redux

[bossymarmalade]

He is standing in front of the Computer’s console, dressed down, and that alone is enough of a signal at that point, for anyone in Bruce’s personal life, what he has planned for the day: the black faux-turtle neck, slacks, boots are not Wayne Enterprises wear, and while not the suit itself, lend themselves more to the cape-and-cowl vigilante than they do anything else in the man’s life.

Bruce hears her coming down the stairs, her light footfalls and unique rhythm indicating to him who it is, long before he sees her face. So, without turning, he states, avoiding a preamble he knows will just be awkward, rife with tension, and, more than likely, would make him lose the steel he had laced his spine with. His fingers move across the keys, as he stares at the footage—Scarecrow, during one of his psychiatry sessions at Arkham, it looks like—entering data into the database file on the villain as he speaks.

"I’m not—"

No, he thinks, that’s not what I’d planned to say, but then it’s too late, and he’s already started. His fingers stop moving, and everything falls silent.

”..I’m not your father," he says, the emotion carefully excised, manicured from the statement, or at least, so Bruce thinks. The sound wafts back up, bounces off steel and granite, and there, in the open soft vowel of the last word, a droplet of the stuff: sadness. Bruce winces. Shakes his head and rises from where he’d been hunched, arms folding across his chest as he brings himself to look at her, gaze heavy and hard in the darkness of the Cave.

"I’m not your father," he repeats, slowly, carefully, before adding: "..but that doesn’t mean that the Manor cannot be a safe place for you, whenever you need it."

A beat, he licks his lips and amends:

”..want it."

Steph hadn’t even made it all the way across the room to him before Bruce started speaking, sounding harsh, making her stop mid-step, suddenly feeling as thought he was about to start yelling at her. Yep, she’d definitely crossed a line earlier. Steph thought that they’d ended on a good note, but Bruce’s agitated voice and how he refused to even look at her told her otherwise. ‘Shit shit shit,’ was all she could think, standing in the middle of the open lab space, feeling awkward.

Her stomach sank to her toes when he told her he wasn’t her father. ‘Yeah, I know that. I’ll stop it with the hugging and the Father’s Day present and the trying to be civil, I get it!’ she wanted to say, anything to get out of the lecture about boundaries Steph could feel coming on. Because she couldn’t believe he was going to throw her dad in her face right -had no idea what had made Bruce so mad at her that he would have the gall to go there- and it made her simultaneously livid and hurt. She clenched her fists, resigned to stand her ground at least.
And then Bruce went and surprised the hell out of her with how gentle his voice became and she listened to how he finished the thought. Any tenseness in her body drained and it took Steph a minute to process what he was saying, implying. “I-" After all this time, after everything, he was telling her she had a home here. She didn’t know what to say to that. But she swallowed the lump in her throat, nodded dumbly, and tried anyway.

"Thank you," she said in a voice that didn’t sound like her own. “I, um, I do feel safe here. You guys have made me feel at home and I appreciate it." Steph was touched to say the least. She had had no idea he felt like that and certainly hadn’t seen it coming from how their talk started. “I’ll come back you know," she said, sounding more like herself, smiling softly at Bruce. “And I promise that I’ll ask for help if I need it. Thanks again for helping me this past week." Steph wondered just how far she would be pushing her luck if she hugged Bruce again and screw it, giving him one more hug (for now hehe) goodbye around his waist, warm and comforting and saying what neither knew exactly how to phrase. “Uh, I think Alfred was making sandwiches upstairs if you wanted lunch?"

touching base

[bossymarmalade]

Guy flew over the streets of L.A., and touched down in front of the office building. It was nice that this time he didn’t have to shove past protesters outside the front door. Soon he was leaning on the desk of a law clerk sitting near entrance, flirting with her. Not only was she pretty, but she was as pleased to see him as the last time.

"I ah, don’t have an appointment, gorgeous," he told her, trying to remember her name, looking idly over her desk for a name plate or personalized coffee mug, “But I’m here to see Kate Spencer-Queen. I don’ mind waitin’ a bit, as long as I can wait here…" he grinned at her.

The offices of Spencer Law were such that formality wasn’t stood upon, much, overall. This was probably why the clerk (whose name was Ming, though there wasn’t anything on her desk to indicate as such, unfortunately for Guy), while laughing a little to herself, then turned and hollered down the hall instead of paging her boss, or making a phone call.

"KATE," she called. “KATE, GREEN LANTERN GARDNER IS HERE TO SEE YOU." Ming paused, looked back at Guy, gave him a bright smile, then turned back to the hall. “YOU DON’T NEED TO HURRY."

Which meant the whole office was now entirely aware of who was there and why. Inside her office, Kate pinched her brow—not because of Guy turning up, but because of the way he was announced—and sighed, softly, to herself. “I’ll be out in a minute, sorry," she called back, and started to tidy up her papers.

( redrawing maps )

business lunch

[bossymarmalade]

[ENCRYPTED TEXT] Is there anything you can tell me about the case the city of Los Angeles is bringing up against Promethean Arms Development?


He sends the next message almost immediately after the first; it’ll arrive as she’s reading the first.

[ENCRYPTED TEXT] Good afternoon, Kate.

TXT: And good afternoon to you too.


TXT: "Anything" is damn vague, Bruce. Narrow it down for me.

[ENCRYPTED TEXT] Who CI #9854 is.

Kate heaved a sigh, rubbed the bridge of her nose and her brow between two pinched fingers.



TXT: From DA office scuttlebutt? one of their exec engineers randomly grew a conscience. All I know is a he, he’s got a partner and child that are already in DWP and a male lover under police protection, and he’s a smug asshole regardless.


