Bruce Wainright has (onerule) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-04-18 01:32:00 |
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Entry tags: | batman, red hood |
Who: Luke and Jack
What: Old friends reunite.
Where: Vegas. A parking lot near Caesar's.
When: Sometime before the fear gas madness.
Warnings/Rating: None.
It was late and, quite frankly, Luke was tired. Too many nights without sleep was finally beginning to take their toll, as they always did, but a string of back-to-back shifts meant that he hadn’t had enough time to catch up properly-- until now, that is. He had the following day off, and while he normally would have hit the streets after work, he fully intended on returning to his apartment and crashing for the next twenty-four hours. Bruce could survive having to spend some time away from Gotham, and it wasn’t like Luke had much of a social life to neglect. Oh, he had a few friends, but he wasn’t much of an extrovert and found group settings vaguely uncomfortable. It was almost funny, really; he’d never wanted to become Thomas, and yet he seemed to have inherited his dismal social skills. The difference was that he was much better at faking it.
He bid his farewells to his co-workers and wove through the crowd out of the casino, hesitating in the lobby of Caesar’s for a moment before heading outside. It was hard, knowing that Wren lived where he worked, even though they were on much better terms now. Luke couldn’t just stroll on over to her villa for a visit, not when he was the security guard and she was the rich, highly coveted dominatrix, especially since three other women (to his knowledge) were sharing the place with her. MK he knew, at least, but Alice was a stranger, as was this cousin of hers. Other than her uncle, he hadn’t even known Wren had relatives. Then again, he hadn’t exactly been forthcoming about having a half-brother either. So many secrets, he thought. Sooner or later one was bound to end up blowing up in their faces.
One of the few things Luke had taken with him from Seattle, aside from Finch, was his motorcycle. It had been a gift from Max forever ago, and he was far too attached to think of parting with it. Caesar’s had its own parking for employees, but Luke had his own spot for his bike, one he paid for, away from the main parking lot with an alarm he’d brought back from Gotham to ensure no one stole it. Only one had tried, and he’d gotten a nice jolt for his troubles that he wouldn’t soon forget. Everything went smoothly at first; the alarm was disabled, his bag was slung over his shoulders, and he stuck the key in the ignition and turned.
Nothing happened.
Luke tried once, twice, three times, but the damn thing refused to start. He cursed loudly and dismounted, tempted to give the bike a kick; instead he turned and kicked the curb, which only made him curse again. Perfect, he thought savagely. Just perfect.
Jack had only been in town for a few short days. In that time, he’d managed to find himself a job as a mechanic, and settled his very few belongings into a ratty apartment off the strip. It wasn’t much, but it would do. Now he was taking his time exploring the city. He’d gone to the hotel, but his door wouldn’t open, wouldn’t for a few more days yet, to Jason’s endless frustration, like an itch at the back of his mind he couldn’t scratch. There was nothing more to do than explore, get the lay of the land, get a feel for the strip and what lay beyond. He’d need it, he assumed in the coming months.
He knew that Luke was in town. Wren had told him, but he had decided not to contact him just yet. Who knew if Luke would even want to talk to him again after so long out of touch? He’d moved too much to keep up with everyone he’d known in Seattle, and he did wonder how Luke had fared. He wanted to think he’d done well, gone on and started a different kind of life. His gut told him that likely wasn’t true, but what he wanted and how things turned out often diverged sharply.
Jack had just passed Caesar’s when he saw the guy with the bike, fighting with the ignition, then kicking the curb. He almost continued without stopping, but when he turned to the curb, Jack saw his face, and it clicked. He looked closely to be sure he wasn’t making a mistake. He had just been thinking about Luke, after all - maybe he had mistaken the boy for a face he’d just conjured from the past. But unless it was Luke’s twin, it had to be him. Even the five years of age showed just as it ought to, about the way he’d thought he might look now when Wren had told Jack that he was around.
