twd: log, bruce and selina Who: Bruce & Selina What: Surviving in zombie land. (1/2) Where: TWD door. When: Past couple weeks → nowish. Warnings/Rating: Violence, dead things.
Day One
She hadn't expected Bruce to be standing there when she turned, hands and knees on the grass, and she was in some kind of forest. Woods, and they didn't have this in Gotham. It was cool, despite being summer, and the sky was clear, and the air was thin. Mountains, she thought, or somewhere close, and she wondered how frigid it would get at night. This was not the time to be sick, and she needed to push herself to her feet, but she was staring at the things that were walking toward them, unseeing and spread out as far as she could see, right and left in a semicircle, hundreds of them, and she couldn't tell how far they extended behind them. She was unarmed, and she had a terrible feeling that he probably was too.
And wouldn't it be hysterical if they died here? Like this? Together? There was some horrible poetic justice to that, and she wanted to be home, but she had no idea where home was.
She pushed herself up, because she knew he wouldn't leave her there to die. He'd haul her up by her arm if he needed to, and she wasn't going to use him for a crutch, and she wasn't going to slow him down. "We're not armed. We need to run." And she would try to keep up.
He couldn't pinpoint exactly how he'd ended up in the door. It was quick, too quick; maybe he'd gone close, acting on instinct when Selina was pulled through but he knew he hadn't actually stepped over the threshold of his own free will. But maybe it didn't matter, because he was here now and Bruce didn't see a door in sight. It was a forest, somewhere, utterly unfamiliar and for a few seconds he just stared, slow in processing, only aware of the fact that he wasn't supposed to be here. This wasn't supposed to be happening.
But then it all caught up with him and he blinked. Like her, his attention was caught by the things approaching from all sides; he frowned. There were so many of them, too many of them, and unfortunately he wasn't armed. He was dressed in clothing from another era but he'd left any weaponry he might have possessed behind, and while he could move fairly easily, his only weapon just then was himself.
Running was wisest. He saw the logic in that. He moved forward to help her up just as she managed to push herself to her feet and he hung back, trying to give her space despite the circumstances. She didn't need him, of course. Safety first, and then they could figure out where they were and how they could get back. "Alright." He hesitated, briefly, but the shuffling things were growing closer and he had no choice but to break into a run in the opposite direction, trusting (or hoping?) she could keep up.
She had a hard time keeping up. She had a very hard time keeping up. She stumbled against more trees than she wanted to admit, and it was only sheer determination not to fall and get eaten that kept her even marginally ahead of the herd.
The woods opened up onto a highway, lines and lines of abandoned cars and SUVS, and she stopped on the tarmac and bent over, hands on her thighs and coughing up bile, because it was all that was left in her stomach. Her hair was sweat and fever soaked now, and she looked to see where he was. She'd been following the sound of his footfalls, so she knew he was close. And the herd was still advancing, and the cars looked like their best option.
She looked in a car window, and she wasted a few seconds staring at a decaying body that looked like it had been there for months, and wondered how this even happened. It made her think of Ra's, and the herd groaned their way to the edge of the trees.
"The cars? Trunk? Roofs?" she asked, tiny words as she caught her breath. She couldn't keep running, not until this fever wore off. He could. He could probably stay ahead of it. "Trunk. You go." She managed a teasing grin, even with the Hell closing in on them. "Nice clothes."
Something was wrong. Selina should have been able to keep up with him with little to no difficulty, but he could tell she was struggling. It made him slow his pace, made him glance over his shoulder more than he normally would have, because regardless of the way things were between them he'd never leave her behind; Bruce just wasn't that kind of man.
Once they broke out of the forest and reached the highway, he came to a full stop and turned as she bent over and coughed up bile. The pack of things were at their heels, but it only took a moment or two to look her over, to see that there was indeed something wrong; she didn't look well. He wondered why, wondered what had happened, but of course he didn't ask. Running was no longer an option, though. He could make it, but she couldn't, and he wasn't about to leave her to fend for herself. As for how this had happened, he hadn't gotten that far yet. His single focus was on survival, on escape, and once they'd found a safe place he could start thinking about other things-- like what had gone so very wrong here.
He considered their options. The roofs were useless; they'd only be trapped on top and while the things approaching looked very much dead, he couldn't be sure what they were and weren't capable of. But the trunk, that wasn't a bad idea. Hiding until the herd had passed. "We'll wait it out," he decided, completely ignoring that she'd told him to go. And he gave her a look when she commented on his clothing, an unthinking thing which forgot how disastrous recent months had been, reminiscent of a long ago past. "Come on." He grabbed her hand without asking and pulled, darting and weaving between cars to put even a little distance between themselves and the herd before looking for a trunk that wasn't locked. Trial and error, because there was no time to spend on lock picking, but he managed to find one unlocked and quickly urged her inside.
"Stay quiet," he instructed. "We'll wait until they pass and go from there."
Of course he could make it. Give her a night's sleep, and she could make it too. But not right then, and part of her did expect him to run. If she had a safe place, she trusted him to trust her be able to keep herself there until the threat passed. It was an out, an option, and she was slightly surprised when he didn't take it. Oh, he didn't want her dead. It wasn't anything like that, but she was fairly sure he preferred the company of the undead to this.
But she trusted him, and when he grabbed her hand she went without hesitation or complaint. She'd always trusted him to keep himself alive, and she might be a liability at present? But she wasn't stupid, and she hadn't forgotten who she was with. She was only sorry that she was impeding his chance of a clean break, but she understood guilt too, and she thought she understand why he'd made the choice he made. She moved as quickly as she could manage as he darted, and the smell that touched the air, sick and sweet and rot, told her more than the uneven footfalls at their back did.