TXT: if that narrows it down. their senior mgmt is about 150 ppl & 95% dudes.

One hour later, after several deleted drafts.

TXT: did you want me to find out names or were you planning on doing that yourself, querido?
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] More than enough information for me to go on. You’ve saved me a lot of time.

[ENCRYPTED TEXT] Thank you.

Ten minutes later.

[ENCRYPTED TEXT] When can I see you?

( billable hours )

corrected flight

[bossymarmalade]

[Ring Txt] Well I ain’t Jimminy Cricket sittin’ on yer shoulder, chucklehead! Ha! Put the beer on ice, amigo, I’m incomin’.

[Ring Txt] Well well well

Fortunately, it being summer, Kyle already had a fridge well-stocked with beer. However, it was all lagers and only a couple ales, so he nipped out and got some darker brews at the corner store, as well as a bag of pretzels.

[Ring Txt] Sending coords for my place. I’m on the top floor so I’ll wait for you on the roof, mano. Welcome back.

Eventually Guy did touch down, grinning to see Kyle. “There’s my partner!" he grabbed Kyle’s forearm in both hands before pulling him into a hug. "Mogo an’ Sora say ‘hi’."

"Oh cool, cool - come on down," Kyle trotted down to the stairwell, back to his apartment, where he furnishes them both with beers and opens the bag of pretzels. He didn’t have a big bowl, but who cared, they could easily eat out of the bag.

"So - so you’re back! 2814.2 and all that? What happened?"

Guy was in mid-swig, and and extended it a little, partly from just enjoying the cold beer going down, and partly to keep his friend in suspense. "Officially, 100% certified fit for duty an’ back on the job!" he clinked his bottle to Kyle’s. “I turned in my ring, then hung out with Mogo. Relaxed, talked, did a little water skiing, tossed a little fruit around, y’know. Then back to Oa, a scan and a chit chat with Sora, clean bill of health, an’ back on duty!"

He took another healthy swig, leaned back against the couch and nodded, “All true. ‘Cept for the water skiing. So. What’s new with you?"

( proposals )

contact

[bossymarmalade]

Kyle showed up at the appointed time, back in Queen Tower and headed straight down into the sub-sub-sub basement where the HSR awaited. He went into the control room again, mostly just to brace his arms against the console and flip on the power to the HSR, bathing it in a dim light. It looked as perfect as the first time Bruce sent him in there.

To say that Bruce Wayne—Batman— never got nervous would be a mistake. It wasn’t that he never felt the fringes of his nerves give, fray in the wind with certain situations, or with certain people. It’s just that, unlike any of his colleagues, his peers, Bruce just doesn’t let it show.

Still, there were tells: the bob of his knee as he turned in his chair, the way he flicked his wrist, a bit too hard, to look at the time. The way his shoulders hunched as he moved over towards the elevator, located on the long stem of the E shaped hallway, gave him away and he pushed the tension down when Kyle emerged from the HSR itself, at the end of the hall, nodding at him: "Is she here yet?"

Kyle noticed absolutely nada of Bruce’s quirks when he arrived and instead gave the older man a chipper grin. "Who? The HSR?" Kyle asked dumbly. “Someone else is coming here? Kate?"

Bruce shook his head, and looked past the Lantern, to the elevator as it dinged shut again. He frowned a touch, and looked back to Kyle. "Kate?" The older man mused, out loud, unsure of what Kyle meant by that statement. The knit in between his brows grows.

Kyle stared back at him and ventured another guess. "…Diana? Is she who here yet? I don’t know who she is."

Bruce folded his arms over his chest and stated, voice curled over the consonants and vowels of the woman’s name carefully, almost tenderly. “Mar’i."

"Oh!" Kyle threw up his hands and then curled his shoulders in again, tilting his head in utter confusion now.

"Mar’i? She’s not here? Bruce you know I’d do anything for the - for, for the good of the team," Kyle said, glancing at the HSR screen and then back at Bruce, “But I just showed up, same as you."

A few floors above the HSR chamber, Mar’i landed on the rooftop of Queen Tower with a soft crunch, heels pressing into the gravel surrounding the helipad. She pulled out her phone for what could be the fifth or sixth time at least, staring down at Bruce’s texts, trying to decipher what Bruce would need at Queen Tower of all places.

After a moment, she tucked her phone back into her skirt’s built-in pocket. At least Bruce had given her a reason to come to Star City, she thought with a considerable amount of warmth, looking out across the rooftop to a nearby penthouse building. She presses her access code into the entryway, then entered the lift, punching another code to be taken down to the floor Bruce had requested in his texts.

Bruce nodded and watched as the elevator reached the top floor—the single slivers of light at the top of the threshold let Bruce know where ground level was—before they began to descend again. He glanced to Kyle then, briefly, before he nodded and explained:

”..what we’ve been working on," his voice hardened a touch, a hand lifting from where he had folded his arms, to gesture behind him, at the HSR’s control room, behind them.

"—part of it, it’s for her." He turned, slightly, to look at the Lantern, just over his shoulder. “I wasn’t sure if telling you that from the beginning would have changed your desire to help me."

( fracture and shatter )

billy's pool

[bossymarmalade]

Billy's Powerpoint for a Pool




( the rest )

circling suns

[bossymarmalade]

These texts come to Roy's phone almost immediately after Mar’i leaves the hospital the night before

[TXT] just remembered i was gonna find that chapstick for you before i got the call, it’s in one of those bags, i apologize in advance for all the weird shit you’re gonna find in there

[TXT] i got you cherry hopefully you don’t hate that because you really need it

[TXT] i’m really sorry everyone in my damn city decided to rob a bank at the same time, i really wanted to stay

[TXT] like you asked. just tell Lian i said swhjrthwssssss

Fifteen Minutes Later:

[TXT] fuck sorry they hit me with the getaway car like idiots

[TXT] remember how we watched that movie and laughed over that ford pinto car and how ridiculous it looked?

