Bruce Wayne Finally Speaks.

The headline was simple enough. But for some reason, Barbara struggled to comprehend the title, no matter how many times her bleary eyes stared at it. Her mind was elsewhere, drifting back to this morning when her father had left for work. Having expected Pamela to accompany her to the clinic, Barbara was pleasantly surprised to find the door to—thankfully—her own room closed. The woman was still asleep. And Barbara didn't need someone that badly to come with her. But now, alone in this bright fluorescent room, Barbara wondered if she should've taken Pamela with her. Was no company really better than bad company? Even if said company was as miserable as they came?

"Barbara Gordon?" A nurse with two blonde pigtails appeared in the doorway, holding a clipboard. "We got a Barbara Gordon here?" she asked in a high-pitched Brooklyn accent.

"Over here." Barbara raised her hand before starting to wheel herself over to the door.

"Hmm." The nurse glanced her over with a frown. "Follow me."

Once Barbara had passed, the nurse let the door close with a slam. "So what brings you here today?" She didn't so much as look at Barbara as she skipped down the long, empty hallway.

"Um, I have a checkup with Dr. Elliot," Barbara answered, struggling to keep up with the nurse.

The nurse looked over her shoulder and pointed to Barbara's immobile legs. "For your... that?"

Barbara gritted her teeth. "Yes."

The nurse nodded, snapping the gum Barbara didn't realize she had in her mouth. "Dr. Elliot will be with you shortly. You can wait in here." She gestured to the empty room in front of them.

Barbara rolled into the room and closed the door right in the nurse's face. "Finally." She breathed a sigh of relief. If she never saw that nurse again, it would be too soon.

With nothing else to do, Barbara glanced around at the various posters plastered on the otherwise bare white walls. One of them showed a person with red and blue lines running through their skinned body. Another was of someone's spinal cord and all the nerve functions that went with it. As she studied them, she realized these posters had been the first signs of color she had seen while in the clinic.

A sudden knock at the door made Barbara's head snap upright, and she turned it just in time to see a tall, broad-shouldered man in a white coat step inside.

"Hello," he greeted in a deep voice. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Barbara. Your father has told me so much about you." He stuck his beefy hand out for her to shake.

"All good things I hope." She gave a nervous chuckle as she shook his hand. Just how many people had her father talked to about her?

"Oh, yes. I'm sorry we had to meet under these circumstances. Please accept my sincerest apologies for what happened." He frowned. "These drunk drivers—They're out of control. And it's only going to get worse if the law doesn't start holding them accountable."

Barbara glanced down at her hands and nodded. "Yeah."

"Your father told me how the—pardon my French—asshole only got a fine and some community service." Dr. Elliot shook his head. "What a joke."

"So..." Barbara decided to change the subject before the doctor could continue his lament. "Am I going to start therapy today?"

It was as if Dr. Elliot remembered he was, in fact, a doctor, and switched back to his professional self in an instant. "Oh no. Today is just a checkup to see how often you'll need therapy. Tell me, Barbara. Are you in any pain?"

"No." She bit her lip. "Although sometimes I do feel like I am. But I know it's just an illusion."

Dr. Elliot nodded. "Yes, phantom limb pain. It's very common for paraplegics to experience it."

Barbara winced at the word. Paraplegic. That's what she was now, wasn't it? Yet, hearing the diagnosis—from the top neurologist in the country, no less—made the pain in her heart ache all over again.

She had refrained from calling herself paraplegic, afraid saying it would make it a reality. Like those stupid games kids used to play in middle school where they would try summoning a ghost in the bathroom mirror, Barbara had avoided them for the exact same reason. If she were to utter the words, then they would have power. They would become real.

"I am going to test the feeling in your legs and you'll tell me what you feel," he instructed. "If you could please take off your shoes and socks."

With a curt nod, Barbara took off her socks and shoes before rolling up the legs of her pants. Dr. Elliot pulled up a swivel stool and sat down, taking Barbara's leg in his hands. Taking out a paper clip from his coat pocket, he then slowly stroked it against the sole of her foot.

"Nothing." She shrugged when he glanced up at her.

Taking her other leg, he tried it again.

"Still nothing." Barbara frowned, knowing this couldn't be a good sign.

He did this again and again. On her heel, on the top of her foot. But the results were all the same. Barbara didn't feel even the slightest tingle.

"All right." The doctor put the paper clip back in his pocket. "Although you can't feel anything right now, it doesn't mean you won't walk again. There have been several cases where paraplegics regained leg function. However, I don't want to give you any false hope either. If you can walk again, it will take a while. And it won't be easy, which is why I'm recommending intensive physical therapy. Repetition is crucial, so you will need to do exercises every day for at least six months."

