DISCLAIMER: The Justice League of America
characters are the property of DC Comics. The story contents are the creation
and property of Djinn and are copyright (c) 2005 by Djinn. This story is Rated
PG.
Letting the Light In
by Djinn
In the small infirmary, a
special kind of hush reigns. It is not a
true silence; there are noises in the darkened room: the ping of the monitors, the soft breathing
of Bruce as he sleeps, dreaming of Diana as he lies with his head on his arms,
finally collapsed in exhaustion leaning up against her bed. Diana lies quietly, deep in the coma-like
sleep that is the only place her body can heal.
But her breathing is strong now--she is off the respirator--and she
drifts, her thoughts scattered and strange, as she almost-dreams about her life
and the people she loves. Clark makes no
sound; he sits motionless, just listening to her breathe, wondering if she
knows they are there with her. If she
can tell they have not left her. That
they will never leave her.
Bruce shifts slightly,
calling out as his dreams take him to a place where Diana falls again, blood
pouring out of her. He reaches for her,
but he fails her. He lets her fall, lets
her die. She looks up at him, her eyes
full of love betrayed.
"I love you," he
tries to tell her, but he can't say the words, and she dies and never knows.
"Oh, Bruce, really. Can't you do any better now that you're
grown?" A beloved voice, and one he
only hears in his dreams.
He lays Diana down gently,
turns to look at his parents. His mother
shakes her head sadly, and in his father's eyes he sees disappointment, but not
surprise.
They fade away, and time
rewinds, and again Diana falls as the bullets score across her body, as her
skin turns from the golden tan he loves to something red and wet.
In her almost-sleep, Diana
holds her mother's burned body, weeping as the pain of loss rushes through
her. Then the body is gone and her
mother stands before her, whole again and smiling gently with the love that Diana
has missed since that terrible day she watched her mother die.
"You don't have to watch
over me, Diana. It's my turn to watch
over you."
"Mother?" She reaches for her, but her mother pulls
back. "Take me with you."
"You can't come with
me. It's not your time." Her mother kisses her on the forehead, and
the touch is a benediction from lips long gone but yearned for so badly. "I love you, Diana."
"Don't leave
me." Diana's voice echoes as she
feels her mother give her a push away from the light that fills the space
behind her. She is pushing Diana back
toward pain. Diana fights to stay with
her, but then her mother disappears and everything is black and filled with the
awful thump-thumping that Diana knows is her heart. A heart that will have to fight on.
Clark sighs, thinking of
Lois, how she sounded the last time he called.
She will not make him come home, but he thinks she wants him to come on
his own. That he shouldn't need to be
told to leave Diana.
But he can't leave Diana. Not until she
wakes up. His marriage has to be strong
enough to survive this. Lois has to be
strong enough to share this small part of him.
He thinks she is. Or he hopes she
is. He just wishes he didn't have to
hurt Lois, that there was some way to sit with his friend and not put yet
another dent in his marriage. So many
little ruptures in his relationship with Lois--so many of them with Diana's
name on them.
He realizes there is a
different sound--Diana's breathing has changed.
It's faster now, as if she's fighting her way through quicksand to get
to them. He wants that, wants her to be
trying to wake up. He needs that. So does Bruce. They need to see her smile. They need to hear her voice and see her face
light up when she realizes they are there.
Or they need her to just open
her eyes. That will be good enough--if
she would just open her eyes.
He looks at Bruce, but his
friend is still asleep. He should wake
him; Bruce would want to be part of this.
Clark is reaching to gently shake him awake, when Diana opens her eyes,
and he lets his hand drop to her shoulder instead.
"Hi," he says.
She swallows hard, her throat
is so dry she does not think she can form words, and she feels Kal squeeze her
shoulder as if he knows what she is going through. His hand is warm, so comforting.
She blinks, trying to clear
her eyes, and then the pain comes. Such
deep, abiding hurt that for a moment she wants to dive back into the
blackness. But then she remembers how she
was hurt, remembers falling, remembers turning away from the bullets, leaving
herself open. And she remembers
why.
Kal leans in. "Welcome back. We've missed you."
She tries to talk, but there
is no sound, so she mouths "We?" to Kal.
Smiling gently, he points
with his chin at something on her other side.