It couldn’t hurt to say hello, regardless. If he was wrong, he was wrong. He walked up off the street, coming up beside the bike. “Won’t start?” he asked.
Jack, for his part, didn’t look much different than he had before. Five years of staying mostly away from the work of a vigilante had treated him well - he at least looked healthier than he had in Seattle, calmer on the surface. His demeanor was still friendly, his mismatched eyes no less intense.
Initially, Luke didn’t realize the man was actually talking to him. Good Samaritans weren’t very common around here, at least not that he’d found, and he fully expected anyone within the vicinity to keep right on walking rather than stop and express any interest in his current predicament. It took a few seconds longer than it should have for the realization to kick in, and when it did he looked up, his expression a cross between annoyance and puzzlement that anyone would give a damn. Unless the speaker was a mugger, or some kind of opportunist, in which case he’d made a very, very foolish mistake. “No,” he admitted grudgingly. “I dish out a lot of money to keep the thing in top shape, and now--”
He stopped then, his words coming to an abrupt halt as he stared at the man, one who was all too familiar, looking for all the world like he’d just seen a ghost. Time had passed, but Luke didn’t forget, and if nothing else the mismatched eyes gave him away. Wren being in Vegas had been a surprise, but then MK showed up, and Nell came to stay; it seemed like everyone from Seattle was becoming wrapped up in yet another web of insanity and chaos. “Jack?” He finally managed to find his voice, after blinking a few times to ensure he wasn’t just imagining things. “You’re... you’re here? In Vegas?” After the words hit the air he realized how stupid he sounded, but Luke honestly hadn’t expected to see him again, not after they’d lost touch.
“I am here,” Jack said, with a small smile, a little unsure. He had no idea how Luke would greet him once he’d recovered from the shock. They had lost touch, after all, and he did feel guilty about that. It hadn’t been a purposeful thing, just a simple, unfortunately human dropoff in contact. He’d been travelling so far and so frequently that it had been difficult to know if he was missing a letter, and he hadn’t had a phone or a computer for a long while in the middle. “I got a letter in the mail that brought me.” He didn’t know if that would mean anything to him or not, he’d have to wait and see.
Unsure of how to launch into a conversation of where Luke had been, he ducked down next to the bike, looking into its workings. He paused - now that he was close to it, he knew it. “I recognize this bike, I think,” he said, the faint hitch between pause and speech the only indication of where his mind had gone, to the woman who gave Luke the bike of course. Someone else he’d lost touch with, one more old raw wound, one more bad story. He began to fish around as best he could with no tools. “Five years is a long time,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at him, sizing him up. “You look well. Tired, though.” There was no accusation in that. Luke might be exhausted for any number of reasons. It didn’t necessarily have to be the fatigue of someone out on the streets at odd hours.
Once the shock wore off and the realization that Jack was actually here, rather than being something his overtired mind had hallucinated, Luke found himself torn between a number of differing, conflicting emotions. On the one hand, he was glad to see him; he held no ill will against him for losing touch, since he hadn’t exactly tried to keep contact either. On the other hand, however, he didn’t want Jack to know what he’d become, and he felt as though it would be a great deal harder to keep it from him than it was for Wren and Roger. Jack had been where he was now, after all, and was more likely to see past his lies. “A lot of people from Seattle have been showing up lately,” he said after a pause, wondering if he knew about Wren, if they’d spoken yet or not. The mention of a letter caught his attention, but that would be far too much of a coincidence... then again, maybe not. It was becoming a sort of pattern. “What kind of letter?”
He was almost relieved when Jack didn’t immediately ask how he was, since there was too much to tell and he wasn’t quite sure how to cut it down into something manageable. The bike was one of the few things he’d brought with him from Seattle, a reminder of those he’d left behind, and he hung back while Jack inspected it. “Yeah,” he agreed, rubbing the back of his neck with a hint of discomfort that always surfaced when he thought about Thomas or Max. “Couldn’t get rid of it, I guess.” Five years was a long time, but Jack looked good, better than Luke remembered, and he wondered if he’d managed to give up his lethal methods for a different kind of lifestyle. “You look good too. I work a lot of late nights,” he explained. “I haven’t had a chance to catch up on my sleep yet.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, after all. That was part of the reason.