Up until this moment, Barbara had held out the hope Dr. Elliot would give her some sort of miraculous news. After all, he was the reason why she moved here in the first place. If anyone could cure her, it would be him. But with each word he uttered, that sliver of hope became smaller and smaller until there was nothing left. Not even something as abstract as a wish.

"Harleen can give you some names of rehabilitation centers and even some home therapists when she checks you out. I want to see you again in a month and see how you're progressing."

Although he smiled at her, Barbara could see the pity in his eyes. She hated it. She hated that from now on, whenever she met someone and looked into their eyes, she would find only pity.

"Okay." Barbara attempted to return his smile, but her quivering lips wouldn't cooperate. "Thank you. See you in a month."

As Dr. Elliot held the door open for her, Barbara wheeled herself out of the room, too preoccupied with her thoughts to notice the man headed straight towards her. It wasn't until she nudged him with the edge of her wheelchair and felt herself jolt forward did she realize what had happened.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" She hoped she hadn't run over his foot, which looked to be inside a very polished and expensive leather shoe. Shit. "I didn't run over you, did I?"

"No, not at all. You merely tapped me." The man glanced down at her. "Barbara? Barbara Gordon? I almost didn't recognize you."

Wait, did he know her? Squinting, Barbara took a closer look at the man. Tall, handsome, and with piercing blue eyes that stood in sharp contrast with his pale skin. The blood drained from her face once she realized who she was talking to.

Bruce Wayne.

How could she not have recognized him sooner? She knew who he was; everyone knew who he was. Owner of the multi-billionaire company Wayne Enterprises. Gotham's most elite bachelor. But most importantly, the orphan son of the murdered Thomas and Martha Wayne. At just ten years old, Bruce was catapulted into the spotlight after his parents were shot and killed in an alley, leaving him the sole heir to the Wayne fortune.

When you thought of Gotham City, it was Bruce Wayne's face that came to mind. The two were synonymous like yin and yang. Bruce owned the city and in turn, it owned him.

"Um, yes..." She shifted her gaze to the side, fully aware of what he meant. Why would he recognize her? The last time they saw each other, she could walk. "It's been a long time. How have you been?"

"I've been doing well. I'm actually here for a meeting with the other board members," he said, answering a question she hadn't even asked. "How have you been, Ms. Gordon?"

"Fine." She gave a tight-lipped smile. He knew perfectly well how she had been this past year. After all, he and her dad were best friends. And best friends told each other everything, especially about their kids.

Wanting to get out of there before he started asking for the more gory details, Barbara began to move around him. However, Bruce apparently wasn't finished yet as he stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

"I can escort you home if you'd like. This meeting shouldn't take long. Right, Tommy?" He gazed up at the man behind Barbara, an expectant glint twinkling in his eye.

Dr. Elliot chuckled. "I hope not."

"I would hate for you to go home alone, especially in your condition." Although his demeanor might have given off one of warmth and friendliness, his eyes told a much different story. A much colder one that made Barbara's hair stand on end.

"No, I think I'll be fine. I came here alone." She started to roll backwards towards the door. It was only a few feet away, but seemed almost like a hundred. "Thank you, though."

"All right, get home safely!" Bruce called out to her, but Barbara pretended as if she hadn't heard and continued for the front desk, impatient to escape his presence.

**

As the subway lurched over the tracks, Barbara was nearly tossed from her seat. Forced to grip the sides of her chair to keep from jolting side-to-side, she glanced up at the map above as the next stop was announced through the broken intercom. Of course, it would be broken. What wasn't broken, graffitied, or dirty in Gotham?

Looking around at the stained and torn seats, she was grateful she had her own chair to sit in. Probably the only time she would be grateful for such a thing. She had been careful not to touch anything while getting in, but she still felt filthy.

"When I get home, I'm taking a bath," she muttered.

The lights above flickered before suddenly going dark as the train entered into a tunnel. If the empty cart had been dim before, then it was pitch-black now. Barbara couldn't even see the seat in front of her despite it only being an arms-length away.

With a weary sigh, she pressed her hand against her forehead and waited for the tunnel to end. She tried not to think about what else might be lurking in the dark with her. Roaches as long as her index finger. Rats with teeth as jagged and sharp as steak knives. She shuddered, hoping she wouldn't be stuck in the dark for long.

But after only a few seconds, the fluorescent light finally returned, and Barbara could finally breathe again. She lifted her head up, noticing something out of her peripheral vision. Something that hadn't been there before.

A teenage boy, sitting in the back.

No, she knew no one had been sitting there. She had been alone in this cart. So then how could he have appeared out of thin air?

