Who: Luke and Wren What: Post-Christmas party things. (1/2) Where: Their house. When: After group plot. Warnings/Rating: None.
The last things Luke remembered with any real clarity were fear, panic, a wide-eyed dead little girl and the sudden, heavy weight of an unresponsive child in his arms. All so very real for a world that was merely illusion, the creation of a hotel which seemed single-minded in its quest to torture all of them, and even once he found himself back home, in the only world that mattered, his mind hadn’t quite caught up with reality. He could still feel the little boy in his arms, still hear the thump of not-Wren’s body against the floor, still see the little girl, a bullet in her forehead, and the nearly imperceptible sound it had made in slaughtering an entire family. All this time he’d feared that he simply made life worse for Wren, and she would be happy without him, but no, now he knew that wasn’t true. She would be lonely, and then, then she would just be dead.
Dead, all of them dead, and he wasn’t in that foreign house anymore, but in his own, on his knees in the hallway. When had that happened? He was sobbing, or at least he must have been, because he could hear choked, pained sounds and his cheeks were wet and his throat was tight, so yes, it had to be him. But where was the little boy-- Rhett? Or was it Gus? Slowly, so slowly, pieces began to fit together, but he was still confused, the shift between that false world and this one so sudden that he hadn’t had time to adjust. Part of him knew none of it had been real, and it was over now, but unfortunately, that logical part of him was not in control just then; instead, he panicked. He thought of Wren, dead on the floor, and he struggled to his feet in desperation, suddenly seized by the fear that it might actually have been her.
“Wren!” It came out as a strangled cry as he turned the corner, nearly tripping over himself in his haste and spilling into the living room. He had to find her, had to make sure she was okay.
Wren was right where she'd been when it all started, in the front yard, watching the tree twinkle through the front window and counting the uneven lights on the roof's edge. She hadn't been in the house with all the death, because she'd never moved from that spot Luke had left her in. Therefore, she didn't have his sense of relief or confusion. She was just glad to be home, glad to be out of the hotel's grip, and glad that Luke might be inside. She had been starting to worry that he'd been gone so long, but not because she was concerned about anything happening to him. No, she was unreasonably worried that he might like whatever version of her lived in that place better than he liked the real her. After all, it was like a blank slate, right? None of the mistakes she'd made, and none of the ways she'd hurt him. Too, the fact that he really hadn't liked her at all during the visit to Thomas Inc., had left her feeling a little insecure, as did the fact that he'd married three women there, when he didn't seem to want that kind of permanence with her. It had all just left her feeling unsure of everything and, when she found herself standing back in front of their house, she was just glad for the reminder that he cared about her enough to rent a home with her. It was something, right? Even if, just then, she couldn't help feeling like she'd trapped him into it with Gus.
It was morning, and the sun was low in the sky yet, but she knew Gus would be awake soon. She knew, too, that Luke had agreed to let Bruce through for Christmas, and she'd agreed to let Selina through for the same few hours, even though she knew they weren't going to be in the same place. Selina was always at her most dangerous when she was upset, and Wren couldn't help but worry about letting her through to be alone on Christmas. But she'd agreed, and she'd promised Gus he could play with the neighbors' little girl for a few hours before dinner. But for now, she had Luke and the little boy all to herself for the morning. And, after four years of not having Christmas with either of them, she wasn't going to let the hotel take it from her.
She took one step toward the house before hearing Luke's cry, and that got her running as quickly as her bare feet could carry her. It had never occurred to her that anything could be wrong. Nothing harmful had happened at Thomas Inc., so why should anything bad have happened in that idyllic neighborhood with the little girl and the dog? She pulled open the door with shaking fingers, terrified of what she would find on the other side. "Luke?" she asked tentatively, her step slowing once she got the door open, fear making her cautious. Nothing could be wrong. Surely, surely, nothing could be wrong.
When he didn’t find her in the living room, his fear spiked even higher, far past the point of irrationality and straight into a blind, frantic sort of panic that really made no sense at all. Not once did it cross Luke’s mind that she might be outside, or somewhere else entirely; she wasn’t here, and not here was bad. He turned, seeing the tree, the presents, furniture-- but no Wren. Again, the image of her lifeless eyes and a bullet embedded in her forehead flashed across his eyes, and he whimpered, staggering back out into the hallway. Maybe she was upstairs, oh, god, maybe she was upstairs, maybe--
And then he heard the telltale click of the front door being opened, followed by her voice, and it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard just then, because only living people could speak; the dead couldn’t. “Wren?” True relief didn’t come until he actually saw her for himself, and he stared, as though making sure she wouldn’t suddenly disappear, even if it was impossible for that to actually happen. “Oh, god, you’re okay,” he breathed, and then he all but rushed at her in his desperate haste to be near her; to not just see, but feel her. Once he was close enough, he pulled her into a too-tight hug, muffling leftover sobs against her shoulder.
