everything desperate will live behind a joke

[bossymarmalade]

Bruce sits on the table in Medbay, shirtless, with several electrodes connected to his chest, shoulders, and temples. He exhales, heavily, looking over at the machine, the clock, timing how much he has left in the exam.

"Not long now," Ollie says, eating a candy heart. It’s unclear why he even has these in November, but he keeps steadily crunching them as they wait.

Bruce looks over at his partner, the death-glare loosening a touch. “I told you this was unnecessary.”

“‘Tisn’t,” Ollie says serenely. “You’ve spent too long a time at less than optimal health, dumpling. There’s a number of things you’ll now need to subject yourself to and this is one of ‘em.” He pokes through the hearts in his hand, selecting one that says TXT ME.

Bruce exhales again, and lifts his hand to push his fingers through his hair, licking his lips. “I don’t need to—” He pauses, when he hears the nurse enter. She casts a somewhat furtive glance at the two of them, a bit starry eyed, before she states, politely. “The doctor says you can go, she’ll get the results.. as soon as she can. I can—” Bruce interrupts her, however, and her intent to remove the electrodes: he pulls them off, not caring for the solvent that would dissolve the adhesive. She looks at him, startled, and then, at Ollie.

Ollie grins charmingly at the nurse. “He’s a history buff,” he supplies, keeping her distracted from Bruce’s rampage. “Particularly fond of the Spartans. Grace under extreme physical discomfort, y’know?”

Bruce doesn’t look as the nurse blinks nervously at Ollie, before she leaves. Instead, he works at getting the electrodes off, all of them, as he stands. “..hand me my shirt.” He puts all of the spare bits into a biohazard box, and slips his belt on.



Ollie grumbles, “—not your valet, bigshot,” but since he’s not interested in lingering he does scoop up Bruce’s shirt and had it to him, stretching out his back afterwards. “You coulda let the nurse do her job instead of going all commando.”

Bruce pulls the shirt on, buttoning it up like a reflex. His fingers brush against the scar over his heart on the way up, nails dragging against barely healed skin. He turns, and looks for his shoes, speaking over his shoulder. “How is Tak?”

Ollie coughs on his last candy heart when Bruce asks this question, his face instantly going a little tight as he recovers. “Fine,” he says, and doesn’t elaborate.

Bruce sits on the chair that Ollie had been in, as he puts on his shoes, lacing the first one up. “Alfred would like to know what your plans are, for Thanksgiving.”

Ollie considers this. “We haven’t come up with any yet,” he says. “Sometimes Mia likes a big to-do, but if she’s not spearheading it we probably won’t do anything fancy. Is … Alfred … considering having us over? For Thanksgiving?”

Bruce puts on the second shoe, but doesn’t look up at Ollie, not yet. “Yes, he would like to.” He laces the shoe, before rising up, and steps over to Ollie. “Has Tak ever experienced Thanksgiving, that you know of?”

Ollie makes a small wry growling sound. “That’s the question, isn’t it?” he says, and his voice carries the same tone as the growl. “Not that I know of. Of course, I don’t know anything about him, so he could have experienced Thanksgiving every seventh Tuesday for six years for all I know.”

Bruce looks over at Oliver, and asks, his tone very neatly skating the edge of being considered blithe. It isn’t indifferent, nor is it callous, but Bruce doesn’t hesitate in his speech. “Do you want to know him?” He reaches for his jacket, laying behind Ollie, leaning in for it. When he pulls back, his hand moves to the small of the other man’s back. “..or do you need something else?”

Ollie looked at Bruce, confusion drawing his eyebrows together. “I … don’t know,” he admits. “It’s hard to look at him sometimes.” He jams his hands in his pockets, restlessly removing them a few seconds afterwards. “She knew what she was doing when she named him Robert. He looks more like my father than I do.”

Bruce cants his head to one side, looking down at Ollie, his hand remaining where it is on the man’s back. “She knew what she was doing,” he agrees, but only barely. “..and that was attempting to make your relationship with your son as difficult as possible, Ollie.” He lifts his other hand, curling his hand against the archer’s throat, thumb settling against his pulse. “She was.. gifted in more than just one way.” He moves his hand, tapping his chest, where the star shaped-scar lay under his shirt.