[TXT] they were driving a fucking banana ford pinto, roy, they were trying to get away in a pinto

[TXT] i’m laughing so hard in the police station right now, people are looking at me like i’m crazy but i swear i saw that banana car coming at me and i could hear that damn yakety sax song

[TXT] okay i’ve gotta go, i’m laughing so hard those fake eyelashes are sliding off my eyes, i’m starting to scare people

[TXT] hug your baby and your dad for me okay? and take care of yourself

—-

He’d kept these, now, almost a month after the fact. He’d actually had to create a folder for them, and they took up a chunk of his memory, but he didn’t really mind. During the day, Lian would be eating something, or playing with Kiki or Mia or Rose, and Roy would take a minute for himself, whip out his phone and flip through them in order, rereading, and smile. Mostly to himself, in private, chewing at the edge of his thumb and thinking about her. What it meant that he was thinking about her. What it meant that he was thinking about her. ..what it meant that he was thinking about her.

He’d messaged her, earlier that morning, the sun streaming in through the patio window; the cactus was out there, soaking it all up, thriving in the humid California weather, like he’d been the lucky sunuvabitch to get it out of Arizona, alive. The text had been something stupid, something disposable, really. Just waking up. Or before his coffee. Probably just a stupid face he’d gotten into the habit of using after his Vietnamese classes. He didn’t even bother to pay enough attention to wanna go back and look at it. She hadn’t answered him, but he figured she was busy at a shoot. It didn’t bother Roy, as he slipped his phone into his pocket; he knew she’d get back to him.

He liked that it didn’t bother him.

Standing on the patio, bare toes curling against the heat of the cement underfoot in the waning afternoon sun, Roy, suddenly drawn to it, settled his eyes against the golden glow of Queen Tower, the curved shape at the top—kinda like those knives all the palace guards used, in Aladdin—glinting in the orange and blue backdrop of the Star City horizon.

It was weird, staring at it, because he normally didn’t like looking at it—it kind of looked like a shiny, enormous dick off in the horizon, to be completely honest—but suddenly, for some reason, Roy couldn’t take his eyes off it. Vision slanting towards the house, he took the first step in assuring himself that everything was fine: Lian was sitting there, playing with her ponies, just beyond the sliding glass door—she smiled at him, and he smiled back— and Mia was at the kitchen island with Rose, both of them barefoot, standing around Mia’s laptop. Kate and Ollie were off somewhere with Ramsey, he would have heard if something had gone down in that arena, so Roy brought his eyes back to Lian, strained to hear the nonsense song she was making up, her little toes curled in as she sat, criss-cross-applesauce, against the carpet. And still..

..and still, the knowledge that she was safe did nothing to shake the sudden feeling, in the pit of his stomach. Curling cold and vicious and hot like it did when there was even the barest hint of threat, that something was wrong with his girl.

His girl.

Pulling out his phone, he sent her another message.

the best part of waking up

[bossymarmalade]

Roy Harper wakes silently, and this time, thank fuck, it’s not at the bottom of a pool.


He’s in a bed. Where, again, he’s not entirely sure, but Lian’s little body is sprawled, spread eagle on the bed, drool lacing the side of her face. He watches for a moment, making sure her chest is rising and falling, his little girl’s hand curled in dark purple—hair? Roy’s eyes lift and drape over, yes. Mar’i. The young woman was bandaged and curled slightly on her side, but.. Yes. He waited. And she was breathing, too. Slowly, he extricated himself from the bed, and made his way around the space they were in.

Roy spots piles of clothing, wet from the pool, torn, and he pads over, to pick them up. Some of them were Lian’s, yeah, but the shirt was definitely Ollie’s. The soaking wet stuff? Probably Bruce’s. Roy pressed his teeth together, and glanced over towards the window, where sunlight was streaming in, squinting against the brightness of it.

Bruce Wayne and him had.. had their issues over the years, no doubt about that. Roy didn’t agree with half the shit that the guy did, even less with what came out of his mouth but.. he was one of the big timers. The big guns, Roy thought to himself. Plus, by chance or by fate, he also had a whole troop of kids to look after, himself. To be out of commission.. Roy smirked, shaking his head.

Yeah, it was a cold day in hell for him to be feeling sorry for the Batman. Glancing around, moving further in the house, he glanced out at the other bedroom, across the hall, Roy felt a slight cold enter his heart: Mia had been sleeping there, was she still there? He continued to pick up the clothes, putting the wet ones at the heart of the bundle. He glanced behind him, nudging the door open with a bare toe so he could continue to watch Mar’i and Lian sleeping, and stepped towards the other bedroom where Mia and Ramsey had fallen asleep, on the other king bed. Kate and Ollie where who-the-fuck-knew, and Ramsey, he was still sleeping, but where was Mia?

Roy lifted his thumb to bite at the edge of a rough nail, then dropped his hand and sucked his teeth. The smacking sound was loud, he was by himself, but it reminded him to get his shit together. Mia was capable— more than fucking capable— of taking care of herself. She wasn’t a child, she wasn’t Roy’s child, he didn’t need to get his panties in a wad.

..but then, Dinah’s voice, not soft—not like the way women got sometimes, like they were cooing—filtered in, speaking to the reasons why Roy was in such a state. It was alright, it said. Just keep it in check. Everyone’s on edge. And, if you can’t find her after doing your walkabout, get Ollie. Roy nodded, imperctibly, to himself. Oh, she continued, laughing. And get some coffee.