She had no idea what he was going through, and so that tone in his voice when he said her name, the strange sort of question in it, left her wondering what had happened. But even more, it chased away a little of the panic that had settled in between the yard and the front door. He didn't sound hurt. Worried and scared, but not hurt. And if something was wrong with Gus, she would surely have known? In a world where she didn't exist, Gus couldn't exist either, so she too scared on that count. And then she finally saw him, and her worry came flooding back.
He looked like he'd been sobbing, and Luke tried harder than anyone she knew to keep it together these days. She knew it wasn't healthy, but it was true. And so the fact that he was standing there, falling to pieces, left her really, really scared. "Hi," she said, just watching from the doorway as he stared at her. She took a few cautious steps forward, careful footfalls on bare feet, and she managed to raise just one hand to summon him closer, but then he rushed her, and she found herself wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he sobbed instead. She didn't care that the hug was too tight. She didn't care about anything except him. And she was worried, oh, God, was she ever worried. She wrapped her arms tight around his shoulders, and she made the types of reassuring little sounds she made when Gus was worked up about something. "It's okay. I'm here. I'm fine. You're fine. None of it was real, Luke. I promise." She unwound her arms from around his shoulders, and she managed get her fingers on his cheeks, and she cupped them in an effort to move back enough to get a good look at his face. "Look at me, bebe. What's wrong? What happened? Dites moi." And, too, she just wanted to look at him. To look at the version of him that knew who she was, and who didn't want her out of his sight as soon as humanly possible. Her fingers brushed along his cheeks. "Please?"
Luke didn’t answer, not right away. She was probably the only person he would ever allow to see him so vulnerable, and even so, it wasn’t a common occurrence, which was a dead giveaway that something had managed to rattle him in a way few things could. The sound of her voice and the feel of her arms around his shoulders were enough to calm him down, at least, and little by little his sobs subsided and his breathing became steadier, even if a slight hitch here and there still lingered. His hold on her loosened, albeit only enough to allow some breathing room, when her fingers found his cheeks, and he pulled back after a second or two of hesitation. And even after all that silence, he just looked at her, before managing a shaky smile that made up in honesty what it lacked in strength.
“It’s you,” was the first thing he said, and oh, there was relief there. Because maybe the other Wren hadn’t been so bad, but she wasn’t his Wren, and he would have known the difference even if, physically, they’d been identical down to the very last detail. But then he focused on her questions, and his breath caught in his throat as his smile flickered and died. “You-- you were dead. Not-- not you, but the other you, back there. She-- she died. I saw. She married him, and they had kids, but she was lonely and then they killed them all, like--- like it was nothing.” And that, admittedly, terrified him, the prospect of someone capable of murdering an entire family in cold blood with such swift efficiency. But no, that wouldn’t happen, not to her, because he wouldn’t let it. He shuddered at the thought of anything happening to her, and then he tugged on her, a silent request, attempting to coax her away from the door and towards the living room, where the lights seemed to make that other world fade just a little bit more.
She didn't care about the breathing room, but that shaky smile made her worry even more. The honesty there made her smile a little, but it was only a very little, because all the rest of it made her so concerned that she let go of his cheeks just long enough to run her hands down his arms, all the way back to where his fingers rested around her waist, then back up again to his shoulders. And maybe she was doing it for herself, too, because the version of him back in Thomas Inc., the older version, he would have never let her do that, and she needed some of her own reassurance that he was there, and hers, and that he would still let her touch him. One of her hands came back to his jaw, and her fingers fanned along his cheek as she looked up into his face. She was searching for differences, and there were so many. But it wasn't age that differentiated him most. Maybe it should be, but it wasn't; no, it was his eyes, and the way he looked at her, and the kindness there. Kindness that other version of him hadn't had at all.
"Me?" she began to ask, confused by his statement, and she felt like someone had walked across her grave when his smile flickered and died like that. It was an old saying of her maman's whenever she shuddered, but it felt really appropriate just then, even before he told her she'd been dead in the version of her life that she hadn't witnessed herself. She shook her head a little as he spoke, then a little more. "It wasn't me," she said first, because that seemed the most important thing, even if his words left her a little shaken. Her fingers against his cheek trembled, because what he described sounded horrible, and she was suddenly unbelievably angry at herself for letting him go alone. "I should have gone with you," she said as he tugged her away from the door. "But, it wasn't me, Luke. Okay? I'm fine. I'm here. I'm not married to anyone, and Gus is in bed, asleep, waiting to open presents." And maybe she wanted to ask, but she didn't. Maybe she wanted to know more about how it had all happened, but she was willing to let him take his time with it. All that mattered was getting him to stop shuddering like that, and reassuring him that everything was okay. Anger flashed in her grey eyes for a moment, because the hotel kept doing this, kept tearing him apart when he'd just managed to put himself back together again. "Shhhh," she whispered, and she stretched up and pressed a warm, slow kiss to his lips. "See? I'm fine."
