Bruce Wainright has (onerule) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-03-13 23:24:00 |
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Entry tags: | batman, plot: switch, red hood |
Who: Luke and Jack
What: Luke retrieves his bro from 19th century France.
Where: Les Mis door → Passages hallway.
When: During plot end.
Warnings/Rating: None.
Had Luke known that this was the last time he would see Gotham through his own eyes, he might have lingered a little longer.
It wasn’t the city itself that he might miss, if he missed anything at all, but the sense of purpose it gave him, the lack of fear, and the knowledge that even if he died tomorrow, he would have died contributing far more to the world than most people managed to give in an entire lifetime. He might have worn the suit just one more time, might have scaled the highest building and leap off the edge, knowing he could navigate the skies without fear, like he wasn’t even human at all. He might have tracked down just one more gang, stopped one more robbery or assault, and seared the memory into his mind for later. But most of all, he would enjoy the feeling of actually being a hero for the first and last time in his life. He’d always wanted to be one, and this was the only opportunity he would ever have to live out that childhood fantasy. Then, he would return home and never look back, because he didn’t belong in Gotham, didn’t belong in the role Bruce played. His place was in Las Vegas, with Wren and his son, and he wouldn’t trade that for anything, not ever. But a part of him would always remember what it was like, to have actually been Batman for a while, and that would be enough.
He didn’t know, though. He thought he would cross, get Jack from Max’s door, and return. He had no idea the end was so close. So he changed, and he locked up the Manor behind him, clad entirely in black--black pants, black shirt, black motorcycle jacket--which carried over to Bruce when he crossed and found himself in the hotel. Bruce was apprehensive, but he didn’t attempt to interfere, even though he was of the personal opinion that keeping Jack where he was until this over might be wiser than trying to move him. But Luke was stubborn, even more so now, and he directed Bruce to the right door and found himself back as soon as the other man crossed the threshold. He looked around, saw no one, and sighed. So much for leaving him propped by the door, huh?
“Max?” Luke ventured forward, past doors and up the stairs, but there was no response, not even after he called again and again. Irritation mingled with concern; where was she? “Jack? Max? Hello?” Up and up he went, until there was really only one place left to look, and he pushed the door open with a fair amount of caution.
Jack remained where Max had left him - tied by his arms and legs to the four posts of the heavy wooden bed. His eyes were closed when Luke opened the door. He was still clothed in the uniform of the Red Hood, but the mask was missing, locked up with his weapons in the chest at the foot of his bed. The holsters at each hip were empty, the knives missing, ammo gone.
There was a moment's pause, with no movement. Jack looked tired, even with his eyes closed, the hollows around them dark from lack of sleep. Up close, with the tension out of his face, it was easier to see than it had been when they’d fought in Gotham that he was definitely younger through the door than he was in Las Vegas, the spitting image, in more ways than one, of the person he'd been in Seattle.
He opened one eye, first, and looked across the room at Luke in the doorway. So he hadn’t been sleeping after all - just laying there, waiting for someone to come back. Max had been gone for hours, left him trussed up here and disappeared. How like her.
He opened the other, regarding Luke for a moment, then turned his eyes up to the ceiling. "Are you here for a lecture too?" There were bright red weals around his exposed wrists under the heavy rope used to tie him there, and with bruises slowly coloring his skin. He'd spent a long time struggling with the bonds, even after Max had gone, and only given up when he was too exhausted to keep trying to yank the posts out of their heavy settings.
Luke had already been forewarned about Jack’s restraints, but knowing about it and seeing it were two different things. It made him wonder just what, exactly, had gone down here, for Max to decide that such drastic measures were necessary. Jack wasn’t himself, he was aware of that, but he’d managed to talk him down without any force involved. He paused in the doorway, noting that his weapons were missing, obviously removed by Max, before moving closer. The man on the bed looked tired. Younger. It was like time had rewound itself, just for him, and brought back the Jack he’d known all those years ago in Seattle. The thought sent an uncomfortable prickle down Luke’s spine, and he tried in vain to shake it off.