Roy was still dressed in the clothes he’d been in: jeans, Star City Thunder jersey, belt. Wallet. Wasn’t much for roughing it in the outdoors, but it would have to do until he could find something better. Slipping on his chucks, he moved to the front door. No locks? Well. That was annoying. He moved back, shutting the bedroom door on the girls quietly, Ramsey, too, before making his way out of the house and into the sunlight.

It was bright out. Christ, it was bright out, Roy lifted a hand to shield his eyes for a moment, straight palm and laced fingers creating a bill as he scanned the area, laundry still in hand. It was bright, and it was quiet, no one seemed to be up yet. And, that was okay. They’d all been up until late the night before. Roy moved, towards the longhouse, spotting a long blue outlet hose, emerging from the small building at the south end of it.

Moving towards it, he opened the small door. Success. Washing machine and dryer. He shifted towards them, eyebrows lifting at the antiquity of the machines, and also, how unused they looked. Still, he’d been in coin-laundry places with worse looking machines. It wasn’t like it was all written in Latin, or anything. Roy put the bundle of clothes in, and used a minimal amount of the soap—seemed like there was a limited supply—before he set it all to wash, and then, stepping out of the small room, caught the smell of.. Yes. Food.

Roy enters the longhouse kitchen, spotting Mia (relief number one), the food she’s cooking (relief number two) and—

"Oh, saints in heaven, that coffee?" He points at the mug by her, not caring if it’s her own cup. He steps up and takes a heavy swig.

Mia turns around and glances at the cup, “No. It’s poison —" Watches him drink it and clicks her tongue. “I guess it was nice knowing you."

Roy grins, cockily. “Delicious, delicious poison." He took another sip and set it down, reaching around and pulling Mia into a tight, hard hug.

Roy kisses the top of her head. “Glad you’re alright, bug."

Oliver drags himself in and sits down at the kitchen island as the kids hug, uninterested in anything but coffee at the moment. “You two sleep okay?"

Mia scoffs and rolls her eyes but doesn’t pull away. “Of course I’m alright." Looks over at Ollie, “No. But I made breakfast."

Roy reaches up and ruffles her hair, before he smoothes it back, and steps away, going for the instant coffee and two mugs. He ladles two spoonfuls in, before he takes a look at the amount in the jar, and then, pours it back into the container. He rescoops, this time, half the amount, into both mugs, and reaches for the kettle on the stove.

He pours the water in both, then turns, placing one in front of Ollie. He curls his fingers over the top of the mug, lifting it to his lips. “We bunked in the house across from here," he informs him. “Mar’i and Lian are passed out, Ramsey, too.." He blows across the top of the brown liquid, cooling it so he can slurp a little. “You and Kate find somewhere to pass out?"

"Breakfast." Ollie repeats it stupidly, the long night spent watching over Bruce apparent in the stickiness every time he blinks, but nothing can keep the aroma of chili from Oliver Queen for too long and he looks down at the food arrayed over the island, eyebrows raising.

"Oh! Oh, hey, jesus — eggs McChili, Mia? You’re a fuckin’ lifesaver." He helps himself to a heaping amount of scrambled eggs and chili, shoveling it in and nodding at Roy in thanks for the coffee. “Didn’t sleep much," he mumbles. “Bruce was feverish, needed to make sure he didn’t take a turn for the worse."

Roy nurses his coffee for a bit longer, before, he, too, reaches over and serves himself some eggs. “How’s the stockpile look in here?" He asks Mia, almost around a mouthful of eggs before he stops himself.

Mia takes a seat at the island with a new mug of coffee and some egs mcchili then shrugs her shoulders. “It’s alright. It’s all dried goods and canned food and stuff, obviously. But it’s ok. Not like an endless supply or anything."

"Mmmm. Hopefully we’ll be the hell outta here before that becomes an issue. Or before other things…" Ollie trails off, chewing and watching Mia, the morning sunshine catching her blonde hair as she sits with her breakfast. He doesn’t say anything about her meds; all of the Arrows are accustomed to the ritual, her regimen of pills, and their absence this morning is standing out starkly.

Roy nods. “That’s what I meant," he clarifies, stupidly, as he swallows a more-than-a-little-hot mouthful of coffee, wincing a bit. His left eye scrunches and he nods, a fist thumping the center of his chest at the burn of it.

"Ah, yeah. I went and did some laundry.." He nods towards the direction of the communal baths, where the room is connected. “There’s some stuff, but not a lot.." He stabs some eggs, looking to Mia for a second too long when Ollie trails off. He’s thinking the same thing, but no need to think on it, yet, right?

“This is pretty good, considering, though." Roy says, needing to say something.

“Yeah. We’ve all been in tighter spots before. At least this ain’t an island,” Oliver says, brightly, before adding: “…uh, as far as I can tell.

Mia looks at them both chewing on her eggs for a moment, “Wow. If there is one thing you guys have in common it’s certainly your subtlety." Shakes her head.

Roy looks to Ollie, swallowing a mouthful of eggs. “No seagulls," he states, hardening his voice, because he doesn’t want it to seem like he’s trying to comfort him.

Roy looks back to Mia, grinning, lopsidedly, a flash of chipped molar, in the back, before he snickers. “Yeah, but you love it, right?"

Oliver gives her a tired smile, although the food and coffee are visibly giving him back some energy and colour, erasing the dark bags under his eyes. “We’re a subtle people, our family," he says, and grunts in amused relief at Roy’s comment. “Although there does seem to be a shitload of owls. That was all I heard all night, was crickets and a frigging chorus of owls."

Roy "Consider yourself lucky, all I heard was Mia’s snoring." He points his fork at her. “You should have that looked at. Sounded like a freight train."

