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.
Waiting for the Sun
by Djinn
The room is shrouded in
shadows, the silence broken only by the slow pinging of the heart monitor, the
hushed and rhythmic pumping of the respirator.
The woman on the bed lies quietly, her sheets lumpy over bandages and
tubes draining the wounds from multiple bullets. Her bracelets shine dully, as if they realize
how they failed her. Only they didn't
fail her, she failed them. They would
have stopped the bullets. If she hadn't
turned. If she hadn't left herself open.
She had a choice, and she didn't
choose herself. She lies now in the
chasm between life and death that is the consequence of selflessness.
Two men sit near her, one on
either side. A blue and red uniform
dulls down to muddy colors in the darkened room, barely different from the other's
gray and black. They are both
dark--hair, eyes, costumes. All dreary
and lifeless in this tomb of a space.
Both have her blood on their uniforms, although they have washed it off
their hands.
Clark sighs softly, hoping
the sound isn't as loud as it seems to him in the quiet room. Bruce glances over at him, wondering if Clark
knows how many times he's made that sound since they brought Diana in--it gets
more forlorn with each soft exhalation.
"Her breathing seems
stronger," Clark says. He wants it
to be so. Wants her to wake up and smile
at him. He's grown used to seeing her
triumph, grown accustomed to thinking of her as his equal. Impervious to harm. But she's not. She's strong, but she's not
invulnerable. And she's skilled, like
Bruce, at keeping harm away. But this
time she didn't. This time she turned to
stop the villain who would have gotten by her and paid for it as his henchman
mowed her down.
Clark had never seen her
bleed that way. He went a little
crazy. So did Bruce. The henchman may not survive his moment of
triumph.
"She'll be fine." Bruce knows
he sounds shaken, and he tries again.
"She's a fighter."
Better. Bruce knows Clark needs
that. Needs strength and certainty. So does Diana. She can hear them. She has to be able to hear them.
Standing, Bruce touches her
hair softly, checking to make sure that the tube is not chafing the corners of
her mouth. He hates those tubes--they
always hurt, always rub even as they carry life with each painful breath.
Clark watches him. Sees volumes in the way his friend looks at
Diana. At the way he touches her as if
she is the most precious thing in his world.
He knows Bruce loves her. He
wonders if Bruce knows that yet. He
knows Diana doesn't think he does.
He loves you, he tries to
send to her. I love you too.
She is their friend. She is their love. It has always been this way, he thinks. He has Lois, and he has never betrayed her. He does not think he ever will. But that doesn't mean he isn't in love with Diana,
too. Loving Lois doesn't mean that he
doesn't dream of Diana, of having her some day. He tries not to; he knows it's a betrayal of
his wife. But Clark can't stop his heart
from wanting, even if he can stop his hands from reaching.
Bruce makes himself sit down,
folds his cape around himself as if he can find warmth in it. He has not felt warm since he saw Diana go
down, since he heard the bullets hitting something awful--not the cool,
Amazonian steel of her bracelets, but flesh proven soft by the damage the
deadly little projectiles have done to her.
She fell. She didn't scream. She didn't make a sound. She stopped the villain, giving the other
bastard the chance to make her pay. She
fell, bleeding, to the ground and Bruce couldn't get to her to break her
fall. And once he did get to her, he
couldn't stop the bleeding. Clark did
it, cauterizing the wounds, which they had to reopen to get the bullets out
once they got her to the watchtower.
J'onn held her mind in his as they worked on her, kept her spirit there
with them as they dug metal out of her flesh.
J'onn looked worried, as if
he were afraid he might not be able to keep her with them. Bruce has watched Diana die once. He doesn't want to do it again. Ever again.
He shivers, and Clark looks
over at him. "If you're cold, she
might be too." Clark knows he is
the wrong one to judge. He's always
fine. His metabolism is super just like
the rest of him. He wishes he could feel
the pain Diana must be in. Wishes he could
take that from her and give her complete rest.
But he can't, and neither can Bruce, and J'onn was too exhausted after
the surgery to keep the link with her open.