"A letter that came with a journal," Jack said. "And a key. It brought me strange tidings." If that didn't draw a clear connection for Luke, then he was wrong in his guess that he might have received something similar. Wren had, after all. Why not Luke?
"No reason to." Jack tapped the engine before going back to work, as if that should illustrate exactly why. "It's a beautiful piece of machinery." And they both knew, of course, that there were other reasons to keep it around, but those could remain unsaid. "Good?" he asked, glancing back at him over his shoulder, his smile a crescent of amusement. As far as he was concerned, he hadn't looked good in a very long time, and it was funny to even imagine it.
'Working a lot of late nights' could mean any number of things. Jack probed, but carefully. "How long have you been in Vegas working late nights?" he asked.
“No way.” Luke shook his head, a disbelieving sort of half-laugh accompanying the movement. Maybe he should have been more surprised, but at the rate things were going, half of Seattle was going to show up with fictional characters in their heads before the month was out. “I have a phone instead of a journal,” he said, since there was no use in pretending otherwise. “Some high-tech thing. Do you hear a voice, or has it not gotten that far for you yet?”
They both knew it could have been the ugliest bike in the world and he still wouldn’t have parted with it, but that wasn’t a conversation he ever wanted to have, especially not here, and so he was willing to pretend that it was about the bike’s physical attributes rather than its sentimental value. “Definitely. You should see all the jealous stares I get,” he said, with a hint of pride that was genuine rather than fabricated. He managed to look somewhat sheepish in the face of Jack’s amusement, coupled with a shrug. “It’s been five years. Saying you looked terrible would be a pretty bad way to start things off, wouldn’t it?” He didn’t look like he was falling apart, at least, and if he was hiding it then he was doing a damn good job.
He may have been far from an open book, but there were some things he didn’t mind discussing; this happened to be a subject he was generally okay with. “A couple years, give or take. Sometimes I forget,” he admitted. “I work security at Caesar’s.” It wasn’t a bad job, but Luke wasn’t exactly proud of it. He knew he could do more, and he wanted to do more-- at least he had, once. “Have you been here long, or are you a relatively new arrival?”
“Interesting,” Jack said. He’d thought everyone used the journals, unaware that there was another option. “I have,” he added, carefully. He still wasn’t sure how much to say about Jason to anyone, considering his predilections. For now, it seemed best to keep his identity to himself. From what little he knew about him, what little they’d actually spoken, he knew it wasn’t going to necessarily work out well when people began to find out, particularly the people who had known him in Seattle. “He’s not very talkative, though.” True enough. “You?”
“Not at all, it’s kind of you. I can trust you to be polite. That hasn’t changed,” Jack said. So many other things clearly had that the statement only highlighted them. “That sounds like a fine enough job. I imagine you’re good at it.” Luke had always had a skill in the fight that he found admirable, at the time as much for his youth as Jack’s own lack of real training. “Relatively new,” he said. “I only came for the journal, and just this week. I was living in Georgia, but I hadn’t put roots down there very deep. I thought I might as well come and stay a while, try to see if this thing can be sorted out.” He seemed strangely unruffled by it. It was disturbing, actually, and how much Jason pushed him to the edge every time he went into a fight was starting to become more than just a liability, it was starting to become a real danger to the people he went after. He’d come to Vegas to see if anything could be done for it. He hadn’t asked for this - he’d been trying to change his life, to do right. “I spoke with Wren,” Jack said, glancing up at him for reaction.
