[for manorly_wayne]

[alan_shore]

The guards at Blackgate are starting to know him by sight. There are no pleasantries exchanged (unless the occasional sneered “Mr. Shore” can be considered a pleasantry) or special privileges accorded (although this is Gotham-there are some who’d say emerging unscathed from one of its prisons is a special privilege), but he’s now a known quantity,

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[manorly_wayne]

Bruce isn't going to answer that. He doesn't think it's important, he doesn't think it's relevant, he thinks the answer is obvious. Why ask him questions when Alan can work out the information himself? It's ridiculous.

Why is he always surrounded by ridiculous melodramtic people?

If Alan wants to find out, he'll find out Bruce was jumped in the exercise area. Really, it's surprising Wayne could fight back as well as he could. Jumped by four guys, he came out of it OK.

The guys did too. Bruce held back, he took a beating, he's just not willing to take more than that.

And the guards took their precious time in breaking it up. That's the way it goes here. You have to let the newbies, especially the precious ones like Wayne, understand their new world order. The only way they learn is to throw them in the deep end. Either they sink or swim in a pool of their own blood.

Wayne better get used to it. That rapist murderer will be in here for a while.

"I've been waiting for you all morning - We have business to discuss, Alan. Did you get those papers drawn up? Have you got them for me to sign?"

He's talking about the papers to remove his direct involvement from the Wayne foundation. And another set to remove his connection to OsCorp. Sure, other people will need to do their bit, sign their names, but surely they will when they see Bruce has? Surely someone out there has some common sense left.

[alan_shore]

It wasn't an answer Alan had been interested in so much as a reaction--any reaction, any form of acknowledgement. Bruce hasn't so much as made passing reference to the fact that his face has been pounded in.

"Business," he repeats, flatly. "Here's a notion, if I may be so bold: how about we set business aside for the moment and instead divert ourselves with cobbling together a defense that might allow us to postpone your departure from this earth?"

[manorly_wayne]

"That's your job, Alan. See, my job was getting arrested, strip searched, roughed up a bit and forced literally at gunpoint to wear orange. Your job is to organise my defense. We can swap places if you think that the county will go for it - but so far they're not the most gracious host I've ever encountered. So until we do our prison-swap, I guess you stick to planning my defence and I stick to looking great in a jumpsuit."

This is perhaps the most Bruce has said to Alan since this whole sorry saga started.

At least he's saying something. Even if it's just the exercise of his frustration that he can't control everything (everyone) from his jail cell.

"Have you got the papers, Alan?"

[alan_shore]

"I do."

He makes no move to produce them, however.

"Bruce, I've practiced law for"--the pause isn't for effect--"twenty years now. I've represented drug addicts, I've represented Denny Crane, I've represented myself, and you are far and away the least cooperative...do you want to be found guilty? I have nothing. You've given me nothing. Even the most inept of criminals would take the trouble to concoct some sort of an alibi. You don't even--I don't even know if this is registering."

[manorly_wayne]

It's the concern that Bruce can't take. He's never reacted comfortably to concern or kindness, he'll take almost anything else as a preference. And Alan sounds noticibly concerned -

Bruce looks like he's about to speak. It's almost as if there are words just hanging in the air wanting to be heard but they just aren't able.

And then he doesn't. He sits there, arms crossed, staring at the floor, completely quiet.

What can he say? He gave his statement. He's talked about it enough.

What else can he say?

He can't explain the bruises on his body. He can't explain where he was. He can't explain his feelings for Vesper.

He can't.

What can he say?

[alan_shore]

Alan allows the silence--such as it is; complete silence is hard to come by in a prison--a few moments to settle before disrupting it.

"Do you care?" he asks, almost in a whisper. It's one of those dangerous questions he's usually careful to give a wide berth. "She was murdered. If you--if you're found guilty, that's it. Case closed.

"You should be furious," he says. "You should be--"

He takes a breath, swallows. "They know about the gun."

[manorly_wayne]

And another silence hits. Alan should be getting used to them by now. Bruce has certainly inflicted enough on him over the last few days.

"Do I care about what"? Bruce says finally.

He's not staring at the floor anymore, he's staring at an old stain in the table that sits between them. He's focused on it, trying to work out what made the stain, what would be that shape and size, what would leave such a permenant indent in laminate. His hand runs over it, he tries to feel if it's changed the quality of the surface.

He doesn't even note Alan has mentioned the gun. He presumes Alan is talking about whatever gun was used to kill Vesper. That has nothing to do with him. He didn't hit her. He didn't kick her. He didn't smash her face into the table. He didn't shoot her. He didn't kill her.

The photos they showed him over and over in that hour between the arrest and Alan making his way in. She'd looked so -

When he'd held her in those minutes before the police had arrived. She hadn't seemed cold. He knew she was dead, there was so much blood, he knew, but she hadn't been cold and part of him -

Just like that part of the eight year old boy when the cop had said it was going to be OK -

Part of him couldn't get his head to fix on the fact she was dead.

They'd showed him the photos. They'd been talking murder and for some reason at one point he'd said:

"Is she going to be OK?"

And there had been this pause in the room. Was the guy serious? What he faking? What the hell? And he'd heard someone talk about a shrink and someone else say no way, no way we're walking this asshole into an insanity defence and someone else had said: "Mr. Wayne, let me help you here."

And then Alan Shore had showed up and the party was over.

"I'd like to go through the paperwork now, Alan. I'm feeling tired."