He waited for Jack to speak first, and then shook his head. “No.” The restraints looked strong, like they’d held under his struggles, and he wondered again where the hell Max had gone. “I’m here to get you. Max said--” He broke off with a shrug. Maybe she’d thought it was better to leave them alone. “Doesn’t matter. I’m going to untie you, and you’re going to come with me. Okay?”
Jack's mouth split into a sneer, harsh and unkind. "So," he began, "She sent you here to fetch me?" It was a ridiculous notion, like he was a badly behave child being pulled out of school, and the scorn in his tone outlined it. "And where will you take me?" he asked. "Where will you escort me to, once you've cut me down? Will you let me go? I can't imagine you'll take me to another prison, since you'd be better off leaving me tied up." There was a bright red split in his lip, scabbed over earlier but split since he'd begun talking, lips pulled too tight, too harsh with scorn. "Are you going to let me go?" he asked. His eyes brightened, sharp. They both knew that if Luke cut him down and set him loose in Gotham and someone was killed, that Luke would hold himself responsible. And he didn't even know why he was arguing it, why he was giving him reasons not to cut him loose. But it just seemed so absurd, all of it. Everyone treating him like a bomb about to go off. It made him want to shake them.
That sneer seemed so wrong, not like the Jack he knew at all, and for a moment Luke understood why Max might have left. She put on a good show, but she wasn't infallible beneath all those layers, and this, the scorn in his voice and the look in his eyes, was difficult to endure. "She asked me to come and get you, yeah," he said. Physically, he wasn't worn down or exhausted, but this made him feel tired, made him feel older; something he attributed to Bruce and how he felt about Jason. "I'm not taking you to prison, Jack, but I can't just leave you to your own devices either. I'd ask you to promise me that you won't kill anyone, but even if you did... right now, I wouldn't believe you." He'd never thought there would ever be a time when he was unable to trust Jack, but then again these were extenuating circumstances. As for what he was going to do with him, the only solution he could come up with was to simply take him back to Gotham and keep an eye on him there until he thought of something better, or until this was over. He didn't quite trust Jason to keep Jack from crossing either. "I won't keep you tied up or restrained. You'll come with me back to Gotham, and we'll wait this out together. No killing," he warned. "I don't want to, but I'll stop you if I have to, for your own good." He came around the foot of the bed to the side, but he didn't reach for the restraints, not yet. He wanted agreement first.
Jack watched him. Luke was talking about him just the way he'd expected, like he was a bad boy who'd stepped out of line. "Sure," he said. "Of course." The words were a parody of the context in which they were usually said. Jack was always 'of course' about everything. Of course he'd watch Gus. Of course he'd check up on this or that person. Of course, of course.
"So good to know I'm trusted," he said, with another sharp smile. Luke didn't trust him any further than he could throw him, it was in his eyes even if he hadn't said so. Well, he could play along. They'd walk back over to Gotham, Jason and Bruce together, and then the second they were through the door again, Jack would be gone. He figured he could outrun Luke, with a little luck and enough determination. He'd need to restock on weapons, but Jason had a few caches around the city. He could be up and running again in no time at all. Luke promised to stop him. Well, he'd try. Jack lay still, watching him with that eerie smile, waiting to see if he cut the ropes.
Luke stared for a long, long moment, aghast, before realizing that his expression was far too honest and hastening to adopt a careful sort of blankness; a defense, of sorts, against the unsettling feeling that Jack wasn’t Jack and a stranger was wearing his skin instead. He didn’t like the way he smiled, and he didn’t like the way he spoke, and it was enough to make him reconsider cutting him free at all. Maybe they should just wait until this was over, one way or another. He could keep Jack here. It would be cruel, but he could. Except he wouldn’t, because even if he wasn’t inclined to trust Jack then he wasn’t capable of just leaving him there, restrained, and turning his back. He’d gotten through to him once, and he could do it again. His friend was still in there somewhere.