The car he found was old, the truck huge and nothing like the tiny compact creation of modern years. When he opened it, she put a hand on his shoulder without thinking, habit and enough fights alongside him that she didn't stop to consider, and she hoisted herself inside. There, she pressed close to the front, so he'd have room behind her.
Over his shoulder, the things were right there; there wouldn't be time to find another car, and it was starting to get dark; the light was against them. "I'm not contagious," she promised. "Get in, Mr. Wayne."
He wasn't petty, or at least he tried not to be. And, regardless, he didn't actually blame Selina for anything. The deterioration of their relationship, everything broken between them, he blamed on himself. It wouldn't be fair to hold her responsible by distancing himself and leaving her in the trunk of some car until the wave of dead things passed. Oh, Bruce had no doubt that at full strength she was more than capable of handling herself, but he didn't think separation was a good idea. Logically, better that they stick together, and he could put his own issues aside.
Or, at least, he could try.
Her hand on his shoulder registered, but briefly, washed away by the smell of rot and sickly sweet decay that rose at their heels. His intention had been to find his own hiding spot, but as she hoisted herself into the trunk and he stole a glance over his shoulder he realized, quite quickly, that there wasn't time. That made him hesitate, but survival instinct took over. "I know," he said, of her not being contagious, and he gritted his teeth before climbing inside behind her. Yank, and he pulled the trunk closed after himself, plunging the two of them into confined darkness, and fortunately the dead shambling things didn't know how to do much more than thump and paw at the door.
She noticed his hesitation, and it stung. Of course it stung. Briefly, as she watched him decide which was worse - certain death at the hands of the undead or the prospect of briefly sharing trunk space with her - she wondered how they'd gotten here. It was one thing for a man not to be interested in a woman any longer. It was something altogether different to even consider his brains becoming a main course to avoid being close to her.
He gritted his teeth, and she closed her eyes. She'd feel better soon, and the first thing on the agenda? Distance, so he'd feel better too. When she spoke, it was in a closed-trunk hush, his body against her fevered back. "How did we get this far off track?" And that had nothing to do with this door or with zombies. Nothing at all.
It was a whisper, and then the first dead thing slammed against the trunk, and like any good Gotham girl, she went quiet instead of screaming. She counted each new impact, and she tugged the fabric of her shirt up against her nose to block out the smell that sifted through the trunk's small seam that allowed for oxygen. She drew the notebook that had found its way into her front pocket out, and by the small bit of light that was left, she read. and she wrote, and then she shoved the book back in her pocket and tried not to sniffle.
She lost track at thirty bodies outside, all crowded around the now-shaking car. The rocking and groaning became repetitive, and exhaustion eventually overtook her. She pressed back against him unthinking, and she slept.
As always, she misconstrued his intentions. His hesitation wasn't about deciding between certain death and sharing a space with her, no, it was about whether or not he could possibly make things worse at this point; he'd thought it wasn't possible before only to be proved wrong, it could happen again. Sharing a trunk was the exact opposite of distance, of avoidance. But he couldn't read her thoughts, he didn't know, and he made a valiant effort to maintain some space between them instead of letting his body settle against hers.
He didn't know the answer to her question. It was one he'd asked himself numerous times, and he just shook his head in the dark. "I don't know." Quiet, barely a whisper, and he tried to pretend he wasn't paying attention as she took out the notebook and wrote. Tried, and failed, but he did manage to refrain from asking what was wrong. It wasn't his business.
Eventually, the shaking and groaning and thumping became background noise. He stilled when she pressed back against him, but she was asleep, she didn't know, and he fought to stay awake, to keep watch. Day Two
In the darkness of the trunk, Bruce wasn't exactly sure how much time had passed. There was a sliver visible, just that, of the outside, and he'd tried not to sleep but he couldn't tell if he'd dozed off or not. Maybe he had. Selina was breathing beside him, which he thought was a good thing, and he couldn't hear anything from outside, and he thought that sliver was brighter than he remembered. Morning. If they'd made it through the night, they could cover more ground during daylight hours. Find food, find shelter, find some sort of weapons, and hopefully Selina was feeling better and could keep up.
Slowly, slowly, he stirred, stiff muscles unwinding as he carefully inched forward and pushed the trunk door up a little. He stopped, listened. Again, he heard nothing but faraway birds, no shuffle of movement or grunts or moans. He opened it a little more, bit by bit, until he had enough space to stick his head out.
Empty. Just miles and miles of highway and empty cars. He exhaled heavily, only just realizing that he'd been holding his breath.
She began to wake when he began to crack the trunk, and it was the kind of lazy-limbed waking that came with heavy-sleep and the fighting off of illness. When he opened the trunk more and shifted, it gave her room to roll onto her back with a lazy stretch that was still closed eyes and a forgetfulness about where they were. All feline warmth, and her voice was a questioning and intimate purr, confused about where, but not convinced about who. "Bruce? What is-"
And then the sun hit her face, and he exhaled, and she opened her eyes. It took one heartbeat to remember the night before, and she cursed under her breath and sat up, hand beside his to push the trunk door open until it met the car's rear window.
She looked better, no red and fevered cheeks, and she dragged her fingers through her hair for a second, before crawling out of the trunk without help. Feet on the pavement, she reached out an arm to help him out, her grin momentarily playful in the still-fuzzy haze of morning. "Need help?" Brow quirk.
Then something a few cars back groaned, a straggler separated from the herd, and she stepped away from the car and started looking for something that could be a weapon. Well, practice time. She grabbed a tire iron, and she tested its weight with a swing over her head. Something sharper would be better, but, she approached the thing anyway, and she intentionally waited until it noticed her and started for her in a slow lurch. She led it back, closer, and then she swung the tire iron at its head without holding back. She just avoided the splatter of brains all over herself, and the thing twitched at her feet once it fell. It reminded her of the Talons, and she didn't hesitate even a moment before finishing the job, perhaps with too much passion, pity on her face as she drew back and dropped the iron with a clatter. "Sharper things are going to be more humane," she said quietly, almost sadly, without looking over her shoulder.