So they have pumped her full of painkillers that will let her sleep, let
her own strong system do the healing for her.
She looks beautiful. Even lying there so still, she is the most
beautiful thing he's ever seen. If she
dies...
If she dies...
She did die. He died too.
Death is something survivable, or at least the first time. He doesn't think it will be survivable this
time. If she dies...part of him will die
too.
"Do you think she's
cold?" he whispers.
"Maybe." Bruce sounds unsure--Clark has never heard
Bruce sound that unsure about anything.
He gets up and pulls a
blanket out. He's about to settle it
over her, when Bruce says, "What if she's not?"
"Not what?"
"Cold. What if we make her too warm?" He is staring at Diana as if he doesn't know
what to do. As if the blanket has become
a life or death decision.
Maybe it has?
Clark touches her arm. She feels cool. "I think it will feel good. Just here..." He lays it over her legs, covering her pelvis
but not the bulky bandages. He peeks
through them with his super-vision, sees that the wounds are seeping. But in a good way. Draining.
"She's so strong,
Bruce."
Bruce doesn't think she looks
strong. He thinks she looks like a
broken doll lying on the bed. He's used
to being the one waking up hurt. Hanging
out with metas can do that to a regular guy.
Diana is usually the one taking care of him, the one who leans over him
when he wakes up. He's not sure how to
care for her.
Isn't that the problem
between them? He loves her with all his
heart...and he's not sure how to care for her.
Getting up, he walks to the viewscreen,
staring out at the stars. Diana loves
this view. She told him that it made her
feel small. She told him it made her
believe in things bigger than metas. He
hears the pinging of the heart monitor--wishes he believed in things bigger
than metas. But he quit believing in an
alley when he was eight. When God left
his side and found some other little boy to take care of.
Diana has never stopped
believing. No matter what she's lost, no
matter how much she's been hurt, she still believes. He wishes he had her faith. He wishes he had her.
Turning, he stares at her,
his hands on the sill, clutching. Clark
wonders if he knows how helpless he looks.
"Have you told
her?"
Bruce looks up at him, a
question in his eyes. And denial. As if he knows what the answer will be.
Clark pushes on. "That you love her? Have you told her?"
For a moment, he thinks Bruce
will give him a Batman answer. But then
his friend pushes back the cowl that has kept his face hidden--or would have if
Clark wasn't able to peek whenever he wants.
"No. I haven't."
"Why not?"
"It's complicated."
Clark looks over at
Diana. She's beautiful. She loves them both, and he knows that. She loves Bruce. Wants Bruce in a way she won't let herself
want Clark--not while he's with Lois.
"It doesn't seem very complicated to me."
"No. It wouldn't." Bruce feels instantly bad
for the comment, but Clark just gives him a sad look. As if the insult rolled off him. Or as if it really isn't complicated at all,
and he pities Bruce for not getting it.
For not getting her.
"She loves you,"
Clark says softly. His eyes stray to
Diana, then back to Bruce. This is hard
for him to say, but he is saying it--it's how he is, and there are times Bruce
wishes he could be more like his friend.
"Would it kill you to love her back?"
Bruce knows the question is
really will it kill her that he's refused her up to now. Will she die, drift off because she is alone,
because she doesn't know she's one of the only lights in his life? That he loves her and wants her and wishes he
were a better man--or maybe just a different man.
"She loves you too,
Clark." It's easier to deflect than
to answer.
"Not the same."
"But it could be. If..."
It is too harsh to say it. Not when
Bruce thinks so highly of Lois. He can't
say that Diana would love Clark the same way if only Lois were gone.
"You're an idiot,"
Clark says, moving the blanket up a little.
He is tired of Bruce's pain, tired of his reasons and rationales and
pigheaded determination to be miserable.
The woman lying under Clark's hand could make Bruce happy. And he runs from her.
"I probably am."
Turning, Clark sits back
down, letting a long, slow breath out.
