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37. A Proposition
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Batman's arms held onto me tightly seeing as I was horribly unable to walk let along stand on my own.
"Batman," I gasped, unable to breathe from the pain I felt inside.
"Giada, I didn't mean to bring you here to hurt you," Batman explained.
"I know—but I didn't think this would happen—that he could forget me that easily," I cried, the tears now flowing down my cheeks. Batman brought me up to the roof of another building.
"I can't believe what I am about to say, but here goes: you know it's not him saying those things, right? It's Pixie Dust," Batman explained.
"I know it is, but there's nothing I can do to stop what she's done to him—it's her stupid dust!" I exclaimed, both furious and feeling the agony swell inside.
"Maybe that's true—but maybe this is what you need in your life. Believe me, Giada, the Joker is not someone who can positively influence your life," the Bat explained.
"I can't stay here another minute longer," I said finally, wiping my tears from my face.
"I'll bring you home," Batman offered.
"No—I can't stay in Gotham another minute!" I exclaimed, unable to tame the emotions I was feeling inside. I wanted to die, but I knew that was not the answer.
"Where do you plan on going?" Batman asked.
"Back home—to Boston," I replied curtly, "where else? No where else is home to me but Boston. Or maybe I won't go home—I'll go far away—to Italy and find my family there," I paced around thinking of other options.
"Italy, Giada? Be sensible! Why don't you go back home to your own apartment here in Gotham and give Bruce Wayne a phone call—I'm sure he'd take you back," Batman coaxed.
"Batman, I really can't stay here another minute!" I cried suddenly turning on him.
He waited for a moment before responding.
"Bruce Wayne wants you to work for him again—he knows you have the intelligence and talent to really flourish," Batman urged.
"No—I can't—and how do you know what Bruce Wayne wants?" I asked, almost furious again.
"Because I am Bruce Wayne," Batman said finally. My eyes widened in shock.
"What?! Batsy is Mr. Wayne?!" I exclaimed, I could hardly contain myself.
"Please Giada—you mustn't tell anyone," he urged, placing his hands on my shoulders.
"I won't tell anyone, I promise—but I also cannot spend another minute here in Gotham," I said finally.
"Fair enough—but I'll be the one taking you back to Boston," he stated.
"Are you sure?" I asked.
"Yes—I do have a private jet after all—you'll be in Boston in no time," Batman said, almost dejectedly.
"Thank you," I replied softly.
Batman took me where I needed to be. Before I knew it, I was sitting in his private jet. Bruce sat across from me clad in all but his Batman mask. He sat with his head resting on his fist. I sat with my face buried in my hands, trying harder each moment not to cry. I didn't want to appear weaker than I already had in front of Bruce. Without his Batman mask on, it felt different—strange, even, for me to open up to him—he was my boss, not my friend. But as Batman, he became my friend—he was there for me and I had been grateful for that, but in this moment, nothing could make the pain go away.
I was such a fool. I had fallen hopelessly in love with some who would never fall in hopelessly in love with me—and there I was, running away from the pain—but what else could I do? I couldn't stay in Gotham. Maybe Bruce was right—maybe it was what I needed to get over the Joker. I had to go home and try again—I had to start anew.
I would just close up the memories of the Joker and lock them away in the heart I'd lost. I would never forget the Joker, but I forbid myself from thinking about him. I would never again let myself think of him.
Bruce and I were silent for the entire flight to Boston. The plane landed in the D terminal at Logan airport in Boston. As it came to a stop, Bruce finally looked up at me.
"I'm not going back to Gotham without you, Giada," he said finally.
"What?" I asked, incredulous.
"I can't let you face this alone. I know what it means to lose someone you love and I know that pain and I can't risk you turning into something you're not," Bruce explained finally. A smile crossed my face. He was so thoughtful.
"Bruce, that's really sweet of you, but I'm home now—and I think I'll be fine," I stated.
"As a friend, Giada, please—let me stay. I have a proposition for you," Bruce began.
"Try me," I replied, grinning almost in the same style the Joker would.