There was a moment in time, just a second or two, when she rolled onto her back and he found himself looking down at her. In that instant she'd forgotten, he knew, fuzzy with sleep, and the warmth in her voice, the intimacy, ached something fierce. It wasn't for him anymore, if it had ever been. Banner had that privilege now.
He cleared his throat and moved back when she sat up, averting his gaze, and he let her climb out of the trunk while managing to keep from offering help. She didn't need it, he told himself. She looked better. Healthier. Sleep had helped. He looked up when she reached out an arm to help him, squinting a little in the sun, and maybe he should have said no. Maybe he should have turned cold and hard, ruthless efficiency and nothing more. Get out, not that anyone but Iris would miss him, and then they could put this behind them. He'd done it before. It hurt less that way, when armor wasn't kevlar but steel, iron, new skin layered over the vulnerability beneath. But, while he might need that if he ever returned to Gotham, he didn't want it now. He'd gotten used to living without it in Italy. And so he conceded, fighting a wry smile as he took her hand and hauled himself out. "Thank you, Ms. Kyle."
As he was rubbing his eyes and stretching out stiff limbs, something a few cars back groaned and she reacted much quicker than he did. But it was just one, a straggler, and he watched with something like curiosity mingled with disgust as she picked up a tire iron and approached. One on one, he saw, was easier. With a group of them they'd have to move quickly. He looked away as she finished the thing, not because he couldn't watch but because he needed a weapon of his own, something to defend himself. He found a hammer in one of the other trunks and decided it was good enough for now: better they keep moving than stop to fight anyway.
The dead thing at her feet didn't quite stir the same kind of pity in him. It had been human, once, but it wasn't anymore; still, he could understand why she'd want to finish them off quickly. Becoming this was punishment enough, no need to prolong it. He hesitated, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder, but the motion was aborted, hand dropped as he thought better of it. "We'll have to make do with what we have for now," he said, quiet. "I don't think they're people anymore, Selina." He sighed, the scent of death and rot bitter on his tongue. "We should see if we can find anything in these vehicles. Supplies, or the like, and then keep moving."
His wry smile when he took her hand, that made her smile. It was old and familiar, and she wasn't as concerned with shoulds as he was. If he winced, then maybe. If he hesitated again, she told herself she'd back off, but it was hard when things were instinctive. It was harder for her than it was for him, and she knew that. For all that he was a different man beneath the cowl, he was still the Bat, and she'd never known Bruce Wayne in her world, never liked him. It was easy to mix it all up, Bat and Bat, and her grin was the kind of familiarity that came after years of teasing and mornings after.
But then there was the straggler, and she wasn't sharp enough then to notice the aborted movement of hand to shoulder until it was already dropping. She looked at the thing at her feet a moment longer, and then she looked over her shoulder at him. "They were people once. All monsters were people once, Bruce," she said openly, Gotham certainty in her words and a worldview that would forever be shades of grey. "If that happens to me?" she said, turning to face him, "I'll take a knife to the head," she requested, and then she managed one of those lush smiles for him, something warm in the face of horrible things. "Don't worry. I'm not going to jump you if you touch me," she teased, all unintentional hip as she passed him to rummage through the cars with unquestioning agreement to his plan. And it was easier. She'd already lost him; this was easier now.
She found a backpack a few cars down, and she dumped it without looking at the dead woman behind the wheel of the car. Empty, she started filling it with anything that was vital and that wouldn't weigh her down. A switchblade and a large bowie later, she walked back in time to see two stragglers headed his way. She whistled, high pitched and curious if the things could hear. But there were only two; Bruce could handle them, and she busied herself with tucking the tire iron into a thick belt she'd taken off a dead man.
Walking, she paged through the notebook that she'd retrieved from her pocket, and she frowned. Great. Things just kept getting better and better. "Maybe we better find a town. Supplies, doors that open and close. It might be our best bet."
Again, he didn't feel like her grin was for him as much as it was for who he'd once been. Who they had once been, but maybe she was right, maybe they hadn't had the chance to really be anything at all. Once they got out of here, Bruce knew things would go back to the way they were. Distance. Her in one world and him in another. Maybe months would pass, years, before they spoke, before they saw one another again, because he wasn't all that sure he'd ever be going back to Gotham these days.
But those things didn't matter just then. He met her gaze when she looked at him, and he didn't try to argue. "Once," he echoed. Because these things, he knew what they were. Reanimated corpses. He looked back down and his mouth became a grim line. "They deserve better." He would never want this. It was nightmares, what he feared Ra's would bring Damian back as, little more than a mindless body with none of the son he'd known and loved left. Just a thing. His expression became, for a moment, something pained when she said she'd want a knife to the head if that ever happened to her, because it meant he had to think about losing her and even now he didn't want to so much as consider the possibility. But it passed, and he nodded. "The same goes for me." When he died, he wanted to stay dead. Her smile caught him off guard, maybe because he hadn't seen one in so long and he wasn't prepared, and he flexed his fingers unthinkingly when she said she wouldn't jump if he touched her. "I know." Muttered, as she passed him by, and he immediately set about looking for supplies. He couldn't let himself soften; she'd only get hurt if he did.
He paged through the notebook as he walked. Back and forth, wishing he had his phone instead of a book, and he realized the difference between willingly leaving and being kept away against his will. But he found a duffel bag, used it to hold discarded clothing, a flashlight (without batteries, but still) and anything he thought might be of use, found under car seats and in trunks. Many vehicles were occupied by corpses, but these ones didn't move. He found himself fleetingly wishing there was time for proper burials before forcing himself to move on; they were dead. There was nothing more to be done.