He closes his eyes, prays--only he's not sure to whom. His parents raised him to believe in
something bigger than himself. But it's
hard. When he was dead...he can't
remember exactly, but he thinks he was somewhere warm and soft and full of good
things. He wishes he could
remember.
Diana told him about
Olympus. It wasn't warm and soft, but it
was still a form of heaven, he thinks.
She didn't want to be a goddess.
If he hadn't been in love with her already when she came back to life,
he would have fallen for her just because she wanted to be what he wants to
be. Human.
Neither of them is really
that. But she's closer to it than he
is. Her draining wounds are evidence of
that.
"Are you
praying?" Bruce is surprised. He doesn't think Clark is religious.
"I guess."
"Who to?"
"Whoever will listen."
There's nothing more to
say. Clark has it right. Bruce should pray too. To whoever will listen.
"Do you think she can
hear us?" Clark sounds like he
doesn't think she can.
Bruce isn't so sure. He's been on that bed enough times, drifting from
real sleep to the twilight sleep of the drugs to know that there are times the
people around you are perfectly clear.
That you can hear every word. Has
Diana heard him say he loves her?
"Do you remember the
first time you saw her?" Clark asks.
Bruce nods. He'd seen his share of beautiful women, but
Diana still left him speechless.
"She's changed so much since then."
Clark meets his eyes. "She's had to." He looks down then. As if they've had a hand in that change. As if they've hurt her.
Have they? There are things Bruce could have done
differently, times he could have reached for her instead of pushing her
away. Did Clark do that too?
"Tell me about
Asgard," he says.
"Not much to tell. Lots of fighting."
"You were with her for a
thousand years."
Clark nods. One thousand years of wanting her. And of knowing that once they were done
fighting for Thor and his fellow gods, they could be sent back to exactly the
moment they'd been stolen from. Diana
had given him that from the start. The
truth--she'd been the goddess of that, after all. And because of her, the truth was that he had
to be faithful to Lois because he wasn't stranded with Diana, not really, not
the way he wished he was. If Diana
hadn't told him, he would have made love to her.
If she hadn't told him, she
wouldn't have been the Wonder Woman he knows.
His touchstone. His truth. Lois is his humanity, but this woman is his
true north. He wishes he were more like
her. Sometimes he wishes he could see
the true thing and not just the right thing, that he could do the hard things
Diana is capable of.
It is one thing to drop your
guard in a hail of bullets when you know they can't hurt you. It is another to do it and know they will
tear you apart. That the price will be
pain and maybe even death. He isn't sure
he could keep fighting if he had to be frightened of that.
"Clark? Where'd you go?"
He smiles at Bruce, over her,
half-covered now by the blanket they think she needs. "Just drifting. We never made love."
Bruce nods, accepting what
his friend says. Clark has that
look. The eagle scout look. The "I know it's outlandish, but I'm
telling the truth" look. His friend
spent one thousand years with Diana and never made love to her.
Now who's the idiot?
They sit for a moment, and he
thinks they are both lost in their own worlds.
Worlds where Diana is the centerpiece.
Worlds where they contemplate what it would be like to be with her.
"Do you think I should
tell her I love her?" He looks
down. Where the hell did that question
come from?
"Do you want to tell
her?"
He shrugs.
"Not good enough,
Bruce. You know yourself too well to
give me that."
"I'll just hurt
her."
"No, you won't."
He looks over at Clark, even
as his hand reaches out to Diana's, where it lies so still on the bed, as if he
is already imagining holding it and telling her that she is his world. "How do you know I won't?"
"I know you." Clark has that look again.
Bruce swallows at Clark's look of pure support.
Despite everything, despite all the things they've done to each other
over the years, Clark still believes in Bruce.
"Besides, if you hurt
her, I'll kill you, and you're smart enough to know that." Clark smiles gently. "Or, if you're not smart enough to know
that, my telling you should make you smart enough."
"You don't
kill." But Bruce can see that where
Diana is concerned, Clark will probably make an exception.
"Tell her, Bruce. Take a chance. Maybe happiness won't be that bad?" Clark suddenly feels a pang. Does he really want to see her in his best
friend's arms? Does he want to imagine
them together--or worse, accidentally, or not so accidentally, see them making
love?
