NINJAMEME MASTERPOST 8|

[whatfriendsdo]

I have nothing to say here DEAL W/I.

Comments

[cowled]

[To anyone that asks, he was doing dressage. He's certainly dressed for it, in all the proper regalia. He even instructed Alfred to saddle up one of his horses, give it a work-out, and rub it down afterwards. And Bruce's clothing, while neat and pristine as ever, does look to have been used. He has the helmet off, and scrubs a hand through his hair with one gloved hand.

Getting into the room was easy. It's amazing what a little charm will do in all the right places. And he managed to do it without dropping his real name, though he thinks that one of the orderlies recognized him regardless.

He knocks gently on the door to Murphy's room. He certainly doesn't look like a man who spent sixteen hours battling hypothermia.]

Karrin?

[whatfriendsdo]

[....Not the first person she expected to see. She eases herself a little further up onto the pillows, her hands throbbing, fingers burning from injuries and exposure both.] Bruce.

[.............give her a second. Her brain is still in the reboot process.] You ditched a game of billionaire barbie dress-up just for me?

[cowled]

[He flushes a little. It's nice to be able to do that on command.]

Word travels fast. You'll be pleased to know I saw to my horse first. Are you all right?

[whatfriendsdo]

I'm fine. [It's not exactly convincing, but it's not as though she'd say anything else.] Turn the TV off? I'm about ready to put an IV stand through it.

[cowled]

[He moves to do so, turns it off with a gentle click.]

Can I get you anything?

[whatfriendsdo]

Discharge paperwork. [He voice sounds like the rest of her feels. Murphy clears her throat with a slight grimace. She gives him another look, suddenly sheepish.] ...Thank you. For - you didn't have to come. How did you even find out I was here?

[cowled]

Tim occasionally works as an intern here.

[not a lie. It's just that he's usually doing it for some purpose other than internship.]

He saw your name come up and called me.

[He slides into the chair beside her.]

I might be able to pull some strings and get you out of here. What on earth happened?

[whatfriendsdo]

Three-hour arctic tour gone horribly awry. [She squints at him, alarm bells going off somewhere underneath the mild painkillers and general mental numbness. There's something about the tidy riding clothes that doesn't jive with Bruce's general appearance, but she's a few steps behind herself in parsing out what doesn't fit.] You don't need to do me any favors. You know that.

[cowled]

Do you honestly think that stops me from wanting to do them?

[He eases back in the chair, ruffles a hand through his hair.]

I'm glad you're back. And more or less in one piece. At least I hope you are beneath all those bandages.

[whatfriendsdo]

More or less. [She closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. There's about a half-dozen distracting little pains at the motion. This is the worst part of being sick or injured - not being in total physical and mental control.] ...Are you all right?

[cowled]

[This was a bad idea. He shouldn't have come here. Her question is so completely out of place that he can't help but think that she suspects.

He doesn't react. Merely rubs his fingers across his mouth and under his jaw, bracing his elbow on the arm of the chair he's sitting in.]

Better now that I've seen you're not exactly knocking at death's door, I'll admit.

[whatfriendsdo]

Really? [That's slightly sharper. She can feel the revelation coming before it clicks, like a puzzle she's had all the pieces to coming together now that she has a picture to work from.

Windburn marking his cheeks, cracked lips. Hands covered, along with the rest of his body - nothing obvious exposed except his face. She drops both hands into her lap and gives Bruce a flat look.] Seems like it's a little cold out for polo.

[It's hardly conclusive - definitely not damning. But her certainty is growing by the second. It makes sense. From the wealth to operate on his own terms to the random injuries waved away as sporting accidents, to the odd hours and late nights where she woke up alone in his bed with a note saying there was something in the Hong Kong offices that needed executive oversight. It all makes an awful kind of sense. ]

[cowled]

[He has, at any given time, some thirty-odd excuses to explain away the certain aspects of his duties as Batman that are hard to hide.

But even as he opens his mouth to relate one of them (Clearly you've never played polo in upstate New York in mid-October--) but he gives it a moment. Stops.

He expects to feel angry. Guilty. Frustrated.

Instead he just feels lighter.]

Quite so.

[whatfriendsdo]

[She sends her empty glass flying at his head before he even realizes she wants to do it.

It's followed immediately by the pitcher.

Then her pillow.

And then the IV stand on the other side of the bed.]

[cowled]

[Okay, the cup and the pitcher he both catches, but the pillow hits him square in the face. The IV stand he wards off with one raised forearm, and it clatters to the floor. The bag of saline is torn open in the scuffle and it bleeds all over the floor like an arterial wound.

