Karrin Murphy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
whatfriendsdo) wrote2012-07-14 05:48 pm
whatfriendsdo) wrote2012-07-14 05:48 pmEntry tags:
NINJAMEME MASTERPOST 8|
I have nothing to say here DEAL W/I.
whatfriendsdo) wrote2012-07-14 05:48 pm
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[No, really. He means that. The Batmobile is voice-print activated, with broad-spectrum DNA sequencing. No one can even get close to it without activating its defenses, unless they know its - and by extension Bruce's own - tricks.]
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I'll hijack one of those fancy sports cars and tailgate you all the way through Gotham.
[.....she does not, however, accept her limitations gracefully.]
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[He kisses her cheek, the gesture almost chaste but hardly naive in its chastity, and moves to get up. There's a telltale signal visible through the window. Gotham's own nightlight, made to chase away the monsters.]
Duty calls. Will you be all right here?
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I mean it. About the ride-along.
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[It's not hard or outright dismissal. He's seen what she can do. For someone who hasn't been training for this life twelve hours a day since she was pre-pubescent, he has no doubt she could do the job. But she needs training, a uniform. All things he insists on for people who want to run in his turf. Onyx is the only one he tolerates using her real name and face, and that's due to her connection to the League.]
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Her problem. Not his.]
Promise me.
/phonetags
[It's as close as he ever comes to reassuring.]
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Wake me up when you get back. [As though she plans on sleeping.] And don't get killed.
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Of course.
[This is the story of how he leans down and kisses her forehead, and then heads out for the night.
Bruce is generally gone from ten until six in the morning - sometimes shorter or longer depending - and this time he stumbles in at four. His injury tally is somewhat higher than he appreciates it being - two broken ribs, numerous contusions, a light concussion and a knife wound that bit through his kevlar and etched a line across one shoulder.
But, true to his word, he stops in front of the couch.]
Karrin.
[Just her name, pitch-perfect to draw her from her dreams.]
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I'm going to shower. Care to accompany me?
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[His injuries are non-issues, as far as he's concerned. But he does catch her hand, tangle their fingers together and head for one of the manor's more luxurious showers. He's still in uniform, which is probably a mark of how tired he is, only the cowl is pushed back. His hair is ruffled, and damp with sweat. These suits don't breathe as well as they probably should.]
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Murphy has to bite down on the grin that threatens at those words. Because honestly, it can't be the most ridiculous scenario in which she's ever found herself. There's something about the sentence, though, that makes her want to laugh.] Another night in Gotham doing what?
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Oh, you know. Hitting up all the best parties.
[That's part Bruce and part Batman. The lines blur with her. He tugs her into the bathroom and releases her so he can undo his uniform. It's a process, and there are all sorts of security overrides built into the suit. The sort that deliver a large - but nonlethal - shock to anyone trying to tamper with it if he's unconscious.]
I have a mild concussion. You really shouldn't let me sleep after this.
[Innuendo? Maybe. He tosses the gauntlets into one corner of the (elaborately ornate, completely marble-walled bathroom) and the utility belt follows shortly afterwards. The rest is just the semi-rigid nomex-and-kevlar weave, which he peels off.
Say what you will about Bruce, he's not the least bit self-conscious about his body.]
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When she looks up, he's undressed, his fresh bruises evident, along with old scars. More than she's ever seen on him. Murphy knew he wore high-quality body make-ups to hide the worst marks from former injuries - hard to play the suave playboy when you look like a mercenary. But this is the first time she's seen him naked in the most honest way.
She brushes hand across the puckered dip in his chest that marks an impaling he probably shouldn't have survived. It only takes a second to strip of her borrowed shirt, to figure out the few-too-many knobs in the shower. She closes her eyes and lets the water soak her for a breath, anchor her. His body is a war zone of miraculous survivals. It's...
A reminder, that's all. A reminder.
Murphy finds a soft cloth and a bar of soap, lathers the former, and takes her turn to lead him into the water. She starts with that mark on his chest, cleaning it carefully, moving on to another jagged stripe cut sideways down to his torso. She kisses it, tastes a trace of sweat and the musk of used kevlar, and swipes away both with lavender and citrus. Mark by mark, cut by cut, scar by scar.]
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Nice. Comfortable. He barely thinks about the scars he's earned in the line of duty. Each proverbial pound of flesh a necessary sacrifice.
He closes his eyes under the water, raises one hand to press his palm against the wall, fingers curled under. Not quite a fist, but... tense.]
If you plan on getting every one, we'll be here-- a while.
[His voice is a little rough, tho.]
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[Not demanding, not teasing. A promise. I'm not going anywhere if you don't want me to. Murphy slips her empty hand around his waist and holds herself against him, lightly enough to not put pressure on ribs she recognizes as being at least cracked, based on the bruises. The water gathers in the dip where their bodies meet and crests over her shoulders, tickling in a fresh wave down her back.]
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Wayne boardroom meeting at one. Besides that, I'm yours.
[He's honestly not sure how much he means that.]
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How she does this to herself is a mystery - loving so much so quickly. It happened with Kincaid. It happened with Harry, despite the time it took her to see and accept it. It's as true and as honest with Bruce as it was with either of the other two.
Murphy wrings the cloth clean and retrieves the soap again, cleaning a fresh scrape until tiny ribbons of blood chase the ugly scabs down the drain.
She won't say it - it's too potent and too threatening a word, at least for her. Love has never been simple or easy, and it's always been dangerous.]
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Karrin--
[No. He stops, steps away from her and turns to face her. It's always strange, when he realizes how small she is. She projects beyond her space.]
I'm sorry I brought you into this. You deserve better.
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[She reaches up to touch the scratch the knife left in his chest with one fingertip.] This is my life. You're a part of it. You didn't bring me into it, Bruce. A bridge troll did that when I was barely twenty. My dad did it when I was just a kid. Would being ignorant be better?
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[Gentle teasing. He reaches to push his fingers through her wet hair, and from there to the back of her neck. When he is walking that line between Bruce Wayne and Batman, every move he makes is like a tensile wire pulled taut. There's a sense of... restraint beneath every motion. It's as if gentleness in a learned thing for him, rather than innate.
Once upon a time, the reverse was true. But that little boy is dead.
He tugs her forward into a kiss under the spray of the shower.]
I'm not implying you can't handle it, Karrin. Putting people I care about in danger is always difficult for me.
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You haven't put me anywhere. I choose to be here. It's my choice. [She pulls him down into another kiss.] I'll say it as many times as it takes for you to hear me, Wayne.
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