Her whistle alerted him to the two stragglers, but he wasn't concerned. He had his hammer, and a large hunting knife he'd pried from a dead man's fingers; he'd fought skilled opponents before. Two corpses were laughably simple. He tried out the knife and found it was easier, as the blade slid through rotted flesh and bone with less mess than would be required to use a hammer. With two, there was time to find the right spot, and he was only lightly speckled in blood by the time he was done. He wiped the blade clean on one of the corpses's clothes and reached down to shoulder the duffel bag.
"Yes." There would be no argument from him. At the least they needed better shelter than a car trunk, and doors have the opportunity for escape. "I suppose we should start walking. You're feeling better?" It wasn't a question, really, so much as it was a statement seeking confirmation.
Selina wasn't thinking about what things would go back to, and she wasn't thinking about what they wouldn't go back to. She wasn't sure they'd go back to anything, because it had been sheer luck these cars had been here, this highway. They should be dead, and they might still be. She wasn't counting on anything at the moment, and maybe that made all the difference in the world in her ability not to fall apart around him. Because if they were dying? Who really cared?
When he said the same went for him, that he wanted a knife to the head, she looked at him. And she had changed in the past six months, and there was no point in denying that. She was more direct now, and she said what she thought more. But, really, she'd always done that with him, hadn't she? It just got messy toward the end. "We both know I'd keep you alive until I was convinced you weren't you anymore, and that no one could bring you back, and even then you might get an extra year or two," Her smile was unapologetic. "You've always been stronger than me." Said without a hint of mutter as she walked by him, while his fingers flexed. She touched his hip as she moved; she considered it breaking the ice.
She waited until he was done with the stragglers, and she looked down at them as he cleaned the blade on his bag. She was going to have to get used to it, so she might as well stare it in the face now, when she wasn't feeling any fear. Her expression was sad by the time she looked up at him. "I feel fine," she agreed. Maybe fine was an overstatement, but whatever still lingered in her system would be gone by nightfall. She looked up at the skies around them, trying to find some indicator of direction, and after placing the sun, she pointed in what she assumed to be southwest. At least it would be warmer.
"That way," she said, with a jerk of her head. The highway here wasn't going to lead them anywhere, and being out in the open was bad news, but they could follow it until they heard some water. They were going to need water.
And water was at least ten miles later. Sweaty and exhausted, and they'd only run into a few of the walkers along the way. She was starting to get lulled as they walked into the heavy dark green of the northern mountains. "This is pretty," she finally said, because she'd been wanting to talk for at least three miles now. "Not Metropolis cheerful, too green for that, but it's pretty," she admitted, hand touching a tree trunk and very much wanting to rest once they reached that stream that bubbled. "I wonder how quick I'd get bored to tears in a place like this," she asked, looking over at him and smiling, easy and exhausted.
She sped up, because the water was right there. Past the clearing, and the embankment was steeper than she realized, wet and slippery and at least two-Gotham stories down. She slipped, mud and dirt, and she was dazed for about two seconds at the bottom. Then, she laughed and tipped her head back, looking for him at the top. "Let it never be said that I'm not a city girl-"
She noticed the dead things too late, once she'd already gotten their attention by making all that sound. "Fuck," and she scooted back quickly and slammed her switchblade into the eye of the one that was nearly on top of her.
Once, there was a time when Bruce wouldn’t have cared whether or not he died in this place, surrounded by the dead. In fact, he would have welcomed it. But the funny thing was that he wanted to make it out alive now. He wanted to survive. Maybe there was nothing for him in Gotham, but there wasn't nothing for him at all. Part of the struggle was to remember why he wanted to live, to focus on that over the negative thoughts and oh, there were a lot of those. He understood Helena now, understood why him caring hadn't been enough. He understood how hard it must have been to keep going. And if he did die here, in the end, at least he'd know he fought. And at least it would be with her, which wasn't so bad regardless of what she might believe.
He hadn't always minded her direct honesty. It used to be one of the things he most admired about her, her bluntness, and it still was, but now the truth could only make things worse and so it was hard to hear. Distance didn't leave room for honesty. It made him sad, that it had come to that, but maybe things were different here. What good was distance when it was just them? He couldn't walk away, there was nowhere to go. He could try to hide from what she said, he could try to ignore it, but for once he did neither. Instead he exhaled, and he met it head on. "I wouldn't say I was stronger," he said. He was something, but he wasn't sure that was the right word for it. He managed a small, small smile, though, because it was so very her to be so stubborn instead of just shoving a knife into hypothetical zombie-him's brain. And at least this time he managed not to go tense like such a tiny gesture would send things shattering when she touched his hip; maybe that was progress.
Unlike her, he was better at turning off emotions when it came to the dead things. Apathy, and it might be a dangerous thing, but he could be more efficient that way. The best thing that could be done was to put these things out of their misery rather than prolong their suffering; he couldn't bring them back. Looking down at their rotted, bloated corpses, he knew that much. He nodded when she agreed that she was fine, and the only reason he didn't push was because she did look better. And no argument came when she indicated the direction they should go, surprisingly willing to follow her lead. Or maybe that was the direction he would have suggested himself, anyway, it was hard to tell.
Silence was fine by him. A certain sense of awkwardness clung as they walked, perhaps, but he was good at pretending, and he let his thoughts roam to Gotham instead. He was surprised at how frustrated he was at not being able to get back, after spending so long not wanting to, but this was different. It wasn't permanence, it was family, even if he clearly had no idea what was happening with Jason anymore. It made the walk easier, made him feel less tired, and even the odd walker they encountered wasn't so bad; they were easily killed when there weren't dozens of them at once. He was getting hot, however, sweat trickling down his spine and making his shirt stick to his skin, and heat let to weariness, to the desire for water. They needed water. He looked at her when she spoke, rubbing the back of his hand over his forehead, and he shook his head when she wondered aloud about how long it would take for her to get bored. "If you think pretty is boring, you'd hate Italy," he said without thinking. "But it's a different kind of beauty, there. No walking dead, for starters." He didn't always have a sense of humor, but sometimes he tried.
