"Let. Her. Go!"

Ignoring Bruce's demand, Connell clutched Beth tighter and spun on his heels. He raced back in to the lab - which was now lit with the flames that licked along the workbenches lining the wall - and yelled to his henchman. "Get him!"

The two goons ran into the corridor and Beth could hear the sounds of a fight erupting. She knew from her 'reading' that at least one of them was vicious with his fists, but she had faith that Bruce would win.

So she would do her part to get away from Connell.

She kicked her legs forcefully and started driving her elbow into his back, again and again. She was still weak, but he wasn't in the best of shape either, and her actions were enough to disrupt his hold. Either that, or he realised trying to escape holding a thrashing women would be difficult.

So he dropped her. She crashed to the floor, landing awkwardly on her left arm. Before she could get to her feet, a vial smashed onto the concrete in front of her and a red vapour swirled into the air.

She gasped from the surprise...and inhaled the gas before she recognised what it was: the paralysing agent that had taken down Bruce in that junkyard.

"That'll slow him down," Connell muttered, keying in the code for the door at the far end of the lab. When the light blinked green on the lock he wrenched it open and disappeared into the dark hallway beyond.

Beth watched him leave, the gas already taking effect on her muscles. She lay motionless on her side, sucking in air via small panicked breaths, her lungs unable to expand fully. She could feel the heat radiating from the flames to her right, her skin getting warmer as the fire spread.

Now would be a real good time to wrap up that fight, Bruce, she thought just as her breathing stopped altogether.

As if he'd heard her, Bruce came running into the lab seconds later. "Beth!"

All she saw at first were his boots, then his cape flaring out as he sank to his knees beside her. Gentle hands moved her onto her back and tilted her head...and then there he was.

Her Bruce.

The stubble lining his jaw was thicker than usual, as if he hadn't shaved in days, and his eyes looked bright with fear as he took in her state. He glanced at the vial on the floor beside her and seemed to figure out what had happened. "Shit!" He stroked a gloved hand quickly against her cheek. "I've got you, Beth. Just hold on."

Then he pressed his mouth over hers, and his breath filled her starving lungs.

She felt her stuttering heart steady as oxygen raced through her deprived body. Even as the fire in the room grew in size, and the warmth bathing her skin turned into an uncomfortable heat, all she felt was blessed, cool relief.

Bruce was here.

He would save her.

She could see his eyes darting to the flames when he raised his head between breaths, and the tightness of his jaw spoke of his concern. She wanted to run her fingers over that clenched muscle. Soothe his fears and let him know that everything would be alright now that they were together.

But the gas was still holding her captive.

So Bruce continued to breathe for her.

And with every touch of his lips to hers, she got a glimpse of what he'd been through the past five days.

She saw their kiss at the party from his perspective; felt his desire and his...joy. An emotion she never would have associated with such a taciturn, melancholic man. She hated herself for extinguishing that joy with her rejection.

She saw - she felt - his numb devastation in the aftermath. And his guilt as he realised she was missing.

She followed the frantic search, and witnessed his all-consuming anguish at finding the body in the red dress.

Hot tears gathered in her eyes and slipped down her cheeks as she experienced his pain and suffering.

Bruce wiped them away. "Don't cry, Beth. It's gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay."

I'm crying for you, you dummy, Beth thought, and was able to verbalise that moments later when the gas finally wore off. She lifted her hand and stroked her thumb over his cheek, brushing the edge of his mask. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

He closed his eyes and held her hand against his face, exhaling in obvious relief at the sound of her voice. Then he focussed on her again. "There's nothing to be sorry for."

She wanted to argue with him - explain what she meant. She wanted to tell him that she loved him. And that she wanted to make things work between them. Be with him, no matter what...

But all her strength left her in that moment. The hunger and stress, the physical exertion, the effects of the gas, all hit her at once...

And she passed out.

———

She woke up in Wayne Tower.