"Let me stay here with you. I have a lot of connections here in Boston—I can network and do business here as long as you need. However, I do know you have a master's degree in neuropsychology, but if you have any other academic calling you can think of, I will pay for your education in full,"
"What?! Why?" I asked, incredulous again.
"Because I know when you study and work hard on something, it helps you to take your mind off of the hurt you feel on the inside—it helps you grow stronger," Bruce explained.
"Well, there is this accelerated nurse practitioner program at Mass General that I'd debated applying to after my undergraduate work—Bruce, I've always wanted to work in a mental hospital, but I cannot administer drugs with my master's degree—but if I become an NP, then I can do that and work in a mental hospital or mental ward in a hospital," I explained.
"Well, it's done," Bruce agreed.
"It's a two year program though," I said.
"So I'm here for two years with you—you'll be ready by then, I know you will be,"
Bruce and I exited the plane and a limo took us back to my apartment. It was the first night out of many nights I would be spending alone and away from the Joker. I was relieved and glad to have Bruce with me as my friend, but nothing compared to the Joker. I loved him with all my heart, but I knew that there was nothing I could do to get him back to me.
I applied and was accepted to the MGH NP program and I began taking classes immediately. Bruce worked long days and nights, spending most of his time on his cell phone and in front of his computer on SKYP doing business. He would occasionally spend his nights dressed as the vigilante Batman, bringing on a whole new outlook to crime in the city of Boston.
I grew to know Bruce as Batman—or Batman as Bruce, which ever it was. Bruce was a lot like Batman—he was not the billionaire playboy he made himself out to be when I had known him in the beginning. That had, of course, been an act for the public—for those who did not know him. Sometimes, we'd be up late, spending nights talking about how past—he told me about his mother and father's death—the one which he believed he had caused. Sometimes I felt like I was doing more psychotherapy than being a friend, but either way, I was able to really talk to him and understand him and the face behind the Batman mask. It was something that I wished the Joker had been able to do—talk to me openly. It was in those moments of our friendship that I realized the ultimate: the Joker and Bruce had both been struck with tragedy, but each other them handled their experience in different ways—one went the evil route and the other channeled his pain into something good. I began seeing why Bruce was so adamant on me not being alone—on me not facing this pain alone—he feared I had learned all of the horrible way to deal with tragedy and pain from the Joker and he wanted to teach me the positives that can come out of tragedy. He wanted to prove to me that this could make me a stronger person.
I had to believe him. The months passed quickly, though the pain I felt for the Joker never went away. I held it all at arms length, feeling only the numbness of the situation. I used Bruce as my clutch and friend—he could tell what my days were worse than others and he was always there for me—ready with whatever I needed. I hoped he wasn't falling in love with me. I couldn't see how he could, only because he knew how much I had invested in my love for the Joker.
The months turned into a year. I couldn't believe it had been a year since I had been away from Gotham and the Joker. I spent most of my days working, with Bruce, and in classes and studying. The NP program was intensive, but Bruce was a constant support. He helped me study when I felt that it was impossible for me to pass an exam. When I finally was in the stages of my clinicals, he was supportive and encouraged me not to be nervous.
"Giada, this is what you want—you wanted this for a while and now you get to put your knowledge into action—these next few months are going to fly by," he encouraged. I couldn't help but agree, but I knew that once I was done with my degree, we would be heading back to Gotham. I didn't feel at all ready to face that city again, but I knew it was my end of the proposition I had to uphold. I felt that Bruce had gone above and beyond my expectations of a friend and I knew I had to go back to Gotham with him.
Within six months, I finished my clinical and graduated from the program with honors. I had seriously worked my ass off in the past two years, but I knew it was almost time to go back to Gotham. Bruce had been so sure that in two years time I would be ready to go back, but I was not ready at all—but I would never ever let him know that I felt just as horrible now as I did back then, two years ago.
What made things even worse was that I had no reason not to go back—I had been offered a job. Bruce was ecstatic.
"Giada! This is fantastic! I knew you'd get a job doing what you really want!" Bruce exclaimed, "This calls for champagne! We can head back to Gotham now in no time!"
I couldn't let him down. I had to go back—I had to face my past and the pain I felt then and the pain I was feeling now. Besides, I had a job position waiting for me; at Arkham Asylum.