Luke was usually secretive when it came to Bruce because the two of them were worried about the wrong person finding out, and the last thing either of them wanted (particularly Bruce) was for someone with a villain in their head to launch an attack on the Vegas side. He trusted Jack, despite whoever’s voice he might be hearing, yet Bruce was still too wary to allow full disclosure. On a different occasion he might have resisted, but right now Luke was too tired to put forth the necessary effort. “I wish,” he sighed. “Mine has a lot of strong opinions about everything, and he likes to share them.” Maybe he didn’t always mind Bruce’s presence, though that was something he’d never allow himself to admit.
His ability to be polite, or at the very least to feign it, was something he’d retained from his teenage years. One of the few things he had, at least on the surface. “Thanks. You don’t actually look that bad,” he added, a hint of a smile belying his attempt at seriousness. As for his job, he shrugged, unable to scrounge up very much enthusiasm for it. “Yeah, most of the time I don’t mind it. I’m thinking of trying something else, though,” he said, with a look of surprise following the words. He wasn’t sure where that had come from. “Uh, so this is just temporary, then?” He’d never been very good at subject changes, and while he liked to think he’d improved with time, Jack’s presence had rattled his usual eerie calm. If there was anything unusual about the other man’s calm demeanor in the face of journals and fictional characters, he didn’t notice. Luke’s reaction to Wren’s name was different than it would have been before their reconciliation; rather than anger, which was his default response to a great many things, he simply looked curious with a dash of apprehension thrown in. “Oh. What did she say?”
"As does mine," Jack said, with a look that was difficult to read, and said that in the five years he'd been gone he'd become less of a man who showed what he thought and felt on his sleeve. Everything that had happened in Seattle had, like etching acid slowly eating definition into metal, settled on him in strange ways. "Not always verbally, but he makes them known."
Luke got a smile in return for the one he offered. All ugly shared histories aside, he was glad to see him again. "I appreciate the vote of confidence," he said, with a touch of humor that said that his sense of it, at least, hadn't disappeared. "It's hard to say," Jack said, pulling his fingers from the workings of the motorcycle, smeared lightly with old grease. It hardly mattered - under each fingernail was a thin crescent of black from working at the mechanic's. "I haven't really made anywhere a permanent home in some time. Maybe I'll leave once I get what I came for, maybe not. I hadn't really thought so far ahead."
Jack stood again. "She told me that she'd been settled here for a while before the doors opened up, and that you were here, along with quite a few others from Seattle." He studied his reaction, clear and a little nervous. That required clarification, and he saw no need to pretend he hadn’t noticed. "But what are you worried she might have said?"
There were certain people Luke had met in Seattle that he could have gone the rest of his life without seeing again, but Jack wasn’t one of them, and complications aside he was secretly glad he was here. If nothing else, Jack would understand what he did; he wouldn’t condone it, but he’d understand. “That makes sense,” he agreed, curiosity spiking when he wondered what the other man had been doing all this time. Traveling, it seemed, was something they had in common. “Whoever’s in your head might not want you to leave, though. Mine would throw a fit if I tried. He’s kind of... important on his side of the door.” That was an understatement, of course. Gotham without Batman just wouldn’t be the same.
He nodded, relaxing a little. “She’s right. A few others are here, not-- but some familiar faces.” Not Thomas or Max, he’d meant, but Luke rarely talked about either and assumed Jack would know who he’d meant without specifics. He was quiet for a long stretch, torn between a lie, a truth, and something in-between. “I’m not worried,” he said finally. “It’s just... you know how she can be. And...” Here he hesitated. “I wasn’t sure if she’d told you about us.”
"I expect he will," Jack said, a little wry. "No, I know he will, if I do. But I don't think I'll be leaving until this is all over." Luke's statement about importance piqued Jack's curiosity. "Important in what way?" he asked. That could mean practically anything. Jack wasn't sure it was a good idea to outright state who his alter was, though he did trust Luke. What if he was someone through the same door, who would take issue with a vigilante who used lethal force? Luke couldn't be blamed for that, but it was always a possibility.