Turning in what feels to her like slow motion, she sees a dark head next
to her. She can feel her eyebrows going
up in surprise.
"It's really Bruce. He's been here the whole time."
She wants to touch Bruce, but
she feels too weak to lift her hand.
Looking back at Kal, she mouths, "What about Gotham?"
"I guess Gotham takes a
back seat to you." Clark knows he
can't keep this to himself any longer and reaches over, shaking Bruce
lightly. "Someone's awake."
Bruce is pulled from another
rewind of the dreadful nightmare. He
sits up with a jerk, and his eyes are scratchy, his vision blurred. But not so blurred that he can't see that Diana
is awake. He smiles, and there is shock
in her eyes at what he supposes is something she so rarely sees in him: happiness.
"You're awake."
"I am," she
mouths. She sees the beautiful smile
again and feels a lump forming that her waking up can cause him so much
joy.
"Here, this will help
your voice," Kal says, giving her an ice chip he fishes from a pitcher on
the table next to him. "We'll have
you talking in no time." He waits
for her to finish the first one and slips another one between her lips. His touch is gentle, his look tender, and she
feels a rush of love for him. He means
so much to her.
Their eyes meet, and she sees
love in his too. Then something else, a
sad resignation. "I better get home
before Lois starts wondering what I look like." His eyes burn into hers, then he looks
away. "And you two should be
alone."
Bruce tears his eyes from
Diana and stares up at Clark. He did not
expect Clark to cede the battlefield to him like this, not even when Clark's
been encouraging him to tell Diana how he feels about her. But his friend is giving him a sad smile and
a stern little lift of the eyebrows, probably to remind Bruce that he'll kill
him if he hurts this woman they both love.
This woman who Bruce loves
with all his heart. This woman who
scares him because he cares so damn much about her.
"Give her more of
these." Clark hands Bruce the
pitcher and stands but doesn't move any farther than that. He was not expecting it to be so hard to walk
away. He doesn't want to; he wants to
stay. But he has a woman at home waiting
for him. A woman he loves dearly. A woman he doesn't want to hurt anymore.
"Thanks," Diana
says, her voice rough but so beautiful to Clark. So damn beautiful.
She'll be with Bruce now. She'll be in
Bruce's arms, in Bruce's bed. Clark
swallows hard, touching her cheek for a moment, then turning and forcing
himself to walk away, to walk to the monitor room and check on Wally before
heading back home. Back to his life, his
life that does not include Diana.
"Do I want to know what
just happened?" Diana is looking at
Bruce so tenderly, he has to look away.
But he can't stand to not see her, so he looks back just as fast. Before he can lose his nerve, he says the
words he's spent hours dreaming he couldn't get out. "I love you."
He says it so fast it runs together,
and his voice goes up as if he's having a panic attack.
And she does just the right
thing. She smiles and laughs just
once. Not at him but for him, as if she
is sad that he has to rush through such an important thing. "I love you too," she says, her
voice husky and weak, and the loveliest thing he's ever heard.
He seems unsure what to say
next, so she takes pity on him and asks, "You must have been really
worried about me, huh?"
"We both were," he
says, looking over at the door.
"Clark has been here the whole time. I wouldn't want to be him when he gets
home. Lois is not going to be amused at
how far he carries devotion."
Diana laughs and feels her
abdomen seize up. "Hera, that
hurts."
"I'm sorry."
"Just don't make me
laugh." She studies him, marveling
a little that he always seems to be able to make her do that. Dark and damaged as he is, he amuses
her. "Did you really just say you
love me?"
He looks a little
sheepish. "I really just
did." His expression changes, seems
far more tentative than she's ever seen it.
"What do you think of that?"
"I like it." It's such a simple answer, and it charms him
completely. "It scares me,
too."
He takes a deep breath,
trying not to show that her words sting.
"I guess I'm scary?"
"I'm not scared of you,
Bruce. I'm scared that once I'm better,
you'll back away again, and I'll have to forget I ever heard you say it, just
like I had to forget you ever kissed me."
He sees pain in her eyes--not
from her wound this time, but from him.
Leaning in, being careful not to put any weight on her stomach, he
kisses her. "You don't have to
forget that one."
"Are you sure?"
