The Lurking Fear

[The Dark Knight]

The outlet was in sight as he frantically waded through the rushing water. He was now close enough to the large circular opening that the moonlight was able to illuminate the white froth all around. He struggled with his right leg, wincing as he moved. Leaning on the sloping pipe walls as he went, he kept looking behind him, squinting to pierce the darkness. The cowls night vision was damaged. Other than the faint glow of the widely dispered lamps running down the pipes interior, there was nothing but the sound of water.

Then he heard it. A low, loud growl emanated from the other end of the pipe where it turned right. It was followed by the distinct pop of glass smashing. One by one, the lamps down at the other end of the pipe started to go out. Then came another growl, louder and more determined.

He turned back and pressed on, wincing as he willed his body faster through the shin-deep water, putting as much pressure on his right leg as he dared. His hand slipped on the damp pipe wall and he fell to his knees. He screamed as he clutched his leg with one hand while pushing his body up with the other. He gasped as he straightened his leg, then snapped his neck arund to witness another lamp disappear. The encroaching darkness was accompanied by the sound of guttural, savage breathing creeping down the pipe, now some thirty metres away.

With all of his strength, he ran as best as he could down the last few metres of the pipe. Exhausted, he fell through the outlet and slid down the concrete embankment. He flailed in the shallow water on the edge towards the sleek, black boat with Alfred waiting onboard. The engine chugged into life just as he pulled himself over the side. Within seconds, they were moving away, accelerating quickly. He looked back one last time at the outlet and could just make out the monstrous outline of his pursuer in the moonlight.

It had been a very narrow escape. The Dark Knight had never been so scared, nor had he ever been so relieved.

[Bruce Wayne]

http://www.plmccoy.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk/images/gotham_gazette_01.jpg

The hospital bed was very comfortable. It was almost enough to make Bruce forget the hordes of press lingering outside. The rabble had been outside all morning once news of his condition spread. It had been kept a secret for two days until one of the interns caught a glimpse of him coming back from surgery lasy night. It was on every news channel and in every tabloid and newspaper. It was flattering but intrusive, and not to mention extremely inconvenient for a billionaire company president who moonlights as a masked vigilante.

But the form-fitting mattress and silk-soft sheets were not enough to ease his sleep. The past three nights had been restless as Bruce's slumber had been plagued by a recurring nightmare, replaying the events in the sewer. When he was alone in the room, his mind dwelled on every horrifying detail in slow-motion. He was grateful for any company that wasn't looking for a picture or a quote for an article. He deliberately broke the TV to summon the janitor, whom he almost got in trouble for keeping him talking for two hours straight about aeroplanes and old cars.

That was around 9am this morning. It was now 2pm and Alfred has just arrived with lunch. He entered the room clutching a brown paper back.

"I can smell the fries already, Alfred. You're a superstar!"

He was interrupted by a police officer at the door.

"Mr Wayne, there's somebody asking to be let in to see you - they claim they're not a member of the press."

Alfred turned to the officer. "No visiters please, Mr Wayne needs his hamburg- I mean rest!"

Bruce sat up, wincing in pain as he hoisted his body up the bed slightly. "It's alright Alfred, I'm not dying. Who is it exactly?"

[Oliver Queen]

They claim they're not a member of the press.

Oliver couldn't be entirely sure whether the police officer was intentionally snubbing him, or if he was just that stupid. Okay so sure, it had been a while since Oliver had managed to get his face plastered across the front page of the tabloids, and sure, most of those photographs had involved him being keeled over and throwing up into something, but come on: he was Oliver Queen, damn it. How could you not recognise number four on the list of Gotham's most eligible bachelors?

"It's me, Bruce," he grunted, straining to peer past the police officer and get an eye line on his injured friend. "Ollie Queen." He hesitated for an instant as the cop turned, matching the look of disapproval with a narrow-eyed glare of his own.

"I brought scotch and porn."

[Bruce Wayne]

Bruce smiled as Alfred handed him his lunch.

"I think it's... a little early... for both".

He spoke in between burger chomps.

"Alfred, please tell me you brought some ketchup!"