The differences between who he was now and his older self were endless, but a common thread between them was, perhaps, the dislike--and even fear--of touch. Whereas the other Luke had shied away from any form of physical contact, however, this Luke only balked at the prospect when it involved people he didn’t trust to a certain degree. Wren was, of course, the one person he trusted above all else, and she was the one who’d taught him that it was a good thing, something he could like, rather than something which only brought with it bad memories. Without her, it was little wonder he’d become so cruel and isolated. But in the end it all added up to the fact that he liked her touching him, and so when she dragged her hands up and down his arms he welcomed the contact, edging just a little closer, which rendered the space he’d just given her meaningless. Right then, he didn’t want to let her out of his sight, or far enough away that he couldn’t reassure himself of her presence through something as simple as a press of fingers.
“No,” he said immediately, when she insisted she should have gone with him. “No, you shouldn't have. I’m glad you didn’t see that. You shouldn’t have had to see-- to see them die, Wren. No.” He knew, rationally, that everything she said was true, but he didn’t know how to explain how real all of it had seemed; the sounds, the sights, the movement of life within not-Wren’s belly and the weight of a toddler, something he’d never felt in the real world. And, he didn’t know how to convey how much it had hurt, knowing the children were hers by another man, that she’d married someone else, been with someone else. “I know,” he admitted. “I know you’re right, but-- it just seemed so real. I was-- I was holding the little boy, and the bullet just came out of nowhere. And she was pregnant, too, and it wasn’t mine, and I just-- I can’t-- it was like losing you, Wren, all because she married Silver, and he left them alone, and he got them killed.” He practically spat the other man’s name, unthinking, and oh, yes, there was anger there. Anger because he didn’t care; if he had, he never would have brought anyone else into his dangerous lifestyle, and it didn’t make him any more inclined to like the real-world Silver, not that the chances of that happening were high to begin with.
But by then he’d managed to nudge and pull and coax her into the living room, and that slow, warm kiss did wonders to soothe his nerves. Some of the tension in his frame melted away, and his fingers found purchase in the fabric of her nightgown as he responded, deepening the kiss while keeping it just as slow. "Okay," he whispered, agreement against her lips. "And you're still mine, right?" Just in case what she'd seen, what she knew, had changed that somehow.
She didn't realize that he was afraid of touch these days. When they were young, yes, and there were certain things she still worried about pushing him too far with. Any touch to his neck, for example, and anything that involved bondage of any kind. It was something she thought she would like with him, but his experiences with Jude meant she kept those things to herself. But she didn't think he had trouble with general touch anymore, not from anyone. Admittedly, Brielle and, recently, MK had gone a long way to making her think those fears were behind him. And so, when she dragged her hands over his arms like that, she never stopped to think he might mind it. And when he pulled her closer, even the hint of the possibility of that was chased away. She thought that quirk a particular thing to his other self, and she assumed things had been much worse for him with Jude in a world where she wasn't around to divert her attention between tormenting two people instead of just one in that freezer.
She tipped her head a little at how emphatic he was, at how certain he was that she shouldn't have been there. "No," she said just as forcefully. "If you go through anything bad, anything hard, I want to be there too," she insisted. "It was selfish of me to stay behind, but I didn't- I didn't want see anything, not after-" She shook her head, no, because this wasn't the time for that, not when he was as upset as he was. Her fingers traced lines on his cheek as she tried to follow his disjointed story. It was an effort, staying quiet until he was done, especially in the face of his anger when he said Silver's name. But he was close, and he was there, and she could touch him, and that gave her the strength to bite her lip and hold her tongue. "I'm not with Silver. I'm with you," she reminded him softly, but even she had trouble finding words to make what he went through okay. It sounded like some little boy had died in his arms, and she had only one way to make that particular thing better.
"Toujours," she replied when he asked if she was his. "Always, no matter what the hotel says. You'd have to run me off." She looked a little worried then, just a little. "You're not going to, are you?" she asked, her own bit of the night's uncertainty filtering in. But no, there were more important things, and she stepped back and took both his hands. She led him through the large living room, and down the hallway to the smaller bedrooms. The last room on the left had the door ajar, and she nudged it open a little. Gus was asleep atop his blankets, hugging the stuffed ferret Thierry had given him for Christmas, and poor Finch was covered in all the other stocking-toys he'd received. The little boy had his thumb firmly between his little bowed lips, and his brown hair was tangle-mussed mess. "See?" she asked the man at her side. "He's fine," she said softly. And she knew he wasn't the boy that Luke had seen or held; she knew that. But Gus was real, and theirs, and safe.
