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Chapter 15

Diana turned in her bed, checking to see what time it was and barely managing to stifle a snarl when she saw it was past three o'clock. It had been two weeks since she had moved in with Bruce. His memories hadn't returned, and neither had her nights of peaceful slumber.

Every night Bruce had nightmares, and every night she burst into his room. The same sight always greeted her: a sweat-soaked Bruce gasping for breath with his fists clenched in his bed sheets. His fingers would find hers in the dark, and they would sit there in silence, waiting for their heartbeats to return to normal.

The first night, they'd talked about his nightmare. Drawing upon a conversation they'd had when they were dating, Diana was able to explain all the sounds and images. Since the nightmare was always the same, it didn't leave much to talk about. Still, she never left, and he never once questioned why she stayed when they hardly spoke about anything. Just sat there in the darkness, listening to each other breathe as he traced the lines of her clammy palm.

In a word, it was torture. Diana had heard stories of the punishment of Tantalus—having one's desire dangled before you and yet always out of reach. If the gods had ever wondered about its effectiveness as a punishment, she could vouch for it. While Bruce's nightmares interrupted her slumber, it was the image of him bare-chested, glistening, and warm that kept her tossing and turning all night.

Knowing she would not be able to sleep under her own power, Diana turned on the light and got out of bed. Her feet sunk into the lush carpet of her floor as she padded to the desk, where she had left her lasso.

The coils glistened gold at her touch, sending a tremor up her arm and down her spine. From there, the sharp tingling radiated outward to the rest of her body. It was a somewhat painful reminder that she had been neglecting her meditations, and with a sigh, she dutifully wrapped the lasso around herself. While it would be nice to fall asleep, she knew her rest would be more peaceful if she sorted through what had happened over the last fortnight.

Kneeling beside her bed, she opened her heart and mind to the revealing light of the lasso's fire. Some places it burned hot, places where she had buried truths so painful, they still hurt. Other places it merely felt like the warmth of the sun's rays on her skin on a lovely spring day. Unfortunately, it was the former places that needed attention.

At first the recollections were too bright to see. The fire purified the chaff of her memory and perceptions, leaving behind burnished images which hurt to witness. Her mother's face coolly informing her she had been banished. Aresia twisting the Amazon's principles to justify poisoning mankind.

But the images that burned brightest of all where comprised solely of her and Bruce. The moment she realized he liked her. Their first date. Their first real kiss. Other dates and other kisses. Then their first fight as couple, which led to the most brilliant memory of all.

The barrier of time crumbled, taking with it whatever defenses she had built against this sight, against their past.

Diana stood before Bruce, more vulnerable and exposed than she'd ever been in her life. As an Amazon she had been molded for challenge and adversity, but this was an entirely different battlefield, and Bruce was much more experienced in this game. She tried hiding her nervousness, forced herself to meet his gaze, but knew he saw through her the instant he lifted her palm to his mouth and saw her fingers tremble.

Diana expected a smirk or some impertinent remark about her naiveté and inexperience. Instead, he laced his fingers with hers and pulled her against his chest. At first, she stood there frozen and uncertain. But as his free hand traced circles along the length of her spine, she began to relax against him, even rested her head on his shoulder. In his arms, she began to notice what she'd been too nervous to see before. His erratic breathing. The clamminess of his hands. His flushed skin. With nothing but bone and sinew separating them, she could feel his heart. It was beating just as madly as hers.

And that was when she realized, this was not a competition or battle. There would be no losers here. Fortified by this thought, she looked up at him. He gave her a tentative smile, which Diana returned a hundred fold. Then she led him towards his bed.

Bruce's lips moved over her, forming words against her skin. Though he didn't speak them, she was quite certain of what he mouthed, first against her lips, then her throat, and across her collarbone. The same words were in her mouth, but she stopped herself from speaking them. Bruce could not say them, perhaps never would, but that was his way and she accepted it. These silent confessions would have to be enough.

Every time he touched her was like drowning. The tenderness and need of his gaze met with the power and focus of his touch, a convergence of bliss breaking over her, tumbling her so she knew neither up nor down. She was set adrift, completely out of her depth, and yet within the compass of his arms, she knew she was safe.

Suddenly the images shifted. Another fight, actually the same fight that had led to them sleeping together. But it hurt much worse. She had not anticipated that their deeper closeness would cause deeper pain. That he could say such hateful things to her after what they had shared seemed impossible. Yet the man who had made her feel so loved and cherished was not above making her feel small and used.

At first there was no anger, only agonizing pain and regret. She had welcomed him into her heart without any reservations, joined with him so intimately she had not known where she stopped and he began. Unified in this way, their separation was like an amputation. She had been ripped apart, lost pieces of herself that would never be returned. His further withdrawals only added to her misery. It wasn't enough of an insult to treat her as nothing more than a distant colleague. Eventually he stopped showing up at the Watchtower altogether.

As the days passed and the shock wore off, the haze of suffering coalesced into sharp, stabbing claws that tore at her heart and self-worth. Why had she not heeded the lessons of her sisters? Why had she given herself to a man? She had sacrificed her standing in the eyes of Athena, Artemis, and Hestia, and for what? She had failed as a lover and as an Amazon, and she did not know which hurt worse. Still did not know.

