Bruce Wainright has (onerule) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-11-22 22:31:00 |
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Entry tags: | batman, catwoman |
Who: Luke and Wren
What: Worry and fuzz, part 2.
Where: Gardens → hospital.
When: Continuation of this.
Warnings/Rating: Just the usual with these two angstballs.
She shook her head when he said he would have turned bright red when they were kids. "No. Before you saw me," she said, and while it wasn't quite right as a statement, it made perfect sense to her in her current state. "Before you realized I was there, I would lie in bed and wonder what it was like to have you look at me that way, like you saw me." She smiled again, that distant and far off smile that wasn't present enough to really be all her. "Once you said, then it was different," she finished, but she frowned when he tried to say they might not be where they were if things had been different. "I know," she said, because those words sounded familiar, even they weren't completely remembered, not just then, "but I meant us. I wish I hadn't rush you. Maybe if I hadn't, you would be happier with-" Her voice dropped off, because even with the fever she knew she wasn't saying it right, knew this wasn't the moment for it. But it was hard to rein anything in just then, harder still to keep the words from tumbling out once she'd begun. "Being me- being insecure- it doesn't mean that I don't know you care. I do," she said, "I just wish-" But she couldn't find words. They eluded her, and she just shook her head and muttered aloud, "not now," a whisper that barely caught the air as a word.
Because there were other things, more important things, and his confession about how bad it had been was one of them. It was also the best way to get her to focus through the fever and the pain medication. She started shaking her head early on, because no, she didn't want that, didn't want to think about it, didn't want to close her eyes and picture him dying over there, where she wasn't even anywhere she could reach him. She worried about him dying all the time - in the electric chair, on some mask thing he wasn't telling her about, on the street when the past caught up with him - but this was worse somehow, different because she couldn't do or say or know anything about it. The fact that it had happened, and that everyone had lied to her like a child that needed to be kept in the dark infuriated her, and her shoulders shook with it. And she understood what he meant about the hallucinations. She still had nightmares about her own run-in with it, and it didn't make her any less worried just then, not about any of it. "I don't want them lying to me, not about you, not about things happening with you," she said, but her voice shook with the anger of it. "I know I'm not- I know I'm not the strongest person here, but I'm not a child, and I want to know." It was a strange thing to concentrate on, maybe, but she couldn't think about him dying without falling apart. "Laura was trying to get Silver when she contacted me that morning. Not me. I could have not known anything was going on from the very beginning," she said in panic, and she didn't know what Selina had actually done, but she was pretty sure it would have been terrible if she hadn't been able to go and do it. She shook her head again, and she wanted to be clear, to not sound disjointed, to not be humored, but it was hard just then. "How are we going to stop it?" she managed, and that came out clearly at least.
But then there was Jack, and she just pulled him into a stiff hug, one that softened as the seconds passed. "We'll find him," she promised. "We'll find him, and we'll help him get whatever helps he needs to get him through this and make him okay." She didn't know much about how Jack would be, but doing something - or planning to - had to help. "And then we'll have him come home," she added, not really thinking about the fact that she was back to talking about permanence. She only wanted Luke to feel better just then, that was all, and Jack was the closest thing to family either of them had, when it was all said and done.
She was glad she'd agreed to go to the doctor then, because that smile of youthful relief was worth acquiescing, worth the possible loss of her job. She didn't tell him that she was going to insist the doctor take a look at him first. X-rays, at least, and to make sure he wasn't bleeding inside anywhere. That was her reason for agreeing, but he didn't need to know that until they were there. She leaned into his touch as he undid the laces, memory making her close her eyes and sigh a soft sigh when his fingers lingered, when he pressed the kiss to her shoulder. She reached back as he moved away with that sweet-shy cough, and her fingers just managed to brush his cheek before he was out of reach. "I wish we could stay, just like that," she said, thinking aloud and wishing life was that easy. She knew they couldn't stay, that they had to go, but that didn't change the fact that she wanted something different. "I wish we could just stop everything for just a minute. Everything bad. Everything hectic. Money, and jobs, and doors. I wish everything could just be okay for once, just for a little while." She turned to look at him, her arm across her chest to hold the corset in place. "I wish you could be happy," she added quietly.
Before you saw me. Understanding was slow, but it came, and Luke wondered if it was always going to be a sore point between them, the fact that she’d been in love with him while he still looked at her and saw a friend. “Oh,” he said after a long moment, watching her uncertainly, the faraway smile making him wonder if this kind of reminiscing was good, bad, or meaningless because of the fever. “I always saw you, though. Even before I fell in love with you. It was just different when I did.” But then she was talking about rushing him, and he shook his head hard enough to make his vision turn blurry. “No,” he protested. “You didn’t rush me. Everything we did, I wanted just as much as you.” The way he felt about her was so, so much more than caring, but he knew now wasn’t the time for that, and he ran his fingers over her lips again at that quiet not now. “Later,” he promised. “We’ll talk later, once you’re better, and you’ll remember everything I say.” There was a hint of teasing in his voice, but the look in his eyes, beyond the ache and the painkillers, was serious.