Normally, Luke could be coaxed or cajoled into agreeing with her, but not when it came to this. As hard as it had been, his one relief was that she hadn’t been there to experience what he had too. “I know, I do, but I’m glad you weren’t there to see what happened. Watching a version of yourself take a bullet to the head and die isn’t something I want for you, not ever,” he insisted, and it was born of his desire to protect her, to shield her from all the bad things as best he could. The feel of her fingers against his cheeks helped soothe his agitation, which was fickle at best, rising and falling sharply without warning. He nodded when she reminded him that she wasn’t with Silver, that she was with him, because he knew that, he did, but sometimes things like this happened and he found himself needing a little reassurance.
There was relief etched into every muscle, every curve of limbs and the press of his body against hers, when she said yes, she was still his. He was always afraid of losing her, but after all of this that fear had gotten just a little bigger. “Good,” he whispered, and he almost missed her question about him running her off. Almost, but then it sank in, and he looked down at her with wide, disbelieving eyes, even as she tugged on his hands and led him down the hallway. “Never. I’d never run you off, Wren. Not now, not ever.” He would have continued if she hadn’t nudged the door open just then, and he saw Gus inside the room, curled up on the bed as he was, and his heart squeezed in a way that had nothing to do with the ache and sting of what the hotel had showed him. It hurt, but it was a good kind of pain, the sort that came with loving someone more than was thought to be possible. For a long, long moment he just stared at the little boy, drinking in the sight of him hungrily, before turning his attention back to Wren. “He’s fine, and he’s beautiful,” he told her. ‘And he’s ours. Sometimes I still can’t believe it.” He pulled one hand free from hers, only so he could slide his arm around her waist to pull her closer, to his side, and leaned his head against hers.
"It doesn't matter. You shouldn't have been there alone," she said, even though she had no idea if she would have been able to handle the things he'd seen. Seeing herself die, she might have been fine with that, strangely. But seeing children die? She couldn't imagine sitting through that. She'd seen that little girl, the one that had looked so real, and she could only assume the little boy he'd mentioned had been just as real. She stretched up on her tiptoes when he nodded his agreement about her not being with Silver, and she rubbed her cheek against his jaw, the touch as much for herself as for him. She could sense his agitation in every muscle, in every twitch, and she just wanted to make it better somehow. But it was hard, when her own feelings were swirling around like a maelstrom.
A second later, his wide, disbelieving eyes made her smile the tiniest bit. Her hand brushed against his shoulder, and then against the side of his neck, and then along his jawline. "I was worried we'd think we were better off without each other," she admitted, because she'd known what the hotel was doing from the very beginning. But, no, there was time for that after he saw Gus. She just brushed her fingers against his lips, and she left it at that until they were in Gus' doorway, watching the little boy occasionally suck around his fingers in his sleep. She knew that Gus might not be as perfect as the children Luke had seen. He had a lot of problems, and a lot of fears, but she couldn't imagine thinking any little boy was better. "He is," she said, her own eyes damp around the corners. "He's had a really, really hard time so far, but he's so sweet, even still. And he tries really hard to be brave," she said, keeping her voice a whisper so as not to wake the sleeping boy. "He gets that from you," she said, looking over at Luke with a teary smile. "And you're in charge of that ferret once it comes home," she added, intentionally light when he tugged her against his side. "I've been a weepy mess lately. I'm sorry," she added, because it all seemed a little silly, all that crying over Evie and babies and weddings just then. "Sometimes I forget to just be glad for what I have. I never thought I'd get to the point where that happened to me," she admitted.
He opened his mouth to keep arguing, to keep insisting that it was fine, that better he go in alone than drag her with him, but thought better of it after a moment and merely sighed instead. “You’re always going to want to be there with me, no matter what, and I’m always going to want to protect you,” he told her, but there was only fondness in his tone, because that was simply who they were. Normally, just being close to her was enough to drive him all sorts of crazy, but this was different. It was a quiet, warm sort of intimacy, the other side of their relationship, and sometimes he thought he could just sit and touch her like she was touching him now, fingers brushing against skin, for hours at end. He knew that fear, of the hotel showing them their lives would have been better without one another, and while what they’d seen was difficult to stomach, it was infinitely preferable to a world where they were both happy with other people. “I was too,” he admitted quietly. “I was afraid you’d be happier without me. But we’re better with each other, not without.” It was nice to have confirmation of that, if he was being honest with himself. Because for all her claims that he did make her happy, he’d always doubted it, always wondered if maybe she was just saying what he wanted to hear.