“You’re not exactly acting trustworthy right now, Jack,” he said, a little too sharply, frustration spilling over. No, he was acting crazy, but there was no use in saying it when such a thing would only be met with denial. Instead Luke withdrew a switchblade from his back pocket (even if he’d wanted to, bringing a gun as back-up wasn’t an option; he could barely hold one without being overwhelmed with disgust) and started working on the ropes at Jack’s ankles first. He wasn’t kidding when he said he’d stop him if he had to; he wasn’t about to let Jack try something and get away with it.
Jack saw that shocked expression and it just made him angrier, even as it thrilled. What gave Luke the right to hold his freedom over his head? "You believe everything Max said to you, don't you?" he asked. He let Luke cut his legs down - didn't fight, didn't kick. That wasn't really going to accomplish anything. No, he'd play nicely until they got back to Gotham. Then he'd strike off on his own. His stomach was a pit of sick rage at a low boil, had been ever since Max had left. He could do something productive with it, at least. He could show the friend eying him like a mad dog. "I'm acting truthful," he said, with a real edge of anger, this time, more than just the edging of sharp mirth from before. "I'm not pretending not to care. I know that makes Max uncomfortable, and you too, I imagine. It's easier to deal with the crazy man and take his help when he keeps his thoughts to himself."
Luke kept his gaze downward and his mouth shut until he’d cut through the ropes and freed Jack’s legs from their restraints. That was easy. His hands would be a little trickier, if only because it left him temporarily vulnerable should he decide to lash out, but his instinct was to give Jack the benefit of the doubt and however irrational he might be acting, he just couldn’t manage to convince himself that Jack posed a real threat to anyone who wasn’t a criminal. “Everything Max said to me,” he repeated. “Which is what? I’m not at her beck and call, you know.” He wasn’t angry at anyone specific, really, but at the situation in general; he’d always despised that which he had no control over. Maybe responding wasn’t a good idea. Maybe he should have just ignored whatever Jack said, but he wasn’t like Max in that regard. “No, Jack. What makes me uncomfortable is that this isn’t you, and you don’t even see it,” he said, cutting into the rope with more harshness than what was necessary. At least he could look upon his own deviations, his differences, and recognize them for what they were. As for taking his help, Luke paused in his task, scowled, and kept cutting. “Right. Because all we want is for you to keep your mouth shut and be a good boy so we can deal with you. That’s not the truth, that’s bullshit.” With the final restraint freed, he tossed the rope aside and took a step back from the bed. Meeting anger with anger wasn’t going to work, so he forced himself to take a breath before continuing. “Let’s just go.”
Jack pushed himself up, a little unsteadily and first, and rubbed his hands. They were nearly numb from lack of circulation, enough that the pins and needles of feeling coming back to them negated any pain in moving his wrists. Oh, he'd heard what Luke had to say, his denial that any of it was true. But of course he'd say that. Of course he would. "Then why are you here?" he asked, smiling a little still. Luke had come because Max had asked him to deal with a problem she was no longer interested in handling, plain and simple. "And I'm sure it makes you feel better to think that," he said, standing, a little unsteadily. "But nevermind. Let's go on a jaunt back to the other door, shall we?" His steps were a little unsteady at first, on twisted and bruised legs. "I can't wait to sit in a room while you make sure I don't kill any criminals until we're all back to our usual selves. Won't this be a fun exercise. I do so love to be a liability."
The stairs were a bit of a challenge at first, but Jack took them ahead of Luke. Outwardly, there was still a strange smile. Inwardly, he roiled with rage, so much so that it was a wonder he didn't begin lashing out at everything close enough to touch. Soon enough, he'd have good targets for it. He took the stairs almost too quickly, heading for the door like they were off on an adventure rather than headed toward some sort of pathetic attempt to keep Jack under control.