Jack didn't need to ask who he'd meant, he could guess just from the fact that Luke had skipped over their names. To hear that Thomas hadn't come was a relief. To hear that Max hadn't come was...well, he didn't care. He told himself firmly that he didn't care. It had been a very long time since he'd seen her last, and she'd made a different kind of life for himself. He respected that. Still, there was a reason he'd never called her, or visited when he passed through New York.
"She seems good, actually. A little more severe. Harder. But healthy, and supporting herself in a different way, which I was glad to know." He raised a brow. "'Us'?" Now that was vague. "...are you together again?" He didn't know much about Luke and Wren's relationship to begin with, or their split. He'd already left town when Wren disappeared, and had only heard about it through some of the last conveyed rumors before his connections to the people he'd known in Seattle dried up completely.
Luke decided not to say what he was thinking, which was that this might never be ‘all over’. Surely Jack had already considered that possibility. “He’s a main character in the story he comes from,” he explained, which was intentionally vague. While he did trust Jack, he wasn’t altogether sure who he had living upstairs, and since two people he knew (though Iris was really just a vague acquaintance) already had Batman people as well, there was a chance that Jack might have someone from that source as well. He just hoped it wasn’t a villain, if that was true. “I mean, it can exist without him, but he’s kind of the center of it, you know?”
Avoiding the mention of certain people was just fine by him, and when Jack didn’t push, Luke let the subject drop entirely. There was no use in discussing people who were far away, and who they might very well never see or hear from again; no contact had ever been initiated, and he was far too cowardly to do so himself.
He nodded, though he did feel a small glow of pleasure at the fact that she wasn’t severe or hard when she was with him. That was the facade she presented to the world, just as he had one of his own, but she’d seen through it just as Luke had seen through hers. “It is... different, isn’t it? She’s done pretty well for herself, though, and it’s better than what she was doing before.” Clearly Wren hadn’t shared any details, which made him reluctant to do so, and he didn’t want to make it seem as though he was trying to turn all their mutual friends against her, but the truth was the truth. Besides, MK was her best friend, and even Roger knew her big secret and refused to tell him. “It’s complicated,” he admitted, “but yeah, we are. She kind of... took off, back when we were in New York, and we crossed paths again in Vegas. I don’t know why she left, and she hasn’t told me yet, but...” He trailed off with a shrug. “I can’t stay mad at her, you know? I can’t stay away either, even if I tried.” He, of all people, would understand how that felt.
"I imagine it must be stressful, being the main character in a story," Jack mused. Jason had all sorts of problems, and he only supported. At the back of his mind there was a faint wave of displeasure at that assessment. "It is different. All the same, I'm glad that she found something that could comfortably support her in a different way." Jack didn't judge Wren's previous line of work, but there was no denying that it had been dangerous, and had seemed, from their brief acquaintance, not to be doing her any good turns.
Jack did know that feeling, of being unable to stay away from someone despite their mistakes. He hadn't been able to stay near either of the people he'd felt about in that way, and perhaps that made the sensation that much keener. "She must have had a good reason," Jack said. "I know that's cold comfort, but I saw you both back then, and I think I can say it safely." There had never been any mistaking how either of them felt about each other. Unlike Jack, Luke's feelings had always seemed wholeheartedly reciprocated. Even now, the fact that Wren had mentioned him almost right away supported that.
‘Stressful’ was an understatement, but Luke nodded regardless. “Yeah, you could say that. He has a lot of weight to bear, and it doesn’t help that the others through his door come from different versions of his story. Things could be going better, that’s for sure.” Bruce’s allies were limited to a Robin who created resurrection pits in secret and a thief with a good heart, though he supposed he could count Superman. Still, sometimes Luke wished Dick Grayson would show up, or even Tim Drake; someone who was capable but wasn’t as young as Damian. “Comfortable’s an understatement,” he said, allowing a small smile that eclipsed any lingering bitterness that might have remained.