It wasn’t fair, really, that Gus had already had such a hard life for someone so young, but no matter how afraid he was, no matter how shy, he would never, ever think any child was better. No, he wouldn’t trade him for anything in the world, and as perfect as those other-world children had been, they weren’t his. “He gets his sweetness from you, and bravery from me,” he teased, and pulled a face when she mentioned the ferret. “No way. Isn’t taking care of Finch enough? You can take care of the weasel-thing.” He sobered a little when she apologized for the recent influx of tears, and turned quiet, thoughtfully so, before shaking his head. “No, don’t apologize. You don’t have to,” he said, turning to face her, one hand on her hip and the other sliding along her jaw. For a moment he looked at her, just that, before speaking in a raw, honest whisper. “I want everything with you. I do. I just-- I want to do it right this time,” he admitted. “I don’t want to drive you away again.”
"I want to protect you too, you know," she said, a little bit of argument in her tone. Maybe that didn't come across like it should sometimes, but it was true. She was so lost in the small touches, in the fact that he was there, that he was himself, that he actually wanted her to touch him, that she almost didn't notice when he began saying he'd been afraid of the same thing she had been afraid of, that they would have witnessed lives where they were perfectly happy with other people. She still had her doubts, but she could bring them up when they were alone in their bedroom, and not there, in Gus' doorway.
She laughed quietly, stifling the sound so as not to wake the sleeping boy, when he said Gus got his sweetness from her. "I can be pretty terrible," she reminded him, because she wasn't always sweet. He had to know that by now, didn't he? "And I can be brave too," she added, mock outrage in the whisper and a smile on her lips, one that only widened when he refused to accept responsibility for the ferret that Thierry had foisted upon them. "You're in charge of the zoo," she said decisively. "I'm in charge of the laundry." Her smile dimmed when he told her not to apologize, but her expression turned into something like hopefulness when he said he wanted to do it right this time. It was his claim that he didn't want to run her away that got her moving, though, and she quietly tugged him back, while shutting Gus' door. She knew the little boy had stayed up way too late the night before, and they'd have at least another hour to themselves if they didn't make any noise.
Fingers wound in his, she tugged him down the long hall, across the living room and into the bedroom. She let go of his hand to reach back and close the door behind him, and then she went and sat on the edge of the bed, legs tucked beneath her. She patted the mattress beside her in quiet invitation, and she ducked her head shyly as she watched him. Okay, maybe she stared a little, but she couldn't help it. "First, I want you to tell me what it was like before all the bad things happened," she said of the scene she'd missed. "Did I like you? That version of me, I mean? Did you like me?" And maybe some of her insecurity slipped through the cracks there, the fact that she was worried that he'd disliked her so very much. "Um, and then I want you to tell me why you think I'd run away, when all I want is for this to last forever," she explained earnestly. "Me being upset lately, it doesn't mean I'm upset with you, or with this, or with what we have. You know that, right?" she asked, worrying her lip as she posed the question, fingers tangling in the thick, white fabric of her nightdress, plucking at the bunched fabric at her knee.
What he saw when he looked at her was nothing short of biased, yet Luke would eternally claim that it was only the truth. Terrible wasn’t a word he would use to describe her, not ever, and he shook his head without hesitation when she told him that she could be. “No, you can’t be,” he said simply. “But you being brave, I guess that’s true. Sometimes.” His grin gave away the fact that he was teasing, and he had to muffle a laugh at being in charge of the zoo. “Am not,” he insisted in a whisper. “Laundry’s way easier than handling a dog, a cat, and a ferret. I’ll trade, and you can handle the zoo.” Him wanting to do things right this time, it was just the truth, and the hopefulness in her expression made him think that maybe she believed him. He wanted her to. With Will and Evie expecting a baby, and marriage in the future, it made him think of their future together, and he was so afraid of messing it up like he had before. Because yes, he’d been angry at her for leaving, but he saw now that he’d forced her hand. If he hadn’t been the way he was, she wouldn’t have left; it was something he was always going to believe, and the self-deprecation on his part wasn’t going to just magically disappear either.