Where she was fast, he was slower, and he watched her slip out of sight with a jolt of alarm that faded once he heard her laugh. He made his way carefully to the edge she'd slipped and tumbled over, fond exasperation when she looked up at him, and he started to say something about city girls and nature when he, quite suddenly, noticed the approaching dead things. "Selina!" Maybe it was fine, she'd reacted swiftly enough to the one nearly on top of her, but there were more approaching and he didn't hesitate. Down the side of the embankment, managing to keep his footing until he reached the bottom, where he shoved at the walkers in an attempt to give her a couple of seconds to get to her feet. And that was it, really, a couple of seconds, because they just kept on coming and the duffel bag was left behind, but he had his knife, and he used it.
"You were always better at doing what needs to be done, Bruce. I let my emotions get the better of me." And, before, she wouldn't have admitted to having emotions at all. But there wasn't much point in it now. He'd seen her at her worst, hadn't he? And it didn't seem as important here, putting up the walls and pretending nothing mattered. More things mattered than she'd ever wanted to admit, and she wasn't sure how it happened, but she was fairly sure it was at least partly his fault. Anyway, he was the only one here to blame, and she was just fine with that. "And I'm very impulsive," she added, that lush smile coming easier now. They were going to get eaten, or they weren't, and everything else seemed surprisingly unimportant at the moment. It was strangely liberating.
She wasn't really expecting him to answer when she made the comment about the beauty, and she looked over in time to see him rub his forehead with the back of his hand. It really was disgustingly hot, and she wondered if the water would be deep enough to wash off. When he teased about Italy, she glanced over at him in surprise, but her return quip was quick and silken, without hiccup or hesitation. "Oh? Then I'm not interested in visiting. If there aren't zombies? It's just not a vacation." She was still smiling as she considered the greenery. "I need air conditioning too. I bet there isn't air conditioning in your Italy. I miss it in Tortuga." She arched a brow. "How are the rooftops there?" However much he wanted to not be Gotham, she still thought there was enough of it in him to have made him venture up onto a roof or two.
She was expecting his comment about city girls; she was unapologetically one. She'd never gone places. She mispronounced cities and countries all the time; she wouldn't be able to find Italy on a map, even with her unexpected and new appreciation for books. But there wasn't time for the comment, and she heard him call her name as the switchblade found its target. She kicked the thing off her, and she didn't protest as he shoved at the walkers. The few seconds were all she needed, and she didn't squander them by questioning him. In this, she had complete trust, unthinking and fluid, and she had the larger knife in her free hand by the time she found her footing.
The embankment was steep, and there was no way they'd be able to scale it with a running start. "About thirty," she said, guessing at the number and pressing her back to his. "You know, I really wish I had a bigger knife," she managed, as one of the walkers came close enough for her to swing at. "I wouldn't mind longer arms either," she hissed, gritted teeth and a lingering look at the slippery slope as she kicked one of the dead things away, her foot to his face. A pinwheel kick, and that was good enough to buy them some space. She really didn't trust these two knives with this crowd, and she slammed a blade into two faces at once, one knife gripped in each hand and kicking the bodies off and back against the others, working at more space.
But they kept moving forward, and she didn't ask before she turned and scaled his shoulders. Knees against his collarbone and perfect feline balance as she starting slamming those knives into the top of skulls. Much better from this vantage point, and she trusted him to handle the weight and his own balance. And, hey he had longer arms; it was only fair.
“Look at how far doing what needs to be done got me,” he said, quick and impulsive, without thinking before he spoke. Bruce sighed. “I was the opposite. I tried not to let my emotions become involved for so long that, when they did, I didn’t know what to do.” And now? Now he just wasn’t involved at all, which was easier said than done. He knew if he hadn’t been here, if he’d been in Italy free to come and go, he would have returned to Gotham to help-- for better or for worse. Maybe it would’ve been a bad idea, but he knew he wouldn’t have been able to stay away. Not for this. But now he didn't have a choice, did he? Funny how things worked out. He smiled when she said she was very impulsive because oh, he knew that, and for a moment things seemed almost stable between them, even if it wasn't reminiscent of reality at all.
He looked up at the sky, more sweat soaking his hairline. "Pity," he said, but it was a teasing thing, and he actually laughed when she said she'd bet there wasn't any air conditioning in 'his Italy'. "No, there isn't. That's two strikes against me." His expression changed when she asked how the rooftops were, and he almost considered feigning ignorance, pretending he didn't know. Almost, but he ended up relenting. "Closer together. Not as high, and patrolled by guards, if you can believe that."
At least she wasn't someone he had to worry about, even though he did; when it came to combat they were on fairly equal footing. She could handle herself. But this wasn't just one or two shambling walkers, and the embankment was steep, and it seemed like the more corpses they fought off the more kept coming up behind them. He gritted his teeth and kept trying to push for space, swinging the knife when they came close enough to make contact, and after a few seconds the sickening sounds of the blade sinking into flesh seemed almost as natural as birds chirping or the breeze through the trees. "Oh, is that all?" he remarked dryly, like thirty was nothing, even as he felt her back press against his. "A bigger knife and longer arms. I'll add those to my list." He grunted from exertion, having resorted to lashing out with both knife and fists, but this could go on forever. He brought one knee back, foot out, and kicked about three of them back into the cluster when they got too close, but even that was just a temporary reprieve.
