then one of the less respected—and even less respectful—news stations had caught on...long story short, so far as Vicki could tell, was that the sleazy Dr. Andrews had gone to some equally sleazy celebrity columnist who was in possession of rather less morals than Vicki...and now every tech-savvy resident of Gotham, as well as anyone who had access to a television, knew that Bruce Wayne had knocked up Annabeth de Burgh, who had obligingly (as some were beginning to say) lost the baby.
Needless to say, Vicki's boss did not sound thrilled. In fact, she didn't wait for Vicki to come to her; she came out to her cubicle, practically steaming through the nose. "I thought you had an in, Vale. I thought you and Wayne had an understanding."
"We do." Vicki was a hard one to ruffle, but even she was having a difficult time, at the moment, remembering why she had done what she had done for the sake of ethics. At the moment, she was hell and gone from being glad she had taken a stand.
"Well, then, maybe I don't understand how it is that some two-bit celebrity blog managed to catch on to an interesting bit about Bruce Wayne's sex life before we ever did. Do you care to explain that?"
Suddenly, Vicki was aware that her boss's boss, the Assistant Managing Editor, had suddenly materialized. And she decided, then and there, to take an enormous risk.
"I can explain it," she began, and then paused, trying to gather the right words together, "if you can explain how it wouldn't be condoning a violation of doctor-patient confidentiality."
"I don't follow."
"Annabeth de Burgh's doctor, a pissed-off little weasel, was the one with this information. I told him to fuck off, essentially. I'm not in the market for enabling those kind of ethical transgressions, and I went out on a limb and spoke for the Gazette as a whole. It's not my job to lay bare a family's tragedy just because some damned doctor can't keep his trap shut. I'll let some sleazy tabloid cover it before I ever touch it with a barge pole." Vicki's voice had been rising steadily as she delivered this diatribe, and was heartened by the sight of the Assistant Managing Editor nodding in agreement. "So excuse me if I missed the question in my job interview when you asked me if I was willing to sell my soul."
"Bit much, Vale," hissed the food columnist, next cubicle over.
"Not sure I agree," the Assistant Managing Editor said. This was the first point that Vale's boss realized her boss was in the room, and she looked quite dismayed. "In case you haven't noticed, folks, Gotham's trying to turn over a new leaf. Might not hurt us to roll with it like Vale here is doing." The Editor wandered off to find some other sort of melee to mediate.
Vicki's boss still wasn't thrilled. And she took her parting shot at Vicki: "At the very least, you could have warned us so we don't look like frigging idiots. And remember—you come out of this looking good, but things are much harder now for Wayne and his little girlfriend." In this at least, Vicki's boss was annoyingly correct. But she was also quite skilled at turning anything to her benefit, and to the benefit of the paper. "I want you to stop writing that editorial. Instead, I want you to report on Dr. Andrews' violation of confidentiality and ethics."
It had become customary for Annabeth's support team to have a little mini-meeting at least once a day. Not everyone could attend all the time, of course—Janey's and Jason's schedules were erratic at best, and Maya's was not much better. But the same morning that Vicki Vale's boss was attempting to read her the riot act, Team Annabeth all managed to turn up in the hospital waiting room: Bruce and Alfred, of course, and Maya, Janey, and Jason had all turned up, as well as Dr. Thompkins. One might also be forgiven for thinking that a bulldog was present, for that was rather how Bruce was behaving.
Janey told him as much. "You need to chill, Bruce. We're all very protective of Annabeth...and we're not stupid."
It was almost as if he had not heard. "I don't want anyone mentioning this stuff in the paper to her. She's on the mend again, and I don't want anything upsetting her."
"I'm fairly certain your dictatorial manner won't exactly thrill her," Jason pointed out. "Janey's right, man. Chill. We're on the same team here."
Dr. Thompkins tried a slightly different tact. "I've spoken with the Head Nurse. She knows to make sure none of the nurses mention anything to Annabeth, at least for now. But eventually, she's going to figure it out. She's doing much better, again, and she's starting to ask when someone can bring her a laptop. And then there's pesky little thing called the television...all she has to do is pick up the remote."
"I think we're safe there," Janey smirked. "Last time Annabeth watched television was probably when MTV still played quality music videos."
"There's also the matter of the press." Alfred didn't actually wrinkle his nose in distaste—that would have been too undignified—but it was evident in his voice. "The wankers practically attacked us when we were coming in. Sooner or later, one of them is bound to get in." He glanced at Bruce, and silently wondered how well he'd handle it when it came to that.