The aging butler frowned. "I'm afraid they were all out, Master Wayne"

"Oh hell no. Officer! This is very important, I need some ketchup for my fries, this is a priority one and supercedes all other orders."

The police officer hesitated, then went to speak but Bruce continued.

"Come on! My lunch is dying here! Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi - you're my only hope!"

The officer burst out laughing. "May the sauce be with you! Right away, Mr Wayne!" In a flash, the police officer disappear to the cafeteria. Bruce turne dhis gaze from where the man had been standing at the doorway, then turned to Ollie and Alfred, smiling...

"The Bruce can have a strong influence on the weak minded, and on the cops who can smell fresh donuts down the hall. So Ollie, what's new? I've been in hospital plenty times before and you never visited me once - usually a hungover voice on the end of a telephone is the best I get. What's up?"

Another mouthful of burger was shoveled in as Bruce looked expectantly at his friend.

[Oliver Queen]

A little early for both.

A derisive snort crept out as he unceremoniously dumped the plastic bag of rich bachelor aid supplies onto a nearby unit, stepping a little further into the private hospital room so he could get away with lowering his voice.

"Normally when you land yourself in hospital, I overhear about it when people start grumbling about the idiot antics of Bruce Wayne, taking a tumble while rock climbing, base jumping, or something stupid like that. If it makes the papers, it's probably in the gossip section on page -" He waved a hand dismissively. "I don't know. I never bother reading the papers."

That was a lie, of course. As anyone who'd snooped around Oliver's office or peeked at his financials would know - and he pretty much worked under the assumption that Bruce had probably done both of the above - he had a subscription to the Gotham Gazette to make sure he didn't miss a single thing of Dinah's that got printed. But that was irrelevant: now wasn't the time to let stupid things like facts get in the way of a good disapproving monologue.

"So imagine my surprise when the front page of every newspaper in the city tells me that you were mauled by a bear, on a camping trip that I, and a certain red little birdie that I spoke to this morning, had no idea you were going on."

All the pretence of light-heartedness and joviality faded away, leaving behind a dense core of almost elder brotherly sternness. There was a real risk of it turning into an 'I told you so' speech, though that would require Bruce ever listening to anyone enough to be told anything.

Oliver's arms folded across his chest, and his eyes narrowed. "Tell me what got you, and where it was, so I can go and handle this properly."

[Bruce Wayne]

"I'm not saying a god-damned thing about what happened! Not to you! Not yet!"

Alfred looked shocked. Bruce had to admit, that came off a little strong.

"At least not until I've had time to think about it. I don't want you running off all fired up and getting caught off guard. Trust me Ollie, you don't wanna know what it was. Neither do I right now."

He took another bite of his burger, closing his eyes and letting out a satisfied sigh, all in an effort to conceal the slight hint of tears before they had time to well up properly. He just barely got away with it.

[Oliver Queen]

Frustration balled Oliver's hand into a fist; it was only sheer force of will that kept his grating teeth clamped shut before a tirade of shouted insults burst out.

"You know what, Bruce?"

Ollie's voice turned calm and chilled. "You're fighting crime as if you're waging war, but you're not the one who is a soldier: I am. Was," he corrected as an afterthought. It wasn't something he normally spoke of: Bruce knew not to ask about Oliver being exiled to the military and abandoned on the island; and in return Ollie knew not to ask what the hell Bruce was doing when he went gallivanting around the world. Most of the time, Oliver didn't want anyone to know, but at times like this he was sorely tempted to use his secrets to bludgeon Bruce around the head.

"You act like you know what you're doing, but you don't. Soldiers don't wage wars alone, Bruce: only idiots do. Maybe if you weren't in such a hurry to move in with your parents at the family cemetery, you'd see that."

He sighed, and turned for the door. If Batman wanted to wrap himself up in a cocoon of Bruce Wayne and burgers to hide from whatever had happened, then that was his damage. At this rate, the longer he stayed in a hospital bed, the longer he was kept from his self-destructive quest.

Oliver hesitated before leaving, sparing a glance at Bruce's butler. "There's tea for you in the bag, Alfred. I know how much you hate the stuff they brew at hospitals."