"Barbara?" His face broke into a toothy grin.

"I'm sorry, but do I know you?" She shifted in her chair, still trying to figure out how he got there.

"It's me. Richard." He pointed at himself as he moved towards her. "We met before. At a Christmas party. It was about... hmm, maybe four years ago? When you were last in Gotham."

Barbara searched her mind for the memory. She vaguely remembered speaking to a boy around his age at a Christmas party, but damn. That was four years ago. It felt like an entire century worth of events passed between then and now. But the more she stared at him, the more she realized how familiar he looked. Same pale skin, same black hair, same blue eyes. Richard was a mini version of his father, Bruce Wayne. He could have even passed as his biological son. That's how much alike they looked.

"Right, right." She ran a hand through her orange strands. "I remember now. Wow, you haven't changed at all. I can't believe I didn't recognize you sooner!"

He gave a cheerful laugh. "Yeah. You look pretty much the same, though. Well, except for...um..."

Barbara sighed, trying not to let it get to her. This was just the type of reaction she should expect from now on. But that didn't mean she would ever get used to it. "Yeah..."

"If you don't mind me asking, what happened?" He leaned in closer to her. Much like Bruce, he didn't blink either. However, there was one striking difference between the two. Richard's stare wasn't nearly as cold as his.

"A car accident," she said. "A drunk driver hit me and my mom. She was fine, but me... Well." She gestured to her useless legs.

"I'm so sorry." His voice softened. "That's just terrible."

Barbara nodded, unsure of what else to say. So she stared back up at the map, letting an uncomfortable silence fall between them.

"I forgot your parents were divorced." Richard had been so quiet she had almost forgotten he was still there. "So what do you think of Pamela? Doesn't really seem like she's 'mom material,' to be honest."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "How do you know about Pamela?"

"Bruce told me, of course."

"She's very beautiful." Barbara turned her gaze back to the map. "But let's just say she wouldn't have been my first choice."

Richard chuckled. "At least you know she isn't marrying your dad for his money."

"Wait." Barbara whipped her head around, nearly hitting Richard in the face with her hair. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You mean you don't know?" He raised an eyebrow. "Pamela's an heiress to the Isley fortune. That's why I don't understand why she's living with you all when she has a mansion of her own."

Before Barbara could even think to utter a response, the subway slowed to a stop.

"Gotham Superior Courthouse," a muffled voice announced through the speaker.

"I—I'm sorry, this is my stop." Barbara quickly unstrapped her wheelchair and started for the doors. She didn't even glance back as the doors slid shut behind her, but if she had, she would have seen Richard waving at her through the window.

Eager to get home, Barbara nearly ran down several people as she sped down the sidewalk. After hearing this tidbit of information, the only thing on her mind was asking her father if he also knew, not the innocent pedestrians standing in her way.

"Oh, dad," she whispered, feeling a pang of guilt ripple through her. Had he done this for her? "Don't tell me you're marrying her for the money."

Her dad was not someone who liked charity and still believed the man should be the sole provider of the house, so this seemed out of character for someone as proud as him. On the other hand, with a crushing pile of medical expenses weighing on him, maybe he realized he had to swallow his pride and accept a handout for once.

But it seemed like the answer to that burning question would have to wait. As Barbara came into view of her house, she let out a groan when she saw the driveway empty. Because of course he wouldn't be there, and she was an idiot for even expecting he would.

She had just crossed the porch when the door flew open and a hand wrapped around her arm, pulling her inside.

"Where were you?" Pamela slammed the door shut as if she feared something was right outside to get her. All the while, she continued to grip Barbara's sleeve with her nails.

"I went to the doctor." She jerked her arm back. If it hadn't been for her sleeve, Pamela would have surely scratched her.

"And you didn't think to tell me?" Pamela demanded.

Barbara rolled her eyes from behind her glasses. Maybe she was a little cynical, but she highly doubted Pamela had been beside herself with worry. "You were asleep, and I didn't want to wake you. I was being considerate."

"You could have left a note." She crossed her arms. "Just something to let me know where you were."

Barbara scoffed, lifting her body as high as she could in an attempt to match Pamela's height. "Oh, stop trying to act like you're my mother! Because guess what? You're not my mother and you will never be my mother."

Pamela's scowling lips twisted into a smirk. "Well, Barbara. Guess what? I am going to be your mother. Your father is in love with me and we're going to get married. Whether you like it or not."

It took every ounce of willpower not to slap that smirk right off her face. Refusing to do something she would end up regretting, Barbara spun around and glided down the hallway into her room. But as she did, she not-so-accidentally knocked a potted plant over and let it shatter to the floor.