nysalogs | april catch-all.

[ Two arrows, two direct hits. Bruce steps out, looking over them, letting the others pass by. There'll be other times. ]

You take that one.

[ He picks up the one closest to him, leaving the other for Rumlow. ]

[ They're hanging in the sky. Where, when — Bruce has learnt by now to simply walk through it and let it fade around them. The only real question is who, and what happens after this. They're skydiving. ]

[ He hears Eggsy's voice, and thinks, well, he hopes it's good. The boy's resilient, and he's sharp, cheerful enough, but nobody connects with Bruce unless there's something. Something there lost, missing, broken. ]

[ He feels the group fall. ]

[ It's a grand old house, every corner of the room dripping elegance. The kind that has been chosen and layered over, by generations. It should be a warm place, with cosy looking armchairs, a fireplace, and an ornate window. Light should pour in from every corner. ]

[ But it feels a little cold, a little quiet. Like the man in the middle of the room, looking up at a painting of two people, is really a ghost. ]

[ But someone laughs, to the side. Bruce's head turns, his mouth pulling in a secret smile, listening to that voice as its owner runs up and down the halls. ]

[She lifts an eyebrow.]

Alan, if you can't take a joke like that, it's going to be a long night.

[ Soft, ]

I'm not in a joking mood.

[ He scrubs a hand through his hair, and pulls the chair up beside the bed, stretching out so his heels are resting on the mattress. ]

How's the tea?

It's fine.

[It is, actually, and she sips at it, enjoying the warmth and taste. But she's watching him with a frown.]

What's wrong?

[Ironic, that she should ask that with bruises around her neck and scars all over her body. But she's not used to this reaction, and it unsettles her.]

[ Tim's gone, that's what's wrong. The ground under him — ]

[ Bruce shakes his head. ]

Ever found yourself doing something you thought you never would?

[She nods. Perhaps she wouldn't have admitted that in the light of day, but it comes easier in the middle of the night.]

Yes. More and more often here, I find.

To what are you referring?

[ More than one thing. Not just Tim, but everything else. All he's learnt and never learnt better in his years, watching the patterns even as he was remade. ]

I'm a little resistant to change.

You're going to have to be a little more specific than that.

[It isn't chiding. Just curious, slowly picking at this edge.]

Change being your staying here? Your relationship? Or . . . something else?

[ With the fall comes a feeling of breathless exhilaration. Even in the memory, the flood of adrenaline can't be dulled. Whoops and cheers scatter across the radio soundscape, tinny to the ears. The group splinters, showing off flips and playing in the sky. Only one, small figure appears late to the fall below them.

Eggsy sees Alan, distinct from the others, and understands immediately that they've been pulled inward yet again to root around in his head — but this memory is a fine one, compromising his cover but not his sense of self. Lucky. He hears his own voice, a reassurance echoed over the comms: Good girl! Glad you could make it. ]

Oi, it's your favourite! [ him, natch. ] Remember not to worry, yeah? [ He shouts audibly, voice lacking the metallic quality of the others, even though the roar of the wind and the memory ought to drown him out. Magic is a curious thing. ]

[Rumlow caught up again, noted the kills and shrugged his shoulders to the indicated animal that he was supposed to be carrying. He threw it over his shoulder, careful to try to limit the blood spillage on his clothing and followed Bruce.

Wasn't this just a fun venture? He waited to actually say anything until they had arrived to wherever Bruce intended to settle into some kind of base camp.]

You ever coming back to the city?

[ It is. And him being a reporter, well... it's actually why he doesn't want to ask questions in this case. He asks questions when something's being withheld. Right now, Bruce is as open as he can be. And that's a gift.

He'll just listen and watch and be here. He's curious if more voices will join the three. ]

[ No more do. Bruce pauses by the doorway — they've walked up the path to the house — just listening. Then, once the door closes behind them, the noise abruptly ceases. The house is quiet, the world outside turned to dusk. ]

[ He leads the way in, through the sliding door. The Cave opens up in front of them, precisely cut glass, everything lit and arranged. The sound of water falling is a constant companion to his footsteps. There's a case at the bottom of the steps, with graffiti scrawled across the uniform. On the Batmobile, there's a plate with crumbs, left there for Alfred. There is no hologram of Superman — Bruce has left that memory in the privacy of his own mind. The only redemption is upstairs, outside, the sound of that laughter. ]

[ He'll follow along, looking around with obvious curiousity. He has questions on his face, things he wants to know, but he's determined not to have the first thing out of his mouth be a judgement or a question. Finally- ]

I was curious about the echoes.

[ He looks around. ]

The previous installation was roomier.

[ And had real bats, something Clark would no doubt find amusing. ]

[ It's a quick walk, past the trees, across the path, to a little clearing where there's a fire. He'll move, either in a few days or few hours, just because he likes to. The real base is far from prying eyes, and Bruce will never lead anyone there. ]

Miss me already?

[ He would. Also- ]

Why'd you move?

[This was too open to be the prime base of sulking or whatever it was that Bruce was doing out here. It wasn't defensible enough, though it looked like some Robin Hood encampment minus the girl. He wandered over to a place between two trees and dropped the dead deer there, dusting his hands on his pants.]

Making certain you're not dead in a ditch somewhere.

( of all the conversations she was expecting, it wasn't this one. and yet perhaps it is something she should grow better at expecting. she and Bruce had been awake for months now, and that time was punctuated with people waking and people returning to stasis. too many of those names they were mourning were the children he loved so dearly.

she takes his hand proper and clasps her hands over the calloused skin. presses his palm to her heartbeat before she speaks, because she knows that is the only part of her left without fortifications and defenses. )

I'm sorry. ( even such a simple phrase doesn't seem to say as much as she wants to. it doesn't feel enough. yet, what is enough, when it came to losing a loved one all over again? )

[ Acidly, ]

Because I burned my house down.

[ A lot follows. Now it's an even bigger eyesore, don't know what to do with that place anyway. He settles instead to press at the computer screen, for the illusion of doing something spontaneous. ]

[ Dry, ]

I'm flattered you care.

[ He doesn't, of course. Bruce just picks up the knife to make ready to prepare the deer — gesturing a place for Rumlow to sit with his own. ]

What've you been up to, besides being a busybody?

[ They've both lost, and they both take it hard. His own breath betrays him with a stop, his eyes close, she answers the unspoken, unacknowledged need. Prolonged contact, the reminder that he still has her. That he can close his hands over it and hold it as long as he needs. ]

There's a glass case in the cave. It belongs to my son.

[ Speaking after a moment, after her apology has sunk in (it says enough, he accepts it). Bruce knows she's seen it, the graffiti, the unspoken horror. ]

[ A beat, and, ]

I swore no more, after him. Then —

[ Then Cass. Then Tim. ]

[ There's a variety of things he can think to say to that, but he's not sure which one is the best one. That's why he just makes a noncommittal noise and settles into another chair, scooting it over to sit with Bruce. It's a little bit calling his bluff but mostly just joining him. ]

[ Clark leaves very little distance between them — enough for shoulders to brush, to reach across. It's a little bit calling his bluff, but Bruce doesn't remark on it, nor does he intend to while away the afternoon in a mood that someone needs to mitigate. He just sits in his chair, absorbs the comfortable silence. ]

You must have questions.

april catch-all.

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EGGSY.

DAENERYS.

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