While he was no stranger to shielding Wren from the truth in order to protect her, he understood how she felt. If the tables were turned, he would want to know exactly what was going on, and he wouldn’t want to be lied to and placated like a child. “I know,” he told her, bringing his hands to her shoulders in an attempt to calm her down. “I wouldn’t want them lying to me either, if it was you in danger. Laura was probably trying to get Silver because of Tony, but it’s still not right. I want you knowing what’s going on. I just don’t want you putting yourself in harm’s way for me,” he added. “Bruce could have really hurt Selina, Wren, and-- he came close. She stopped him, and she probably kept him from being gunned down too, but she could have died doing it. We-- he wasn’t himself. I think he would have tried to kill anyone who got in his way, no matter who it was, and that-- that scares me,” he admitted. “Scares him too. But the-- the point is, I want you being informed, but I don’t want you getting hurt. Not for me, and not for him.” As for how they were going to stop it, well, Luke hadn’t quite gotten that far yet. But he had his anger, like a fire burning out of control, and that gave him enough determination to believe that he could stop those through the door no matter what he had to do. “I’m not letting him through the door for a while, for starters,” he said, “and when I do, there’s going to be rules. No hiding things from me. No being a fucking stupid bastard and playing martyr, or I keep him back through again. They don’t get to do this, treat us like we’re puppets and they’re in control,” he said vehemently, but it took a lot of energy out of him, being angry, and he winced as the force of his words made him cough.
The hug was a surprise, but he overcame the unexpectedness of it quickly and clung to the comfort her embrace offered. His previous fears of Jack hating him in the aftermath of the party were gone, and they’d been foolish, really, because no matter what he did he knew the other man would never just turn his back on him like that. With Roger gone, his parents dead, and Thomas just a memory, Jack was the closest thing to family he had here-- aside from Max, of course, but it was different. He knew Wren had to feel the same, and Gus... Gus loved him, saw him as a member of their family, and he couldn’t imagine telling the little boy that Jack was never coming back. “Okay,” he whispered, willing to believe what she said, even if it was just for now. “Okay. We’ll find him, and we’ll help him, and then he’ll come home.” Easier said than done, since he had no idea if Jason had crossed, or where Jack would go when he did, but with Max’s doubts that he was even coming back at all, Luke was willing to cling to whatever hope was offered.
He turned his head just a little when her fingers brushed his cheeks, trying to prolong the contact, and he understood what she meant when she said she wished they could stay. They had so few quiet moments, where it seemed like time itself stopped and it was just the two of them, and he wondered if instead of waiting for them to happen he should start trying to create them. Things were okay for a while, sometimes, but never for long, and he nodded without realizing it as she spoke. “I know,” he said. “I wish all of that too.” His expression fell, however, when she said she wished he could be happy, and he slid closer without a second thought. It would be a lie to say he was happy all the time, but he didn’t think anyone was. Life, he was beginning to realize, was taking the bad with the good, and not letting the former overwhelm the latter. “When I’m with you, I’m happy,” he said, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper as the space between them became less and less, until there was barely anything at all. “You make me happy, Wren. You and Gus. Before I came here, before I found you again, I was miserable. I didn’t think it was possible to be anything else, but you changed that.” He knew they had to go, and he knew they didn’t have time to waste, but she was so close, and he couldn’t help leaning forward. The kiss was warm and nothing demanding, an open-mouthed press of lips against hers, and when he spoke his voice was muffled against her mouth. “I want to make you happy too. I know I-- I know I don’t always, but I want to. I do. More than anything.”
She didn't actually hold it against him, that he hadn't noticed her right away. It did make the worry about MK more real, more tangible in a way that couldn't be explained away so easily. They'd only been friends, and then he'd fallen in love with her. What was to say the same thing couldn't happen with MK? She would have argued about rushing him, and she would have derailed the conversation into a fevered corner that it would be hard to talk her out of, especially given how sickly she felt just then, but his fingers on her lips silenced her, just like he intended and, after a moment of dipped lashes and her dry lips brushing back and forth against his fingertips, she nodded her agreement. Later, once he was okay, then they could talk about it. She knew she wasn't making much sense, a knowledge born in sparks of clarity, and she smiled against his fingers at the small amount of teasing in his voice. "I'm not very good at remembering," she admitted, because she knew she wasn't.
His hands on her shoulders went a long way toward calming her a moment later, but she still didn't like it, the fact that she'd thought him okay for all that time. That lie had started with Selina, and she shook her head at some thought that never quite made it to her lips. "They have to tell us the truth. Both of them," she said, though she had no idea how they were going to manage it. "Laura wouldn't even talk to me about whatever it was. If Silver hadn't been standing next to me, I wouldn't have even known, because she wouldn't say," she admitted, and that made her angry too. It was the same kind of anger she felt when it settled in that she didn't have any rights where Gus was concerned, and she couldn't find words for it just then, her muddied mind making it hard to articulate just how impotent that made her feel. "I let Selina through for fifteen minutes, on my break, and she took almost an hour," she admitted angrily. It hadn't seemed like a big deal at the time, but it did now. But then he was coughing, and her gaze became pure fear and worry. Bed, they just needed to get him to bed. It would all be okay if he just rested. It might have been a lie, but it was a lie she needed just then. She nodded at his repetition of how things would be with Jack, but there was a determination in her gaze that said she would turn the world upside just to make that okay for him, for Gus, if she could. She had no idea how, but they'd make sure Jack came home, and they'd make sure he recovered.