She could tell where she was the moment she opened her eyes and saw the vaulted ceiling and ornate woodwork.

But she wasn't in the guest suite that she'd previously occupied.

The more masculine decor, and the framed photo of Martha and Thomas Wayne on the bedside table clued her in that she was in Bruce's bedroom.

The fact that he was asleep on the bed next to her was a pretty big hint as well.

She carefully turned onto her side to study his slumbering form. Dark circles smudged his eyes and a slight frown marred his brow even in sleep. The knuckles of the hand resting on his chest were bruised and split, and a fist-sized red mark graced his cheek.

Even beat up and exhausted, he somehow still looked young and unguarded in this state; his intense, old-soul eyes were hidden from view, making him look almost...vulnerable.

Her hand itched with the urge to smooth his hair back and brush her fingers over the stubble on his cheeks.

A week ago, she would have suppressed that urge.

But no longer.

She'd vowed during her days of captivity that she wouldn't let her ability hold her back any longer.

Not when it came to Bruce.

Her father was the reason she was like this - alone and cut off from the world. Unable to act on her desires and be with the man she loved. For years she'd accepted that this was her lot in life. That it was just something she had to bear.

But now she saw it as giving in to her father. If she continued to live like this, it would be as if he was exerting his control over her from beyond the grave.

As irrational as it sounded, she couldn't allow that.

She would find a way to live her life on her terms.

She took a moment to mourn the loss of the blockers that were destroyed in the fire. They would have made her life with Bruce infinitely easier, but it didn't matter. She would either figure out a way to guard against unwanted thoughts - create her own 'block' - or she would just learn to accept her gift. Accept any and all stray thoughts and hurtful images that came her way. Deal with her insecurities and fears. Put up with seeing the violence and trauma that Bruce immersed himself in as Batman.

It would be hard. So incredibly hard - and probably take her years of effort - but she would do it if it meant being with him.

She bit her lip and closed her eyes, gathering the courage to take the first step and raise her hand towards him, dreaming of the day when touching him became second nature.

But when she opened her eyes again, she saw the blue of his, and her courage disappeared. She curled her hand under her cheek and met his gaze.

He was awake.

He turned on his side to match her position, and that's when she realised he was lying on top of the covers, and she was underneath. Something about that touched her - it spoke of his considerate, solicitous nature. Despite his tough, vigilante persona, Bruce was a gentleman to the core.

A gentleman who was yet to say a single word.

A gentleman who was just studying her with his serious, fathomless eyes. She could normally read him so well, but right how she had no idea what he was thinking.

She licked her lips, and broke the spell between them with a whispered word. "Hi."

"Hi," he responded, his voice equally hushed.

"What happened?"

He frowned in confusion.

"What happened after I passed out last night?" she clarified. "Wait, was it last night? I mean, is it daytime now? I couldn't tell in there whether it was night or day and you have black-out curtains, so I can't tell in here either..."

Aaaaand, she was rambling.

Great.

She had a tendency to do that when she was nervous...and his silence was making her very nervous.

"It was last night," he confirmed. "Its about four in the afternoon now. You've been asleep for a while."

She frowned. "I don't know why. I feel like all I did in there was sleep."

"You're coming off an adrenaline rush. It happens."

She nodded and picked at the edge of the duvet cover with fidgeting fingers. "So what happened last night, after I passed out? Did you find Connell?"

He frowned at her again. "No. I didn't even look. I was too preoccupied getting you out of the fire."

She remembered the heat of the flames. The crackle as they licked at the walls surrounding them. "Are you okay?" she asked, looking him over for any burn marks.

"I'm fine. I got us out of there in time, then drove us back here. I wanted to take you to a hospital, but you fought me on that. You said you just wanted to go home."

"I don't remember that," she murmured. "And I don't remember being in your car." She faked a pout. "My first time in the Batmobile, and I missed it."

It was a feeble attempt to try to break through the weird vibe between them and lighten the mood. But it worked. A tiny smile cracked the corners of Bruce's mouth as his eyebrows lifted. "The what?"