He followed willingly as she led him down the hallway, into the living room and the bedroom beyond, and he lingered near the door after she’d closed it, watching as she sat on the bed and patted the mattress beside her. It was undeniably fond, the way he looked at her, and he smiled a little before crossing the room to sit next to her, leaning back on his hands as she asked him what it had been like in the other world. He didn’t really want to talk about it, but because it was her, and he could deny her nothing, he shrugged in assent. “I don’t know. Other you was a lot nicer than other me, I guess. She was just lonely, because it was her and the kids in that house all on their own most of the time. I think she would’ve talked to anyone who showed up,” he said. “I wouldn’t say I liked her, or she liked me. We talked for all of ten minutes, Wren. She wasn’t you. Looked like you, and there were similarities, but she wasn’t mine.” He looked down, lacing his fingers with hers and tugging, wanting to reassure himself that it was his ring on her finger, and not Silver’s. “I don’t think you’ll run away,” he said, looking back up at her. “I’m worried I’ll drive you away, like before. That I won’t be enough.” He ducked his head a little when she asked if he knew that her being upset had nothing to do with them, or their relationship, and nodded. “I know. I do,” he admitted, shifting a little closer until his knee bumped hers. “I just hate seeing you upset, that’s all. It makes me want to fix it.”
She knew he was biased. Once upon a time, she didn't think so, but she did now. She wasn't even sure when that had happened, but that was the case with so many things lately, and she was starting to just accept it a little. "You're allowed to keep believing that, I guess," she said with a tiny smile, and a quiet laugh when he said she was brave sometimes. As for laundry being easier, that was absolutely right, and she didn't even argue about it. "No, you're the zookeeper. I'm the breadwinner," she said teasingly. She'd only worked a few shifts since they'd decided she was going to work again, but the money was still good, and she wasn't scared the way she'd been after Alexander. Like most of the terrible things in her life, time made them fade away to the point where they only reared their heads in her nightmares.
She watched as he settled beside her on the bed, her gaze dropping to his arms and the way he leaned back on his hands. She ran her fingertips along his skin, along the long line of his inner arm, up and down. It was a soft touch, warm as opposed to sexual. Touch always made her feel better, even when it was just this. "Other you just didn't like me very much," she reminded him. She felt sorry for him, really, that man with the cane and the pills and so much anger. "Why was she lonely?" she asked of the other version of herself. She didn't like strangers much herself, true, but she wasn't lonely, and she couldn't imagine being lonely in a house with a bunch of children. But, then, she'd never had to do that, and so she didn't really know. She looked down when he laced his fingers with hers, the touch drawing her out of her own thoughts. "But did she like you more than that other version of you liked me?" she asked, worrying her lip slightly before continuing. "I guess- I think I believed we'd like each other no matter what, no matter where, and that wasn't true."
She waited as he tugged on their joined hands, and then she looked up in time to meet his gaze. "You didn't drive me away," she insisted, her voice taking on a little heat. "And you're never, ever not enough for me. Never, not since the very first time I met you in an alleyway," she said. When he ducked his head, she ran the fingers of her free hand over his cheek, the touch tracing up to his temple and then becoming lost in his hair for a moment. "I don't want you rushing into anything you're not ready for just because I'm sad," she said, fingers tracing back down beneath his chin, and then applying a tiny bit of pressure, trying to get him to look up at her again. "I don't want that. And if you don't ever want more than this, that's more than I ever expected to have," she said truthfully, "and it's enough to make me really, really happy," she said truthfully. Okay, so maybe she wondered that the other version of him had been so eager to get married and to settle down, even if it hadn't worked, but she wouldn't tell him that. She already felt like she'd trapped him to get him this far, even though she was trying not to say that aloud anymore.
“So I stay home with the kid and the animals while you go out and earn us a living, is that it?” He nudged her playfully and pulled a face, even though he knew he hadn’t been working as many hours lately, between the academy and Gotham. Of course he wanted to provide for his family, but he wanted to be there for them too, and until he finished his training and was on the force, he just couldn’t balance everything the way he had before. Not that he minded, though. Wren working did help, and a little less money was a fair trade for time spent with the people he cared about most.
His reaction to her touch was the same as it always was; tense muscles unwinding and loosening, warmth and contentment replacing whatever else might have been visible in his expression beforehand. “I don’t think he liked anybody very much, Wren,” he said of his other self, and it was probably true. Luke doubted that the man had even liked any of his wives. Love, he suspected, hadn’t been a large factor in any of his marriages. “She was lonely because the other people in the neighborhood kind of shunned her,” he admitted. “They all knew about her past, about what she’d done, and Silver--” He paused, trying to get the name out without revealing just how much anger and disdain he had for the man. “Silver was never around.” It had made him sad, really, and he’d felt sorry for her, like a doll locked up in her house and behind glass to be kept safe when it was all for nothing in the end. He frowned a little when she said she thought they would have liked each other no matter what, because that clearly hadn’t been the case, and he didn’t want her reading too much into it and assuming things that weren’t true. “I guess. I mean, she wasn’t as angry as him. I don’t think it had anything to do with him not liking you as a person, you know? He just didn’t know you, and he was angry at everything, and since you were there, he took it out on you.” He tugged on her fingers again, this time more insistently. “They weren’t real. They don’t matter. You and me, right here, this matters. Not what the stupid hotel decided to show us.”