Roy demonstrates, lolling back in his hair, head tilted, making loud, loud snoring sounds.

Oliver joins in with this, chokes on some eggs.

Mia “Have you seen any of the owls? Remember to check for letters." Elbows Roy, “Uh, if I DO snore which I don’t, it’s adorable."

Roy sits back to normal, laughing, and goes back to chewing on his slightly chewy eggs. He stabs at the plate for a second, eyes trained on the particles of fluffy yellow, kinda like clouds if you squinted right.

"How’s Kyle?" Roy asks both of them, because he sure as fuck doesn’t know.

"Letters? I don’t — ahhhh, Harry Potter, right." He laughs and drinks some more coffee, slowing his food consumption. “Okay, I guess. Gardner and Cass were watching him for signs of head trauma all night." Ollie wraps his hand around the mug, savouring the warmth as he thinks of the two of them, Bruce and Rayner, laid out most of the night on those tables. They’d moved them to bungalows early in the morning, once it seemed they wouldn’t be further harmed by it.

Mia sips from her mug of coffee. “So… what’s the plan?"

Roy looks to Ollie.

Oliver puts down his mug. “So far, the plan is to explore this place to find the best route outta here. We’ve got wounded, so if we find a medical facility that would help, even before we make a move to get back home." He snorts, wryly, smiling at the both of them. An inclusive sort of we’ve-faced-down-shit-to gether-before smile. “Although I’m pretty sure we all know it ain’t gonna be anywhere NEAR that simple, considering how we all magically showed up here."

"Me and the kids found an air raid siren thing. That’s what it looked like at least. It looked like a cell phone tower with giant horns on the side of it. And considering the retro motief this place has got going on I imagine that is what it is." Mia shrugs her shoulders. “There were also first aid kits in the warehouse where the food is. And toilet paper and a bunch of other stuff."

Roy takes a sip of his coffee, and another bite of eggs. “If we’re gonna go explorin’, we need to have an order about it, you know?" He points again, with his fork, at nothing as he moves his fingers, gesturing in the air. He makes a square, hatching off lines across it. “When we were helping out with a search and rescue, first thing you do it make quadrants.. Can’t just go off willy-nilly out into the woods." He takes a bite of eggs, chewing, another sip of coffee. “Strategy!" He declares, like it’s a fucking eureka moment.

Mia smirks “Really? I thought we should all run off in different directions so we can all get hacked up by axe murders or attacked by polar bears."

( is screaming, hallucinating Green Lanterns who go running into the woods )

burning as it were a lamp

[bossymarmalade]

Bruce has soaked through the thin blanket draped over his body, grimacing as he pants. His arm flings out to the side, as his spine goes convex, he throws it off himself. He doesn’t wake, but is quiet, regardless, as he convulses. As if he knows. As if he’s trained his body to go through the motions, silently. His fever arcs high, well past triple digits now, clothes drenched across his chest, back, under arms, the backs of his knees, and he has gone pale, all without waking.

Oliver has sunk a good few hours into making six serviceable bows (unseasoned and untapered, and they’d need to dry at least overnight, but they’d work) and has just finished making two-dozen arrows. The garden shed had yielded a number of thin wooden dowels that he’d been able to cut into the lengths he’d need, and it was the whittling them to points and notching and wrapping and fletching them that ate up the rest of the time.

Still, Ollie was pleased with the small arsenal; in the hands of skilled archers like his family the number of arrows wouldn’t be an issue. He left five of the bows leaning up against one of the picnic tables in the front porch of the longhouse, taking one and two out of his bundle of arrows to Bungalow One. “Sickbay," Ollie says to himself as he opens the door, letting himself in. “Hello? Avon calling…"

Oliver sees Bruce silently straining in the bed, illness etched over his features, and drops the bow and arrows on the chair, moving over to the side of the bed. “Jesus christ, honey," he mutters, pressing a hand to the sodden clothing over Bruce’s chest, the clamminess of his forehead.

Bruce doesn’t wake, but he stirs under Oliver’s hand. His heartbeat is racing, thrumming under the solid plate of his sternum, in double-time. His mouth opens in rictus, tongue depressed, body jerking solidly on the bed he’s been placed on. It rocks the mattress on the frame against the wall, easily.

"Okay, okay okay okay…" Ollie goes into the bathroom and fills the basin with cool water, bringing it back to set on the nightstand where they’d also hopefully left a glass of the mixed fruit punch that Roy had made earlier, with a straw. “Let’s see if we can bring your fever down some, okay?"

( falling upon the earth )

out, out

[bossymarmalade]

Bruce woke at midday and wasn’t sure what time it was. He knew there was sun, bright and orange streaming in through the windows he had to the left of him, so it was still daytime. But, what day, what week.. It was all still muddled, at the bottom of his consciousness.


He shifted on the bed, swallowing roughly. His throat was shredded, breathing labored, and his eyelids were glued mostly shut.

But there was someone else there. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, unsticking it. Every single damned thing in his body hurt, down to the fibers that wrapped around the porous set of his bones, muscles wrapped tight around them with the onset of feverish rigor. Yet, nevertheless, he shifted, turned himself over and brought a hand down, against the mattress to lift his head.

Kate was sat on one of the chairs that had been dragged over near Bruce. Despite herself, despite her pose of vigil, she had started to drift off where she sat. Never a good sign, really, considering she’d been sleeping a lot since they had arrived here.

While Ollie and Steph insisted she didn’t have a fever, wasn’t sick physically, she felt unmoored, lost—it was difficult to focus on anything, to get together energy, and she knew she looked pallid, half-present. She was upset about it, that she couldn’t goddamn hold it together even for her son or for Bruce, but the moments of rage and frustration were only fleeting, something she could only grasp for a few moments instead of use as a tool.