His smile became something tight and forced before vanishing entirely when Jack said she must have had a good reason. That was of little comfort now, and it hadn’t meant a damn thing during the past five years either. “She said she did. Maybe she’s telling the truth, and maybe there was a valid reason for her to up and leave, but it doesn’t help,” he said, bluntly honest. “And until she tells me herself, I think a part of me will always doubt it. Anyway, you don’t need to hear about my completely screwed up personal life,” he shrugged. “Have you found work around here yet? A place to stay?”
“That is unfortunate,” Jack said. He was still learning all the myriad possibilities there were in this strange new world of tangible fiction, and different versions of different stories made as much sense as anything else, though it was undoubtedly a disappointment for characters seeking friends who’d never met them. “I don’t know if I can offer him much help through his door, since I don’t know how...helpful the person I have with would be. All the same, I hope he finds some people he knows who can make things a little easier.”
Clearly there was more happening under the surface with Luke than he was willing to let on, but Jack didn’t push him on it. He’d be in town for a while, after all. In due time. “I’m sure she’ll tell you when she feels ready to,” he said. It felt like a platitude, but what more was there to say? No one could force Wren, after all. “I’m working as a mechanic,” Jack said. “And I’m staying in an apartment building off the strip. Avenue 8, I think it’s called. It isn’t luxurious, but it is more than good enough for my purposes.” He gestured to the motorcycle. “Go ahead and give starting it a try now.”
Luke hid a chuckle at the thought of Bruce accepting help from someone who might come from a completely different door, much less his own. Alfred was really the only one who managed to get through to him, especially when he was being particularly difficult, but he figured it was the thought that counted. “Thanks. He’s got someone who’s known him for a while, and... he’s trying,” he said carefully. Despite whatever else he might think of Bruce, he had to give him credit where credit was due.
That was really all he could do, wasn’t it? Wait for Wren to ‘be ready’ to tell him whatever truth she’d from him for so long. “I know,” he sighed. Luke knew better than anyone that she couldn’t be forced; he’d certainly done his best. “A mechanic, huh? At least now I know who to go to when the bike gives me trouble. How do you like it?” So far, it seemed like Jack had established a fairly average existence for himself, at least as normal as they could get, but Luke knew that appearances weren’t always accurate. He was a perfect example of that. Despite his secrets, he brightened a little when Jack mentioned Avenue 8; he’d be lying to say he wouldn’t mind having a friendly face around. “That’s where I’m staying too. Definitely not luxurious, but it’s better than nothing.” He glanced down at the bike and, after a moment of hesitation, gave the key another turn; this time, instead of nothing, there was a familiar rumble as the engine came to life. “Thanks,” he said, audibly grateful.
Thus far, Luke was hardly the worst case scenario Jack had imagined when Wren said he was back in time. Because they'd lost touch, he'd feared that things had gone terribly for him once Wren had left. Maybe there was more to it, but Luke seemed at least healthy enough, and to have maintained much of what Jack had liked about him when he'd been younger. It was a good sign, at least.
"It's something I used to do, before I moved to Seattle," he said. "I started working at it again after I left. It's satisfying, I suppose. Mending things tends to be." And it kept his body working and his mind off other things, and thus, it served its function as an occupation. "Really?" he said. Coincidences being as thick as they were, it didn't surprise him too much that they'd somehow ended up in the same building. "Then I expect I'll see you around there," he said. "If you need anything, I'm in the first apartment on the third floor." He shrugged briefly. "It was nothing. You ought to get home," he advised him, with a small smile. "You look exhausted."
“So it’s something familiar,” he said, thoughtful. “That’s good.” Luke couldn’t be sure just from one meeting, of course, but Jack seemed well enough, and there was no sign of things having worsened over the past few years. “Alright. I’m on the second. If you hear a dog barking, that’s probably mine.” It wasn’t exactly pet-friendly, the apartment, but he made do. The mention of his apparent exhaustion earned a sheepish shrug, though he couldn’t exactly argue. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks for the help.” He swung one leg over the seat, engine idling, and looked back. “It’s good to see you again,” he added with a smile, before pulling out of the lot and onto the street with a roar that faded into the distance.