~*~*~

38. Arkham Bound

~*~*~

Disclaimer: Oh my God I love you ALL SO MUCH!!! Thank you for all the reviews!!!! I am so friggin' happy you like the story! I too want Pixie to die—hmmm we'll see what happens!

The sun rose over the Boston skyline and was as beautiful as ever. I knew from that sunrise that I wasn't meant to leave my home. How could I ever break the news to Bruce—that my heart was damaged and that I was unable to fulfill my end of the proposition? I sat at the kitchen table hugging my knees to my chests as I stared out the window at my city. I hadn't been able to sleep a single second that night before—not when I knew that today I would be leaving for Gotham with Bruce. I wished he was awake so that he could soothe my pain like he always could. I had to go—I knew I had to. I cared too much for Bruce and all he'd done for me, and I couldn't break his heart.

On the other hand, what if I ran into the Joker at night somewhere? How would my distant eyes take the blow of actually seeing him in real life? As of that past two years, he only appeared to me in my nightmares—they couldn't even be considered dreams. Dreams are supposed to make you happy when you awaken the next day—these dreams, or nightmares rather, made the gaping hole inside my chest only widen each morning. Every single night, I would re-live that last day with the Joker—the loving, caring, romantic moment we last shared, followed by the hurtful blow of reality when Pixie used her stupid dust to erase his memory of me. I wondered what else she managed to erase from his already twisted mind. At first, this nightmare would awaken both my and Bruce from the other room over—my screaming not so easy to hide. As the months went by, the screaming became less and less frequent and I ceased to waken Bruce.

I felt so bad for waking him up in the middle of the night with my cries of horror from the nightmare, but I think he grew accustomed to it. It was probably something he had endured after his parents were killed, though my tragedy was nothing comparatively speaking—but Bruce never felt like his experience was worse or better than mine—they were simply tragedies for both of us. I liked that.

"Oh wow, what a sunrise," Bruce said from behind me finally. I sat motionless despite the relief I felt on the inside from the sound of his voice. He shuffled over to the table and sat down across from me, his back facing the glorious sunrise.

"Coffee?" I offered with my mouth and half of my face still buried into my knees.

"Nah—I actually slept very well last night," he stated with a content sigh. A soothing smile crossed his lips but then faded as quickly as it appeared. He studied my face and the posture of my sitting-fetus position.

"I take it you didn't sleep at all," he said finally, glancing down at the large mug of coffee sitting in front of me. I never drank coffee. Ever.

"Bingo," I murmured.

"I'm sorry Giada. You can sleep on the plane," Bruce explained with a tint of hope in his voice.

"Don't be—it's not your fault," I said, finally moving my legs beneath the table and assuming a normal sitting position. I cupped my hands around the warm mug and stared hard down into the dark brown liquid.

"Giada, I know you're nervous about going back to Gotham—and believe me, I love Boston too, but it is time to go back. We can't hide from the things that hurt us forever," he said finally. He paused and seeing the pain in my eyes, continued, "I know you're still hurting. That hurt will never really go away, but you can work with it and become that strong person I know you are—that strong person who is living inside of you,"

I nodded my head in approval. I knew he was right, but I didn't know how to ask him what I should do. What should I do if I ran into him? What should I do if I ran into Pixie? Well, that one was easy—I'd kill her. But that was besides the point. I wondered if Bruce would be okay with me killing her. Probably not. He had one rule as Batman—he would never take a life. Well, maybe I could just be his murderous sidekick if I couldn't be the Joker's murderous sidekick. I had no problem kill that bitch—none whatsoever.

"What's running through your mind, Giada? You look distraught," he said, staring hard into my face. I realized the twisted and angry look that must have been on my face.

"I was just thinking about what I would do if I ran into the Joker—what would I do—that kind of scenario. Or even worse, Bruce—what if I run into Pixie?" I asked, letting my thoughts run free for him to hear.

Bruce pursed his lips together as though he were in deep thought and deliberation over the subject. He nodded his head for a moment and then looked back up at me with thoughtful eyes.

"Those are not going to be easy situations for you to handle, but I think you're a strong enough woman to deal with those instances in ways you see fit," Bruce explained calmly and with careful consideration.

I think he knew that I wanted Pixie to die at my hand, but he knew I knew that was against his code of ethics. It was against society's code of ethics, and used to be against my code of ethics before I had met the Joker. Bruce knew how much I wanted that woman dead and he knew that there was nothing he could say to me or do for me that would change what I wanted to do to her, so he didn't try. He left it open ended and I knew that no matter what happened between Pixie how I dealt with her, he wouldn't judge me. It was our unspoken understanding—not something we saw eye-to-eye on, but something we mutually understood.

Bruce held out his hands to me, palms up. I looked down at his hands and placed my hands into his.

"Giada, we can do this—if you're with me, I promise you will get through this," he said as he squeezed my hands tightly in his. I nodded my head. I knew I could do this. I had to. It was something necessary. I knew that once I was back in Gotham, I would run into Pixie and the Joker—it was just inevitable. The only question was where and when? How long after being back in Gotham would it be before I ran into them?