Jack still had his key, and the door at the bottom opened easily into the hallway of passages. He stepped over the threshold, fully prepared to let Jason walk to the door into Gotham -
But that wasn't what happened. Instead, even as he crossed over, he began to feel strange, then sick, and then he was standing in the hallway, very much himself, with a hand against the wall. He felt nothing but pain and disorientation for the first few moments, as the damage he'd done to his arms and legs truly made itself felt, and the pall over his mind lifted, taking with it all the playful energy of madness and rage.
Luke toyed with the switchblade to keep his hands busy, skilled enough with knives to open and close the blade without cutting himself. “I’m here because you’re my friend,” he snapped, and this time he wasn’t saying it to try to reach Jack, somehow; it was mostly just anger and simple fact. He thought about telling him that there was something wrong with Max, though he wasn’t sure what, but he decided to keep quiet. She could tell Jack herself, if she wanted to. “No,” he muttered, watching as Jack struggled to his feet and found his footing. “It doesn’t make me feel better.” He would have tried to help under normal circumstances, noticing the unsteadiness in his steps, but he knew here and now he knew any attempt at assistance would only be ignored or, worse, shoved back in his face. He gave Jack a long, long look, and just shook his head. “Fine.” Being in Gotham wouldn’t make things any easier, but he just wanted to get out of the empty brothel.
He followed a couple of steps behind Jack, which was fine by him, since he could keep an eye on him that way. Until they reached the Gotham door, at least, hanging back wouldn’t hurt anyone, and he was about a step away from the threshold himself when Jack stepped through. He’d been expecting to see Jason, so much so that it took him a second to realize that the man in the hallway wasn’t Jason. Weeks with no change had made it hard to hope for an end, and Luke stopped and stared before it sank in. Jack was still Jack. He didn’t think; he just stepped through, out into the hallway, and for a moment it felt like something was being taken away and given back simultaneously. He was fractured, but then he was whole, and he closed his eyes against the conflict as his head spun.
It didn’t last long, just a moment or two, and his previous anger had all but vanished by the time he remembered that Jack was in the hallway with him. “Are you okay?”
Jack turned to Luke. Everything, it seemed, was back to normal. The uniform of the Red Hood had disappeared, leaving behind the worn jeans and long-sleeved shirt he'd been wearing when he was first kicked through the door. All was back to normal, right down to the clear exhaustion in his eyes, and the six years of age that had been wiped away. "Fine," he said, without thinking, and stared at Luke for a moment as everything began to come together. Oh, god. What had he said? To Wren, to Cerise, to Max? To Luke?
"I'm sorry," he said. He didn't know how else to respond. He was tired, and sick. "I think...everything is the way it was again. Something must have come over me." Like a possession, almost, and now it was gone, leaving behind only guilt and shame. The worst of it was that not everything he'd said had even been lies. But they'd been nothing he ever wanted anyone to hear, nothing he ever wanted to tell them, nothing he wanted anyone else burdened with. They were things best kept private. Some of the vitriol he’d spewed had been truly cruel, and there would need to be apologies. Max. He'd be lucky if she ever spoke to him again. If she hadn't intended to cut him off permanently before, surely she would now.
He looked Luke over, just to be sure all was well with him. Regret could wait. "You're alright?"
Luke felt more like himself than he had in weeks, but he still worried that there might be some residual madness left over from Gotham, more so for Jack than for himself, but as he looked the other man over he saw that the physical differences had vanished. He looked like the Jack he knew again, at least. He knew, even if things were back to normal, that Jack wasn’t fine, but he still didn’t know how to fix what was wrong, no more than he had before. “Don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t apologize. You don’t have to.” Maybe the same couldn’t be said for the others he’d spoken to, particularly Max, but in Luke’s case, he didn’t need apologies. Whatever anger he’d felt at what was said was vastly overshadowed by concern.
