Bruce Wainright has (onerule) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-12-09 22:19:00 |
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Entry tags: | arthur arden, batman |
Who: Luke and Thierry
What: An unconventional visit.
Where: Thierry's shop.
When: Waaay backdated to sometime after Halloween.
Warnings/Rating: Some feels.
Not only did he have what might have been the worst hangover in recent memory, but Luke had woken up that morning to find that they were out of coffee.
Out. Of. Coffee.
To make matters worse, Gus had been up at the crack of dawn, which meant the dog was awake right along with him, and the little boy was already rambling on about pancakes when he dragged his bleary-eyed self into the kitchen. At the very least, he wasn’t moping about Wren’s absence, though he was still waiting for the inevitable question he would have to try to find an answer to. Everything was magnified at least ten times louder than it should have been, and Luke tried not to wince as Gus tugged him over to the cupboard and asked, in a clumsy mix of French and English, whether or not they had chocolate chip cookies. So he forced a smile, and he made pancakes to the best of his ability, which ended up being more chocolate than pancake, but the little boy didn’t mind. Then, after bath time and choosing the day’s clothes, he was dropped off with his sitter, who intended on spending the day at the zoo. He kissed him good-bye, told him he’d see him later,
He could have left Finch with him, but for some reason he wanted the dog with him when he went to see Thierry. It was something born of instinct, of comfort; the dog had been with him the longest, through the good and the bad, and he’d found that an animal had far more loyalty than just about every single human he knew. Besides, Thierry had once said it would be fine to bring Finch along, so he wasn’t expecting any problems. On the way there, he wondered if he was really going to try to contact his dead parents, and if he even believed it was possible. Luke didn’t really believe in an afterlife, though he desperately wanted to, and the dead were simply dead. They weren’t anything anymore. How could you contact nothing?
Clad in sneakers, jeans, and a slightly wrinkled t-shirt overlain with a jacket, Luke only looked a little tired, like he’d simply had a rough night, rather than having drowned his sorrows in so many bottles of wine he’d lost count. He paused outside of the antique shop, recognizing the name, and he scratched Finch behind the ears before pushing open the door and stepping inside, followed closely by the dog. “Hello?”
As promised, the shop was quiet that day, a pattern that Thierry had come to notice over the years. Certain days called the browsers and shoppers to his store, and other days, things were quiet with only a handful of customers crossing the threshold from open to close. Luke’s visit, then, was more than welcomed, a break from the monotony that Thierry had grown used to. As the bell over the door rang to bring attention to the man’s arrival, Thierry came around the corner of a grouping of shelves stacked with items from floor to ceiling, a ready smile on his face. For all the adventure he had had through the door, it didn’t show on his face now; forty years of life had given Thierry enough experience to tuck things away from the surface of his person. “Glad to see that you could make it,” Thierry offered, assuming that this was Luke, recalling their conversation from weeks prior about the presence of a dog. Not too many customers would bring their pet into a store without asking, after all. Coming forward, he extended a hand towards Luke, his manner congenial without being too forward and pushy. There were laugh lines at the corner of soft blue eyes, his hair this side of too long. There was nothing assuming about the way he dressed, worn blue jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, he was a man comfortable with who he was.
“You look like you could use some coffee, judging by that look in your eyes,” he assumed, giving a nod to the door. “Let me lock up. My offices are in the back, and the coffee is brewing.”
As strange as it might sound, there was a distinct lack of older male figures in Luke’s life. His father, of course, was long since dead. Thomas was formidable, intimidating, all sharp edges and judgment with only brief flickers of warmth that had never been enough. Silver reminded him too much of the former, but without the warmth, though his interest in Wren was enough to permanently earn his disdain. The man who came around the corner was nothing like the three, with his ready smile and easy sort of comfort with himself. “Yeah,” he said after a moment, offering a tired smile of his own and accepting the man’s outstretched hand. “I had some free time. Hope you don’t mind that I brought along a friend.” He shook it briefly before dropping it, while Finch remained quiet and still at his side, and found himself wondering if this man had only just found out about Wren, and what her life might have been like if he’d been around--and decent enough, of course--to look after her.
