bruce & cat | you're just like an angelobscuronoctisMarch 15 2010, 06:32:09 UTC
He dreams of her and her steely gaze, hands clasped around the shoulders of a young boy who stands with his back to her chest, who watches him with blue eyes that are familiar in a way he can't place and doesn't want to, but Cat's already made her decision and in doing so, she's made their decision.
“You're going to do this,” she informs him. “I won't threaten you because I don't have much to threaten with, but you're going to do this.”
She cries, then, because she can feel his panic and also because she's never made a decision for them before - it's his mind, his body, his soul and his life and she's nothing but an echo, a decoration on his psyche, a little heart-pin on his sleeve no one can see but them. He holds her and he doesn't understand and she won't explain, just cries into his chest and says, “I love you.”
When Bruce meets him for the first time - nine years old, a little too young though neither of them quite know why - Richard Grayson looks up, hand in his, and asks if he's supposed to be his dad now. Bruce tells him no, kind of lamely, but that they've both been screwed in the parents department and it might be nice to live somewhere and not to have to worry about people looking at him funny, wouldn't it? Richard thinks about this for a moment and seems to decide it's a pretty good answer, and presses his cheek against his hip and hides in his shadow for the rest of the meeting with the adoption agency like he already belongs there.
Rachel's mother, who'd been Elizabeth Grayson before she was married, isn't as upset over the deaths as her nephew is - she'd lost contact with her brother years ago, and never knew her sister-in-law. She and Bruce talk in quiet voices about family and mortality and Bruce pretends that these are things he hasn't morosely contemplated for a lifetime. He sits at Rachel's grave later and tells her that his son is the last of them both, now.
(Alfred hits him in the back of the head and says, “The first.”)
He doesn't see Cat in his dreams anymore - not really. Sometimes he sees her face or hears her laugh or smells her, but it isn't her, not like it was, not like his mermaid, his heart, and when he realizes it he doesn't cry, just lets out a breath that he feels like he's been holding since long before he learned to love at all.
“You're going to do this,” she informs him. “I won't threaten you because I don't have much to threaten with, but you're going to do this.”
She cries, then, because she can feel his panic and also because she's never made a decision for them before - it's his mind, his body, his soul and his life and she's nothing but an echo, a decoration on his psyche, a little heart-pin on his sleeve no one can see but them. He holds her and he doesn't understand and she won't explain, just cries into his chest and says, “I love you.”
When Bruce meets him for the first time - nine years old, a little too young though neither of them quite know why - Richard Grayson looks up, hand in his, and asks if he's supposed to be his dad now. Bruce tells him no, kind of lamely, but that they've both been screwed in the parents department and it might be nice to live somewhere and not to have to worry about people looking at him funny, wouldn't it? Richard thinks about this for a moment and seems to decide it's a pretty good answer, and presses his cheek against his hip and hides in his shadow for the rest of the meeting with the adoption agency like he already belongs there.
Rachel's mother, who'd been Elizabeth Grayson before she was married, isn't as upset over the deaths as her nephew is - she'd lost contact with her brother years ago, and never knew her sister-in-law. She and Bruce talk in quiet voices about family and mortality and Bruce pretends that these are things he hasn't morosely contemplated for a lifetime. He sits at Rachel's grave later and tells her that his son is the last of them both, now.
(Alfred hits him in the back of the head and says, “The first.”)
He doesn't see Cat in his dreams anymore - not really. Sometimes he sees her face or hears her laugh or smells her, but it isn't her, not like it was, not like his mermaid, his heart, and when he realizes it he doesn't cry, just lets out a breath that he feels like he's been holding since long before he learned to love at all.
Dreams end, but only because you wake up.
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