He'd begun to say that they needed to make a run for it, needed to get out of this endless wave of corpses, but then she was on his shoulders and he had to focus on balance, on keeping them both upright. Fine, that was fine. He tucked the knife into his belt and went for a different approach, physically shoving and dragging the walkers out of the way, slamming heads together when he could manage, and he let her handle the blades. "We'll have to make a run for it," he shouted, because they couldn't do this forever and once they had space, even for a second, they had to take advantage of it before it was gone.
"We all have to learn sometime," she said of his quick and impulsive comment that doing what needed to be done had gotten him here. "I think," she began with uncharacteristic introspection, "that sometimes we think we have to do things a certain way, that there's only one way. Maybe that all needs to fall apart to make us realize what really matters, and what we really need to do." She hadn't actively thought about that much, but she'd realized it during the early days with the pirates. It had been idyllic, cathartic, and fake, because what good was finding herself if there was no one there that mattered? And that made her realize she needed people after all, even if she didn't want need them, and even if it wasn't easy to need them, and even if they hurt her sometimes.
Even if needing to give them up was a bitch.
The strikes against him kept piling up, and she grinned that teasing smile that was new warmth with old familiarity. "I think me sobbing all over you on a regular basis cancels out some of your strikes." She pretended to consider. "Maybe it cancels out one," she teased, deciding, and it was easier now, easier to joke than cry, and she wasn't in the mood just then to figure out why. She smiled at the idea of guards on the roof. "Guards? Now that sounds fun." What? She was still a Gotham rogue through and through, and she'd figured out that no change of scenery was going to alter that. If they survived this? She'd go right home.
"Getting soft out there in Italy?" she asked when he quipped about there being thirty undead, and there was taunting in her voice when she called back to him. "Maybe you should ditch the rich antiquated landowner clothes." Not that he looked bad in what he was wearing, but that wasn't the point.
From her spot on his shoulders, she managed to whittle the walking corpses to twenty. But he was right; they were going to need to run for it. There were more ambling toward the noise; she could see them from her vantage point, and she scoped out the area while he slammed together heads that went gush and squish in a landscape of putrid grey.
She stood on his shoulders, using him as a push point to flip beyond the stragglers he was still dealing with, and she pointed in the direction that would give them easiest climb up the embankment and into the protection of the copse of trees; water would need to wait.
"Think you can keep up?" she called back; already running. But she listened for his footfalls; she would turn around if they slowed or stopped.
He thought about what she said; introspection had been part of his time away from Gotham, because he was never going to figure anything out if he didn't let himself think. But he was used to quiet, rooftops or fields and solitude, only himself to mull things over with, because he didn't want to drag Iris into his problems any more than he already had. He didn't want to need people. Oh, his life would be so much easier if he could just be on his own like before, like home, where his network was small and no one expected him to be someone he wasn't. He was who he was, and they'd accepted that. But it hadn't been like that in this Gotham for a long, long time, and being somewhere else had made him realize that to get better he needed to stop trying to be what he thought people wanted him to be. He needed to be himself, and if they didn't like that, if they didn't accept it... then maybe, as Wren had said, he didn't need them in his life.
"It certainly fell apart," he sighed. The problem was that he was still sifting through the wreckage and trying to piece himself back together. When she mentioned sobbing all over him he faltered, just for a moment, but instead of letting it make him feel guilty, stiff and awkward, he decided to play it off as lighthearted instead. "Really? I'd have thought it would add a strike," he said, "considering my behaviour during and after said sobbing." He smiled a little when she said rooftop guards sounded fun, and he shook his head because it was so very her. "If anything, I'd think they might cancel out a strike."
The question of him going soft was answered by the crunch of skull against skull, and he scoffed as though it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "I am not going soft," he called back, "and there's nothing wrong with my clothes, thank you." And though he could balance her just fine, it was something of a relief once her weight was gone and he could bring an arm up to sink the blade directly between the sunken eye sockets of the closest walker. He pulled it free, kicked another few back to buy himself some time, and then he turned to follow her.
He didn't answer as to whether or not he could keep up; he figured his footfalls would be response enough. Day Three
Day three dawned with so much fog that she couldn't see an inch in front of her face. They'd found an old barn, abandoned and falling apart, doors off its hinges and animals long since eaten. The farmhouse had been razed, burnt to the ground and useless even for supplies, but the hayloft was in decent repair, and the water pump still worked.
Their encounter the day before had dwindled their supplies, but they'd managed to get clean, and she knew he'd still been awake when she fell asleep against a rolled blanket that still smelled like the horse that had worn it once.
She sat up, just the touch of one hand out to make sure he was still there in fog that was thick as syrup, and it was too dangerous to leave until it cleared. She pulled the notebook from her pocket, and she read, and she got so angry after a mad run off scribbling, that she threw the thing out the hayloft's opening, only to hear it land in the well that stood adjacent. She flopped onto her back with a groan, and she rubbed her eyes. "I'm never leaving Gotham again," she said, and the annoyance in her voice was something that she didn't bother hiding; he knew it too well. Knew her too well for her to bother. She didn't say what she was thinking, that this would've never happened if they were in Gotham. Regardless of what he thought? That was his city, and he was the only one who didn't care about being nice when the situation called for it, and Gotham needed that. It would've kept Robert out, and Gwen out. And, as much as loved Steve, Tony was so much better at interdoor politics than Steve was. Tony could turn it off when he needed to, extra stuff, just like the man sharing the hayloft with her was.
Arm over her forehead, and there were the perpetual moaning and ambling sounds of the dead outside, but not enough to panic her. She could tell how many there were by sound; Three or four, maybe, and they'd pulled up the ladder.
