Who: Jack and Thomas What: Jack confronts Thomas about blaming Max for being attacked, and nearly kills him. As you do. Where: A parking garage. When: The evening of Feb. 15th Warnings: Swearing, mild violence.
After he made the driver go buy coffee around the block (which made for a very unhappy employee, to be sure), Thomas leaned against the back of the BMW. It was one of a fleet of vehicles that looked exactly the same, and he felt he knew its weight and height even if it had been a different car the morning before. He wasn’t hungry, but he took a breath in and smelled the strange salt smell of popcorn mixing into the exhaust. He shifted his weight, and his toe brushed against several kernels that littered the concrete. A tiny minefield of popcorn was spilled from the elevator out into the aisle, like someone had tripped with a large bag in their hand. Not impossible; there was a movie theatre less than a block away from this particular garage.
For once, Thomas could be perfectly honest with himself. He wanted to have this conversation with Jack because he wanted to be able to hit him if he said something he didn’t like. Arms folded over the heavy wool coat, Thomas tried to keep from buying trouble and imagining just how hard he’d hit him depending on what he dared to say.
Jack was angry, and he didn't bother to hide it as he came up the stairs of the parking garage. Max was a mess, exhausted and worn thin to the bone, and hearing that Oracle and the Bat had only made her feel worse about it and herself had set his blood boiling. He pushed the door open and walked toward Thomas, stepping across the popcorn kernels without really noticing they were even there. He didn't know that Thomas was mostly blind, didn't know there had been any long-term effects of the kidnapping at all, and it was dark enough that any clues he might have looked for were mostly shrouded. He stopped across the aisle from him.
"I've made this my business because it is my business. I want to hear an explanation from your mouth."
Thomas didn’t move from his position. He seemed to look right at Jack, because he knew his height and now could hear precisely where he was in relation to the car and himself. “I think I said Max wasn’t your business.”
Jack stared at him. "She is my friend, and she went out there because you made me her and Oracle's responsibility. So yes, I think she is my business. You don't have a right to tell me she's not, or that she can't be. You still haven't answered the question."
The blank gaze seemed unimpressed and unresponsive. “No, she went out there because she felt inactive and helpless, and she wanted to feel effective. She wanted to make a difference. She wanted to help you, Jack. You.” His first name combined with the repetition indicated a venom that the Bat didn’t naturally possess.
"She went out there because she felt inactive, yes, but also because she was terrified of what would happen if I did something and it was on her head. What you would say to her." Jack slid his hands into his pockets. "That wouldn't have happened if you hadn't put this on her head, but that aside - she didn't go out there looking for a fight, and you had no right to blame her for being attacked."
“She went out there, period. I find your priorities interesting, Jack; your enemies first, then Max, and then perhaps yourself. On a good day. My priorities are different.” He unfolded his arms and stood on his feet, straight. “If you hadn’t involved her in your problems, this wouldn’t have happened at all.”
"I don't rank them above her," Jack said, immediately, voice low, maybe a little too quickly, a little too emphatically. He meant it too much.
"I didn't involve her in my problems!" he shouted. Jack rarely raised his voice, preferring to come up slowly and speak carefully even when he was snapping someone's neck, and it was a testament to Thomas successfully plucking a nerve. "If I had known what she was planning, I would have done everything I could to keep her out of it! Do you think that I wanted her to go looking for men I know - I know could kill her, could do worse things to her - so much worse things? God, no. I didn't invite her in to share any burden of mine. That was the last thing in the world I wanted."
Thomas was undisturbed. He stared straight at him, listened for him to make a move, and hoped for it even as he knew it was a cheap play. “That’s why I told you to keep yourself and your problems away from her. But you wouldn’t listen.”
Jack did take a step toward him then, drawing closer. "You're misdirecting. That has nothing to do with you blaming her for what happened. And what if she had been assaulted? Raped? Would you have blamed her then? Accused her of being irresponsible, of going to the wrong side of town?" That was his real fear, and the real root of what made him angry. The thing that had scared him most when he saw the booking sheets was that they had assaulted her, and the idea that Thomas might have laid the blame for that at her doorstep sparked a rage miles deep.
Crunch. Thomas slid two and a half inches to his two o’clock, snapped a low blow into Jack’s stomach with a rolling fist that moved from knuckle to knuckle, and then once his head dipped, brought a backfist across his chest and down against Jack’s jaw with the intensity of a falling hammer on anvil.