Only living through time could reveal those answers. Bruce and I were packed and on his private jet before I could even get my thoughts in order. We were silent for the duration of the flight back to Gotham. As the plane began descending, I raised my eyes to Bruce.

"Bruce, you know there will be no happy ending, right? There's no hope, no love, no glory," I spoke softly.

"There can't always be a happy ending—there can't always be hope, love or glory, but you can find happiness if you're looking for it—it's not something that will just show up. Believe me, I know better than most that you have to look for happiness in everything you do—you have to feel it, breathe it, become it—it will be there," he explained.

"I feel like the happiness I want is intangible," I said flatly.

"There are ways around the intangible—the intangible can become tangible Giada—you just have to know the right people and allow a little bit of time," Bruce stated. I loved his calming voice. A smile slide across my lips.

"What would I do without you, Bruce?" I asked finally.

"Oh, I don't know—be lying in a dumpster somewhere in Gotham doped out on heroine?" he asked with a small laugh. I laughed with him. He was probably right, oddly enough.

"Really, though—Bruce I am so glad to be your friend—you've been too good to me these past couple of years. What can I do for you? Is there anything at all?" I asked.

"No Giada, just be the strong self I know you are," he responded with a smile.

"Please Bruce—let me do something for you—anything at all—I owe you so much,"

He sat there for a moment and thought. Finally, he shook his head.

"What is it?" I asked, a flood of concern flowing endlessly over my face.

"You won't like what I'd ask of you, but I'll ask it anyway: whatever you do when we get back, do not go after the Joker—please Giada, do not pursue him,"

I was silent. I didn't want to listen to him. I didn't want him to be right, but I knew he was. I just didn't want him to capture and kill the Joker—actually, I knew he couldn't kill the Joker, but I didn't want the GPD to kill the Joker because of Batman capturing him. I took in a big breath and sighed. I knew I had to agree.

"Fine," I sighed again as I shook my head, "as long as you promise me the GPD won't kill him,"

"I can't promise anything for them—we no longer communicate, remember? I'm a vigilante,"

He was right. Damnit! I had to let fate take its course. Silently, we exited the plane that had been parked for nearly ten minutes as we finished our conversation. Bruce's limo dropped me off at my idle apartment—the same apartment my journey had begun. It all felt like déjà vu. This time, Bruce came with me, afraid to leave me alone in my place our first day and night back to Gotham.

When I was finally back inside my apartment, I felt the pain rush over me. All of the memories I had spent the past two year repressing flooded my mind. Bruce saw it in my face. I almost collapsed at the mere sight of my apartment. Bruce held me in his arms as I cried softly into his chest. I shook my head.

"I can't do this," I sobbed.

"Yes you can," Bruce replied, "You're stronger than this—but I know you need to feel this emotion. It's been a while since you've been here,"

He let me cry in his arms for a few minutes until I finally straightened myself up and took a step back from him. I wiped the tears from my eyes and faced the apartment again. I took in a deep breath and walked fully inside and into my bedroom. I tossed my bags onto my bed and headed back into the kitchen.

"Bruce you don't have to stay," I said finally.

"Giada, you just broke down," Bruce replied.

"I think I'll be fine. Besides, I'm Arkham bound tomorrow. I have to get all of my things ready and I need to clean this place and unpack. It's been a long time, since I've been in this apartment and I'm ready to start over,"

Bruce paused and finally nodded his head in approval. He took a step toward me and hugged me.

"If you need anything at all, I'm a phone call away—and you are always welcome at my penthouse,"

"Thank you," I kissed him on the cheek and he left.

I was alone. I went into my room and unpacked my things as quickly as I had thrown them into my bags. I went into the living room and turned on the radio. Thankfully they were playing good music for me to clean to. I shoved every memory out of my mind as I danced around the apartment to S.O.S by Rihanna.

"S.O.S please someone help me!" I sang as I dusted and scrubbed and mopped and swept and vacuumed.

My cleaning took me well into the evening. It was just like the first night I had ever spent in Gotham—except tonight I would not be running down to Wendy's for a spicy chicken sandwich. It seemed my life had come full circle. I was actually even excited to finally get to see patients at Arkham Asylum tomorrow. I would finally be doing the mental health routine I'd dreamt of for much of my young adult life. I was twenty-seven and ready to being my professional career as a psychotherapist. This time, I would even be able to prescribe drugs. This excited me. I was one step down from being called Dr. DiMarco. Rather, my title was: Giada DiMarco, BS, MS, NP. Too much education for my own good.

As I laid in bed that night, I realized that I could have majored in pre-med in my undergrad and gone to med school in the time it had taken me to finally get where I was now. I could have been called Dr. DiMarco! I grimaced at the thought. Oh well. I was just glad to be able to see patients in a mental health setting.

In the morning, I would be Arkham bound.