It was difficult to placate her when he didn’t agree. She’d taken off because he was impossible to talk to, and he was so very angry, and because for some reason she’d thought he would be better off. And so he avoided answering, instead allowing the pressure of her fingers beneath his chin to drag his gaze upward. “That’s the thing, though. I do want more. I just--” He paused, chewing his lip thoughtfully for a moment as he searched for the right words. “Okay. Listen, when I ask you to marry me, Wren, I want you to believe without a doubt that I’m asking you because I love you, and I want to spend my life with you. I don’t want you thinking it’s because I feel obligated, or because other people are doing it, or any of that.” He smiled, then, almost shyly. “I was going to ask you five years ago. I just never had the chance. And that’s not your fault,” he added, in case she might think that’s what he was saying. “It’s mine. But that’s what I mean about doing it right this time.” Maybe it was stupid, to want everything to be perfect, but marriage was a big deal to him, and he wanted that particular aspect of their lives to be special.
"I think so," she said, her smile tease-bright when he asked if he just stayed home with Gus and the zoo, while she earned a living. It was an honest smile, because she didn't mind that she had to work. She was glad that, finally, she could actually give him something back, even if was just a little bit of money so that he could finish up at the academy before starting work full-time on the force. It was a lull right now, before she had to worry about him being a cop for real, and she liked it. She could have worked more shifts, because the demand was there, but she liked spending time with Gus, and he'd be starting school so soon. She could work more then, right? And she understood only too well about Gotham. Selina had been asking for less time lately, and she kept meaning to write her a note asking about it, but she hadn't gotten around to it yet. She would now that the holidays had calmed down, she promised herself.
His assurance that the older version of him hadn't liked anyone very much didn't really help, because she was supposed to be different, wasn't she? It was so naive, and she knew it was. She was too worldly, too experienced in things to still have that sense of naivete, but she knew she did. It was a little infuriating, and she wished she could shake it off, the feeling of uncertainty that the hotel had left behind. It was the disdain and anger in his voice when he said Silver's name that made her stop thinking about that, though. "I always tell Silver he wouldn't like me nearly as much if he really understood me, and I don't think being married to him would make either of us happy, even if you didn't exist," she said truthfully, even as he began to frown and tug insistently on her fingers. "You don't think they were still us?" she asked, the uncertainty coming through fully then. They weren't real, no, but it was still them, wasn't it? But she took a deep breath a moment later, and she gave him a tiny nod. "You're right. I know you're right," she said of them being what mattered. "I always worry that I trapped you into a thousand things. I just wish I knew if you could be happier. Why can't the hotel show us that instead?"
She smiled a tiny bit when he didn't argue with her about why she'd taken off. "That new thing you do since you talked to Evie? Not arguing with me when you don't agree, it's adorable," she said fondly and knowingly, her thumb brushing against the soft spot between his thumb and forefinger when he finally looked up at her. "I would do that," she admitted of thinking he might propose out of obligation. "No more blaming yourself for what happened five years ago, Luke," she added, sliding a little closer, her thigh over his knee now. She stretched up and pressed a soft kiss just below his ear, on the side of his neck. "I could always propose instead and completely throw you off," she teased, a hint of shyness in her voice.
His lips turned down into a mock pout, though in reality he didn’t mind that she was working so long as it was something she wanted. Some men wanted to be the sole breadwinner, but he wasn’t like that, and he would never, ever begrudge her the freedom to work in a profession of her choice. And, maybe, some men might have been jealous if their girlfriends worked as a dominatrix, but he knew it was just a job, and he knew there was no sex. Admittedly, the latter made all the difference. “I know what you’re doing,” he said, mock accusatory. “You’re trying to turn me into a house boyfriend. Soon enough I’ll have meals ready at night and walk around the house in aprons and slippers, and you telling me I’m pretty will be the highlight of my day.” He put exaggerated emphasis on the words, as though it would be a terrible trial to be subjected to, and managed not to laugh throughout it all.
“No, you’re right,” he agreed. “ I was afraid-- I thought the hotel was going to show me that you would’ve been happier with him. But she wasn’t happy, I don’t think.” And like he’d told Jack, that was a relief. As horrible as it had been, what they’d seen, it was far better than something that could have really damaged their relationship. When she asked if he thought they had still been them, there was no hesitation. He shook his head, sure and firm, because no, it hadn’t been them. “That man, he wasn’t me. He looked like me, and he had my name, but-- no, I don’t believe they were us. Maybe he was what I could have been, but it doesn’t matter, because I have you, and that changed everything,” he told her. He smiled a little when she said he was right, but that smile dimmed a moment later as his expression became more serious. “It can’t show us that, because I’d never be happier than I am now, with you and Gus. The hotel doesn’t have to show us anything. I don’t want to see some made-up future, because this is what we have, and that’s all I care about.”