[alan_shore]

"Your gun," Alan clarifies after a lengthy pause. If they're to conduct parallel conversations, like two people gabbing into their cellphones while occupying the same room, so be it. "The gun you obtained by less than legal means. And while this may not bode well as far as your prospects of ever again being permitted to choose your own clothes are concerned, it does serve as a superb example of things you should absolutely inform your lawyer about, so as to deny the opposing side the opportunity to ambush him with the information."

[manorly_wayne]

Just add it to the list of things ones lawyer should be informed about. It's a long list and includes everything from your alibi to the reason you're covered in defensive wounds to, maybe even, some understanding of your relationship with the deceased.

For one of the first times during the conversation his eyes meet Alan's. He looks right at Alan, so direct, like he really wants to say something.

"I have no idea what gun you're talking about."

Bruce is not giving out any information until he knows Alan knows. And even then, he may not give it out.

"Alan, I really don't feel great - "

This is true, he does not feel great at all. But since when would Bruce Wayne acknowledge that. Perhaps this situation has weakened him, made him vulnerable.

"We're just going to sign the papers and we can do this later."

Nope, he's just trying to manipulate Alan into focusing on what Bruce wants to focus on.

[alan_shore]

There's something--despite their grim surroundings, despite the stakes, despite the woman who bled to death on the floor of her apartment five days ago--there's something so juvenile about the way Bruce ventures to the very brink of saying something constructive, and then retreats. Leaving Alan feeling like a fool for having entertained the slightest bit of hope.

"No?" Alan raises his eyebrows. "Because you own such a vast quantity of firearms, is that it?"

He has no intention of discussing the papers, not until Bruce has offered him something in the way of explanation. This is, yes, partly strategic--the contracts seem to be the primary reason Bruce is willing to tolerate Alan's presence at all--and partly sheer two-can-play-at-this-game pettiness.

[manorly_wayne]

Juvenile.

Bruce really couldn't stand to be considered juvenile, not sincerely, not unless it was the part of a carefully controlled performance.

Though, if the shoe fits - or the illegally aquired firearm - then you wear it.

"I don't own a vast quantity of firearms."

Bruce Wayne, who in spite of the political flack involved is an avid advocate for gun control, an enthusiastic representative of victims rights - the damage this entire mess is going to do - he can't stand it.

Mess.

Vesper Fairchild isn't a mess. She's a person.

The look on his face isn't so blank or controlled now. The look on his face clearly says he can't stand this.

"This isn't a game, Alan."

He's not accustomed to being so contained. He's a physical person. He hasn't had any release in days - all these questions - no one is doing what he tells them to do.

"The damage this is going to do needs to be contained - do you know the effect Bruce Wayne facing these charges will have on The Foundation - do you realise what the gun lobby is going to do with this? Shareholders - we have shareholders we're answerable to - these are people who have all their retirement, all of their futures wrapped up in our company. No one seems to care that this could destroy so much - "

[alan_shore]

Something resembling a straight answer. Alan doesn't know whether to be grateful or suspicious. "Then why buy this one? Why...bribe a police officer?"

Try as he might, he can't imagine it. Bruce is all charm and flash (and underneath that a needling wit, a talent for provocation). He's not the type to transact business in dark alleys--not the type to jeopardize his manicure, never mind dirty his hands.

"I'm glad you realize that." All this time Alan's been waiting for, attempting to prod Bruce into some display of emotion, and when it comes his first instinct is to look away.

He meets his client's eyes. "You're up on murder charges and you're worried about shareholders. What about your future? Where does that figure into things?"

[manorly_wayne]

"That's very personal."

The future. Bruce can talk about that in broad terms - a new public transportation system for Gotham City, No flying cars - or in humourous terms - he'll be a bachelor till he's 135 - but when it comes to actually considering a real and concrete future for himself -

He can't do it.

He hasn't been able to do it for a long time.

When he was a child, perhaps, he'd imagine it. Or for a moment, a brief moment, a year, two or three, when he was older, he looked into a future where he imagined himself, his wife, their father - a family.

But you grow out of the fairytales - you realise how contrived they are. You realise how manipulative they are.

And now he looks forward only as far as the next crime to solve and the next fight to survive.

"There are more important things in the world than Bruce Wayne, Alan."

[alan_shore]

"You're going to be asked some very personal questions over the course of these proceedings. Might as well get used to it."

The next statement stops him cold. They're the words of a man condemned, a man resigned to his fate, not somebody prepared to put up a fight. For a moment Alan stares--at Bruce, technically, although the other man's features don't register--and then he nods, slowly, and recovers his voice.

"Are they things worth dying for?"

[manorly_wayne]

Of course they are - if you absolutely have to - but death itself strikes Bruce as a weakness, a death, at any rate, that you don't struggle against with every bit of your own will.

Vesper would have struggled. He knew that about her. She would not have gone willingly. She would have fought it with every bone and every feeling. She would have tried to live.

"You're being melodramatic." He sounds so irritated. "You're being ridiculous."

He sighs. He actually sighs in exasperation.

"My desire to sort out business, organise my house, it's not some death wish. I just need to know things out there are being handled - and then we can sort out the rest of it."

And then, before he can stop himself, the words come out, childish and petulant and the sort of thing Bruce Wayne may have said twenty years ago.

They're juvenile.

"You're the one refusing to help me."

[alan_shore]

"No," Alan says. "No, I'm the one who's been working around the clock"--his voice, usually so level, creeps up a notch--"to secure the freedom of a client with no alibi, no account of the night of the murder, no insights as to who might have wanted to shoot his girlfriend dead, no interest, near as I can tell, in establishing his innocence. I haven't refused you anything, Bruce."