Author's Note:

Hi guys!

Gosh, it's been forever. I apologize times a million. Life caught up with me D:

But not to worry! I have loads of brimming muse for this story and I will not let that happen again! I see there are still some readers out there and thank you so much for your lovely reviews, they really really make my day and encourage me to keep writing!

And and and I love all of you who have either read this in the past/reading it now/have been fans since the beginning. Seriously you all make my life and this would not be possible without you.

SO YEZ. I'll spare you the teary speech and just say I'm sorry flat out and LET THE STORY CONTINUE

(Oh btw, I'm adding something new. I find that each chapter I write is always accompanied by music. I'm always listening to something when I write. So I thought why the heck not share it with you guys?! Maybe you'll find some new music you like, some old music you haven't listened to in a while, and maybe it will enhance the chapter for you if you listen while reading! idk! Just something fun to do!

Chapter 33's muse is Half Life -Imogen Heap

You can listen here:

the tube of you (dot) com /watch?v=N7O69oEOmuk&feature=related

Thanks again guys!

The room was bright when I opened my eyes. Squinting against the blurriness I made out a glaringly white ceiling, the fluorescent light above swam in my vision. Blindly I reached out to my side. My fingers found a cup on the edge of the bedside and under my clumsy hand it wobbled and finally crashed to the floor. Water sloshed out onto the tile. From the foot of the starchy hospital bed I heard someone move.

"Bella?"

God, was that even my name? I was so disorganized that for a moment I didn't know where I was, who I was, and why the hell I felt like I'd just been run over by the Earth itself. Multiple times. I swallowed hard and blinked a few times, retracting my good arm to my side as a chair screeched from the foot of my bed. In a second Clark's face was hovering over me. Everything flooded back. The fight, the memories, the entire scene spilled into my head. I felt my lips part open in awe and I raised my eyes to Clark. He looked awful. He was still in costume and it obviously hadn't been washed, the blood spatter all over his chest and legs looked like he'd walked through the set of a slasher flick. His eyes were dark and exhausted, skin white as the sterile ceiling above him. If he looked this bad I could only imagine how fucked up I looked lying like a corpse in my hospital bed.

"Bella," Clark finally spoke, dropping to his knees by my side and folding my beaten hands inside his much larger ones. I'd always marveled at how much he dwarfed me. I watched in a pain-medication-induced trance as his palms encompassed my little ones without even irritating the IV stuck in the top of my left hand. He leaned forward and kissed my forehead gently. I could feel his lips trembling. Then he just held my hands and bowed his head. I cant tell you how long we stayed like that, but it was a while before I found my voice. Ancient and dusty, like some mummy slowly rising from his tomb, I croaked my first words in a long while.

"It wasn't your fault, Clark." My words cracked and trembled. My entire mouth felt like a cotton ball.

He looked up, eyes red and making the stark blue explode against the paleness of his face. I swallowed what little saliva I had to ease the burning of my throat and closed my eyes a bit, already exhausted from the short exchange.

"How much do you remember?" he asked softly. For the first time in our entire relationship he knew not to press me with six billion questions at once. I couldn't have been more thankful.

"I remember the entire fight," I whispered. I felt him squeeze my hand and I opened my eyes to keep him from worrying that I'd slip away again. When I looked towards his face it was crumpled in despair. I know he'd probably wished my head injuries would have spared me the grisly ordeal. But he stayed strong and merely swallowed while I found the will to speak again.

"And not much else before then." I winced when I attempted to shift myself along the mattress. "How long have I been out?"

Clark's face hardened even further. I could see torture under his skin. The fact that I was lying there in the bed at his hand sickened him to rock bottom. I'd known him long enough to see what that was. That hurt more than his fist in my gut had. We both knew none of what happened was his fault, but that would never stop him from hating himself for it.

"Three weeks." His voice was tight.

"That bad, huh?"

"A broken arm, a broken leg, a crushed side, punctured lung, a skull fracture, a dislocated hip, a pretty serious concussion, a skull fracture, lacerations, a neck injury, your face is all stitched up, and third degree burns on your back." He listed the injuries off with perfect ease save for his voice tightening with the last one, no doubt having memorized them all his time here at the hospital. He hadn't left. My still beating heart (bless the poor little sucker) warmed with love for him. It was strange how I could be nearly dead by him one second and then ready to give him a big bear hug the next.

"Jesus," I murmured, impressed that three weeks was all it took for me to wake up. My eyes started to flutter. The pain meds were trying to get me to shut off again. What my body needed now was rest., something Clark picked up on immediately and he let my hands gently back down on my stomach.

"You need sleep," he whispered. A weak smile of relief finally crawled onto his face.

I was all too willing to follow his artfully disguised order when my memories flushed back at me. There was one face that caused my body to go rigid. My last fighting chance against unconsciousness made my eyes snap open.

"Bruce," I sputtered, "Where's Bruce?" A flash of him hanging twenty feet above me in Clark's grip with blood spilling onto the rooftop made my insides squirm.

I expected Clark –if Bruce was even still alive- to reprimand me for thinking about him at a time like this. He'd tried so hard to keep Bruce out of my life by moving me back to Metropolis, I didn't expect his compliance. But he only nodded once and stood gently from my side.

"I'll call him."

