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Luke Henry is cursed to live for (aneternity) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2014-03-10 22:52:00

Who: Luke and Jack
What: Jack wakes up and, of course, Luke is there.
Where: The hospital.
When: Recently, but before Gotham happydrug times.
Warnings/Rating: None.

Jack had woken up in a sterile hospital bed, alone. He had woken up with a sick feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with the poisoned scotch. Disoriented and on his own, the track lighting looked the same as he remembered. So did the white bedsheets, and the IV in his arm. He knew the smell of antiseptic and sick, and the sensation of a broad tube shoved with the abruptness of a science fiction novel into his nose and arm. He felt like a prisoner in his own body, just gaining back control. All the feelings from that day were there, every twitch of muscles, deja vu so strong he wanted to vomit. He was back there. It was all the same again.

He sat up, yanking himself forward. He was dizzy, and his hands weren’t quite grasping right, but he began to claw at the IV, pulling at it until nurses ran in to answer the shrieking of the alarm. It took a four to hold him still long enough to get him sedated, while he shouted for someone who had been dead a long, long time. Then he didn’t know anything about anything.

When he woke up again he was groggy, as he had been before. They had removed the tube from his nose while he was sleeping, but he turned his head sharply to be sure the phantom sensation of something there was merely that, a phantom. He opened one eye, then the other.

He wasn’t alone in the room this time. Nor were the nurses hovering close by. He lifted his head a few inches from the bed to get a better look, then let it fall back. A minute. He would get up in a minute. But he recognized his friend at his bedside, even as he tried not to sort through too many of the memories filtering back from just before he’d fallen unconscious.

“Luke.” Somehow, he managed a vague smile.

Luke had been in and out of the hospital ever since Max had texted him the address. Wren had been with him at first, but then Gotham rushed in to ruin things, as it always did, and now she was gone, gone until people in another door removed a bomb that no one had told him about. He was too exhausted to be angry. He was just scared, plain, raw fear and the ache of missing her, and he hated waiting. Waiting for her to come back, waiting for Jack to wake up; so much waiting. But he couldn’t always be there because he had to work, and with their mother absent he had to be with the kids, too, to try to reassure them (especially Gus) that this was just temporary. Lia was easier, because she was only a baby and didn’t understand what was going on. But Gus, Gus looked at him as he always did when Wren was away, with wide eyes, and he got quiet, and there was nothing he could do but give hugs and assurances that were repeated over and over.

Worry for Jack was mingled with anger, because yeah, he was angry. He’d finally gotten to a point in his life when he’d stopped taking risks and now he was surrounded by people who did instead; Bruce, Selina, and now Jack, being stupid enough to drink the scotch even though he’d known better. But maybe it went deeper than that, past stupidity. He’d thought about it. He didn’t want to, but he had, and the more he tried not to the more it ate at him.

He was at work when the hospital called. Gus was at school, Lia at the police daycare, but he didn’t hesitate before leaving. They informed him, when he got there, that Jack had regained consciousness. They’d had to sedate him, but he would wake up again. And so Luke decided to wait until he did. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there before Jack stirred, but he sat up at the first sign of movement, alert, and it wasn’t until he spoke that he actually felt a sense of relief.

“Hey.” He tried for a smile, but it turned out weak and shaky. “How do you feel?”

Jack took a breath and began pushing himself up to a sitting position. If he didn't, he would fall asleep again, and he needed to be awake now. "Tired," he confessed, with the same small smile. He glanced to the window to check the time of day. "Where's Gus? And Lia?" He looked terrible, truthfully, but being conscious was at least an improvement. His skin was still pale and the toxin had left bruises under his eyes, bursting blood vessels as it worked to shut down most of his internal organs.

"Who found me?" he asked, because that was his next thought. He had been alone in his room, when he had made the decision to drink the scotch. Stupid, stupid in a way that circled back around to doubt. What had he actually been trying to do? He rolled his shoulders forward and winced. He'd been in the bed for almost a week - it would take time to get back to his normal shape. He looked over at Luke, meeting his gaze. There was worry there, and worse, Luke looked wan. Any semblance of a smile disappeared. "I'm fine," he said, immediately. "Don't look so worried." Luke hardly needed it.