And Bruce is just-- standing there. Awkwardly holding the cup, the pitcher (the pillow now, tucked under one arm) in his dressage uniform, half-soaked in saline. His eyes are dark.]

[whatfriendsdo]

[The burst of effort leaves her feeling wasted, shaking while she tries to stay upright. A dozen expletives try to choke their way out and turn into one short strangled sound. There's nothing else in easy reach to throw at him.]

You. [What does she want to call him? What does she want to say? Something to drive him off, drive him out, leave her alone with the shame of being...

Fooled. Tricked. Into thinking she knew a man whose life played on Gotham's rooftops and dark streets. Who never left the alley where his parents died.

A horrible kind of sense. Everything he's ever said to her that didn't quite seem in keeping with the time or place, every unexpected skill.

She covers her face in both hands and hates herself for the blush of humiliation fanning across her cheeks.] ...Why are you here?

[Bruce Wayne might have come because he wanted to see if a friend and lover was all right. Batman... Batman, she has no idea.]

[cowled]

[He sets the items he's holding down. Very carefully. The cup first, then the pitcher. The pillow he leaves on his chair.]

You tore out your IV.

[His tone is neutral, oddly gentle.]

[whatfriendsdo]

[She presses a hand over the spot where the IV ripped free. Another tally-mark to add to her total list of minor injuries. Murphy's knuckles slowly go pale over the spot as she squeezes until it hurts. The pain lends her mild clarity, though she's still remembering the thousand tiny clues that made no impression at the time.

She bites the inside of her cheek, eyes locked on the wall across from the bed.]

Was it because I'm a cop? [She shakes her head as soon as the words are out. He's never asked about her job. He has too many ins with too many people to need her for that. Besides, she's hardly popular enough with the brass to be useful.

...She's making the IV spot worse now instead of stopping the bleeding. Murphy loosens her grip.

None of the reasons she can think of make sense. Bruce- Batman hasn't used her in any way she can pinpoint, but that doesn't mean it hasn't happened. She simply mightn not have caught it. There's enough that she's missed, clearly.]

[cowled]

No. It's because of who I am.

[He goes to one of the small, wheeled medicine cabinets, opens the side that holds the bandages, and pulls out a small packet of sterile gauze and a bottle of saline. Easy enough, then, to step around the wet floor and to the other side of the bed. He gestures with the as-yet-unopened packet of gauze. He'd like her to move her hand so he can work, but he'll settle for her doing it herself.]

[whatfriendsdo]

'It's not you, it's me'. [Another choked noise that sounds like the distant cousin of a laugh. She shifts and tracks his progress around the room without looking at his face. The saline and gauze gets favored with a stare as though he's offering something entirely foreign, before she takes both and goes to work with distracted precision.

She's remembering him wrapping up her fingers next to the tiny fire.

I'm the one who hasn't worked himself bloody to prove a point.

Bad enough coming from a stranger. Her hand fists around the gauze and she swings at his face hard enough to pull sore muscles, strangling a yell.]

[cowled]

[He catches her hand, his second going automatically to her elbow. He could break the joint and they both know it. Murphy's good. But being good in Judo is nothing like being trained by Shiva.

He releases her. Steps back. The look on his face is indecipherable, but his eyes are old.]

I'm not feeding you a line, Karrin. If you'd like me to leave, I understand.

[whatfriendsdo]

Would I see you again if you did?

[The question startles her. Murphy bites her lip. The tears are edging their way around carefully constructed barriers. She digs both hands into her hair, ducking her head to keep him from seeing her face. She's not some broken-hearted teenager.] God, does it even - was any of... No, you know what, I don't want to know. I don't want to know.

[cowled]

If you wanted to.

[He wants to reach out and touch her. But his hands stay at his side, short fingernails digging into his palm.]

Did I ever give you a reason to think it might not be real?

[Because he can read between the lines of her statement, tyvm. And like it or not, he's... not 'hurt', that implies a depth of emotion he's not currently feeling, but he is bothered that she would assume that everything was acting.

Then again, he understands what it's like. Being lied to by someone you trusted can force you to re-evaluate everything about them that you thought you knew.]

I care about you. The nature of my job hasn't changed that.

[whatfriendsdo]

[She smoothes her hands through her hair, control settling back over her in ripples.]

You just gave me one big damn reason, Bruce. [She presses the fingertips of both hands together and rests her forehead against them.] What does my knowing change?

[cowled]

[He spreads his hands out, palm-up.]

That depends on what you might do with the information.