She hadn't even noticed her own words, the ones about wishing he was happy, and it took her a second to focus on what he was saying. He was close, so close, and she had a hard time concentrating on anything but him when he was that near, even when she was perfectly healthy and sober. It had always been that way with him, and she had to fight to listen and not just watch him, which was all she really wanted to do just then. This time, she began to lift her fingers to his lips. She intended to echo his sentiment from earlier, that later, but he kissed her before she managed, and she forgot about her intentions altogether. Her lips were dry and chapped, and she whimpered into the kiss, trying to linger in it longer than him, trying to recapture it when he spoke, a brush of lips against the corner of his mouth. "You make me happy," she told him, because that was absolutely true. Even with the problems, and even with the hurt, he still made her happy. "Just you being here makes everything better." Nothing was fixed and nothing was resolved, but his presence made her feel like it could be okay, maybe, someday.
It was with great reluctance that she stood, swaying on her feet and steadying herself against the wall behind him to spare him any weight against his shoulder. She walked across the room, and she tugged open the closet built into the wall and pulled the dress she'd worn to work off the shelf there. She made quick work of it, of pulling the corset away from her skin and slipping the simple, grey dress over her head, and there was only a second's view of bandages, soaked through and tracing a diagonal across her stomach. She stepped into her shoes, and she pulled her sweater on. The corset was tucked in the bag she pulled over her shoulder, and she came back to where he was to collect her stockings. She bit her lip, and she tugged on his fingers, hoping there wouldn't be any disgust in his eyes at the scar that would no doubt be left behind after all this.
He felt nothing short of relief when his fingers on her lips were effective, because he knew all her fears would be amplified and twisted with the effects of the fever and whatever pain medication she was on. Reasoning with her, then, would be near impossible, and he needed to convince her of how he felt when she was thinking clearly. “That’s okay,” he said quietly, when she admitted to not being very good at remembering. “I’ll help you learn, and until then I can remember well enough for the both of us.”
Before all of this, Luke would have said that he trusted Bruce to tell him the truth. But he didn’t, not anymore, and he needed to find a way to ensure that there were no more lies without having to wait until it was too late. “I know,” he sighed. “I thought-- I thought Bruce would, I didn’t think he’d lie, but now I just... I don’t know. We need to make them understand that it’s important, telling us the truth, no matter how bad it is.” As for Laura, he simply shook his head, because he didn’t know what had gone on there or why she’d only been willing to talk to Silver. There was a faint spark of jealousy at the thought of her being in his apartment, of them being together, but he pushed it aside, because he really needed to get over that. “I would’ve wanted her to tell you,” he said after a moment. “You more than Silver. I-- I don’t really know what was going on,” he shrugged, because he’d already been in the hold of the drug by then, but his expression darkened when she mentioned Selina having overstayed her time limit in Gotham. “They just don’t get it,” he muttered angrily. He’d been sick of it before, but now... now his patience had run dry. There had to be balance, give and take, and he was tired of the people in Gotham acting like their lives and their problems were more important, and those on the Vegas side could be manipulated and controlled to their liking. “I think she’s pretty mad at him, but maybe if I threatened to keep Bruce on this side permanently, she’d start being more cooperative,” he suggested, and maybe it would prove to be an empty threat, but he meant it just then. It was funny, really, that he didn’t even think to worry about Jack and Jason in that regard; once he crossed, Jack would need to stay here for a while, and somehow he doubted Jason would fight that. “I can look,” he said without thinking, blinking as the pain meds made everything blurry again. “For Jack. I can look, later. I can find him.” He’d turn the entire city inside out if that was what it took, or at least that was what he thought just then, an unsteady sort of determination overcoming all logic and reason.
After everything that seemed to happen because of him, he didn’t understand how he could still make her happy. He made her miserable too, didn’t he? He made her cry, drove her to get drunk in an empty safehouse, and he wouldn’t blame anyone who thought she should leave him and find someone better. It was his greatest fear, that she would do just that, and he took a deep, shaky breath that somehow became a sob as he turned his head to capture her lips in another kiss. “You mean that? Really?” Part of him knew she wouldn’t lie to him, not about this, but he still couldn’t help doubting that he made everything better when he was so certain he actually just made everything worse. For a moment his fingers tightened on hers when she moved to stand, but after a moment he let go and looked up, following her movements just in case he needed to keep her from toppling over. For him, getting up was a slow process, one he worked on while she changed, and he just managed to find his balance in time to catch a glimpse of the bloodstained bandages her corset had previously covered. He rolled his shoulders back with little success in alleviating some of the tension; it only earned him more pain and a throbbing ache that was probably going to stick around for a while, but he did his best to cover it up, and smiled down at her when she tugged on his fingers. No, there wasn’t the least bit of disgust to be found anywhere in his expression. He had plenty of scars, after all, and while they might not have been as large, the ways in which they’d been earned made them hideous. She could have been scarred all over and he wouldn’t have cared, not even a little. “Let’s go,” he said, linking his fingers with hers and holding on as he tugged her towards the door.
He was right about all her fears being amplified because of the fever, and it was a testament to how much she trusted him (maybe not in all things, but when it was important) that she didn't argue with his promise to remember enough for both of them, at least for now. But she didn't trust Bruce, and she was trusting him less and less with each sentence Luke uttered. The realization that he hadn't even known about Laura contacting Silver just made it all worse, like they were being treated like the children they had been in Seattle. And that thought, that just brought a world of old anger with it. They'd asked them to be so many things back then, to do so many things that even adults couldn't do without being scarred, and yet they had discounted them as children in every other way. It felt like that all over again, and she didn't like it. His reaction to Selina's extended stay wasn't surprising, not given the rest of the conversation, but it took a moment for her to remember the other woman's excuse for staying, the fever making calling up previously unknown names challenging. "She said Damian was going to go to Ra's, and she had to talk him out of it," she explained, but it didn't really mean very much to her. Oh, she knew about Damian, but not about Ra's, and she really didn't appreciate the danger there. As for Selina's anger, she shook her head. "She's angry, but she'll do anything to make it okay for Bruce to go through again, even if he doesn't want to," she explained, and she left it there. All that coughing, the pain on his features, it worried her, and she didn't want to get him upset anymore, not if she could help it. She might forget about that in a minute, in two, but right then it was all that mattered, and all of Gotham could fall to ruin for all she cared. That anger, it wouldn't last either, but she hated to see him hurting. It seemed to her that he'd had nothing but bad things recently, ever since the memories, maybe even before.