But the pang goes away. Does he want to see them like this? Lonely.
When they could be together. When
it could be so good because they're together.
"She's lonely too, you
know?"
Bruce nods. He's seen the look on her face lately. She's tired.
She fights and she works and she meets with officials and dignitaries. And through it all she's alone. He's seen the loneliness written in the
shadows under her eyes. In the way she
sighs when he turns away too quickly from her, when he refuses her offer for
coffee or dinner or even sparring anymore.
He turns down everything because he wants everything, and he's afraid
he'll be weak some day and take it.
And then what? Is Clark right? Would he be happy? Is that what he's been running from?
Clark leans forward, watching
her as she breathes. "She's so
beautiful. That's what I thought when I
first saw her. But she's more than that,
too. And it's easy to forget that. I think the world forgets it. They see the face--"
"--And the
body." Bruce grins sheepishly at
Clark's "Can I go on?" look.
"And the body. And they forget the amazing spirit that is
inside her. It's why we love her,
Bruce. Without it, without her strength,
she'd be just...ordinary."
"Is that what Lois
is? Ordinary?"
Clark looks surprised--and a little hurt.
"No. I didn't mean it that
way."
"Okay. Sorry."
But he can see Clark is thinking about it. He's too much of a boy scout not to mull it
over in his mind.
"Lois is anything but
ordinary."
"Clark, forget I said
it."
But Clark can't forget he
said it. Does Bruce think that's how he
views his wife? She's not less than
Diana, even if she is human. She's his
life and he's made a commitment to her.
His place is by her side.
Or his place is by her side
except when he's sitting vigil beside Diana's bed.
Sighing, he gets up, walks
over to the viewscreen that had Bruce so mesmerized. "I love Lois."
"I know you do,
bud. I didn't mean to imply
anything."
Clark isn't sure what to say,
so he settles for staring at the stars and not saying anything. He can see far--farther than Bruce, farther
than Diana. He wishes he could see the
future, see if Diana is going to wake up.
"What if she dies?"
"She's not going to
d--"
"--But what if she
does?" There is a long
silence. The starfield has begun to shimmer,
and tears swim for a moment in Clark's eyes until he blinks them away.
Then Bruce says softly. "There there will be no light. Not anymore.
Not here, and not down there. No
reason to fight." He gets up, joins
Clark at the viewscreen, his hand falling lightly on his shoulder. Then he grips him hard, shaking him a little.
"And I'll keep fighting anyway. And
so will you. Because that's what we
do. And that's what she does. And if she dies, she'll expect us to keep
going. For her."
Clark meets his eyes, has to
blink again. "She's never been this
hurt before."
"I know." Bruce's eyes are fine. Bruce doesn't cry, or if he does, Clark has
never seen it. "But her breathing's
stronger. You said so yourself."
Nodding quickly, as if trying
to convince himself, Clark turns back to the view.
Bruce lets go of him and
walks over to Diana. He wants to kiss
her, but the respirator is in the way.
He wants to love her, but he hasn't let himself. The respirator has to stay, but maybe he
could get out of his own way?
He leans down, whispers in
her ear, "I love you. Come back to
me." He knows Clark can hear him
say it.
"I should go home,"
Clark whispers. Then he sits down in the
chair.
Bruce knows he's not going
anywhere. Neither of them will go. Not until she wakes up.
Not until she smiles. And says their names. And chides them for sitting up too long with
no sleep and no shaves and nothing healthy to eat.
Not until she's alive
again. Truly alive again.
Then he'll tell her. He'll take a chance.
Just give me the chance, he
demands from a God he doesn't believe in, but suddenly wishes that he did.
"Just give us a
chance."
He doesn't realize he's said
it out loud until he sees Clark look over at him and smile.
"Not such an idiot,
after all," his friend says.
"I guess not."
They sit in silence, then,
listening to the ping-pinging of the monitor as it keeps time with their ragged
hearts.
FIN