There was a momentary flash of alarm when Jack sat up, and for a second it looked like Luke might rise up out of his chair before he caught himself and settled back down. He seemed weak, but not on death’s doorstep any longer. He was alive and that was what counted. “Gus is at school. Lia is at the police daycare. Wren is-- there’s stuff going on in Gotham,” he shrugged, not wanting to get into it too much. The last thing he needed was to have extra weight put on his shoulders when he was recovering. It was hard to look at his friend, hard to think about what had almost happened. Hard to think, too, that all of this could have been avoided if Jack had just taken the safe route instead of being so very stupid.

“Max found you,” he sighed. “And Charlie knows, but I didn’t tell Evie. Wren thought it might be too much for her.” He had no idea how Max was coping but he didn’t think it was anything good, not since she seemed so defeated about almost everything these days. So far, Luke thought he’d been holding up pretty well all things considered, but Jack saying he was fine, saying not to worry, that was too much. Wren might never come home and his best friend had almost died and he wasn’t supposed to worry? “You’re not fine,” he argued, a little too sharply. “You almost died, Jack. Do you get that? Of course I look worried.” He shook his head. “What were you thinking? Why did you drink it, after we talked about being careful?”

"Stuff?" he asked, immediately. "What kind of stuff?" He slid back against the pillows again, propping himself up. It was funny, how tired he could be when he was sitting down and on a bed, but he felt like he'd been running for days. "Is she alright?" It dawned on him that, whatever was going on, Luke had been forced to muddle through him unconscious in the hospital and Wren dealing with trouble in Gotham. Guilt washed in, sinking and leaden. "You should be worrying about her, not about me," he insisted, taking a short breath and clearing his throat. Even his lungs seemed tired, working his chest muscled painful and exhausting.

Max found him. Jack couldn't suppress an audible groan. He had hoped that it had been anyone else - Bo, or Chris, anyone. "I'm glad you didn't tell Evie," he said, rubbing at his temples with his thumb. He laughed, though it wasn't much of one. "Christ, Max is going to fucking kill me." Not necessarily an idle threat.

Then Luke's patience obviously broke, and Jack looked up from over the edge of his hand, listening. He had known better. He had known he ought to be careful. He swallowed, staring at Luke and wanting to look anywhere else. "I don't know," he said, thinly. "I don't. I don't know."

“Stuff with Selina. There’s something she needs to have taken care of.” His responses were short, clipped; he didn’t feel like going into detail. Luke felt helpless enough about the entire situation without rehashing it over and over again. Besides, just then, there was nothing he could do. Better to focus on the problem he could do something about. “She’ll be fine,” he said. He knew Jack well enough to pick up on the guilt, and that just frustrated him further. “I am worried about her, okay? But there’s nothing I can do right now, so stop trying to deflect or whatever. It won’t work and you’re just wasting energy.” Maybe Jack wasn’t strong enough for this conversation, maybe he should have waited, but he couldn’t just sit there and pretend like everything was fine.

He didn’t say anything about not telling Evie; he’d followed Wren’s lead on that one, and Jack would tell her as much or as little as he chose to. But as for Max, he just sighed. “Maybe. She’s upset, obviously.” Probably more than she even let on. Had she been there, she likely would have given him hell, but Luke could make up for her absence because ‘I don’t know’ was not even close to good enough. “No,” he argued. “You do know. It didn’t just happen, you made the choice to drink it. Not talking about it won’t make it go away. I want to know.”

Something Selina needed to have taken care of? That set off alarm bells with Jason and Jack alike, but Luke obviously wasn't going any further into it. He cut, then against his line of questioning, removing Wren from the conversation just when Jack wanted to know more. Deflecting? Of course he was. Whatever was plaguing Selina and Wren by proxy was clearly more serious than what had put him in the hospital. By default, that was where Luke's energies ought to be focused, now. Jack was awake, and the doctors said he would be fine. What more was there to discuss?

Luke didn't agree, that much was clear. He sank a little further back against the pillow. Of course Max was upset. She was Max, after all. She was going to kill him right there in his hospital bed. He looked back at Luke. He didn't want to have this conversation - he seemed visibly saddened that they needed to discuss it at all.

"I have a right," he began slowly, "to take certain kinds of risks. To do things I know I shouldn't, simply to prove something to myself." He swallowed, thickly. "I didn't intend for this to happen. If I had known this would be the outcome, I wouldn't have touched the stuff." He took a long breath, shifting forward. God, he was so very tired. "It was something I needed to do for myself. I needed to prove to myself that I wasn't going to be governed by fear, or complacency, because if either of those things defines me then I'm not much use to anybody." His voice grew thin as he continued speaking, and by the time he stopped again he started to cough. He turned his body to lean in over the table beside the hospital bed, plucking a cup of tepid water from where it sat there and downing it in a few short gulps. He hadn't realized how dry his mouth was, but the water helped some.