She was just tugging her hair out from beneath the collar of the grey dress when she answered his question, and the delay wasn't because of how tired getting dressed made her, or how much the movement to put the dress on pained her. No, she was trying to think of the right thing to say, even with the knowledge that there was no way she was going to manage it. She wished she was well, that he was well, that they could have the talk they needed to have, but fate was conspiring against them, and in the end she could only nod. "I mean that," she said. It was simple and ineloquent, but it was true. It didn't matter if he broke her heart a thousand times over, having him was still better than losing him. Five minutes with him still made her happier than an eternity of anything else. She realized that wasn't particularly strong, and it wasn't particularly brave, but she knew what it was like to be without him, and for her that just wasn't living. She watched him approach, and she watched him slide his hand into hers, and she wasn't going to fight it or argue, not then.
She went when he tugged, out the door and down the long hall with its noises and screams, whips and cries. She didn't even notice the sounds; she never did. She let the receptionist know that she wasn't well, and when the woman went to get the manager, Wren just tugged on Luke's fingers. She didn't want to wait, and she didn't want to explain. She just wanted to get him to the doctor down the road, and she had started to worry that they would both end up in the hospital. Even sick like she was, she knew she wasn't okay. And she didn't think he was either. She bit her lip as she tugged on his hand with a hint of worry, wanting to get outside before the woman returned with the manager. "If we have to go to the hospital, someone needs to be with Gus. Not sitters. Someone he likes," she suggested. Evie wasn't an option, not long term, not with things the way they were with Will. She was hoping he had a suggestion, but her memory drifted as she texted a cab, and she swayed against him a little as she turned to look at his face. "He didn't get a Halloween, and no matter what we do now, he won't get a real Thanksgiving. We need to make Christmas be okay," she said, and it was thinking, not blame and not anger, but it was still true. "Even if we aren't together," she whispered.
There were times when Luke wished the sort of disconnect Wren and Selina had existed between himself and Bruce, and this fell solidly into that category. Until then, Bruce had believed Ra’s was simply a figment of the hallucinations, a fear brought to life, but if Selina had been forced to talk Damian out of going to him... the reality was unavoidable. “You mean Ra’s Al Ghul? He’s not supposed to be-- he thought-- how--” He shook his head and winced, bringing a hand to his temple as a white-hot burst of pain exploded between his eyes. There was panic, slippery desperation, and something like fear, none of it his, and his breath came out in a hiss as he struggled to compose himself. “Oh, god, he’s there, he’s actually there. Fuck,” he muttered, entirely to himself, because really, could the timing be any worse? Even if the let the idiot back through the door tomorrow, he was in no shape to take on Ra’s, physically or mentally. Gotham was just going to have to survive without their Bat for a while, and god help them all if shit really went down and they were forced to cope without him. “Sorry, I just-- it’s him. They have history. Never mind,” he told her, once the pain ebbed away, and he tried to pretend like nothing had just happened. “Okay, well, if she wants him to be able to go back again, maybe she’ll be more reasonable when it comes to her time there and your time here, right?” Because she had to know, Selina did, that he’d keep Bruce away for as long as he needed to; he was stubborn enough to do it, especially when he was motivated by concern for Wren and the people he cared about.
Under different circumstances he might have doubted, might have pushed for more of an answer, but just then he was content with her response. He nodded, seemingly relieved, and kept his hand firmly in hers as they made their way down the hallway. Unlike her, he heard every sound, every scream and cry, and he tried with varying levels of success to avoid flinching after each one. Part of him knew there was nothing really terrible going on behind closed doors, but it brought back bad memories all the same, both real and stemming from nightmares, and he’d already decided he hated this place. It reminded him of her, for reasons he didn’t care to think too long about, and he was painfully tense by the time they reached the lobby and the receptionist left to fetch the manager. Luke didn’t need her tug to tell him that waiting was a bad idea, and he only slid his fingers from hers in order to wrap an arm around her waist as he pulled her through the door. The manager could deal, because Wren was leaving, and in his mind now that she was back she didn’t need this place anyway. “I’m not,” he began, a protest against going to the hospital, but then he stopped, realizing it might be better to play along in order to ensure she got herself the proper care instead of putting too much energy into worrying about him. “We might not have to go to the hospital. It might be okay,” he finished instead, though of the two of them he suspected she might be the one who needed it most. He hadn’t been to a hospital since Seattle, and he wasn’t keen on breaking his streak now. As for Gus, he frowned thoughtfully as they reached the sidewalk, because they didn’t really have very many options in terms of sitters. Jack wasn’t here, Adam and MK couldn’t watch a kid, he couldn’t shove something like this on Laura... “What about Evie? Or Max, or... or Thierry,” he said suddenly. “He seems like a nice guy, and Gus has already met him, right?”
