Re: quicklog, gotham: wayne manor
[It would be easier to pretend that Alfred was talking about the explosion, about physical injuries, and argue in that regard. Bruce thought about it, but he couldn't quite manage to make the progression to words. If armor existed that could protect from death and all the pain that followed he'd do anything to get his hands on it, or at least that was how he felt just then. But no such thing existed; Alfred was right.
He didn't want to move. He wanted to resist, to close himself off entirely. It occurred to him, though, that the less he argued the quicker this could be over. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but the more he persisted the longer this would drag on, and he was tired, sore, lacking the necessary strength to put up a real fight. He sighed.] Fine. [Jaw clenched, he eased himself up onto the couch with the precision of a man who was used to being injured, and used to hiding it. He kept his gaze firmly fixed on his knees, and maybe this was better, something else to focus on that wasn't Damian. A distraction, however fleeting.] I don't think anything's broken. Sprained, maybe. [His tone was flat, matter-of-fact, as he removed what remained of the kevlar.]