Bruce Wainright has (onerule) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-02-04 15:57:00 |
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Entry tags: | batman |
Who: Luke
What: Narrative.
Where: Vegas.
When: Recently.
Warnings/Rating: None idk.
Sleep had done him wonders.
Such a small thing, really, but with his exhaustion gone, Luke felt less like he was balancing precariously on the edge of a cliff and more like a normal person. But a part of him remained restless, like a caged animal, and it was simultaneously everything and nothing; something he could fix, something he could not. From an outward perspective, his life lingered somewhere between good and bad. Things had certainly been worse, but they had also been better. He was careful not to mention Thierry or the dead girl around Wren, nor did she mention either around him, and he suspected it was just as intentional on her part as it was on his. Silver was another topic he avoided, which was something he did feel guilty about, but he didn't think he was the best person to discuss the man with. He hadn't wished death on him, but there was no love lost between the two and Wren was well aware of that; he assumed she'd prefer to talk about him with someone who hadn't hated him.
But Gus was back with them, and that was good. That was very, very good, and he found himself just watching the little boy sleep on nights he didn't work, as though making up for the weeks lost. He was still in the beginning stages of letting Bruce back through the Door, little by little, but so far the other man had been cooperative, and he hoped that things would work out from here on in; they might not be so salvageable the next time around.
He toyed with vague thoughts of apologizing to Wren about getting so worked up over the dead girl, but like so many of his intentions, he kept putting it off, wondering if it was best to just leave the topic alone. She would do what she needed to in order to find peace, as he knew she'd been upset by the fact that the girl was a prostitute, someone no one would miss, and he didn't want to interfere with that or rehash the past and upset her all over again. What he realized, however, as days passed, was that his restlessness stemmed from the fact that he wasn't doing anything to atone for his role in covering up the girl's death. He hadn't killed her, but he had ensured that every trace of her was erased, that as far as the general Las Vegas population was concerned, she had never existed at all.
So Luke thought, and he thought, and one night after work found him out on the streets, simply wandering, scaling buildings and traversing fire escapes like he had all those years ago in Seattle. Back then, it had calmed him. Back then, it had made him feel impossibly free, like he could do anything, be anything, but the magic had worn off. Now... now, it was simply distantly familiar in the way that nostalgia was. It ached a little, and it brought back memories, but it wasn't the same. He wasn't the same. His life no longer consisted of bullet wounds and bruises, masks and fighting bad guys; he couldn't naively play hero anymore. The Academy was something real, tangible, and that was the path he had to follow. Sometimes the desire was still there; to feel useful, to rid the city of the scum that plagued it, but he knew, he knew he would inevitably fall back into old habits if he allowed himself to, and that simply wasn't who he was anymore. It wasn't who he wanted to be.
All that was better left in the past. A past which, against his will, had been dredged up again, burying the girl and cleaning up Thierry's mess reminiscent of things he wanted to forget.
A solution was found on a rooftop above the city, where he lay and stared up at the sky like he used to as a teenager. The sounds of traffic were distant, voices practically inaudible, and the only real sound was Bruce, whose words were a dull hum in the midst of his thoughts.
And it seemed so obvious, really, when he thought of it. This girl's death would forever be buried, a secret no one could uncover, but she wasn't the first to disappear into the depths of Las Vegas, nor would she be the last. He wasn't technically a police officer yet, but that hadn't stopped him before, had it? Gaining access to police files was laughably easy; he'd been doing it for years, and as long as he was careful, no one would know.
The cold cases, missing and dead girls no one cared to find justice for, dismissed or forgotten, those would be his focus. He'd start with one; no killing, no vigilantism, just following leads, just talking, and even though Luke wasn't sure what he would do if he ever reached the end, he did know that he wouldn't take the law into his own hands. Private investigators did the same sort of thing, didn't they? He was just acting in an unofficial capacity, to make sure the girl hadn't died and been lost to the desert for nothing. And maybe he'd look into Sophie's death, too, while he was at it, and the 'Seven' Thierry had mentioned. Why not?
Even if he only ever found closure for just one girl, maybe that would be enough. A life for a life. A truth for a lie. That sense of purpose made him feel better, made him feel like he could face Wren again without shame or guilt, like he could believe that she really wasn't angry with him after all.
And maybe he hated himself a little less, too, as he finally headed home.