"The Batmobile. You're Batman and that's your ride, ergo...Batmobile."

His smile widened a bit. "Ergo, nothing. Please never call my car that again."

"Spoilsport," she whispered.

The silent staring returned, but this time it felt less awkward and more...natural.

Comfortable.

As if the past five days had never happened, and they were just chatting as they usually did, with her teasing him, and him smiling in response.

But the past five days had happened. And she still had so many questions. "How did you find me?"

He told her about watching the footage of the party and seeing Montrose. Linking him to Connell, but being unable to locate him. Tailing Connell for the past few days. "And I got lucky. I saw the chemicals being delivered to the depot and figured it could be a front for Montrose's lab."

She shook her head. It wasn't luck. It was him - his tenacity and his intelligence. "Have I ever told you how much I love your brain?" She said it jokingly, but at the L-word, he seemed to tense up and the light disappeared from his eyes.

The awkwardness returned, as they both thought back to the party.

To the moment he confessed his love, and she rejected it.

To the moment she confessed her love, but claimed it didn't matter.

She would give everything to go back in time and change that encounter. She needed to fix things between them. "Bruce, I-"

But he spoke at the same time. "What happened in that lab with Montrose? I saw his body on the floor..." He looked hesitant before continuing. "Did he tell you who he was...?"

"You mean did I get to play out my own Empire Strikes Back moment? Yeah." She put on her best Darth Vader voice. "Beth, I am your father."

Bruce frowned. "You don't need to do that."

"What?"

"Make light of it. Make a joke. I- I found out some things about my father last year that changed the way I saw him. It made me question everything. You not only found out who your father was, but discovered that he was working for a criminal mastermind-"

She huffed out a humourless laugh. "Oh, it was much worse than that."

"What do you mean?"

"He was a monster." She told him what she now knew about her childhood - about how she'd gained her ability. About the endless experiments, and the punishments when she didn't co-operate. The people he'd used and the deaths he'd caused. And about her captivity and the way he'd treated her. "I wasn't a person to him, let alone a daughter. I was just a thing that he'd created. Something to be used and manipulated." She thought back to the truth serum, and the mood stabiliser in the blocker. "He drugged me again and again, taking away my will, my control over my own feelings and thoughts..."

"Jesus, Beth, I'm sorry." His hand came up as if to touch her. She was ready to lean into his touch but he seemed to change his mind at the last minute. He tucked his hand under his pillow instead. "I should have found you sooner. Or protected you better. I'm so sorry."

She scooted closer to him on the bed, and grasped the front of his T-shirt with her fingers. "Hey. You have nothing to apologise for. You did find me. Against all the odds. You saved me. You're my hero, Bruce."

He didn't look convinced. She wished she could find the right combination of words to absolve him of his misplaced guilt, but she could feel exhaustion sweep over her again.

That adrenaline come-down was a bitch.

She tried to stifle a yawn but he could obviously see how tired she still was. "You can sleep," he said gently. "We'll talk more later."

She bit her lip. "Can you stay here? For a little longer?" She felt weak for asking, and dropped her eyes to stare at her fingers, which were still entwined in the material of his shirt. "Every time I fall asleep, I dream a new memory...and the revelations are getting a little hard to take, you know?" She tried to reach for some levity, to detract from the tears she could feel welling in her eyes. "Whoever said 'ignorance is bliss' had it right."

"Of course I'll stay," he whispered. "Turn over."

She did as he suggested and rolled over onto her other side. She felt him move closer until his warm body was pressed against her back. One of his arms tunnelled under her pillow and the other came around her waist to hold her tight.

Cocooned in his strong, gentle arms, she blinked away her tears and drifted to sleep.

———

Bruce watched over her.