“Coffee sounds great, thanks,” he admitted gratefully. It wouldn’t make him forget, and it wouldn’t numb anything, but his headache was the price he’d paid for temporary forgetfulness, and the daylight hours required sobriety, regardless of his feelings on the matter. “I’ll wait back there for you.” It was a statement, bordering on a tentative question, and he gestured for Finch to follow a moment later as he headed for the back, following the wonderful scent of coffee.
“I told you before that he was welcome, didn’t I?” Thierry’s handshake was firm before he dropped Luke’s hand, leaning down to let the dog sniff at his hand but making no attempts to touch him - yet. Thierry hadn’t had any expectations in what Luke might look like in person, but the person that he met didn’t surprise him in the slightest. The way of dressing, the tone of his voice, even the look in his eyes, it all fit perfectly with the person that Thierry had built up in his head since initially talking to him some weeks prior. “And feel free to wait in the back. Help yourself to coffee. You’ll see the clean cups back there.” Leaving Luke to that, Thierry moved to the front of the shop to close up.
The backrooms were a comfortable place, worn-in furniture and wood that gleamed with the years of use it had seen. Books and notebooks littered the surfaces, but there was almost an alter made to the coffee machine that sat on the antique sideboard set up against one wall. The coffee machine was the only nod to technology back here, something heavy and expensive, the strong brew warming happily in the coffee pot. Clean coffee mugs sat on the sideboard alongside the machine, a mismatched set of mugs ranging from tiny things that barely held a cup to massive cups that could nearly hold an entire pot of the brew. Cream and sugar were included, but not something that Thierry used often, pushed to the back for the occasional guest usage.
“You did,” he admitted. “Just making sure.” The last thing Luke wanted was to overstep any boundaries, unintentionally or not, and Thierry might have changed his mind about having a dog in his shop between their previous conversation and now. Finch was fairly well trained, however, and he wasn’t overeager or excited like a younger dog would have been. He sniffed the proffered hand warily, and while it wasn’t exactly acceptance, he wasn’t growling either, with was a good sign. Canine approval was hard won, after all, especially from one who could rip a man apart with only his teeth. They had that in common, man and dog; docile to those they liked, but vicious when threatened. He nodded to the offer of coffee and clean cups, and Finch let out a soft wuff as he let himself into the back room.
It was cozy, in an eclectic sort of way. Exhaustion made the furniture look like heaven, but coffee was his first priority, so he poured himself a generous cupful before all but collapsing onto one of the couches. Finch curled up at his feet, and he decided against cream or sugar; the stronger, the better. He sipped at the coffee and let his gaze wander, his headache pulsating behind his eyes, while he waited.
It was nearly fifteen minutes later before Thierry arrived in the back room, and he gave a look towards Luke making himself at home on one of the couches, his smile a warm greeting. “Are you sleeping at all? I don’t mean to pry, but I’ve got to wonder.” Thierry took a seat at the desk, the old executive chair worn in and beat up, but it was conformed to the shape of his body from years of use. “Is there something going on? I know we’ve only talked a few times, but, something seems off, and I’m quite a good listener. I don’t even charge for it.”
Luke wasn’t used to people just asking like that, which was likely indicative of the fact that he hung around with a crowd full of those who were very, very good at keeping things bottled up, which meant that talking wasn’t a common occurrence. Besides, he didn’t think Thierry would care enough to comment on the dark circles under his eyes; most didn’t. “Uh, sort of,” he said evasively, sipping his coffee as he tried to decide whether or not he really wanted to go down this road. “I never really sleep much. Busy schedule and all, but I guess it’s been worse than usual lately. Just... stuff with the hotel, and people through the door. Like my life isn’t complicated enough, you know?” He shook his head. Things might not have been perfect, but if it hadn’t been for that stupid party, he wouldn’t be hungover, and Wren wouldn’t be staying at the safehouse because she thought he was in love with someone else. It didn’t take much for her to doubt him, which hurt, even if he was deserving of it half the time.
Thierry didn’t say anything for a long while, just letting Luke say what was on his mind, fixing himself a cup of coffee when he was done, settling down once more with one leg crossed over the other. The story that Luke told wasn’t all that unusual, because it didn’t take a professional shrink to realise that the boy wasn’t sleeping. “If you ever need a place to get away from things, even if it’s just for a few minutes, you’re welcome here. There’s always coffee on, and I’ll never turn you away.” Thierry wasn’t entirely sure what it was, perhaps some fatherly instinct he had never noticed before, but he truly wanted things to be good for the young man sitting across from him. Life was hard enough as it was just living without all the other complications that could be tossed in. The door was something else entirely, something no one really deserved if it brought about troubles.