"Do you understand," he asked, setting the cup down, looking up at Luke, "What I'm trying to say?"

Maybe Luke should have been a little more sensitive to the fact that Jack, and Jason by extension, would be worried about Wren (and Selina) too, but he really wasn’t in the mood to talk about bombs and the possibility of his wife having her head explode. He could explain later, or Bruce could, since he was at the center of all this insanity anyway. And he could tell that this wasn’t a conversation Jack wanted to have, but really, what did he expect? That he could pull something like this and almost die and no one would question him about it? That they’d just wave it away and go on with their lives? Maybe some might have. Maybe Max would; maybe she’d just get mad and that was that. But he wanted to talk about it. He wanted to understand, or at least try to, why it had happened in the first place.

He sat, and he listened, and he tried to understand. He tried to put himself in Jack’s position and think about what he would have done, if he was forced to pretend to be dead and work against the ones who’d attempted to kill him. Okay, he realized it would be frustrating. He realized it might make him question his purpose. But he was tired of people doing stupid things because they wanted to prove something to themselves, or someone else, or even the whole damn world and he was not okay with it. Normally, he would have been sympathetic. He would have offered reassurance, offered support, but he was too pissed off for any of that, and it clearly hadn’t done much good anyway, had it?

“Well, congratulations, then. You proved to yourself that you’re not too much of a coward to take risks and do stupid things.” Sarcasm dripped from his words, and he stood because he couldn’t take sitting still anymore. “Was almost dying worth it? Because hey, guess what, you’re no use to anyone if you’re dead,” he snapped. “You’re such an idiot sometimes. Do I understand what you’re trying to say? No, you know what, I don’t. You’re not a thing, Jack! You’re not defined by how much use you are. You’re a human being and you matter to people, you stupid--” He broke off sharply, dragging in a deep breath and shaking his head, trying to calm himself down.

Jack had expected Luke to be angry, but it was the vehemence that surprised him. The intensity was unexpected, and he listened, looking more drawn as Luke went on, snapping and scolding. He had every right to be angry, of course. He had been worried for Jack, and he regretted that, of course. He'd had no desire to cause anyone pain, or to put Luke in this position. But he had, somehow, been selfish in taking a risk, whatever the motivations. The idea of holding back from anything that might do him harm rankled, though.

"You know better than that," he murmured, looking at his friend, holding his gaze. He'd known Luke a long time now, and Luke ought to know that he measured himself by his usefulness to others. He always had, and that wasn't going to change. He'd tried not to be that person, the one who devoted themselves to fixing and doing and cared what happened to them, and it had never worked. "I can't afford to be afraid," he said, slowly. He couldn't afford to have a life where he didn't take risks. He didn't have any real, usable skills that didn't involve some level of danger. If he was paralyzed by fear, he would be no good to himself or anyone else. He sighed. “I am sorry. I know it doesn’t make much sense.” And it likely wasn’t very healthy, but he was wired the way he was wired, and the irrational when it hit his tongue seemed utterly reasonable in the moment. He had to prove himself unafraid so he could be useful - to be useful because he was unafraid. And if the scotch had killed him, well, then maybe that would have been for the best.

Luke did know better. He’d known Jack long enough to realize how he was and what he thought of himself, but that didn’t mean he liked it, and he glowered in stubborn refusal to admit that he was right. Getting angry probably wasn’t the most mature way to handle the situation, but he wasn’t really in the mood for reason. He didn’t say anything for a few moments, persisting in stubborn silence until he finally relented and sat back down. “I get not wanting to be afraid,” he admitted reluctantly. “And I used to put myself in some pretty dangerous situations, but that was when I was alone. I didn’t have anyone so I didn’t care. That’s what I don’t get. You have people who care. You have a life.” Or, at least, he did in Luke’s opinion. He kept neglecting to realize that Jack might not see it that way. “It was still stupid, you know,” he added, but he sighed afterward, a little less vehement in his anger. “That was what you were thinking about? I mean, before you drank the scotch. Not being afraid?”