"One thing at a time," Dr. Thompkins sighed. "I'll let you all dither and worry about that, but for now, I'm going back in to see Annabeth. There's something I want to discuss with her—and then with you all." After delivering this cryptic statement, she turned and departed, leaving the small group to alternate between pondering her words and plotting the demise of the Gotham City press.
Although neither Bruce nor Leslie Thompkins liked to admit it, Dr. Andrews had ultimately been right in transferring Annabeth. Apart from the mild and fleeting infection which had stymied her progress, her rate of recovery was even more rapid there. Surrounded by a continual stream of visitors—everyone from Commissioner Gordon and his exasperating eldest daughter, on down to some of the little children that had, until recently, lived in Safe Haven—Annabeth found herself constantly drawn out of her own unhappy thoughts, and forced to interact with the swarm of humanity that refused to leave her alone. Between the company, and the never-ending poking, prodding, testing, and questioning that Leslie kept up, Annabeth had found herself completely exhausted by early evening, and often would slip into a brief cat nap at random times of the day.
She was awake when Leslie came to visit her that morning, and she endured the examination with stoic patience. Until the end, when she began asking questions. "When can someone bring me my laptop? I feel so isolated. All I get to do all day is lay here and sleep or else listen to everyone fuss over me."
"Mmmm." Leslie jotted something down on Annabeth's chart. "If I tell you something, you need to promise not to get your hopes up." She waited until she had Annabeth's eager nod, and then continued. "Keep recovering the way you are, and you're going to be out of here very soon...maybe by New Year's."
Annabeth's reaction was surprising, although in hindsight, Leslie knew she should have seen it coming. The poor woman had practically had a panic attack.
After several minutes of strangled gasping, Leslie managed to get Annabeth calmed back down. "You want to talk about it?" It was her favorite, and most useful, phrase. Simple, noncommittal, but undeniably caring. Worked every time. Including now.
Annabeth lowered her bed back down so that she could gaze up at the ceiling—her way of avoiding others' eyes, Leslie had realized.
"I guess I just...could avoid things while I was here," Annabeth said after a moment. "When I'm all trussed up in bed like an over-medicated chicken, there's not much I can do, even if I wanted. But now, if I'm going home...I have to make decisions. Figure things out. And I don't know that I'm ready."
"Is anyone ever ready?" Leslie pointed out, not unreasonably. Very wisely, she didn't ask what decisions Annabeth would have to make. "Seems like life doesn't give a hoot one way or another if you're ready for what it's throwing at you. Panicking won't help you get any more prepared."
It was tough love, but it was also what Annabeth responded to. She nodded, and Leslie gently patted her hand. "Anyway, my dear, you have a great many friends to help you through this."
"I know," Annabeth said, "but they're not the ones who have to feel what I feel."
They both heard the sound of approaching footsteps outside the door, and Annabeth quickly snapped her mouth shut. And a moment later, Bruce blustered into the room. "Hello, you," he said to Annabeth, and Leslie heard neither none of his public jocularity or the almost-angry bossiness he had displayed earlier. "How are you feeling?"
"Tired of people asking me that," Annabeth said, but her smile was genuine, and took the barb out of her words. Again, much different than how she spoke to the others. Curious effect these two have on each other, Leslie thought as she busied herself with Annabeth's charts again. In this way, she was able to silently observe them: Bruce immediately flung himself into the chair closest to Annabeth's bed and began talking, determinedly keeping the conversation steered towards not much of anything of substance. Annabeth seemed content to humor him, and just listened, her fingers plucking restlessly at the blanket.
Never before had Leslie truly appreciated the term "in rude health" before then; but seeing Bruce, in all his hale, hearty vigor, right up against pale, frail Annabeth, who was silently suffering from pain, Leslie truly saw what it meant. To be as healthy as Bruce was, when compared to Annabeth's fragile state, did seem almost rude.
But it could not be helped.
"Knock knock!"
They were interrupted by an unfamiliar voice; in surprise, they looked to the doorway, where stood a most unexpected person...
"Elisa!" Bruce exclaimed, his attention momentarily diverted from Annabeth. "Where on earth did you come from?"
"Africa, quite literally." Elisa stepped into the room and held her hands out to Bruce, who dutifully rose, crossed the room, and grasped her hands. He bent over nearly double to kiss her cheek. "Bradford and I got in on Christmas Eve, which was no small miracle." She pulled away from Bruce and headed straight for Annabeth's side. "Hey there."