His hold on her waist tightened as she swayed against him, and he looked down at her as she listed off all the holidays Gus had already missed. All because of the damn door, but there was nothing he could do about it now, even though guilt flooded his features as he realized they weren’t exactly winning any parent of the year awards so far. “We’ll make this the best Christmas he’s ever had,” he said decisively, but he winced at that whisper. He didn’t want to think about them not being together, couldn’t think about it, and he shook his head to rid himself of the thought. “Don’t say that. Unless you plan on leaving me, we’re going to be together, okay?” Whatever she thought about MK, he had no interest in her, no desire to be with her, so unless she wised up and ran off to Silver, he wasn’t going to be the one to end their relationship.
"I don't know his last name," Wren said of Ra's, feeling out of the loop in that, even. "Selina just said Ra's and-" She stopped short when he winced, and the fear and desperation in his gaze was the straw that broke the camel's back. "STOP IT, BRUCE," she yelled, and she wouldn't have done it if she was well, but she wasn't, and she couldn't stand seeing him like that. Her chest rose and fell quickly, shallow with agitation. "Stop it. He's already hurt, and you're making it worse," she insisted. She had no idea if Bruce could hear, no idea if any of it would make any difference, but Luke had enough to deal with out here, without also having to deal with the older man's fear too. There wasn't going to be any pretending that hadn't just happened, oh, no. "She's not going back unless he gets himself under control. Neither of them are," she said, anger and worry making her words more lucid. She touched her fingers to his temples, despite the fact that reaching up like that made her twitch with pain. "It'll be okay. It'll be okay," she promised, repeated, echoed. Maybe she could make it true that way. And part of her, part of her worried how bad someone had to be to make a man that ran around dressed as a bat that afraid.
His flinching progress down the hall only made her more scared, though she didn't know what truly made him react that way. She still associated with Bruce, with Ra's, and she snuck worried glances over at him until they were outside. She hoped he was right about not going to the hospital, but she was growing more worried by the second, worried and angry, and she couldn't even manage to focus on one or the other. She shook her head when he suggested Evie as a caretaker for Gus. "Evie would be the best choice, but Will is having trouble. His girl through the door is trying to control him over here and kill him," she explained. "She managed to almost tear his arm clean off, and he keeps disappearing without Evie being able to find a trace of him. Plus, they have their own lives. We need something a little more permanent for Gus." That, combined with Will's problems in Seattle made it a bad choice, and Thierry got a quick shake of her head. "I like Thierry, but Gus doesn't know him other than the funeral, and I just met him myself. Gus doesn't know Max either," and she wasn't sure she would hand her son over to someone who was in contact with Thomas on a daily basis, either, especially not when Gus wasn't doing well. She sighed, because she really didn't like corners, and she didn't like being painted into them. "Maybe we can invite Iris over for dinner once everything quiets down," she suggested, swallowing her pride.
She stopped rambling when his hold on her waist tightened, a hint of pain in her gaze, but even more attention than that. "Let's just start with a tree after Thanksgiving?" she suggested, giving him a small smile. She might have commented on him not leaving, might have tried to continue the conversation they both agreed they weren't going to have just then, but the cab's arrival silenced that, and she crawled into the dark interior with various pained sounds, and the driver looked none too pleased as the bloodstain on her dress grew. She ignored that, and she gave him the address of the doctor, less than a mile away, and she waited for Luke to get into the cab. In the meantime, she texted the doctor to let him know they were coming, to let him know how Luke had been coughing, and how hard it was for him to move because of (she suspected) bruising. The final text from the man directed them to a quiet hospital on the outskirts, instead of to his clinic, and she gave the driver new directions. "Just for x-rays," she promised, handing over the phone so Luke could read the texts. Though she would argue that he had to stay if the x-rays turned up anything at all.
To him, her yell seemed amplified by a good dozen degrees, and it took all the willpower he had left to keep from clamping his hands over his ears and curling up in a corner to make it all stop. But she meant well, he knew she did, and so Luke clenched his hands into fists to keep them at his side, and he focused on breathing to keep himself from screaming. “Don’t-- don’t,” he said, between quick, shallow gasps of air. “It’s okay. Not his fault. He can’t-- it’s fine. It’ll be fine.” It wasn’t clear who he was speaking to, really, but he just wanted both of them to calm down, because he couldn’t handle being caught in the middle like this. “I know he needs to get himself under control. I know. Just-- it’s fine. I can handle it. Give him time,” he told her, and his breathing started to even out once the pain had faded. He looked up at the feel of her fingers against his temple, and even though he wasn’t sure if it was going to be okay, he nodded regardless. “Yeah, it’ll be okay,” he repeated. “Just need to rest, that’s all. Neither of us have slept in a while.” He couldn’t even remember how long it had been, and the news of Ra’s being in Gotham didn’t help, especially when Crane was free, but there was nothing either of them could do right then. Bruce needed to recover, and he needed to rethink his strategy, since physically containing Crane hadn’t done a damn thing. That could come later, though. Not now.