"Yes," Jack said, without even the barest hint of hesitation. He looked up at Luke from his hands, and he inclined his head. "And yes, it was stupid. I grant you that. But that's what it's all about, isn't it?" He searched Luke's face. "Not being afraid."

Wasn't that what it was about? When you gave into fear, someone else made you a victim. He'd never been afraid before, and he wasn't willing to start now, however stupid, however short sighted. If he was afraid, then he was allowing himself to be lessened, made a victim of, and he had left that behind him. What had they fought for in Seattle, if not to wipe that out entirely? "I do care about you. I care about my friends. That's why I do...everything." He took a deep, slow breath. "It's complicated," he admitted, at last. "I can't give you an answer that's going to satisfy you. All I can tell you is that I thought I was being paranoid. I didn't really think anyone would try to poison me, but it still seemed important not to back down in the face of it. It doesn't have to make sense. I don't really think it does. It doesn't to me. But it mattered."

Luke’s views on fear had changed significantly over the past couple of years. Once, he’d wanted to eradicate it entirely. He hadn’t wanted to be afraid anymore because he thought it would be better that way. But fear, he’d learned, was just a part of life, and if there was no fear of dying or losing the good things, where was the motivation to fight for it? He could understand not wanting to be afraid of someone; he’d left that behind too. After everything he and the people he loved had suffered at the hand of horrible people, he’d vowed never to be a victim again. Maybe Jack just didn’t see the separation. Maybe, to him, fear was fear and he couldn’t just learn how to live with it.

“I know you care,” he said, finally. “You care too much, I think, but I’m not one to lecture on that. I can understand wanting to not be afraid, but I still don’t get why you would take an unnecessary risk.” He shrugged. “But it’s like you said, it doesn’t make sense. Sometimes things just are and no one can explain why. I guess I just… I’ve just come to realize that fear is part of life. And maybe it’s not always bad, not if you don’t let it control you.” But finding balance, he knew, was hard, and he sighed. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. Can you, I don’t know, promise to at least try not to do stupid things?”

Jack struggled to imagine a life in which fear was simply a useful, moving part, and he couldn't. But there were, obviously, many people who lived and lived well and still felt fear, even if he wished they would never have to. It was paradoxical, and he could recognize everything Luke was saying. Maybe a healthy amount of fear was acceptable so long as it never tipped into terror. Maybe it was different for everyone.

And maybe he was thinking too hard about it. That was possible too. "I can promise to try," Jack said, attempting optimism. "I can't always promise to succeed." He smiled a little.

In an ideal world, Jack would have promised never to do anything stupid ever again and stuck by it. But this was the real world, reality, and Luke knew better. He’d have to settle for what he could get. “Okay,” he conceded. “A promise to try is better than nothing.” He wasn’t exactly relieved, but he was trying, too. “So, how long are they going to keep you here?”

Jack could see how hard Luke was working not to lose his temper with it. His patience didn't go unnoticed, particularly since Jack wasn't sure it was deserved. In Luke's shoes, he would have been furious too. It was good to remember that when he was struggling to explain itself, when his own actions defied sense and meaning. He could explain as much as he liked - Luke still had a right to be angry.

"Not long," he said, shifting. "By which I mean I'm not going to let them keep me long. Haven't talked to anyone yet." He'd gone straight from coma to violent wake up call to sedative to this conversation here. There had been no chats with doctors yet - though those would undoubtedly come very soon.

They all seemed to share a general dislike of hospitals, and so it was understandable that Jack wouldn’t want to stay longer than he had to. Still, Luke worried about him taking off too soon. “I’m sure the doctors will talk to you soon,” he said. “Try not to bail right away, though, okay? And yeah, I know I’m worrying, but that’s what I do.” There was no use in fighting it, not anymore. He worried. He’d always worry. As he always said, someone had to. He shifted a little in his chair, some of the tension in his shoulders ebbing away. “I’m really glad you’re okay, Jack.” It seemed important to say, despite his anger moments before.

"I'll try," Jack said again, with another small, wan smile, his usual way of deflecting the worry of others. It wasn't so convincing when he was sitting in a hospital bed, but he gave it a shot, all the same. They both knew he'd be up on his feet sooner than he should - that he'd be doing everything he shouldn't, and that he'd ignore his doctor's call for rest. It seemed all the more important now to get moving again, after a setback like this. He could briefly stall, but he couldn't afford to slide backward. Not with people like Luke around, grateful he wasn't dead.

"Me too," he said. True enough, and that was all that mattered.