"Hey, stranger," Annabeth said. Seeing Elisa again, for the first time since the weekend at Bellingham, was an unexpected assault on her spirit, dredging up suppressed emotions and memories. Everything had changed, so painfully and abruptly, since then. Still, she felt compelled to actually make an attempt at some normalcy. "How was Africa?"
"To hell with Africa!" Elisa dismissed an entire continent with this abrupt declaration. "How are you? How on earth did you end up here?"
"Aaaah..." Annabeth struggled to think of the most appropriate way to explain things. Her eyes flitted, briefly, to Bruce, and then focused back on Elisa. "I don't suppose you'd be satisfied with 'it's a long story'?"
As Elisa settled in, Leslie touched Bruce's arm. "How about you and I take a little stroll around the floor?"
Reluctantly Bruce relinquished his attentions, and allowed himself to be led from the room. Neither Elisa nor Annabeth noticed.
"You and Alfred are about the only ones who feel like they can get away with telling me to leave her," Bruce remarked as they headed back towards the group in the waiting room. Still, he glanced back at Annabeth's room. Leslie placed her hand through Bruce's elbow and steered him forward.
"You're going to have to get comfortable with letting her recover, Bruce," she told him. "In fact, I want you to help her recover, helpher stand on her own again."
"What do you mean?" he started to ask, but by that point, they had returned to the company of Alfred, Maya, Jason, and Janey, all of whom turned their faces expectantly toward them.
Without preamble, Leslie began. "I wanted to talk to you all. You're the people who are currently closest to Annabeth, and I think it's time you all have a chance to weigh in what's next."
"What is next?" Maya asked.
"Annabeth was asking something similar earlier. What I can tell you is this: within the week, Annabeth is going to be fit to be discharged."
Alfred gave a little jerk of surprise. "So soon?"
"So soon," Leslie confirmed. "All that's happening here is that she's lying still and being watched by doctors. Other than that infection—which we're monitoring, but it's pretty much gone—there haven't been any complications, and aside from the completely understandable pain, she's pretty close to fine."
"How mobile is she?" Alfred asked.
"As of yesterday, she's getting to and from the bathroom on her own. Today she managed to give herself a shower. It's not hurting her to breathe. She's just got some fairly intense cramping and pain in her abdomen." Leslie ducked her head. "I disagreed with the chief surgeon Dr. Andrews about moving her, but now I think he was right. Her rate of recovery has been so fast, I can understand why he wanted to keep her moving. At this point, there's no where for her to go but home."
She allowed those words to sink in. And as she expected, no one seemed to think this was a fabulous plan.
"Home?" Janey said bitterly. "Home is a barren condo. Her animals aren't even there—Jason and I have had them since...she got shot."
Maya nodded in agreement. "I'm not you, Leslie...I'm not her doctor, but I can say that if I was you, I wouldn't be so quick to release her, just so she could go home alone. She's been through a lot of trauma, physical and emotional. The only way she's going to recover is if she's taking care of herself—and she never did that, not even in the best of times. And she'll make herself sick, work herself to death."
Jason decided to speak up. "Knowing Annabeth, she'd say that work would make her feel better. And she might be right. Safe Haven needs to be rebuilt, and she'll throw herself into it...the routine will do her good, but she'll probably overwork herself."
Unhappily, they all agreed on this point.
Leslie nodded. "What I'm hearing from all of you is that discharging Annabeth could be both the best and the worst thing that I could do for her recovery."
"Succinctly phrased," Alfred finally spoke, "but yes."
Leslie lowered her chin in thought for a moment. She was quite conscious of their eyes boring into her, waiting for her decision.
"I'll discharge her," Leslie finally said. "If she's in the care of one of you for at least a week."
Instead of the rush of eager, loving volunteers that she had expected, Leslie's idea was greeted with a heavy silence. Maya, Janey, and Jason each looked extremely uncomfortable; Bruce and Alfred, simply bemused.
"We'd love to have Annabeth..." Janey glanced at Jason, and then back at Leslie. "But I don't know that she'd want to be there with us right now. We're...kind of getting ready for someone else."
"Someone else?" Leslie repeated this, her mind blank. And then realized what they meant. "Ah. I see."
Bruce snapped to attention and scrutinized Janey. "You're pregnant."
"We are," Janey confirmed softly. "We just found out a couple of weeks ago...I'm sorry, Bruce."
With an effort that he struggled to hide, Bruce found it within himself to offer a smile.
"Congratulations. And...don't be sorry."
Leslie shook her head. "For obvious reasons, then, Annabeth probably shouldn't stay with you."
"Agreed," Janey and Jason chorused.