"Do you ever wonder how we got here?" she asked in the quiet. She couldn't see him with the thick fog; it made talking easier. But she'd always been the pusher when it came to conversation, so why should imminent death change that? "I mean, do you ever trace it back to that one moment that put you on a certain path?" she asked curiously. Quiet, and then, "would you change it?" Because maybe he wouldn't. Maybe wherever he was going now was better; she genuinely wanted to know.
Bruce hadn't intended to sleep, but he must have dozed off at some point because suddenly the fog was there, thick and impenetrable, seemingly in the blink of an eye. But the barn offered shelter, at least, if nothing else, and that was enough. Water, and someplace where they could avoid walkers for a stretch, a brief reprieve, and he'd managed to get most of the blood off from their encounter the day before. He blinked, and he would have reached out to find her if she hadn't reached out first, her fingers brushing against his knee, indication that she was still there. He sighed, leaning back against the barn wall, and he tried not to reach for the journal. Tried, but his fingers twitched, and he gave up the fight, unaware that Selina was doing the same mere feet away.
What he read, the conversations with Eddie and Mr. Rogers, didn't make him feel any better about being stuck in this hell. Banner was an idiot, Jason was an idiot, and he could tell this was going to go very, very badly, but what could he do? He had to trust that Dick and the rest, Eddie and the Marvel people, could handle this in time, because by the time the two of them managed to find a way out it would likely be too late.
He put the notebook down, distracted, when he heard something drop down into the well outside. He was about to ask what it was when she announced that she was never leaving Gotham again and, ah, he understood. Of course someone would have told her. "You know." He sighed again, and the sounds outside didn't concern him either, the moaning and shuffling that indicated the presence of walkers. A few were no trouble at all, and they couldn't get up here. They'd probably wander off in time. And it wasn't as though either of them would be leaving the safety of the hayloft, at least not until this ridiculous fog passed; hopefully, it didn't last too long.
Hearing her voice but not seeing her did make it easier, somehow, almost like he was talking to himself and not the woman he'd hurt in ways he had never, ever intended to. The woman he, arguably, loved, even though he'd never said it and, the way things had gone, probably never would. He closed his eyes, and he tipped his head back against the wall. "Yes," he said, after a pause. "I try. But I'm not sure if it can be traced to just one moment. Maybe there was one that started me down this path, but I could have changed it. I had chances. Or maybe I didn't at all. I don't know." But when she asked if he would change it he nodded first, despite the fact that she couldn't see. He needed to answer for himself first. "I would. I never thought I'd end here. I didn't want this." He was quiet for a while. "Tim said I abandoned them. I abandoned Gotham. He doesn't think I ever made an effort, and that I couldn't expect to just come back and have everyone fall in line again." He gave a bitter, hoarse laugh. "I could go back to the League. They trust me. But the family... I don't know if I can lead them. I don't know if I want to." His voice turned wistful. "I could be more like my father. Take back the company and run it right. No more pointless parties, no more pretending, no more being nice to people I can't stand. I could focus on fixing Gotham a different way."
She heard him writing. She'd heard him writing the day before. She was perfectly aware that Gotham had become an interactive novel that they couldn't reach out and save. But the feel of his knee during that momentary brush of fingers was reassuring, and not because she thought he was in danger, and not because she thought he would abandon her in the hayloft. If twas just reassuring for what it was, that familiar person that she didn't need to bother worrying about mental calisthenics with. Sometimes, he was just Bruce, and that was all she needed him to be. That hadn't happened in a long time, though.
"Damian told me the first day we were here," she admitted. "I think he told you then, too. At least about Jason. I don't think you were having long and in-depth morning conversations with anyone else," she said, quiet and a smile in her voice. She exhaled. "I tried to tell Robert to go home, but he won't listen to me. Since the wedding- He got hurt and angry, and he started to turn while I was with him, would've killed me, or so everyone says. I told him I couldn't use him anymore. It was hurting him too much, knowing I didn't feel the way he did. It wasn't fair." And she didn't sound proud of it. "It was cruel, but it also means he keeps lashing out at me now, getting mean when he gets stung. He does that when he's upset, and he won't listen to me. Tony's in a coma, and he's the only other person I know who can make him see reason." It was probably too much information, full disclosure, but she felt responsible for this mess, even if she couldn't do a thing to resolve it.
She sat up, and she could tell his voice was coming from near the wall, but she didn't move closer. She still couldn't see him through the molasses of the fog, and she wasn't sure whether she expected him to answer her question or not. "Tim's just lost and angry. We all are in that city at some point, and we blame other people, or we blame ourselves, or we blame Gotham. I don't think we're made to adjust to changes. We're made to survive, Bruce. I'm not sure we know how to live, and there's a difference. Eddie and Steph almost have it figured out, but even they trip all the time. What's Tim's feeling? It isn't about you. I promise you, it isn't. It's about the situation, and we're more than our situation." That had taken six months and three brushes with death to realize. She didn't like when he laughed like that, hoarse and bitter, and she shifted closer, the sound of her shoes against the wood hayloft floor. But she stopped before she was close enough to see him. "Dickie says he doesn't want the cowl. He says he wants to learn how to be a father, and he wants to get Babs home from space. He's having a really hard time. He's trying, god is he trying. But I'm not he needs to be what he thinks he does. We keep holding onto how things were and how things are supposed to be, and we haven't stopped to realize nothing can be the way it was, because we've all changed in a thousand different ways." Some good. Some bad. "Whatever you do when you go home, it'll help Gotham, and maybe that's all that matters. Maybe we've outgrown the shoe we keep trying to force our foot into." Her voice was quiet introspection. Thought, more than ideas, and they spilled.