And yet, in spite of trying to forget everything she had shared with Bruce, here she was, living across the hall from him. How was it possible? She had every right to abandon him, just as he had abandoned her, but she had not. Why was she letting him dictate her life, just because he had fallen in love with some specter of herself? Was she so needy that it no longer mattered that he loved his idea of her instead of her actual self? And what would Bruce do when he regained his memory? Yell at her for being weak, turn her out of his house?

A sudden yell broke Diana's concentration. The lasso fell from her body, and she snatched it up. Running across the hall, she barged into Bruce's room. He was thrashing in his bed, sheets tangled around his legs. Without a second's hesitation, she went to him, dropping the lasso on his chest as she placed her hands on his face.

"Bruce, wake up," she said. Then again, a little louder.

His eyes snapped open, and his back arched off the bed before falling back down. He stared up into her eyes, mouth agape, but didn't move. He tried to speak, but only nonsense came out.

His nightmares had always been terrible, but they'd never left him like this. Diana looked him over, instantly worried. As the room grew brighter and brighter she realized what it was; the lasso was now wrapped around him, fiery and luminous.

She knew its properties. It had the ability to command truth, to make others obey her. And as she had just experienced, it had the power to dredge up the past.

Instantly, she spoke words of peace. Relief flooded her as she saw his jaw go slack and felt his body lose its rigidity. At her command, the golden coil released him, and he let out a sharp gasp.

Under her hand, his heart raced. She touched his face, swept his hair off his forehead, which was much too warm. "Bruce, are you alright?" Lightly slapping his face, she tried not to panic as he continued to lie there, unresponsive.

She stood up to get help from Alfred. Mid-air and halfway across the bedroom, she stopped at the sound of Bruce groaning.

"Diana?" he rasped.

She flew back and knelt beside him. "It's alright. I'm here." Reaching for the glass of water he kept on his nightstand, she brought it to his lips. More water dribbled down his chin than entered his mouth, but he drank the water greedily.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

Pushing the glass aside, Bruce tried to sit up, but fell back against his pillow. His face was lined with exhaustion. "I think so."

He was lying, but didn't seem to be in any immediate danger, so she continued questioning him.

"What happened?"

"I don't know. I just saw a bunch of images."

"What were they of?" she asked, her voice pitched higher with excitement.

Bruce closed his eyes. It shouldn't have been this hard for him to concentrate. "Never mind," Diana said. "You can tell me later. We need to go to the Watchtower and have J'onn look you over." Diana tried to move her hands under Bruce's arms, but he waved them away. "I'm fine," he grunted. "Just give me a second."

Taking a deep breath, Bruce spoke again, "I saw myself fighting various people. The Joker, Riddler, Bane, Poison Ivy…." Bruce paused, frowning. His fingers traced over his right shoulder, over a scar that was no longer there. "Saw myself get shot."

"But do you remember it?"

"Yes."

She tried not to get her hopes up too high, but this was great news. It wasn't him just memorizing old facts, but actually regaining some of what he'd lost. "Was there anything else?"

He closed his eyes, becoming deathly still. A kind of hush descended on her as she waited, hoping and yet dreading what he would say next.

"Only one thing." His eyes were on her again, piercing and alert. "At the very end, I saw you…us, actually."

Diana forced herself to breathe evenly. "What was it?"

"Just you and me kissing each other. I liked it…and if I'm not mistaken, you did too."

Diana's stomach tumbled over at sound of his voice, but she maintained her composure, knowing he was weighing her every look and word. "What were we wearing?" she asked.

"You were in a dress. I was in a suit."

"Anything else? What color was my dress?"

"Black."

She wanted to push for more, but the effects of the lasso were written on his haggard face. However, she might be able to come up with more information through indirect means. Black wasn't a color she owned much of. She'd have to go back and check her closet at the Embassy. Perhaps from there, she could use the clothing to figure out what kind of memory this was. A date, a funeral.

"What is that?" Bruce asked. Diana followed his line of sight to the golden rope curling around her fingers.

"My lasso of truth."

Bruce rubbed the invisible scorch marks on his chest. "It hurts."

"I'm sorry I let it touch you. Even before, you never liked being around it."

"Does it always wrap itself around people like that?"

"Not normally, no. I command it." That was odd. "I don't know why it did that."

A heavy silence descended between them, like so many times since she had moved in. He took her hand, lightly squeezing it. "I haven't said this often enough, but thank you for being here with me."

She diverted her eyes, laughing uneasily. "That's not true. You say it every day."

He raised her hand to his lips, looking at her as he kissed it. "And still it's not enough."

Words of admonishment were on the tip of her tongue, but before she could voice them, Bruce let go of her hand and pitched forward suddenly, throwing up all over the floor. Diana looked on helplessly as he emptied out the contents of his stomach. Holding his shoulders so he wouldn't fall off the bed, Diana rubbed his skin soothingly, praying this would be over soon.

When he was finished, he fell back on the bed and wiped the back of his hand against his mouth. "Call J'onn now," he said, before promptly passing out.

TBC