The movement, though, made her stir in her chair, shift upwards, then catch herself.

"Bruce?" she said, quietly, almost unable to believe it.

( surfacing )

everything's all right yes everything's fine

[bossymarmalade]

Guy wakes in the forest, feeling like absolute crud. His leg isn’t just throbbing, it’s swollen. He limps back to camp at first light and rests on one of the picnic tables for a bit.

Dick wakes with the light after a strange dream, sweating more than the air should allow. He wakes Damian gently, feeds him the last of the lemon cakes, and gets him onto a bike. If they really want to make a search for Kyle, they’ll need more supplies than soaps and a single can of chili. The ride back to the camp is easy, far too short than Dick’s direction tells him it should be, but everything feels so turned around he doesn’t question it. It’s too early and he’s too exhausted. He sends Damian off to shower and sleep some more, and wheels the bicycles up to the longhouse, resting them against the front. He turns to decide what to do next—he’s tired, but he’s too nauseous from not eating, but he should tell someone what they found—when he sees Guy. A wave of relief washes over him and he makes his way over to him. “Guy! You’re safe!"

Guy opens his eyes where he’s laying on the bench of the picnic table. “Where th’ fuck have you been?" he groans. “Heard you an’ Damian…"

Dick leans a little too heavily against the table, looking over Guy. “We got lost, fell down a hill. There was something coming at us, I never saw it. I was worried it might’ve…" He reaches down and brushes Guy’s shoulder. “At least you heard us. We spent the night in an old VW bus. Brought back some bikes. There’s two more out there."

"Cool. …No sign of Kyle?" he asks. He winces as he pulls himself up, using his legs to counterbalance himself.

Dick shakes his head. “Nothing. Damian insisted he wanted to stay out there, but I got him back here. None of us are equipped enough to look for him right now. If we’re going to, we need to have some real supplies for a couple of days." He looks Guy over, taking in his appearance, his slight grogginess, and touches his forehead. “Hey, how’re you doing? You look…."

"…Like shit?" Guy finishes for him. “Feel it, too. I’ll be fine, just gotta get cleaned up. Bandage my leg, pop a few aspirins and grab some sleep before I head back out."

( let the world turn without you tonight )

branches down along the ground

[bossymarmalade]

Clark Kent raps softly on the wall outside the doorframe as he sticks his head inside Bruce’s room, the door itself already left ajar. “Heard you were awake," he says as he treads inside, favoring his left leg and doing a poor job of being subtle about it despite his efforts. “How’re you feeling today?"

Bruce lays on his side, eyes barely open and groans when Clark knocks, the noise of it resounding inside the soft, raw inside of his skull. He is deep in the fever, the medicine Kate had given him, hours earlier, nearly worked out of his system. Truth was, it was keeping the fever from arcing too high, keeping Bruce from convulsing, and he vaguely knew that all. It wasn’t anything stronger, it did nothing for the pain that was beginning to make his way through, his ribs aching. But.. Clark’s voice, the lilt at the end of his open question, the light cadence of the words, it made Bruce open his eyes the tiniest bit more. He doesn’t answer him right away, his mouth cracking open with the flaking of the skin around his lips. "..Clark."

Clark seats himself on the side of the king bed, careful not to disturb Bruce in the center of it with his own weight, scooting close to him so he doesn’t feel the need to strain himself by raising his voice. “Hey," Clark greets him again, whispering now to encourage Bruce to do the same. He touches a hand to his cheek and frowns upon still finding it warm, too warm. There’s a basin of water left on the end table, and Clark soaks one the rags strewn beside it, wringing it of excess water before draping the damp cloth over Bruce’s forehead. “Warm here, isn’t it? You’re looking much better," he says, tone optimistic even if he doesn’t necessarily feel it.

”..you’ve always… been a terrible.. liar." Bruce closes his eyes when Clark brings the cloth to his face, unwilling to shut himself off from his senses around anyone else.. except for him. Clark had always been the exception, for so many things, and in so many ways, and that thought lopes through his mind like a ravenous wolf, eating at the corners and miasma of grey, spiked with crimson, that was eating away at the pockets of his mind. The dragon was there, burning and taking. But, Clark was here, Bruce could close his eyes, and he could— Bruce’s eyes opened. “Are we under a red sun?" The dark cobalt of his gaze is glittery, out of focus, but he steels himself to look at the other man, his hand shifting under the covers to wrap around his wrist.

( beneath the curtain branches )

gutstring

[bossymarmalade]

Bette nods. “Good idea. Let’s see who else is around in the longhouse, maybe others have already found something?" She picks up her racquet and gives it a sad look, but says nothing as she leads the way to the other building. “Mmm, something smells good. Oh, hey, Ollie!"

Candy makes a beeline for the coffee, on the other side of the longhouse from the other two. “Hi, Ollie. Either of you want a drink?"

"Water, thanks, Kate." She sets down her racquet on the table and follows Kate to the kitchen to dish up some hashbrowns and scrambled eggs for herself and her cousin, and carries both plates back to the dining room. “You make this?" she asks the archer when she sits back down with her breakfast.

Oliver looks up from his book with a start, then smiles widely when he sees the Kane cousins. He puts the book down and goes to join them in the dining room, pulling up a chair. “I did indeed. Hardly gourmet, but it’s better than cold cereal, hey?"

"It’s great," she grins back, “And anything is better than cold cereal with that powdered milk. Ugh."

Oliver curves his hands around his coffee mug, although it’s long since gone cold. “And I see you’re making your own Bette twist on the available fashion," he laughs.