“I think you’re right. I feel like myself again,” he admitted, though his change hadn’t been nearly as drastic as Jack’s was. “You were... different.” Even so, Luke knew better than to dismiss everything he’d said as insane rambling. No, some of it had simply been through he normally wouldn’t have spoken aloud. “I’m fine,” he said with a shrug. “It wasn’t really that bad for me.” Which was true. He took a half-step forward and paused, likely looking as worried as he felt. He wanted to tell him that he knew he wasn’t okay, that pretending otherwise wouldn’t help, but he didn’t want to push just then and it hardly seemed like a conversation for the hotel’s hallway. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
'Different' might be the understatement of the year, and Jack was at a loss. How could he explain this? Perhaps it would be best just to apologize and then pretend nothing had been said, allow everything to be attributed to madness and forgotten. At least no one had been hurt during this mess, as they had been during so many of the previous fluctuations like this. Small blessings. In reality, Jack wanted to do was go somewhere quiet for a while, and not talk to anyone, until this feeling of shame at his own weakness had passed.
"Good," Jack said. There had definitely been a change in Luke, so knowing that they'd all been returned to their normal baseline, with all the usual issues and problems they carried, was a strange relief. Just the usual troubles. "I'm fine," Jack said. He almost winced at the repetition, at the invocation of words that, generally speaking tended to lead immediately into challenges about his actual state of mind. "I just think I need sleep," he supplied, before Luke had an opportunity to do just that. He rubbed a raw, bruised wrist, absently. Then there was a flicker of realization. "Gus," he said. "Jason put him on a plane to New York." Luke knew that, of course, but Jack had forgotten, somehow, lost it in the tumult his mind had been. "Does someone need to get him?" The idea seemed important, the first step to getting things back to normal, something proactive to focus on to keep from thinking about anything else.
Fine had stopped actually meaning fine a long time ago, when Luke had adopted it as a sort of default response in times when he was the furthest thing from fine but didn’t want to admit to it. Others, like Jack, had done the same, and so he didn’t believe that he really was fine for a second. He started to shake his head, because silent disagreement was easier than words, but stopped when Jack added that he just needed sleep. He probably did, but that wasn’t going to fix the deeper issues, the ones brought to harsh light in Gotham, but the mention of sleep made him reconsider if now was the right time. His gaze dropped to the bruises around Jack’s wrist, the result of the ropes, and he decided it wasn’t.
The mention of Gus brought back the ache of missing him in full force, which had been dulled in Gotham, and it felt like a blow to the stomach, realizing that he hadn’t seen his son in nearly a month. “I know. It-- it was best for him. Wren and I are going to get him,” he said, and there was a brief flicker of apprehension that had nothing to do with retrieving his son and everything to do with who he might be forced to encounter while there. “We’re going to bring him back.” He didn’t mention Wren’s desire to see if Gus was happier in New York, because in the end, Luke wasn’t leaving his son there regardless of what she thought. “You should rest,” he added. “We can talk once I’m back.” It would give him time to think of what the hell to say, at least, and give Jack time to recover.
Jack didn't voice his concern that, for all of Luke's resolve, Gus might not be coming home. That wasn't his business, and he'd done enough damage on that count while he was still through the door and affected by the heavy burden of Jason's madness. There was no need to make anything worse, no need to drive a wedge between them again. He would simply need to push it away, and not allow himself to worry. If Wren and Luke came home without Gus, maybe then would be time to talk it over. Not now.
Luke was right. Jack was exhausted, worn, and could barely figure out how he was going to face the morning, let alone a hard conversation about what had just happened and all the terrible things he'd said. "Alright," he said. He smiled then, finally, just a little, almost sheepish. "Do you mind if I stop to get some food on the way back?" He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten, and Jason had apparently subsisted on coffee and cigarettes for three weeks.
It might not be easy to forget how drastic a change Jack had undergone in Gotham, but Luke didn’t hold that against him. He’d been no more capable of stopping it than Luke had been of preventing his own changes, absorbing some of Bruce’s personality against his will, and he was really just glad that his friend was back to his usual familiar self. The request for food made him laugh, pure relief in the sound, and he nodded. “Yeah, sure. I wouldn’t mind picking up something either; Bruce is a health nut, and I’m definitely not."