He was propped up on his elbow - head resting on the hand that he'd carefully extricated from beneath her pillow - cataloging the bruises that marred her beautiful, golden skin. He gently brushed his fingers over the swollen, red knuckles of her hand; he traced over the older mark on her temple, then swept down to circle the small cut on her cheek.

Beth stirred, a frown creasing her brow, and Bruce quickly lifted his hand.

His thoughts must have been intruding on her slumber.

And they weren't pleasant.

He wanted to resurrect Montrose and beat the man bloody.

For hitting her. Kidnapping her. And for everything he'd done to Beth during her childhood.

Beth.

Not Jennifer Montrose.

She was Beth Carraway. It was the name she'd chosen for herself, and it suited her. She would always be Beth to him.

His brave, kind, funny Beth. He was so relieved that she was still all those things - that the past five days hadn't destroyed her. He'd envisioned so many disturbing and horrendous scenarios while she was missing. And, yes, she was bruised from the experience - tearful and more frightened than he'd ever seen her - but she was not broken.

His arm tightened around her waist as he remembered her hesitant voice as she'd asked him to stay. He'd wanted to haul her into his arms, hold her close, and kiss away all her fears and sadness.

But he didn't know where they stood.

The last conversation they'd had before the kidnapping had ended with her rejecting him, unable to imagine a life together.

Was that still the case?

Nothing had really changed, after all. She still had her abilities, and they were still a barrier between them.

A light tapping sound interrupted Bruce's thoughts. He carefully left the bed and opened the door of his bedroom to find Alfred on the other side. "I'm sorry to intrude. I've just gotten a message about George - the little boy in the hospital. I think you need to hear it."

———

Beth woke to a cold bed and a note on the pillow beside her:

Sorry. I had to leave. But I'll be home soon,

B

The brief missive was so typical of the Bruce she'd first met all those months ago - mysterious and laconic - that it almost made her smile.

Almost.

But she wasn't in the mood to smile.

Not while things were so uncertain between them.

And not after the dream she'd just experienced. The one where her father died in front of her, collapsing to the ground from the gunshot to his chest, the blood rushing from his body in thick waves, until she was drowning in it...

She didn't need a psychologist to interpret that.

His death weighed heavy on her conscience.

No.

Not his death. His murder.

Beth left the sanctuary of Bruce's bed and used the shower in his adjoining bathroom to try to wash away the guilt that permeated her.

It didn't work.

So she tried to push the feelings down. Bury them deep until she had the mental fortitude to deal with them. She had enough on her plate right now. She had to resurrect herself from the dead, sort out the misunderstanding with the police, and learn to live with her cursed skin so she could fix things between her and Bruce.

Piece of cake.

She sighed at the thought of the work ahead as she finished drying her hair. She winced in pain as she placed the hair dryer down on the sink, the knuckles of her right hand throbbing. She might have done some damage when she punched her father.

It was a small price to pay, but yet another thing to add to her plate - a trip to the ER.

She sighed again as she padded back into the main room, grateful Bruce wasn't around to witness her little pity party. She paused at the door leading to the hallway, feeling reluctant to go back to her own suite, even to find a change of clothes. She liked being in Bruce's space.

She felt safe here.

So she stayed; she borrowed a pair of his sweats and a t-shirt from his walk-in closet and pulled them on. As she did so, a pile of black material in the corner of the room caught her eye.

It was his Bat suit, left crumbled and discarded on the floor. She'd never seen him wear it in the penthouse, but he must have last night when he brought her here.

She picked up the heavy leather costume and shook it out, intending to lay it over an armchair in the main room. But a faint tinkling of glass stopped her. Curious, she reached into one of the pouches of his belt...and removed half a dozen familiar-looking blue vials.

The blockers.

She shook her head in wonder. Somehow, in the midst of a growing fire, with an unconscious woman to deal with, Bruce had figured out these vials were important and had taken the time to pocket them.

Beth collapsed into the nearby chair, her legs weak with astonishment.

She really did love that man's brain.

She cradled the precious serum in her hand...and found her smile.