whatfriendsdo | NINJAMEME MASTERPOST 8|

[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.]

[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.]

[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.]

[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.]

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.]

'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.]

[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.

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.

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.

[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?

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

That depends on what you might do with the information.

What, you don't trust me? [Whoops, bitter.]

[He doesn't flinch. What he does do is shut the door to the room and take a small device out of his pocket, which he activates. A signal jammer. State of the art.]

Anger, resentment and bitterness can all cause a person to act outside what's normal for them.

You think I'm the type for that. [A half-question.] I might try to break your ribs with hospital equipment but Jesus, Wayne. I'm not going to do something that could get you or your boys or Alfred killed.

No. I don't think you're the type for that, but I've been wrong before.

[He's been wrong so many times. Jezebel most recently. He's never had great faith in his ability to choose women who won't try to kill or ruin him.]

[The implications of that statement fetch up against her temper. It stops her headlong charge to barb him until she gets a reaction.

Someone he'd cared about put him and everyone in his life at risk, when handed the truth. Murphy closes her eyes. She wants to hit him still. She wants to hold his hand. She wants to know why he didn't say something when they were alone on the ice, but the forgiving part of her knows why and can't argue with his reasons.]

Your boys know. [It's not a question. How could they not?] Alfred. There have to be others.

[She massages the corners of her eyes, grateful that she didn't lose fingers to frostbite but not so thankful for the way they burn against their bandages.] Let's. Pretend for a second I didn't put the pieces together. Let's pretend you came to visit, I was happy to see you, it stayed simple, you left again. Would you have told me? Would you ever have told me?

There are others. Some are enemies.

[Talia and Ra's. Strange. Bane. Thomas. To name a merry few.

I--

[He stops. Tries again.]

I knew you were smart enough to figure it out eventually. A part of me wanted you to. It's... easier. When people find out for themselves. Than it is for me to tell them.

[That's probably one of the most honest admissions he's made in a while. He looks away.]

If we grew close enough to warrant it. Yes. I would have told you.

[Probably not without prompting. From Dick, or Alfred or Tim. But he would have.]

[She eases her fingers between his, holding on lightly enough not to hurt him or herself. Murphy watches their linked hands. She wonders if she's changed, or if it's the fact that he didn't keep her in the dark for her own protection that makes this different.

As hard as he clearly makes things for himself, she can forgive him wanting this to be easier. Inhale. Exhale.

She's been dating Batman. Objectively, kind of awesome.

Keep breathing. Reorient her thinking.]

...Have you ever actually played a single game of polo? [Teasing? Maybe a little.]

[He arches one eyebrow. It's not quite surprise.]

Mm. That's classified information, I'm afraid.

[His tone is at odds with the words. He may as well be asking 'Are we going to be all right?']

Edited (excuse you DW I was not done with that tag. ) 2012-08-17 18:15 (UTC)

[Are they? She draws her hand out of his and rests both on her lap. Her palm is bleeding again from trying to clock him with the IV stand.]

...Don't lie to me again. Tell me if it's something you have to keep secret, but don't lie to me again.

All right.

[That's... probably the most reasonable reaction he's ever had to this sort of conversation, honestly. Someone who understands that not everything can be shared.

If she didn't have her place in his heart before this, she'd have earned it with that single sentence. His fingers flex against the side of the cot and he pulls away, the entire motion something of a flinch.]

[When he pulls back, for a second she's terrified she's said the wrong thing. Wouldn't be the first time. Definitely won't be the last. She holds her breath until she can speak without nerves, as gruff and impersonal as possible.]

You okay?

[He smiles. Just a little.]

I'll be better once you're out of this hospital room. I can get them to release you, if you'd prefer. We-- I have all the necessary equipment to continue any treatments you need in the Manor.

Really? [That startles the cool distance right out of her. She's not sure what she thought would change, with the truth in the open. Her track record with significant others sticking around through the first big speedbump hasn't exactly been stellar. With the promise of reasonable honesty, maybe there's no reason for him to leave, but she still half-expected it.]

NINJAMEME MASTERPOST 8|

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