“So,” Thierry began a few moments later, coffee cup held in both hands, his expression easy, undemanding. “Are you still interested in what we spoke of earlier?” Thierry didn’t hold himself to any one religion, preferring to believe what felt best to him, and if that was pieces of Christianity, pieces of the VooDoo religions, then that was what worked for him. So when it came to speaking with the dead, he had an open mind. There was no evidence either way, he felt, and keeping his mind open to all possibilities meant that he wouldn’t miss out.
Luke couldn’t help wondering if Thierry would make the same offer had he known that part of his problems involved his niece, but he was so grateful for even a hint of kindness that he didn’t consider bringing it up. He would probably find out eventually, but better later than sooner. As irrational as it was, he felt like everyone hated him just then, even Jack, whom he counted as his closest friend, and he was going to enjoy this kind of sympathy for as long as it lasted. “Getting away would be nice sometimes,” he admitted. “I can’t escape through the door, since a lot of my problems stem from there.” He wondered if Thierry would mind if he brought Gus around, and he toyed with the idea of asking. Later, maybe. If he didn’t mind a dog, then he might not mind a child either. Gus was well-behaved, quiet around strangers, and full of curiosity; he’d love a place like this. “Thanks. I mean-- you don’t have to be sitting here, listening to me, but you are. Most people wouldn’t even do that for people they know, never mind people they don’t.”
While he sipped his coffee and pretended like it wasn’t on his mind, what he and Thierry had discussed, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since. He hadn’t been raised religious, really, nor would he have labelled himself as anything-- agnostic, maybe, if he’d been forced to, but a higher power wasn’t something he gave much thought to. If there was someone out there, though, Luke was pretty sure he wasn’t in their good graces. He did, admittedly, like the thought of his parents being somewhere else, somewhere better, rather than being nothing at all; just empty bodies beneath the ground. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.” Maybe it was everything that had happened in the past few days, but lately he’d been thinking of his parents more and more.
“Considering how many people were patient with me when I was young, and listened when I most needed it, I feel like I ought to pay that forward. And I enjoy it, even if I can’t help like I wish I could, I can at least offer my ears.” Thierry had to wonder what all was plaguing Luke, the problems through the door he was encountering, but he figured that if Luke wanted to talk of such things, he would bring it up. So instead, he sipped his coffee and listened, watching the changes that came over Luke’s face as he sat in that quiet. He could only imagine the things that he was thinking, and was patient as he gathered up the words he wanted to say.
Thierry sat his coffee cup down on his desk, leaning in towards him, his face still warm, but the expression he wore decidedly more serious. “I will certainly help you with this,” Thierry said quietly, “but I must also warn you to keep your expectations as to what may or may not happen realistic. These sort of things are possible, at least I feel that they are, but I do not want you leaving here feeling upset.”
For a long, long moment, Luke was silent. "I feel like people stopped listening to me after my parents died," he admitted. "Everyone had their own problems, and I... I guess I didn't want to be a burden. Maybe I brought it on myself, putting everyone else's concerns first." He'd always put his own problems aside, minimizing everything, in order to play hero. Hell, he'd been willing to die for Thomas, for Wren, like his own life meant nothing in comparison. "Anyway, I appreciate it. Sometimes just listening can make all the difference," he added, making an attempt at a smile. As for his door problems, he wasn't really a fan of broadcasting who he had in his head, so for now, he didn't go into detail.
Getting his hopes up was, admittedly, something he'd tried very hard not to do, because he knew all about being disappointed, and he nodded with an equally serious expression. "I understand," he said. "I just-- I just want to try, if there's any chance at all."
“Trust me, Luke. You are not a burden around here. Remember that.” The corners of his eyes crinkled with his smile, honest with every word that he had to say. Thierry was not a man to lie, to play around with the truth, and while he wasn’t blunt and vocal about his every thought, one could be sure that every word that came from Thierry was something he believed wholeheartedly in. “And as I’ve been told my entire life,” he continued a moment later, “there’s always a chance. So long as we keep our hearts open and receptive, then no doors are ever closed permanently.” He finished off the last of his coffee and got to his feet, leaving the cup on his desk. “I got a few things prepared in the back. You can bring the dog along, I think he’ll be fine. Nothing breakable back there.”