"I live so far out," Maya said. "And both my fiance and I are away from home most of the day, and into the evening, working. I don't think we can take care of Annabeth that well."
Alfred spoke up before Bruce had a chance to. "It seems to me that the most logical choice would be for Annabeth to come stay at the Manor for a bit." He didn't even glance at Bruce as he said this. "It is rather far out, of course-"
"I can drive out there whenever," Maya volunteered quickly. "At least after work each evening."
"But there's plenty of room, and there can always be someone be at home to look after her," Alfred continued. Now he glanced at Bruce. "What do you think, Master Wayne?"
Now all eyes were on him. Bruce knew that this was the most sensible choice; he knew that it would be the best for Annabeth. And a part of him wanted her there, wanted her presence at the Manor. But another part of him didn't want her near anything to do with his double life. A part of him felt as though it had been that double life which had landed her in her current state. He was painfully aware of the Batman in his soul, practically hopping up and down in protest and dismay. Too bad.
"I think it's the best possible choice," he said finally. "Not just the most logical."
Leslie was pleased. "I think you're right. And I think being out of the hospital will do Annabeth a world of good. Like Maya, I'll come out every day..."
"She might not want to do this," Janey pointed out. Long years of experience had informed her of her friend's deeply stubborn, independent streak. "Perhaps you should deliver it to her as a fait accompli?"
Bruce actually smiled. "Perhaps you could deliver it...you see, I'll make sure she comes to the Manor with us...but I sure as hell won't be the one to tell her."
In the end, they told her as a group—Janey, Leslie, and Bruce. Alfred, Maya, and Jason decided to make a tactical retreat and avoid any possible displeasure.
"After all, Master Wayne," Alfred said, with just a hint of orneriness, "if she's to be staying at the Manor for a while, it wouldn't do for her to be angry at both of us."
Elisa was still in the room, visiting with Annabeth, chattering on about her honeymoon. Janey, most well-versed in the contrary ways of her closest friend, made a swift decision. There was just a chance that with Elisa there, Annabeth wouldn't react too badly.
"So, Annabeth," she started, before Leslie or Bruce could say anything, "Leslie says you could be going home soon..."
Annabeth nodded. "That's what she told me, too."
Here Janey faltered, just for a moment. She glanced at Bruce, who suddenly seemed very intent on studying the various medical equipment in the room. "Here's the thing...we don't think you can go home to an empty condo...with no one to take care of you..." she lapsed off, trying to find the best words. But Annabeth didn't give her a chance.
"No worries; I was thinking about it, and I can probably hire a caregiver to stay with me the first few days. And then I should be as right as rain."
Leslie stepped in. "Let me bring a different idea to the table, Annabeth. Rather than having to go do abruptly back into your normal life, why don't you have a transitional period? Time away from the hospital, but not yet back home? It's been a very difficult time for you, and I think you need some time and a safe place to convalesce, emotionally."
"I'm not sure if you're saying you want me to go to a nursing home or a loony bin," Annabeth told them.
"Neither." Bruce finally decided to bite the bullet and speak up. "Alfred and I want you to come stay with us at the Manor for a bit."
"No."
"I knew it," Janey said, to no one in particular. "Annabeth, stop being a dumbass. You're getting too healed for here, but not better enough to go home alone."
"Hell no."
"Should I be insulted?" Bruce tried for a light-hearted approach. "I know Alfred and I are a couple of fusty bachelors, but we can adapt—"
Annabeth glared at him. "Don't be silly. I don't want to get in your way."
No one but them understood the true nature of her comment. Janey rolled her eyes. "Jesus, Annabeth, don't be a martyr. I'm pretty sure Bruce can give up his wine, women, and song for a week or two without too much effort."
They ignored her. "I imagine you've got a lot of work to do," Annabeth said softly. Work that's way more important than me, her gaze silently added.
"I'm perfectly capable of multitasking," Bruce assured her. "Besides, I don't know that anything is much more important than making sure you're better."
"Oh, do say yes, Annabeth!" Elisa couldn't restrain herself any more. "The Winstons' Gotham estate is just a mile or two off, and we're staying there until the city townhouse is renovated. Please...I'll be able to come see you any time." She turned to Bruce. "Make her say yes, Bruce. I can help out."
"And Maya said she'll come out every day," Janey added. "You two can start working on getting Safe Haven going again."
For the next few minutes, they tag-teamed, first one, then another, then another, reasoning with Annabeth, then cajoling, then nagging. She was growing tired, they could see, and pressed this advantage. And they knew they had her beat when she turned to Bruce and asked—
"—do you have wi-fi at the Manor?"