Candy shrugs a shoulder. “Powdered milk isn’t so bad," she grins a little handing Bette her water and settling next to her with her coffee.

"I know, I’m such a rebel," she laughs. “I just don’t like having my arms tangled up with drapey sleeves, and everything tighter-fit is a bit warm for this weather. Maybe I can sew some of the loose sleeves tighter with that sewing machine, but I figured first things first, I need to make a weapon I can use. Can’t let the other bats have all the fun," she gestures to her tennis racquet.

Oliver raises his eyebrows at the racquet. “Heeeey now," he says, “that’s a thought! What’re you gonna do with it? Nails studded around the edge? Poison on the strings? Poison-tipped nails?"

Candy snorts, raising an eyebrow at her.

( plans and secrets )

fire walk with me

[bossymarmalade]

There are footsteps in her bungalow again and when Mar’i opens here eyes, Kyle is there, crouched at the edge of her bed. He puts his finger to his mouth in a ‘shush’ way to her, his eye bright and alert. This other eye is still somewhat swollen shut. His fingers clutching at the bed are encrusted around his bitten fingernails.

Mari was just in the middle of a weird dream about Kyle dancing around in Lian’s fairy wings, when she hears the sound of fingernails on the bedspread. She opens her eyes and there he is, and she isn’t so sure she’s not dreaming. She doesn’t say anything, because if it is a dream, she’s probably actually asleep next to Roy and Lian and she doesn’t want to wake them, so instead she just sits up, slowly, eyes never leaving his crouched form.

His eye still trained on her, he follows her movements, slowly rising as well until he is in a half-crouch. He seems to know she is not going to scream or cause a ruckus so he lowers his finger. “Mar’i," he rasps. “I found it." He grins slightly, almost in relief.

Mari parts her lips, licking them a little. “F-found what, Kyle? Where are you?" she asks, praying if this is a dream it’s a prophetic one.

Kyle stands up fully, his sure expression faltering slightly into puzzle. “I’m right here, Mar’i." Kyle ducks suddenly, as he hears footsteps and voices coming from outside. He can see Damian and Steph moving past the window, until they’ve headed off beyond Mar’is’ bungalow.

Mari sits up a little more quickly now, hands coming out to reach, but his movements scare her, and she puts them down immediately, watching the two shadows pass through the curtains. “Kyle?" she says again, but she doesn’t dare move. “Where have you been?"

Kyle glances up at her, and then pads to her washroom. She can hear the water going for a while and Kyle drinking, thirstily like an animal. He returns again before she can make a move, standing in her doorway. His shoulders are slumped now and he looks slightly distraught. His torso is a spiderweb of bruises on one side, but he moves as if he doesn’t register it. “I’ve been out there. You…you don’t remember anything, do you, Mar’i?"

Mari shakes her head. “I remember you and Bruce," she says, trying to keep her voice calm, “I remember we were all together."

( one chance out between two worlds )

rats and ravens

[bossymarmalade]

Oliver comes out of the longhouse and sees the ruckus happening near the pool. “What the hell’s happening here?" He watches Roy, his hand fisted up in the back of Billy’s shirt as he moves towards the kitchen, where one of the first aid kits is. “ZACH PLEASE DON’T KILL THEM! IT’S NOT THEIR FAULT!" Billy wails as he’s taken to be cleaned, red arm still dripping, trying to fight back tears, “You don’t know that for sure!"

Mia answers. “Nothing Ollie. There are rats Billy… I don’t even know he was looking for them and there was a bunch of red stuff in a hole and he was bit by one of the rats. And me and Zach. Oh! Oh Ollie… Uh. We were in the warehouse and we found this little cabinet that had rat poison in it. But there was also arsenic in it… and metal polish too. I don’t know…"

The colour drains from his face when Mia relates what’s going on. “Where are the rats. Are they still alive?"

"I don’t know didn’t you see my sign on the door? Zach was heading over to the pool with the rat poison probably to kill them."

Oliver doesn’t say anything more. He strides away to the garden laundry and comes past Mia again after a minute, carrying a heavy shovel. Ollie goes down into the pool and all Mia hears is a SLAM and a sick squelch, a tiny squeal. One more SLAM and then no more squeals. Then she hears the long, jarring sound of the shovel scraping along the broken tiles of the pool bottom, and a sick slippery flesh noise.

( over the hill and away )

taken by the sky

[bossymarmalade]

-second night-

The petroleum jelly is loose and sliding on Ollie’s fingertip, the heat of his skin turning it liquid, and Bruce’s fever-heat does the rest when Ollie dabs it against those chapped, dry lips. His mouth is left with a smear of slick shine, in the darkness of the room, and Ollie kisses just the corner of it so he can feel it, shuddering at the sensuality of his lover’s lips touched with oil.

"A million dinosaurs died for you," he intones, softly. But the joke is flat and inane besides, and instead of making himself smile, Ollie feels a pinch inside his throat.

Kate is sleeping in the other room so he settles back down, pulling Bruce close. Bruce’s breath had been sour, hectic, when he’d kissed him. But Ollie would breathe that in for night after night rather than have nothing at all, rather than spin down into the ruined waters without Bruce, bitter, bitter.

-third morning-

Other people are tending to Bruce, rotating through the room across the hall, and Ollie’s comforted by hearing their voices drift, cottonwood flimsy, through the walls. Their room gets more sun than Bruce’s and it pours down on Kate’s dark hair, shimmering it cinnamon as his wife breathes slowly, smoothly. She has no fever, she has no difficulty breathing, but she’s been slow and doped as a bumblebee, more and more since they got here. “Katie," he murmurs, dragging his fingertips along the cresting wing of her cheekbone, willing her to wake up, to give him her clear sharp gaze and her firm decisive voice.