He thinks this time she's
kidding, but he kisses her again anyway.
Then again--soft, easy kisses that she returns gently. Sitting back, he studies her.
"I'm not going anywhere,
Bruce."
"You almost did. You almost left me."
She remembers her mother, how
she pushed Diana back toward life.
"It wasn't my time."
"I'm very glad of
that." He touches her forehead
again so gently that it makes her shiver.
She's never seen the
combination of fear and tenderness that seems to light his eyes. Slowly, she lifts her hand up, touches his
face. "I don't want to leave just
when it's getting interesting."
He looks away, but doesn't
pull away from her hand. "I let you
fall."
"No, you
didn't." She sounds as if this is
very elemental.
"I did. I couldn't...I couldn't protect
you." He meets her eyes, is
surprised that she is frowning.
"It's never been your job
to protect me."
He starts to say something,
but she says, "No, Bruce.
No."
When he closes his mouth in
defeat, she says, "Your job was to keep fighting. My job--my choice--was to go down. To fall.
That's what we do. That's why
we're heroes."
She can see that her words
are touching him, but he still looks morose.
"Bruce, was it because it was bullets? Were you suddenly in an alley?"
He jerks away. But she's right. That's part of it. He hates guns. He hates that she was shot. He hates that he let her--
He sighs. He never let her do anything. She is right.
She made the choice. It was the
only choice she would ever make. It's
one of the reasons he loves her.
"I couldn't save
them." He doesn't want to talk
about his parents, but he's doing it anyway.
"I know. I couldn't save my mother."
He's forgotten they share
that. Probably because Clark was with
her for that. Clark's marriage nearly
imploded because he was with her for that.
Do they need to discuss
Clark?
"Where did you
go?" She watches as emotions flit
across his face. He is so open right
now, so unguarded. She thinks she loves
this Bruce better than all the others.
But she also thinks this Bruce is the most unstable, the most likely to
run, no matter how much he loves her.
It's an odd twist with him
that the more controlled he is, the more she can relax. She understands the rules with that Bruce
even if she doesn't like him much sometimes.
"You love him?" he
asks.
"Him?" Does he know she's dissecting him? Does he mean the old Bruce?
He can tell he's lost
her. "Clark--do you love
Clark?"
"How did we get to
Clark? Can I have some more
ice?"
He fishes out another chip
for her, holds it to her mouth the way Clark did. The feeling of her lips on his fingers is
distracting. He thinks she means it to
be. She doesn't want to answer the
question. She won't answer.
The answer has to be yes,
then. It has to be something she thinks
he won't like.
Then she sighs. "Does it matter how I feel about
him? He's my friend. And he's not here now. You are.
I'm with you--if you'll let me be."
"I want you to be with
me." It's as if his mouth is
operating independent of his brain. He
was planning on saying something about it not being his choice. That maybe it wouldn't work.
He was planning on chickening
out again.
His mouth was obviously not
on board with this plan.
Her smile tells him why. Her smile is everything good and sweet and
light that he knows. His world is suddenly
a very small place, measured by the distance between their hearts, the space
between their lips as he leans in to kiss her again.
As he pulls away, he
whispers, "I'm damaged, Diana."
"Everyone is damaged in
some way. It's not that we're surrounded
by rubble that matters, it's how we crawl out of it."
The way she says it, it makes
sense. His heart loves it, wants to
believe it. His brain is not so sure she
gets just how damaged he is. "I'll
end up hurting you."
"You don't have to. You can decide not to."
"It's not that
simple."
"You're already
backpedaling, Bruce." She looks
away, and he sees tears in her eyes.
"Why don't you go home now?
Gotham needs you, and you've been gone for a while. Just go home."
He almost gets up, but then she
looks at him, her mouth set in a hurt frown, her eyes spilling tears that she
should not be crying, and he can't leave her, not now, not any more than he
could when he didn't know if she would wake up.
"You're my home."
"It doesn't feel like
it." Sniffling softly, she turns
away.
He wants to go; she can tell
he wants to go. She wishes Kal were
here, wishes he would pummel some sense into Bruce and make him fight for
her. "I've never wanted more than
you could give, Bruce."
He swallows, feels a lump
forming. They're going to pull away
again. She's going to let him, because
she won't take more than he can give--and he can't give anything. He has nothing to offer her.