The room started to fade. My eyes closed gently. A nurse slowly opened the door just as I slipped back into nothing. But before I could, I had to make sure something was clear. Through my sandpaper throat I spoke.

"I love you, Clark." Then, there was darkness again.

The next time I woke up the sunlight was gone. The room was caked in shadows save for Clark's little corner where he had a light shining down on a book. I wanted to stretch more than anything else in the world but I was practically a walking plaster doll. If I tried anything I would crack straight down the middle, I was sure of it. I stared at the wall for a while, not ready to talk to Clark and content to just be alive and awake. When I was asleep I felt so lost, so dizzy, like there was no surface anywhere to put my feet on. Here in the hospital room at least I had stable ground, the sheets beneath my fingertips, the stale smell of alcohol.

I nearly jumped a foot and a half when the window slid open. I put a twinge in my neck looking over so fast but my heart falling to the pit of my stomach hurt worse when I registered what I was looking at. The stoic, dark clad figure of the Batman dropped soundlessly in through the open glass. He landed in the corner of the room and his cape came around his impossibly wide shoulders. He nearly faded into the night walls.

I saw Clark stand from his position in the corner and the two shared a nod of understanding. I caught Clark's reassuring smile, weak and exhausted as it was, before he made his way out into the hall. Light from the hospital hallway spilled into the room just for a moment before he closed the door securely behind him. Bruce crossed the room and locked the door, then approached my bed and drew the privacy curtains around us. I said nothing and watched as he peeled his cowl off and then leaned over me.

A silver of moonlight cut through the curtains and illuminated us. I traced his strong jaw with my eyes and evaluated his condition. There was stitching across his head and his cheek was colored darkly with bruising, but other than that he looked more or less in one piece. His raven dark hair was mussed from his cowl and if I had enough strength to lift my arm I would have ran my fingers through it.

I didn't even get a chance to speak. Moments after he removed his cowl he leaned down and pressed his lips gingerly to mine. He was as gentle and soft as I remembered him being. His scent was familiar, his skin warm and smooth. His mouth tasted the same. A gloved hand cupped my cheek with featherlike pressure before he finally drew away. I closed my eyes and savored his taste, feeling shudders wrack through my busted body. Usually I would have had some sarcastic counter to that kind of greeting, but never with Bruce. He always made the words just melt right out of my mouth. But it didn't take me long to get to business.

"You stopped calling," I opened my eyes and tried to keep the tremble out of my voice.

His emotionless eyes softened just a hint, but other than that his face remained unchanging. His hand slipped from my cheek and trailed down my arm. He did not look guilty, or amused. He just looked like Bruce. That stone wall went up as hard as ever in front of me.

"Clark said you didn't remember anything before the incident."

"I remember parts." I wasn't angry. I had no real emotion to be. I'd witnessed the disintegration of our relationship as if it was a soap opera on daytime television. I had no memory of being actively involved and therefore nothing but a hollowness when I brought the subject up.

"We can talk about this later," he said smoothly. Full of that debonair, nonchalant crap he was infamous for. My heart ached and my fingers rested on the heavy amour over his forearm.

"You can't come swooping in here with a kiss like that and not explain to me when I remember moving on, Romeo." My breath had taken too much out of me. I coughed painfully while trying to maintain my tough expression. But it was fruitless, I couldn't cough hard enough without busting another rib. Bruce reached over and grabbed a cup on the extending tray. With gentleness most had never witnessed the Dark Knight displaying, he cradled the back of my head and raised it and gently pressed the cup to my lips. I drank begrudgingly and when I'd had my fill I thanked him under my breath.

He turned his head towards the slit in the curtains where the moonlight spiked through. His harsh profile looked magnificent in the light. I heard a sigh pass through his lips.

"I thought it was best for both of us if we moved on."

He glanced at me finally. He said nothing but I saw a muscle in his jaw jump. "I figured you could find someone who'd give you the attention you deserve. Someone who isn't fueled by revenge and tragedy and can focus the entirety of their being on you."

At the risk of going into another painful coughing fit, I refrained from scoffing at him.

"You think I'm the type of woman who wants that? A pansy-ass who kisses my feet when I come home and makes me chocolate cupcakes when I've had a bad day?"

I caught his reproachful look but didn't acknowledge it. I lowered my eyes, feeling suddenly much more like the kid that stumbled into his manor without a clue rather than the woman that was lying under him now. "I'd never ask more of you than you can give."

He lifted my chin suddenly until I was looking into his eyes. Dark, smoldering blue. I drowned in the color. His deep voice resonated in our tiny enclosed area and goose bumps rose on my arm.

"I know."

I raised an eyebrow, the stitches crinkled on my forehead. "You know?"

His thumb smoothed across the bottom of my chin. "I know that. Which is why I reevaluated my decision to push you away. I don't want to anymore. You're the first, bright thing in my life in a long time. And now, with this mess," he sighed gently and I felt his gaze trail down my battered body and the lines of IVs stretching from my flesh. It took him a while to find his words. "I won't lose you. Especially not at the hand of my demons."

I smiled sleepily. The medication destroyed any free will I had. The edges of the room started to blur. Bruce's face spun in my vision. He shifted from my bed, ready to leave me in peace. But I caught his arm with my uninjured one.

"Don't leave," I murmured.

He sat back down gently and took my frail hand in his dark, gloved one.

"I won't."