It doesn’t happen. She keeps sleeping, that same drugged metronome of rise and fall. The sun is melting into her, and Ollie cups her hip with his palm and falls asleep.

-third midday-

He has turned out on the bed, at some point, in his sleep, and although he’s still only half-awake Ollie wants to be face-to-face with Kate. With a gusty indrawn breath, he turns over, and her eyes are open and looking at him. Blood winds down from one nostril, along the seam of her lips, across her pointed chin; the breeze from the window lifts the hem of her gauzy black dress from where it trails, off the bed and along the floor, raises it like black wings that twine, serpentlike above them.

"Cielo," she says, and he gasps to hear her voice, not knowing how much he’d longed to hear it, “cielo, be brave for what you need to do. You’ll do it without me but you will bring the fierce girls. Take the plague from the pool first and bury it. Lightning will point with a red finger. Write it in your journal."

She kisses him then and the blood on her lips slips into her mouth, his mouth, and dissolves into thin sweet connection. Kate’s eyes are strong and clear when they move back. She puts one thin, long-fingered hand to his face and when Ollie says, before he knows what he’s saying, “I’ll miss you, so much," her mouth tightens for a moment, the scar on its corner an apostrophe.

"I know, Oliver. I have to go, there’s no other choice. Tell Ramsey —" her voice wavers, but she brings it hard to heel, "— mama will see him soon." She’s quiet and they both hear the low grate of Bruce’s destroyed voice in the next room, their hearts falling into rhythm to punctuate it. When Kate talks next, Ollie knows who, what she’s referring to. “I won’t let us die here, amado."

Her dress falls down over them and Ollie turns over in the bed to look at the door, which is now standing slightly ajar as a shadow moves out of it. He turns back. Kate is gone.

-third afternoon-

“Ollie," Mar’i says, as the willow fronds move and whisper around her. “Ollie, you’re bleeding." Long sweeping strands twist together behind her, serpentine. Oh my god," Mar’i says, her sweet voice catching on the absence of her goddess’ name, and her eyes are clear and limpid and dark. “Ollie, I think you’re sick too."

He shakes his head, dismisses it in reply, until he pokes his tongue out across his lips and the blood there dissolves into thin sweet memory. “Bruce," he breathes, and then he’s up and running.

-fourth morning-

"Is Kate okay?" Gardner asks, and for a minute Ollie blips out entirely because Guy’s voice overlays neatly over the running chant inside his own head. He doesn’t answer right away, focusing instead on thoughts of the leg wound, of Gardner’s mother, of the scalded smell of this abused flesh.

"Kate will be okay," Ollie says finally, and doesn’t stop saying it.

-fourth afternoon-

"There are rats," Mia says in her little scratchy voice, looking towards the broken pool, and Billy screams behind them, holding his arms out, one bare hand rubbed with red right down to the thick curls of it at the tips of his fingers.

-over the ridge-

The bunker looms up out of the ground in the forest, and Mia clutches her warm bow on one side of him, Mar’i’s strong steps on the other. The now-familiar Cache logo is pressed into the concrete above the entrance, black-and-white, and Ollie sees the serpents twining in the centre. When they go inside, he sees the station identification printed everywhere, Raven Terminal, and hears the black wings beating. He doesn’t see Kate.

tactile

[bossymarmalade]

One hand turns off the light and the other pulls him close.

There’s a man sleeping in their closet, and another man half-dead from fever next door, and two terrified children and their sister-for-all-intents in the next room over, and it’d be easy to lose it. It’d be easy—so fucking easy—to drop all the pins she’s juggling onto the cool shag carpet and let them roll away from her. She could cry if she wanted to. She could scream, roar, she could beat her fists against walls until they were bloodied just thinking about it. Her hair could come out in thick fleshy chunks if she pulled, she knows it could.

But there’s no time for that. She was born into a family of soldiers long before she became a warrior. She knows what she has to do.

It’s just that she doesn’t have to fight so hard when he’s nearby. She can’t put her finger on it, but she CAN put her fingers on him and feel it. It’s not that he makes her forget. Nor is it that he doesn’t understand the situation either. He can be the goofiest person she knows when he wants, but he’s no fool. He just calms her. Like sinking into a warm bath—soft heat and no worries, just comfort.

So when she pulls him close, she’s touching that feeling, intangible against her fingers for all the palpable flesh and muscle that constitutes his body. She wants the feel of the apples of his cheeks pulling up into a smile as he drags his jaw across hers. She wants the rough pull of his fingers against the curve of her back. She wants the moonlight to make his eyes look like matching mirror-puddles after a summer rain.

( skin on skin on skin )

what's wrong with you?

[bossymarmalade]

Mia spent most of the day making targets for the archery range she set up. Which was just a bunch of papers held together with some circles drawn on them attatched to trees. But it was better then nothing. That is when Kyle pacing around being weird caught her eye. She hesitated for a moment before walking towards him. “Hey!" she demanded pointing to him as she approached. “Am I interrupting some important conversation you’re having with yourself or something?"

Kyle jumps clearly scared for a moment as he hears Mia. He looks over at Mar’i, and Mar’i still is there with Lian and Roy so Kyle relaxes a bit. “Yep. Nope. I mean, I’m just…working some stuff out." Kyle says to Mia finally, after a ridiculously long and semi-awkward pause.

Mia stares at him for a moment and frowns. “What’s going on with you? Are you on drugs? Did you eat some hallucinogenic mushrooms out in the woods ro something?"

"I’m…no, nonono, no -" He shakes his finger at her, laughing and glancing over at Mar’i. “Noooo no, you can’t do that. You can’t do that, I’m not answering you. I didn’t eat the food."

( self-explanatory )