Scars & Hearts: The Batman Fanfiction

Chapter Twenty

The beeping was continuous.

At first, she'd thought it was all in her head, the result of a long twenty-four-hour shift, but the longer it went on, the more she knew it was real.

She threw open her nightstand's drawer, rummaging through its contents, searching for the source of the forsaken noise.

She listened more carefully, attempting to locate it.

She dropped to her knees, rummaging beneath her bed for the box.

She hadn't thought of the Batman in a minute; she'd forgotten completely about his pager.

She opened the box, successfully pulling out the beeping monstrosity.

For emergencies, he'd said.

Splashed across the neon green lit screen were three simple numbers: 911.

Before Anya could fathom what could possibly warrant a 911 message, a knock startled her to her feet.

She ran to her living room. She checked the peep hole to her door, but nobody stood in her hallway.

Another knock.

Her window.

She threw the curtains back, revealing the Batman.

She pulled the window up.

"I'm sorry I didn't use your front door."

His breathing was labored.

She shook her head at the ridiculousness of the apology. "Get in here," She helped the man through the window. She shut it drawing the curtains. "Here." She led him to her kitchen into a seat. "What happened?"

"A fight."

Anya frowned. She grabbed the man's face, just underneath his chin, forcing him to look up at her.

"Follow my finger."

She waved the finger in various directions, pleased that the man's eyes could follow it.

"Where's it hurting?"

"Everywhere."

"I need specifics."

"My side." He took in a breath, wincing immediately upon the movement.

She looked down at his suit. She looked back up at him. "I need you to take it off. I know, you're a vigilante, you want to remain anonymous, but I can't tell what I'm working with. You can keep the mask on, I don't care, just... please."

The Batman seemed to debate momentarily, then he nodded.

Anya turned away, allowing some privacy.

She walked over to her kitchen cabinet, grabbing her first aid kit, then to her fridge, grabbing an ice pack from her freezer, wishing she had something more adequate to fully assess his injures. Something like an X-ray machine and maybe even an MRI. Real medical equipment, not ice.

But she knew he would never go to the emergency room, and if she refused to treat him, he'd simply go home. As a doctor, she'd taken an oath to do no harm, and she took that oath very seriously.

Anya turned back to the man, who was now displaying his bare chest in her kitchen. He was no longer seated on her kitchen chair. He'd leaned against her table instead, half on, half off. 

His torso was covered in large red marks, bruises would be coming, and a scrape across the center of his torso, just below his chest.

She pulled her extra stethoscope from the first aid kit. She pressed it against the anterior of his chest.