Except that he loves her, and
he'd die to keep her safe. He doesn't
realize he's said it out loud until she looks at him and says, "I don't
need you to keep me safe, and I don't want you to die. I need you to love me. And I want you to live."
"Living is hard,"
he says, as he traces her lips gently.
They are so soft. He loves kissing
them. He could spend the rest of his
life just getting to know them.
If he could just get out of
his own way.
"Living _is_
hard." She sees him look at her in
surprise. "I saw my mother,
wherever it was I went when I was hurt.
I wanted to go with her."
His face falls, and she
regrets that she is causing him pain, but she does not regret telling him the
truth.
"You don't have a
monopoly on inner pain, Bruce. You're
not the only one with darkness inside you."
He hates that she feels that
way. She is not dark; she's his
light. His sunshine.
His sunshine wanted to die.
He blurts out the first thing
that comes to mind. "Don't
die."
"I'm not going to. I'm back.
I had no choice." She closes
her eyes, tempted to ask for some painkillers, tempted to swim in the dreamy
haze that will let her care just a little bit less about him and whether or not
he wants to be with her. But she does
not ask, it is not her way to ask for oblivion.
"Bruce, if you can't be with me, I'll survive. I have before; I can again. But I don't want to."
She meets his eyes, and he
can see how tired she is. Tired in body
and tired in spirit. Tired of waiting
for a man who runs every time they have a chance.
He's tired of that man,
too. He's damned sick of that man.
"You don't have
to."
"How do I know
that?" she says, expecting a quick answer--he always has to have the last
word.
But he doesn't respond, he
only smiles at her, and she sees something in his expression change. Something is gone, and she thinks it's his
fear, or his caution, or his pain. The
things that keep him from her. The
things that keep him from loving her the way she needs him to and wants him
to. The way she will love him back if he
just lets her in.
His smile is tentative, but
it is real. His eyes hold hers as he
says, "You don't have to."
And then he is kissing her
again, and his lips are warm and feel welcoming against her own. She wants him to love her. She wants him to touch her and make love to
her and be with her. She wants to sleep
in his bed and wake up with him in the morning and see how he looks just before
he opens his eyes. She wants so many
things--things she's learned not to let herself think about.
Wrapping her arms around him,
she tries to draw him closer. And, even
though she is so weak, she pulls him off balance, making him put a little of
his weight on her. She cries out in
pain, and he is off her instantly.
"I'm okay. I forgot my own strength." She touches his cheek.
He smiles, then checks the
bandages to make sure they have not torn anything. "See, I'm hurting you already."
"I'll
survive." She drops her hand, and
he feels the loss of her touch like an addict must feel the withdrawal from a
drug.
He wants her to touch him some
more. He wants her to touch him, and
love him, and fall asleep curled next to him.
She's right that he can't protect her, but he wants to try anyway.
He sees her eyes close, but
she forces them open, fighting sleep.
"Rest, now. I'll be here
when you wake up."
"You don't have to
be."
"I want to
be." He kisses her again, loves the
smile that brings. "And when you're
ready to get out of here, you can convalesce at the manor."
"You're going to shack
up with me?" Her smile is goofy, sweet
and full of amusement. But still a
little sad.
"I am." He will have to work hard on making her
happy, not sad. On loving her, not
hurting her. It should not be work, but
he knows it will be, at least at first.
He is so used to pushing her away; his first instinct will not be to let
her in.
But he can learn.
She feels his lips on hers
again. Sleep is calling, pressing
heavily on her now, but she wants to enjoy this. She wants to remember this. "How we started," she mumbles, then
feels his breath on her cheek as he says, "What, Diana?"
"When we look back, this
will be how we started."
"We started the moment I
laid eyes on you."
She smiles again and feels
his hand on her cheek.
"Just let go," he
says softly.
She does what he says and floats
off, the sensation of his fingers on her skin the last thing she is aware of.
Bruce hears her breathing
change to that of sleep, and he exhales slowly.
She's right. This is when they
start.
This is when he lets her in.
He watches her for a long
time, before he puts his head back down on his arms and falls asleep. His dreams are about her, but she doesn't
fall this time. And when he falls,
she's there to catch him.
FIN