Evie had been his best bet, and he frowned when Wren listed off all the reasons why Gus couldn’t stay with her. He’d had no idea about Will’s problems, and he wondered if he should have checked in on her at some point, but he was in no state to worry about anyone else at the moment; even his concern for Jack came and went depending on how well he could focus. “Everyone has their own lives,” he said, after Thierry and Max had been discounted. “Everyone does, and-- and it’d only be temporary, it’s not like we’re not going to be around.” No, because this wasn’t going to keep happening. It just wasn’t. As for Iris, however, he hadn’t talked to her in a while, but of all their viable choices Gus did know her the best, and whatever Wren thought about her, he did like her. “Maybe,” he agreed. “If-- if you don’t mind. Gus likes Iris, and she’d look after him. She did, back when Selina and Bruce were here, and we were gone. She protected him.” Even if Iris didn’t think herself fit to watch the boy, maybe things had changed since they’d last spoken.
He hadn’t celebrated Christmas since New York, since she’d left him and his relationship with Thomas had dissolved. Each year the holiday passed and he did his best to ignore it, usually with the help of pills and booze, and in his darker days, the sharp edge of a blade. But those times were over now, and he would do whatever it took to ensure his son had the sort of Christmas he’d had when he was a kid. “Yeah, okay,” he agreed. “I bet he’ll like that, decorating and all.” He took her lack of comment as confirmation that she wasn’t going to leave him, even if it was ridiculously optimistic to do so, and then his focus shifted to the normally simple task of getting into a taxi when theirs arrived. It took a bit of maneuvering, but he managed, even if he had to bite his tongue to keep back the sounds of pain and the color had drained from his face by the time he settled against the seat. Fine, though, he was fine, just sore, and running on a severe lack of sleep. “Relax,” he told the driver, when he saw that his gaze had gone to the growing bloodstain across her dress. “You’ll get a good tip. Just drive.” That bloodstain worried him more than anything else, and the concern sharpened his features as he took the phone to read over the texts. “You need help more than I do,” he told her. “That shouldn’t still be bleeding, and you have a fever. I’m just sore.” After a moment he sighed, though, deciding that x-rays might not be so bad. “Just for x-rays,” he relented, “and first you get yourself looked at.”
It was only the very obvious fact that her outburst caused him more pain that made her leave it alone, but she intended to talk to Bruce about it eventually, even if it was only when Luke inevitably allowed him through the door again. Luke was too good, too concerned with everyone but himself, and eventually the voices from Gotham would convince him. She would try to keep Selina from being one of those voices, but she wasn't really angry with the other woman. How could she be angry at the person who had saved him? There were flashes of it, certainly, but it didn't stay. She would need to thank Silver and Laura too, since they'd both had a part in bringing him back safe. It was easier to think on those things than on how he'd looked a second earlier. Bruce needed to realize there was only so much Luke could take; he had to know that already, but it definitely wouldn't hurt to remind the older man. For now, she just let him calm down, and she didn't argue when he claimed all he needed was rest, because time was showing her that he needed so much more than that. As for Iris, she was a little more enthusiastic about her, simply because she thought it would help him calm down more. "She doesn't need to take care of him. We can keep the sitters for that," she said, trying to keep her tone positive, though she wasn't sure Iris could step into their lives without trying to take over again. "But it would help if there was someone else he trusted that would think to go get him if we went missing again." Because Selina had asked Lois this time, but what if she hadn't? What if Selina hadn't thought about that, what would have happened when no one came to pick Gus up from the sitter? The thought made her shudder, and all she could see was how scared Gus had finally been when she'd shown up at Evie's. No, they definitely needed someone, and the only person she really trusted other than him and Jack was Silver, and she was pretty sure Luke wasn't going to be onboard with that, even if it was the most logical choice, seeing as Tony was already tangled up in everything Gotham.
She rested her head on his shoulder gently once he was in the car, and it was all she could do not to tell the driver to hurry, not to let Luke see the utter fear in her eyes at how much trouble he had getting in and out of the vehicle. There was no way those were just bruises, and she found herself praying that it was only broken ribs, bruised organs, things that weren't life threatening and just silently waiting, lurking. She'd seen it happen with her maman, with working girls, just bruising that ended up with them spitting up blood as the light went out. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, not wanting to think about that. No, it would just be bruises. Just bruises, and she forced herself to give him a shaky smile when he agreed about the tree. "We can talk after. About us?" she said tentatively, because they would have to and, with the fear eclipsing her own fevered disjointedness, she remembered that they would have to. She squeezed his finger when he talked the driver down, and she knew perfectly well a hospital was going to separate them as soon as they got there, but it was okay. He would get looked at, and it would be fine, and they'd both be home in a few hours. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but she clung to it. "Selina's note, her new one after I let her back through, said it was too deep and needed to be stitched inside so the bleeding would stop," she explained, and she was glad of the dress and the bandages, because after his reaction in the hallway, she wasn't sure he would be able to handle what Bruce had done. "It's nothing. I promise. Just a few new stitches." She didn't lie very often, but she did now. Her hand slid against his, palm against palm as the small hospital came into view, and she sighed a relieved sigh when she saw the doctor standing outside the ER with a nurse and a wheelchair. "Promise me you'll go inside with the doctor," she said, turning to look at him in the dark car, her gaze sliding over his face with unfocused desperation, as if she was afraid he'd disappear in a few moments. "No fighting. Please? I'm worried about you."