Not arguing with her was working out fairly well for him so far; no yelling, no hurt feelings, no misunderstandings. None of that would help her insecurities, but maybe bit by bit this new tactic would. “I can work with adorable,” he teased. As for her admitting to thinking he might propose out of obligation, he expected as much, but it didn’t immediately frustrate him as it once might have. “That’s why I want to get to the point where you won’t think that,” he explained. “And I know we can. I just want everything to be right when it happens.” He took a deep breath, finding it hard to agree that he’d stop blaming himself, but still reluctant to argue, and when she shifted closer he seized the distraction as a chance to stall for a few moments. One hand slid from her knee up to her fabric-covered thigh, the other finding the underside of her jaw. “I’ll try,” he said finally, and he let out a quiet laugh at the kiss to his neck. “You could,” he agreed, of her proposing to him instead, “but then I’d just cry all over you, and it would be pathetic, and you’d regret it.” He pulled back just enough to look at her, tracing his thumb over her lips before leaning forward for a kiss. “Besides, you’d be deprived of a cheesy, over the top romantic proposal,” he added.
She laughed softly at his mock accusatory tone, and she gave him a look that was all guilty as charged with a fair dose of flirty teasing. "I think I should get that one weekend, just because. Maybe when Gus is visiting with Evie and Will to prepare them for parenthood. I wouldn't mind a house boyfriend for forty-eight hours. Breakfast in bed, and maybe a massage or two, a bubble bath and dinner by candlelight. Aprons and slippers are a requirement, but nothing else. I might have to outlaw all other clothing for both of us. And I would get to tell you that you were pretty from morning until night," she teased, very impressed that he'd managed to get through his entire speech without laughing. "I bet you'd do it for me," she said, a little shy playfulness in her tone. When things were good between them, she could believe that he would do almost anything for her. If there was one thing she didn't do, even when she was taking things for granted, it was take that for granted, the kind of person he was, how good he was to her.
It was a strange thing, being a little happy that some other, nonexistent version of herself hadn't been content. It would have been harder, she knew, for him to deal with her friendship with Silver, had things been different. Just like it would have been nearly impossible for her to deal with a world in which, say, he was happily married to MK or Brielle. "He isn't you now," she agreed of the man they'd seen in Thomas Inc. He was right about that; she could agree with that. "I guess we can't really change that, can we? Even if you had been happier, we can't change the past. I can't go back and unknow you, and you can't go back and never have met me," she said, and it was babble then, just her thinking as her fingers touched his wrist, his elbow, his shoulder. "I assumed- I assumed if we hadn't gone shopping that day all those years ago, none of the warehouse things would have happened at all," she confessed, obviously having thought about it before. "And I think the hotel got it wrong. Without you, I don't think I'd be in a house anywhere, really," she admitted honestly. But she shook her head a little when he said he couldn't be happier, and her hand lifted, fingers brushing against his lips. "No, that's not true. You could be happier. I could be less insecure, and things with Thomas could have gone differently, and Gus could have lived with us from when he was born. You could be happier," she said, because it was true, if bittersweet. "But that doesn't change the fact that you're all I want in the whole wide world." Her voice was earnest, because the words were true. She knew she wasn't perfect. Maybe she wasn't even perfect for him, but she did love him so very much.
Her smile returned when he said he could work with adorable, and she gave him a helpless look when he said he wanted to get to the point where she didn't think he was proposing out of obligation. Her smiled warmed a second later though, turning fond and adoring. "I'm going to tell you the very same thing I told Will, you don't need to do anything crazy. I told him Evie would love fireworks, or a hot air balloon, or him in his pajamas in front of the tree just the same. I think he went with pajamas in front of the tree." But then his stalling worked, his fingers on her thigh and jaw. She laughed a second later. "You would not cry all over," she said, a smile in her voice and on her lips, "but it would be adorable if you did. You'd never live it down. I'd tell everyone we ever met how you cried when I proposed," she teased, chasing his thumb against her lips with a kiss and a nip. "I think you'd blush your way through a cheesy, romantic proposal," she managed, just before he kissed her and chased even that from her thoughts. Her hands slid to his shoulders, fingers tangling in the mussed ends of his hair, and she sighed into the kiss and against his lips. "Tell me we can stay here, just like this, without anything ever going wrong," she whispered.