Thierry led the way from his office to the expansive storage space in the rear of the shop. It was filled with furniture and other bits and pieces that he had yet to go through and categorize. The space smelled of old dust and aged wood, full of years of history in possessions and belongings from people who had long since departed this earth. It was, in many ways, an ideal place for what they were about to attempt. A table was set up in the center, a small thing, round, covered with an old faded cloth. A fat candle, ivory, sat in the center, an old silver lighter laying nearby. Thierry gestured to one of the chairs at the table before he lit the candle, the wick hissing and spitting before taking light. “Where did you grow up, Luke?” he asked as he killed the lights in the back room, leaving the only illumination the ivory candle, flickering and dancing in the center of the table. His seat was taken, hands folded atop the table cloth, his attention fully on the other man.
The past was in the past, and Luke tried to leave it there, but he couldn’t help wondering what things might have been like if Thomas had said those words, even just once, instead of him having to tell himself he wasn’t a burden and somehow convince himself of something he’d never truly believed. Max had helped with that, she had, but he realized now she shouldn’t have had to, and taking out his frustration on her and everyone else hadn’t been right. He took a deep breath and smiled as he let it out, determined to at least try to remember. Thierry was nothing like the adults from his past; he didn’t seem the type to lie just to keep him appeased. “Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll remember.” Even if this didn’t work, he certainly wasn’t going to hold it against the other man. No, it was kind enough of him to offer, and to put up with what was just the start of a whole slew of issues. He simply listened while Thierry explained that things were set up in the back room, and after one last sip of coffee he set his mug down and got to his feet. Finch watched, waiting for direction, and only followed after Luke tipped his head and indicated that he could.
He knew better to expect some fortune teller’s room with a crystal ball and stars everywhere, and in a way the simplicity of the room was reassuring. It made what they were going to attempt almost seem... normal, instead of something taboo, and he muffled a small laugh as Finch sniffed the air and made a snuffling sort of sound, like a canine sneeze. He looked at the candle for a moment, just that, before sitting, the dog curling up by his feet beneath the table, the thump-thump-thump of his tail against the floor playing out a soothing rhythm. “New York,” Luke responded as the lights were dimmed, doing his best to sit still. “When I was eighteen, I moved to Seattle, but not... not with my parents.”
Thierry watched as the dog settled at Luke’s feet, a small grin playing at his lips before his attention was drawn once more towards Luke, leaning in towards him. “Maybe you could tell me about them. Good memories, things that you miss about them.” He could see the way Luke fidgeted, the anxious energy that filled him up, and Thierry saw this as a way to get the boy to relax, if even a little. These sort of things never worked well when one was strung as tight as a guitar string, so it would be his duty to get him to relax, to breathe a little easier, and then everything else would come much more easily.
As simple a question as it was, Luke found himself at a momentary loss for words. He hadn’t talked about his parents in so long, not since they’d died, and everything about them had piled up and been locked away somewhere he wasn’t sure he could still gain access to. “I-- I haven’t talked about them in a while,” he admitted. “It’s been years, I just-- I guess it was easier to keep it all inside.” He could have done the same thing now, closed off and refused to say anything, especially to someone he didn’t know very well, but maybe it was easier. Thierry, unlike Wren, wouldn’t push, and he wouldn’t try to make it better because there was no way to make it better. He was neutral, almost, and after a few calming breaths he began to speak. “Good memories,” he repeated. “I remember... my dad teaching me how to ride a bike. I ran over his feet a lot. I remember him giving me my first beer after this girl dumped me in high school, and telling my mom I had food poisoning when I got sick. She knew, I think, but she never said anything. She-- she was like that. She knew everything, somehow, and she was the best listener. Nothing I did was ever as terrible or stupid as I thought it was,” he said, wistful and distant, as he lost himself in the past. “They worked all day, my parents, but they were big on sitting down for dinner every night together. Before my older brother moved out, it was the four of us, then the three of us, and we didn’t always talk, but... we were still there. I wish-- I wish they’d been there to see me graduate, to meet my son, and my-- my girlfriend. I--” He stopped, then, swallowing heavily and offering a weak smile. “I guess what I miss the most is having someone I knew would always be on my side, no matter what I did. That’s what parents do, right? When I left home, part of me always knew that I could go back, and they’d forgive me,” he explained. “But I can’t go home now. I haven’t been able to go home in years.” Maybe Vegas was home now, but part of him would always be in New York, a place he was too afraid to return to however much he might have wanted to.