Luke might have ranted and raved about keeping Bruce away from Gotham, might have vowed that it would be a long, long time before he let him through again, but the truth was that he was bound to cave sooner or later. Not everyone wanted him back, but some did, and eventually the guilt of depriving Gotham of the man who would die a thousand times over for any single person in that city, innocent or not, would get to him. His own anger at Bruce notwithstanding, it was difficult to hate someone when they were so closely entwined with you that you knew their thoughts, their feelings; that in itself was trust, since in the beginning the older man had hidden absolutely everything from him. It was a struggle to remain angry, even, to keep the fire burning, when he could almost understand Bruce’s reasoning, when he felt every bit of guilt and shame the other man did. At the moment, he was just tired, being seated against the cab’s seat making it harder to hide his exhaustion, at least harder then it was when he was on his feet and moving. “Okay,” he agreed, because he didn’t feel like arguing. “We’ll have to ask her, Iris, but I’m sure she’ll agree. We’ll have to have some kind of check-in system, just in case, so she knows,” he sighed. Silver didn’t even cross his mind, because no matter how desperate things became he would never, ever agree to entrust his son’s care to that man. Maybe it was the fact that he was clearly after Wren, or maybe it was that he reminded him too much of Thomas, too much of those who had judged him, expected the worst of him, or maybe it was a combination of things; regardless, he would never trust him, never like him, and he expected Wren to respect the fact that he didn’t want Silver anywhere near their son. If the tables were turned, and she was really against Iris, he would respect her wishes and keep the boy away. “Jack will get better,” he said suddenly, as though just remembering the other man. “He can watch Gus too... once he’s better. He’ll be better.” He was so tired, but he was certain of that, because Jack had to be okay. Max’s talk of zombies and being dead had to be wrong, even though the image of an undead Jack showing up at their doorstep like something out of a Stephen King novel lurked at the back of his mind.
Somehow he’d managed to convince himself that he was fine, that the doctor would tell him as much, and so he had no idea of her concerns, no idea that she was thinking about internal bleeding or bruising. He leaned his head against hers when she leaned against his shoulder, unconcerned by the way the world seemed to be taking on a slow, blurry quality; the painkillers were finally doing what they were supposed to. In his mind, there wasn’t much for them to talk about, but he nodded regardless. “Okay. Just-- I don’t want a break, and I don’t want anyone else. I just want to be with you,” he said, with a quiet exhale of breath, because it seemed so simple in his mind. “We can talk about that if you want, though.” Luckily, he wasn’t thinking about being separated, and Bruce had gone quiet in his mind. Oh, he wanted to know how Jack--and by extension Jason--were, and there was something about death, which confused the hell out of him, but all that was pushed aside for later. “Stitched inside?” That sounded bad, really bad, and he didn’t understand how they could stitch her up from the inside unless they cut her open first, and that made him panic. His medical knowledge was painfully basic, and Bruce was no help, while he normally would have been a voice of reason. He clung to her hand as the hospital came into view, his grip almost painfully tight, and shook his head. No, no, he wasn’t leaving her, wasn’t leaving to go with some doctor while she was taken off to get who knows what done to her. “I’ll go after I make sure you’re okay, after I find out how they’re going to fix you,” he said stubbornly. “I know you’re worried, but I’m worried too, Wren, and I’m not the one with the fever, or the one who’s still bleeding, or the one who needs stitches on the inside. I don’t know this doctor, or this hospital, and-- I haven’t been to one in so long, I-- I’m not leaving you,” he insisted.
She always worried when he gave in easily, the way he did about Iris, but there was hardly room for anymore worry then. She was starting to feel that panic, the one that always came with not knowing whether he would live or die. He'd had so many close calls when they were young, and she couldn't even think about all the close calls she'd missed while they were apart, not without falling into a million pieces. She didn't like the idea of a check-in, and she very much wanted to be a normal family, but she was starting to think they were never going to be that, and it left her feeling so empty and so despairing. His words about Jack brought her back to the moment, and she nodded and squeezed his fingers with her clammy ones. "Jack will be fine," she promised, and there was no inflection to it. Something in her voice said she was starting to accept the fact that nothing would ever be fine, but she was trying for him, she was, even as the blood soaked through the grey of her dress and spread and blossomed along the strands of thread.
She wasn't sure how long she sat there, but she realized he'd spoken about their break a few seconds after silence took over the cab again, before the hospital ER sign was clear and close enough to read. His head against hers had made her drift, and her body just wanted to give up so badly just then. While he'd been gone, she'd felt the need to keep it together for Gus. Maybe she still needed to do that now. Maybe she needed to do it even more than before. But her mind and her body had different ideas, and she had to blink up at him a few times to grasp what he'd said. Her tears watered at the simplicity of what he'd said. She'd never doubted that he wanted her, that he loved her, but now wasn't the time to try to explain that, not when each passing second made her more and more sure that things weren't at all good. She squeezed his fingers with all the strength she could muster. "I know you love me," she said, because she could reassure him of that without it being a lie. "I love you," she added with a hitch of emotion in the admission. "And don't worry about the stitches," she added. If she was going to die from this, she would have already died. The same couldn't be said for him and, despite what he said, he was her main concern.
He was the doctor's main concern too, it seemed, because the man opened the door as soon as the cab stopped in front of the ER, and he asked the newly-arrived paramedic to help Luke into the chair. Wren smiled at the man, who she'd only ever heard good things about from the girls, and she squeezed Luke's fingers once before letting go. "It's fine. I promise. I'll go with you first if you want," she offered, though she suspected that wouldn't last for long once the doctor got a good look at her. But she understood that fear of hospitals; she shared it. Nothing good had ever happened in a hospital, not in her entire life, and the scent of antiseptic wafting through the open doors reminded her of so many terrible things that she begun to tremble. "Promise, no fighting," she reminded him, because she didn't want to see him hurting more, and any fighting would make it worse for him; she knew that it would. "We'll both be out in hours," she said, appeasing, just wanting him inside, just wanting him okay. She knew they would make her wait outside, and they would make him wait outside if he finished before she did. They didn't have any rights, not really, and that always scared her more than words could say.
