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A Gotham Christmas, Epilogue - Bruce.
Jan. 6th, 2015 01:06 pm{Part four}
Bruce was waiting for me at the airport’s bar. Bruce. Not Batman, not billionaire playboy Bruice.
Just Bruce.
As dressed down and I was dressed up, no-one looked twice at either of us.
Public place, nice and open. The place you break up with someone in the hope they won’t make a scene.
I’d laugh if my ribs didn’t hurt so much.
“You’re dressed wrong if you think you’re going to take me down.” I kept my tone light and conversational, and soft enough not to be heard by anyone but him.
Internally, I was thinking Oh crap, I’m going to have to burn this alias!
He’s expression was neutral, almost sad. “I came here to talk, not fight.”
“How long have you known?” I mutter into my scotch, refusing to look at him.
“What you were alive? Eighteen month now. Budapest.”
I snorted then, rolling my eyes. “Fuck me! That was a hatchet job.” Of all the things to blow cover over – busted in bed with two counter-intelligence agents. How embarrassing.
“The description given by the hotel manager matched the scar on your shoulder too accurately to be a coincidence.” Bruce continues, not having a go at me for my bad language for the first time in living memory. “I had to be sure so I left breadcrumbs, hoping you’d show yourself again. Who was the young man you were working with in Lisbon?”
“Sasha sold me out.” I growled, slamming the glass down heavily enough to crack it.
“She took the job in good faith. She had no reason to know I was the buyer. But even then, I wasn’t sure till you doubled back for the hostages. You never could resist gunfire.”
The fondness in his voice was like a punch in the gut. “Fuck you, Bruce. Fuck you sideways. I’m gone.” I grabbed my coat and turned to leave but he had my wrist, just above the fracture in my radius.
“Don’t. Please, Jason. Don’t go yet.”
I knew four ways to get out of that grip. And all of them involved more pain than I currently had the capacity to handle.
“Let. Me. Go.” Every word dripped with venom.
“Come home.” He was begging. Honest to god begging. Like it didn’t hurt enough already.
I laughed. Choked. My knees buckled. Oh fuck, that rib was out again.
He had hold of me then, pushing me back into the chair. “You’re in no state to fly.”
“You should know! You and the pretty boy damn near put me in traction.” My vision swam and I fought to focus.
“Jason, come home. Please? We’ll look after you.” He was crouched down in front of me now, hands on the arm rests of my chair.
“You know I’m going to kill him.” I swallowed bile and soured scotch, trying to pull myself together. “Sooner or later I’m going to put the Joker down. For good.”
“You know I can’t let you do that.” He sounded tired, hurt.
“You’ll have to kill me to stop me.” I spat back, finding strength in the bubbling rage within me.
“I don’t want to do that, Jason. Please don’t make me.” We were attracting attention now, the wrong sort of attention in an airport. He offered me a hand up and I ignored it, pushing past him to grab my jacket and my boarding pass.
They were calling my flight. It was now or never. I didn’t turn back to see if he was following me, I didn’t need to. “I’ve leaving Gotham, Bruce. Stay out of my affairs and I’ll stay out of yours.”
I heard him lick his lips, the way he did when he was trying to find the words. “You’re my son, Jason. And I love you. Don’t leave now, not now that I’ve got you back.”
I felt the air go out of me but I kept walking. If I hesitated, if I turned - he’s have me. “Your son is dead, Bruce. The Joker murdered him.”
I powered through the gates, flashing my boarding pass without slowing. I couldn’t let him see the tears welling in my eyes.
~ Fin ~
Bruce was waiting for me at the airport’s bar. Bruce. Not Batman, not billionaire playboy Bruice.
Just Bruce.
As dressed down and I was dressed up, no-one looked twice at either of us.
Public place, nice and open. The place you break up with someone in the hope they won’t make a scene.
I’d laugh if my ribs didn’t hurt so much.
“You’re dressed wrong if you think you’re going to take me down.” I kept my tone light and conversational, and soft enough not to be heard by anyone but him.
Internally, I was thinking Oh crap, I’m going to have to burn this alias!
He’s expression was neutral, almost sad. “I came here to talk, not fight.”
“How long have you known?” I mutter into my scotch, refusing to look at him.
“What you were alive? Eighteen month now. Budapest.”
I snorted then, rolling my eyes. “Fuck me! That was a hatchet job.” Of all the things to blow cover over – busted in bed with two counter-intelligence agents. How embarrassing.
“The description given by the hotel manager matched the scar on your shoulder too accurately to be a coincidence.” Bruce continues, not having a go at me for my bad language for the first time in living memory. “I had to be sure so I left breadcrumbs, hoping you’d show yourself again. Who was the young man you were working with in Lisbon?”
“Sasha sold me out.” I growled, slamming the glass down heavily enough to crack it.
“She took the job in good faith. She had no reason to know I was the buyer. But even then, I wasn’t sure till you doubled back for the hostages. You never could resist gunfire.”
The fondness in his voice was like a punch in the gut. “Fuck you, Bruce. Fuck you sideways. I’m gone.” I grabbed my coat and turned to leave but he had my wrist, just above the fracture in my radius.
“Don’t. Please, Jason. Don’t go yet.”
I knew four ways to get out of that grip. And all of them involved more pain than I currently had the capacity to handle.
“Let. Me. Go.” Every word dripped with venom.
“Come home.” He was begging. Honest to god begging. Like it didn’t hurt enough already.
I laughed. Choked. My knees buckled. Oh fuck, that rib was out again.
He had hold of me then, pushing me back into the chair. “You’re in no state to fly.”
“You should know! You and the pretty boy damn near put me in traction.” My vision swam and I fought to focus.
“Jason, come home. Please? We’ll look after you.” He was crouched down in front of me now, hands on the arm rests of my chair.
“You know I’m going to kill him.” I swallowed bile and soured scotch, trying to pull myself together. “Sooner or later I’m going to put the Joker down. For good.”
“You know I can’t let you do that.” He sounded tired, hurt.
“You’ll have to kill me to stop me.” I spat back, finding strength in the bubbling rage within me.
“I don’t want to do that, Jason. Please don’t make me.” We were attracting attention now, the wrong sort of attention in an airport. He offered me a hand up and I ignored it, pushing past him to grab my jacket and my boarding pass.
They were calling my flight. It was now or never. I didn’t turn back to see if he was following me, I didn’t need to. “I’ve leaving Gotham, Bruce. Stay out of my affairs and I’ll stay out of yours.”
I heard him lick his lips, the way he did when he was trying to find the words. “You’re my son, Jason. And I love you. Don’t leave now, not now that I’ve got you back.”
I felt the air go out of me but I kept walking. If I hesitated, if I turned - he’s have me. “Your son is dead, Bruce. The Joker murdered him.”
I powered through the gates, flashing my boarding pass without slowing. I couldn’t let him see the tears welling in my eyes.
~ Fin ~
