The night of the rescue, after Bruce and Eddie talk...

[knight_so_dark]

...Bruce returns to his apartment. He even goes through the lobby, instead of some insanely convoluted security-dodge. He doesn't need to, this late at night, and he doesn't feel like bothering right now.

He makes his way, ninja-quiet, to the kitchen, wanting something quick and microwaveable to eat, before he showers and goes, finally, to bed.

Comments

[ducttape_hero]

Has he forgotten that he invited a teenager to live with him? A teenage boy? Peter's up for second dinner, perched in the dark on one of the stools by the breakfast bar with half of a toasted sandwich in his hands, the other half on a plate. (Okay, so he's a tidy teenage boy.)

When Bruce comes in, he's caught midbite, awkwardly silent.

[i_own_this]

It's been a while since he was a teenage boy, you know. So, yeah, he pauses when he realises that Peter's still up, but... Peter knows, so no excuses are necessary for coming in, this late. And right now, that's justification enough for him to step the rest of the way into the kitchen, nodding to Peter as he -- carefully -- starts pulling off his gloves.

[ducttape_hero]

He finishes that bite with a bob of his head, and smiles in greeting.

"Hey," he whispers, conscious of the silent penthouse around them. "How'd the night go?"

[i_own_this]

The gloves come the rest of the way off, and are dropped on the counter. His hands are a lovely, patchy pink, with red creases where friction has irritated the burnt skin. He smiles, sheepishly. The same kind of smile he'd give Alfred. "Better than usual," he replies, just as quietly, going over to the fridge. Are there hot pockets? Yes, there are. Good. "Caught the Joker. Found Dr. McCoy." A moment where he's quiet, and there's just the crinkling of plastic. Debating... "Talked Eddie into going back to Arkham."