Right, Jack would be fine. He just had to remember to keep repeating that to himself, like everything else, like everyone else. Jack would be fine. Wren would be fine. Gus would be fine. All the people they knew, so broken, so troubled, they would all be fine. Except they weren’t, always, and for a moment he wondered what being brought back with the Lazarus Pit was like. If Bruce had died, maybe someone would have put him in there too. It might still happen. Did he want that, or did he want death? He feared both, and it was a tough choice, but then he remembered the scent of blood that was quickly filling up the cab wasn’t coming from him, and that served as a tether back to reality and the present moment. He tipped his head to the side when she said she knew he loved her, an uncertain smile coming to his lips, because that was good, right? If she knew he loved her, that had to be a good thing. “I love you too,” he told her, though she already knew that, but his smile vanished when she made him refocus on the stitches. “Too late,” he said, even as the cab door opened. “I’m worrying. You’re bleeding.” In case she didn’t know what already, and how many painkillers had he taken? Not enough, because he could still feel the pain, and suddenly the doctor was there and some paramedic was trying to ease him out of the cab and into a wheelchair. Which he didn’t need, not whatsoever, but the more he struggled the longer it would take for Wren to get help, so he reluctantly allowed himself to he assisted into the chair with only a few grunts and sharp snatches of breath to indicate how much moving hurt.
He reached for her as soon as he was settled, missing the reassuring feel of her hand around his. “I won’t fight,” he promised, and he figured it was a promise he could keep, as long as they kept him away from needles and didn’t try to inject him with anything. “I promise I won’t, but you have to promise too, that you’ll let them take care of you. She’s bleeding,” he informed the doctor, wincing as he turned his head to look up at the man. “Her stitches aren’t good enough, and she has a fever too.” Even now, he still didn’t think he was going to be kept too long, because he was fine, and he tried not to panic at the prospect of them being separated. “I’ll come find you when I’m done,” he told her, and he forced a smile for her sake.
She was conflicted between wanting to know what he was thinking about during his silence, and not wanting to know at all. His smile and his statement about loving her made her bite her lip to hold back a sob, and she nodded the tiniest bit as she watched them help him out of the cab. She was crying openly by the time they had him situated, because this entire thing brought back so many terrible memories, so many fears. When he reached for her fingers, she moved quickly enough to capture his for a moment, even though the quick lunge was blood and anguish, but it didn't matter, not if she just got to hold onto him for a second longer. She noticed the doctor's lowered gaze as Luke told the man about the stitches, and she sighed when they called for another nurse. "Okay. It'll be fine," she said through her tears, because there was little point in holding them back now, was there? She wanted to go with him, but she couldn't. And she wanted him with her, but that couldn't happen either. It added to that pervasive feeling of loneliness, of aloneness, and she had to fight to put on a shaky smile for him. She noticed the way he winced when he turned his head, and the doctor was already whispering with the paramedic that was going to take him away. The paramedic began to turn the wheelchair, and her fingers slid away, and she tugged on his fingertips for a second at the end, as if she could hold on longer that way. But she couldn't, and she just nodded when the second nurse came out. As long as he was okay, it would be fine. Jack was forgotten just then, so was Bruce and her anger. Even holding onto the worry was a challenge, but it was a strong enough fear that it didn't ebb. She let the nurse help her into the chair, and she asked for a phone to call Gus once she was in a room, but she could tell the nurse was only humoring her, and she knew they wouldn't be going home in hours. With any luck, they'd make it in time for Thanksgiving dinner, but she wasn't even counting on that.
It all would have been a lot easier to handle if she hadn’t started crying, and it was only the gentle yet firm hand of the paramedic that kept Luke from leaping (or simply rising) from the wheelchair and calling the whole thing off. “Don’t cry,” he begged, squeezing her fingers with a frantic sort of desperation. The rational part of his mind knew that they were still going to be in the same building, and they wouldn’t be separated forever, but that part was very small and this felt like things falling apart no matter how hard he tried to keep them together. He was oblivious to the way the doctor and the paramedic were whispering, too focused on her, and he let his hand drop with reluctance as they began to wheel them away. Despite how much it hurt to do so, he kept his head turned, watching her until she was out of sight. On his own it was so, so much harder not to panic, because in the past hospital visits had never gone well, and he was there more often for others than he was for himself. He didn’t want anyone seeing his scars, and he was afraid of the kind of internal damage he might have, not just from Bruce, but from years and years spent in violence without proper medical attention. As they passed through the halls, the doctor talked about X-rays, about fractured or broken ribs and internal bleeding, and he looked up at him like a scared child who had no choice but to put his trust in another. Best case scenario, the doctor said, nothing was broken, and there was just some bruising. Worst case, internal bleeding that required surgery-- but that was a very big if, he reassured. They just needed to do some tests, scans he’d never heard of before, and they wanted to keep him under observation until the results came back and they knew what they were dealing with. That meant an IV drip and a hospital bed, and for a moment he considered running, just pushing past everyone and bailing, but in the end he relented and agreed. “Just make sure my girlfriend’s okay,” he told them, leaning back against the chair and closing his eyes. Worst case scenario, he’d need to stay overnight at least. Best case, a few hours. He was really, really hoping for the latter.