The punches weren't entirely unexpected, but they weren't really expected either, so Jack didn't have much time to counter or shift out of the way when Thomas hit him in the stomach and then squarely in the jaw. He went down, unable to halt his own momentum, but caught himself, pushed back up, and swung angry and quick without really looking where the punch was flying. All he could really think about, while getting punched and punching back, was that Thomas hadn't answered his question, and that just made him angrier.
Thomas was expecting some form of retaliation, and because he could see clearly in his mind how Jack’s body would react to both blows, he knew that the only counters had him coming back up and unwinding, lashing out a punch in similar fashion. It would either be a back two-knuckle or a complete round from the other side, and either way, Thomas slid along the car trunk until he felt the tail-light between the tips of his fingers. “If she had been hurt, if the child had been hurt, I would not have been there, you would not have been there either. There would have been nothing we could do. If she wants to go out and be effective there is NOTHING WE CAN DO.” His thick voice rang in the empty garage. Old yellow lights flickered.
Jack pursued. He could taste copper in his mouth from the punch to the jaw, from a cut that would have already healed by now, and he lashed out again. He wanted connection. He wanted the satisfaction of putting the Bat's self-righteous teeth in. "YOU DIDN'T ANSWER THE QUESTION."
“You’re selfish. All you can think about is your questions. Your guilt. How you feel.” More crunching. Thomas slid back, continuing to retreat, brushing another car with the backs of his thighs as he maneuvered through the space he knew long before Corbinian got there, just out of the range he knew the man had.
Jack was absolutely blind with rage by this point. That Thomas could still be speaking logically and calmly and coolly, as if this was a debate, that he could keep avoiding the question, suggest that no matter what had happened to Max it would have been her fault and his, it made him want to kill him. It was a distinct sensation, one he was ultimately very familiar with, and he wanted to grab hold of Thomas's shirt and throw him over the railing nearby. That Max could ask to be attacked, that she could ask to be assaulted - there were no words, just continuing movement, propelled eternally forward.
More popcorn crunching. Jack’s breathing, hard and fast. He wasn’t listening anymore. Thomas felt something like frustration--or perhaps regret. He slid around again in his wide arc, moving quiet through the debris, and stopped with his back against the neighboring vehicle. He waited, and slowly exhaled.
He was still, finally, and so Jack could grab him by his shirt and slam him hard into the car. The car alarm went off, and he hit Thomas on the car again, and it stopped. His rage was unspeakable. Thomas would hear his breathing, feel how tightly his fingers were wrapped up in his shirt. "Tell me that you don't blame her, or I will THROW YOU OVER THAT RAILING. And I will not regret it."
The blank eyes looked back. Thomas head was ringing, but the blow had been more to shoulders than anywhere else, as he damn well knew how to protect his neck and head from such an attack. He wasn’t afraid for his life just then. He wondered (belatedly) if that was some sign of wrong. “Being attacked? No. But she’s the only one that can keep anything like it from happening again. Are you angry because I didn’t, or because you didn’t?”
Jack shook him again. Hard. "Prevent it from happening? SHE WAS ATTACKED."
Jack let go of Thomas then. He made himself. If he didn't, he might follow through on his threat, and no matter how strongly he felt about this he could not let that happen. He felt choked by anger in that moment, unable to find enough words to express the height of his contempt. "You don't deserve her. And I hope to God she never realizes that, because if she knew - if she knew that, really knew it, it might break her." He backed away from him. "I really, sincerely, hope you fucking burn in hell."
Thomas bent his knees to catch his weight. It was a near thing, he steadied himself on the hood of the car, and felt grease smear against his fingertips. “Max is responsible for herself and the child. I can’t make her decisions for her. And I can’t protect her. I haven’t yet been able to prevent anything from happening to her. She will go where she will go, Corvus.” He sounded tired, abruptly. Still calm, but tired.
Jack just shook his head. Much of the anger had gone out of him by now - now he was just miserable and exhausted by the the whole thing. "You really don't get it," he said, almost incredulous. "Truly don't understand it. I don't even know if that's better or worse." He shook his head again, and walked toward the stairs.
“Next time keep your enemies to yourself.” Down the aisle, the elevator dinged. Thomas’ driver stepped out and looked their way.
Jack actually stopped walking, and looked back at Thomas. There weren't words for that look, the black wrath in it, the restraint it took from walking back over to Thomas. The driver appeared, and Jack continued walking.
He was, at this point, sure only that he would step in to help Thomas or save his life in future because it was what Max would want, and for no other reason, and thus it was likely best if they didn't cross paths ever again.