As Luke recounted those more pleasant memories, Thierry was quiet, letting him talk though he remained engaged in the conversation. He wasn’t the sort of man to simply let people talk at him. He truly listened, absorbed, thought about the words that were being said; his attention was given wholly and unselfishly to those in his presence, and that was how it had always been for him. “It’s often said,” Thierry began as Luke finished, reaching across the table towards him, hands resting palm up on the tabletop, “that home is simply where your heart is. A place, a city, it’s where you may have lived, where the memories originated from, but all of that is inside you, not in a place, and not in those who have left. It’s in you.” Thierry inclined his head towards the candle that flickered between them. “Take my hands, Luke. And I want you to focus on the flame. On those memories. On your parents.” His voice had dipped to something quieter, soft and soothing.
There were only a select few in his life that Luke trusted enough to believe that, even if they didn’t say anything, they listened when he spoke, and while he hadn’t known Thierry for very long he already felt like the man fell into that exclusive category. He didn’t nod and hum to give the pretense of paying attention, and he didn’t look like he was lost in his thoughts, elsewhere, instead of right here. It was nice, to feel like he was being listened to, when it felt like so many people heard what he said and just steamrolled right over it. “Maybe,” he admitted, voice quiet. “New York doesn’t mean as much now that my parents are gone, but there are... were... people there I cared about. Funnily enough, most of them are here now. Except one.” He swallowed heavily, because he didn’t want to go there, not even a little. When Thierry asked him to take his hands, he nodded, and reached across the table to rest his palms against the other man’s. A spark of something like anticipation shot through him, but he did his best to remain calm, doing as Thierry said and staring into the flame as he thought of his parents, of all the good times, letting the memories flood forth to the front of his mind instead of fighting to keep them back.
Thierry wouldn’t deny his curiosity about that person who wasn’t here, but he didn’t push against it, sensing where Luke didn’t want to go. If he wanted to talk about it, he would listen, but it wasn’t his place to be demanding of anyone right then. So instead he let his fingers curl over Luke’s own hands, waiting until the young man had settled, become quiet and relaxed. For all the theatrics that could be seen in television and movies when people talked to the dead, what happened here, in the back room of the antique shop, was remarkably sedate. There was no chanting, no speaking in tongues, not even candles flickering. It was just a remarkable, peaceful calm. Where Luke gazed into the flame, Thierry watched Luke, every detail of the boy’s face memorized with how intently he watched him, and then, out of nowhere, where the back room had been comfortably warm, the temperature dropped noticeably.
The presence that settled over him was not familiar to Thierry, but they weren’t here for him. Thumbs ran over the back of Luke’s hand, giving his hands a gentle squeeze. “Hi, Luke.”
Since theatrics were all he really had to go off of, Luke was expecting some grand gesture that would indicate whatever was going to happen would actually work. Well, half expecting, since there was always the chance that nothing would happen and this was simply a waste of time. After what seemed like an eternal stretch of silence, spent staring into the candle flame, he felt a distinct drop in temperature. Beneath the table, Finch whined and pressed against his leg, but he didn’t once think of pulling his hands back. If anything he only leaned forward, eager for whatever was happening, and when Thierry spoke it seemed like time itself slowed and came to a stop. There were no ghostly voices, no ghosts at all, and yet somehow... somehow he knew. As impossible as he’d always thought it was, he didn’t think Thierry seemed the time to pull a sham, and besides, what would he gain from doing so?
“H-Hi,” he stammered, his fingers tightening reflexively around the other man’s without him being aware of what he was doing. “Is it-- is it really you? Mom? Dad?” More than anything, he wanted that answer to be yes, and he rushed ahead, too afraid of having his hopes dashed. “I’ve missed you,” he admitted, trying to fight the telltale stinging in his eyes.