Janey and Leslie let out audible sighs of relief, and Bruce gave a wide, genuine smile. "Of course."
"Fine. Only for a week." Annabeth stuck out her chin in a stubborn gesture of pointless defiance. "And then I'm out of there."
It could have ended perfectly, but for Elisa, who had arrived long after Bruce's mandate against mentioning the press. "Anyway, you'll be able to stay away from the reporters much more easily," Elisa added. "Right now, they're having a field day out there, bugging the hell out of everyone about your miscarriage-" she cut herself off as she saw Annabeth's confusion and everyone else shooting daggers at her. "Oh, shit."
Not long after, almost everyone left the room; Janey furious, Leslie resigned, and poor Elisa, mortified. Only Bruce remained, to stay with Annabeth as she silently processed this latest sorrow.
Much, much later, after almost everyone had left for the day, returned to their own quiet and relatively pleasant lives, only Bruce and Alfred remained. Alfred made himself comfortable in a chair right outside Annabeth's room, and Bruce stayed in Annabeth's room. Sitting. Thinking.
For a while, Annabeth's breathing had been even, smooth, and quiet. She had been laying still for a while, and Bruce was almost certain she was asleep. So it came as a little bit of a surprise when he heard her give a rather deep sigh. "What time is it?" she asked, without opening her eyes.
"Almost four in the afternoon." Bruce studied her face carefully. "How are you-"
"I'm feeling fine, Bruce." Even though she still didn't open her eyes, her lips curved into an unwilling smile. "I really am getting stir-crazy."
"We'll bust you out of here, soon enough," he promised. "We could try it later tonight, but I think the newspapers wouldn't take too kindly to the Batman kicking the ass of half the reporters in town."
"Can't have that." Annabeth's brow furrowed as she thought back to what he had just said. "Seriously, Bruce...you don't think I'll be in the way, at the Manor?"
"I don't know," Bruce tried to keep it light. "The Manor's pretty big. And Alfred will be around to babysit you." He reached over, and after hesitating for a moment, he lightly stroked her cheek, almost as though he were afraid her skin would shatter. "I think it's a good place for you to get back on your feet."
"You don't have...work to do?"
"Are you fishing for information, or are you genuinely concerned about my work?"
"I wasn't aware they were mutually exclusive." Finally Annabeth opened her eyes and pinned Bruce with her gaze. "If I'm climbing the walls, ready to get back to work, I can only imagine how you're feeling. And I don't want my presence at the Manor to keep you from...getting stuff done."
"I wasn't aware they were mutually exclusive." Bruce actually looked pleased with this feeble little volley; it had been a while since they had engaged in their repartee. "Work has been a little slow, I think, since everything happened. I probably need to be back out there soon."
"One of us needs to," Annabeth said. "And it's obviously not going to be me, at least for a while."
Just as Bruce was opening his mouth to answer, he was cut off by a knock on the door. He glanced at Annabeth, who nodded.
"Come in," Bruce called.
The door swung inward, and Alfred entered, followed by a woman neither of them had seen before. She was carrying a briefcase, and was dressed in one of the off-the-rack suits that Annabeth knew so well.
"Sorry to interrupt," she said. "Is this a bad time?"
"Depends on why you're here." This came from Annabeth, who was eying the woman with sudden, but muted expectation.
"I'm with Gotham County Social Services. My name is Danielle. Are you Annabeth de Burgh?"
"I'm not," Bruce told her.
"I am, more or less," Annabeth said. "What can I help you with?"
"I'm here to discuss Timothy Drake."
Donna's son. Bruce nodded, suddenly understanding. What was it that Annabeth had said, so long ago? "I'm his godmother and guardian, did you know that?" Donna was dead, and Annabeth—in more ways than one—was the only family Timothy had.
"Should we leave?" Bruce asked, indicating himself and Alfred.
"It won't take but a moment," the woman said. "We've been trying to get in touch with you for a while, but your doctor has you stashed quite safely away up until now."
"How's Timmy?" Annabeth interrupted. It was clear that she did not care to waste time on any casual conversation. "Where is he?"
"He's with a foster family at the present time," Danielle told her. "He's understandably upset, as any child would be. He wants his mother, but he's asked for you a time or two, as well. Once you're discharged from the hospital, we'll go through the process of assessing your suitability as a guardian...and given the recent information that came to light about your joint parentage, your case is substantially strengthened."
And with those simple words, the inconsequential social worker unintentionally put Annabeth solidly on the road to recovery.