Jason Todd is (thelazarus) wrote in rooms, @ 2014-08-11 21:50:00 |
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Entry tags: | !dc comics, *log, bruce wayne, jason todd |
[quicklog:jason t/bruce w]
Who: Jason and Bruce
What: A Batcave quicklog.
Where: The Batcave, DC.
When: After Jason visited Crane's last known location.
Warnings/Rating: Nope.
[It wasn't Jason's first choice, going to the manor. His most recent memories of it were red-tinged and fragmentary, and they stung hot to the touch with rage and shame. But he had gone all the same, to pretend that he was useful if nothing else.
The back of his throat still ached when he woke up every morning, and Dick had been diplomatic enough not to mention it if he'd heard why. Jason would avoid sleep as long as possible to tease it on, but when it did arrive, it did him little good. The trip to Crane's had been a welcome excuse, in the end.
The rat's last hidey hole had been nearly a bust aside from some old toxin and a few leaned-out hard drives, but dust and bits and pieces were better than nothing, and anything was better than sitting on his hands when everybody in the other door was an isolated world away and dying. Anything, too, was better than sitting with his own thoughts, feeling useless in Dick's apartment. He didn't particularly want to see anyone, but he didn't want to do nothing, a paradox that meant he had to swallow the potential of running into someone at the Cave.
He hadn't seen Bruce since before he'd run off to Italy, and he honestly didn't know what Bruce knew of what had happened in his absence, how much or how little, how much he actually cared. After all this time, he did think he had finally figured this Bruce out, at least the basics. He was a good, solid man, with enough of a commitment to Gotham that a chance at escape hadn't drawn him away forever. He didn't seem fond of the responsibility of a family full of crazed brats, which made Jason flicker with bitterness, but what in the hell didn't these days? It was hardly his fault that every crazy kid in Gotham had been dropped into his lap. He expected nothing and would receive nothing, and fair enough. That was how it ought to be. No one owed Jason a goddamn thing.
He was sitting in the chair at one of the cave's computer screens, watching as the instruments rattled off an analysis of Crane's toxin. It meant nothing to him, really. Chemistry had never been a specialty. It might mean something to Stark or Banner or Gwen, though, and that was good enough. Behind him, the hard drives whirred, hooked up to the computer and buzzing away as it scrubbed them for the faintest remnants of data.
Which meant there wasn't much to do but wait, so he had no choice but to greet the presence on the stair.] Forget your laundry?
[Jason looked like hell. No sleep and little to eat hadn't done wonders for his figure, and if he was standing up and clean it was only because he had Dick hovering and worrying enough to guilt him into taking care of himself.]