There was a pause, and it almost stretched. "I try to pinpoint it, and I can find a few spots, but I don't know if there's one definitive moment. I can find moments and stretch them back for years. Not giving Tony the plague sample, but then we'd all be dead. So, no, back further. Never stealing Dickie's suit? Okay, then there wouldn't be this fear about Ra's that makes it so hard to breathe." And her breath tripped on the words, that irrational fear making the record that was her mind skip. "Not stealing the ring or machina, telling Eddie and not you. Either one would've prevented the bomb and the half-year of anger that came with that." Pause. "That night on the roof, after Damian, I tried to deal with you in the exact same way I'd dealt with that other Bat in the same situation. I didn't stop to think; I just reacted, and I didn't remember that you've never, never been that man. He needed violence when he was hurting; you need the opposite." It was an apology, even if the words weren't attached.
It didn’t come as a surprise that Damian had told her. And he was glad she knew, because that meant she understood the frustration of not being able to do anything, of being stuck, and unlike most (unlike him) she would push. She was words, whereas he could content himself with silence because it was easier. “He did,” he confirmed. “I’ve spoken to Eddie and Mr. Rogers from Marvel as well.” His voice was grim, and it was clear he didn’t like having to rely on secondhand accounts. He didn’t read too much into that, though. Despite the fog making it so that neither of them could see one another, he went still when she mentioned Banner, tense, almost daring not breathe because he knew this was a sensitive topic for her. Maybe he believed she felt more for the man than she actually did, but regardless it was reason enough to tread carefully. Words tangled up again, and he didn’t know what to say. Half the time he wasn’t uncommunicative because he didn’t want to be, it was because he really was horrible at this sort of thing. And he felt partly responsible for the mess with Banner, too, because if he hadn’t hurt her then maybe she wouldn’t have had to find solace in another man, a man who could give her what she wanted if only she would just get over him. Bruce hardly thought, even for a moment, that he was worth all this pain and heartache.
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out with him.” He could feel the walls creeping back up, armor and steel, because he had a tendency to always say the wrong thing by this point and, even when he thought there couldn’t possibly be anything left to break, there usually was. “He started to… turn? Into the Hulk?” That was alarming. He knew how it felt to be lashed out at, how it felt to hurt someone you hadn’t intended on hurting at all, and he felt as though he should say more, say something. “If you… didn’t feel the same way about him, then you did the right thing,” he said, oh, so carefully. And then he paused. “Tony is in a coma?” He knew he’d been in the hospital, but he hadn’t known the situation had become that serious.
He thought about what she said, about being made to survive instead of live. It sounded accurate. “I think you’re right. We don’t adapt well to change, and surviving… it isn’t the same as living.” He shook his head. “But Tim is angry at me. It made me wonder who else was. Who else thought I’d abandoned them, who else doesn’t understand why I left. Or care,” he added, but that part was quieter, as much wisp and cloud as the fog surrounding them was. He could hear her moving closer and he looked up, half-expecting to see her emerge from the haze, but no, she wasn’t that close. “I thought Dick wanted it,” he said of the cowl, of Batman. “It wasn’t fair of me to put that on him. On any of them.” But he agreed, that nothing could ever be as it was. He knew. He couldn’t get back what he’d lost and things wouldn’t just magically return to normal even if he did go back. He went quiet again for a few moments. “Maybe,” he echoed. “Maybe we all need to realize that there is no supposed to be. That there shouldn’t be. We’re all different, as you said. We need to adapt.” He was trying to do just that, but he wasn’t sure Gotham was ready. Not yet. Not when they were all still so stubborn.
More quiet followed. He was a much better listener than he was a conversationalist. He rested his chin on his knees, and he listened. “Do you fear what he’s capable of, what he’s done, or Ra’s himself?” It was a curious question, because didn’t they have time? His voice sobered, and he slumped against the wall, a marked difference in his posture when they touched upon things he felt guilty for, failures, and the bomb? Oh, he was certain he would never, ever stop feeling guilty for that. “I’m still sorry,” he said, after another pause. “About the bomb. I know it was no good then, my apology, and it’s still no good now, but…” He exhaled. “I am. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t regret it.” Might as well say it, because it was true, and in this he doubted he could make it any worse; it had already been worse. He looked down at his hands when she talked about that night on the rooftop, after Damian’s death, and he shifted, rustle of clothes and movement before he settled again. “You were trying to help, Selina. It was a bad time for both of us.”
She sighed. "I wish Tony was here. I love Stevie, but he goes overboard sometimes. We've had words ever since he tried to remove me from Marvel. He's a good friend - no, he's a great friend - but he's cruel sometimes, judgemental, and expects too much from normal people. Tony's much better at humanity." Which was a strange way to phrase it, but it was the best she had at the moment. "His blood pressure dropped," she explained of Tony, voice taut. "He has internal bleeding, and they don't know where it's originating. He needs a second surgery and he refuses to have it. He's in his forties, Bruce. It doesn't look good." She knew he wasn't close to the people in Marvel, but it was easy to talk in this thick gloom. "He finally got together with this woman that he's been in love with for a decade, and it turns out she has a pulse ability that caused him to almost die in the first place." She laughed, quiet and sad. "The universe can be so cruel sometimes."
She didn't actually expect him to pursue the topic of Robert. She expected him to let it drop into silence, and she couldn't help but smile when he said he was sorry things hadn't worked out. She could almost imagine his pained expression at even embarking down this conversational path. "Are you scowling?" she asked, grin and her tone making it evident that she wasn't taking anything badly, at least not yet. And she appreciated that he was trying; she wasn't sure she'd be able to approach the subject of Iris with as much aplomb. But, then, she'd always had her claws. "He started to turn, but it was my fault. I knew he was hurt and angry, and I was hurt and angry, and I pushed. You know how I love to push." She shook her head in the fog. "I can't be with anyone until I get over you. This taught me that. It's the right thing to do." Honesty, it was easy in this fog.