Ollie draws a sharp breath when Bruce reminds him of the scar from Shado’s arrow, and he takes a step back, out of Bruce’s touch, and another before turning. “I don’t wanna be here,” Ollie mutters as he leaves the room, heading out into the corridor.

Bruce makes sure that there is nothing else left in the room that needs tidying—a quick once over with his gaze—before he moves out of the room and after Ollie. “Where are we going?” He asks, but not out of sorts. He adjusts the sleeves of his shirt under his jacket, as he slings it on.

"I don’t know," Ollie snaps irritably. "I just don’t wanna be here anymore, in all the medical stuff. The smell’s hurting my head." His pace picks up, unconsciously, the stride of his legs getting longer and faster.

Bruce doesn’t move much faster, but doesn’t trail too far behind. “Cafeteria?”

Ollie almost shouts. “No! I don’t want to be around anybody!” He stops suddenly, grabbing Bruce’s hand and dragging him along. Away from the Medbay, the cafeteria, towards the training rooms. “I don’t want to talk,” Ollie says, then almost instantly amends, “…I don’t want to sit down comfortably and talk.”

Bruce only arches his eyebrows at Ollie’s exclamation, but moves with him, towards the training rooms. Once inside, he nearly makes a smart comment about needing to take off his jacket again, but stops himself. He removes the jacket, and unbuttons his sleeves, as he watches Ollie, sidelong. “What do you feel for?”

Ollie stares around, unfocused, then moves over to one of the big floor mats where people did sparring matches. He starts taping up his hands but doesn’t do much else, toeing off his sneakers and socks, staying in his jeans and t-shirt. “This,” he says. “If I have to answer these questions and talk about this then I’m gonna beat the fuck outta you.” The words are violent, but Ollie sounds … tired. Searching and exhausted and underlining it all, the confusion.

Bruce moves to remove his shoes as well, again, not complaining about having to disrobe again. He finds the sparring pads, slapping them on them across his hands, as he moves towards the center of the ring. “..you mean,” he corrects, quietly. “You’re going to /try/ to beat the fuck out of me.”

Ollie gives a wild little rasp of a laugh, hopping on his toes as he moves towards, around Bruce. “We’ll see,” he says, and he doesn’t say anything after that. He attacks Bruce instead, starting with experimental jabs and feints and progressing into full-blown swings and punches, at speed, narrowing his focus into what he’s doing.

Ollie aims mostly for the sparring pads on Bruce’s hands, but now and again he goes for Bruce’s arm, his shoulder.

Bruce blocks those punches with the pads, his own weight shifting onto the balls of his feet as he turns his focus down at Ollie’s attacks. They’re impressive, they always are, but Bruce uses his knowledge of the other man’s fighting style to speak at the moments he knows he won’t be avoiding an attack. “What is it, Oliver?”

Ollie looks up, face starting to get flushed and sweaty. “What?” he echoes. “Just wanted to let off some steam.”

Bruce cocks an eyebrow. “You’re forgetting who you’re talking to,” he says, half-mumbling, tone dry, and then shakes his head. “..it’s Shado.”

Ollie doesn’t confirm or deny this, instead aiming a kick right above Bruce’s left knee.

Bruce goes down seconds after the kick makes impact with his knee, a hand pressing against the ground. He shakes his head. “..what is it, Ollie?”

"Nothing." Ollie stands over Bruce, eyes dark and shadowed. He doesn’t make a move to attack the other man again. "It’s nothing important at all, Bruce." Ollie holds out a hand. "Come on. This was a bad idea. You’re not up to this, you should be home, resting."

Bruce inhales a short breath, before he swipes his leg out, aiming to knock the other man over. He rises up, wincing as he straightens his legs. “Talk to me about it.”

Ollie goes down with a whump, sprawling onto his ass and one elbow. He stays where he is, face turned away from Bruce. “Talk to you about what? You think I have some kind of canned speech that I was just waiting for you to pop the lid off? What the fuck do you /want to know/ all of a fucking sudden?”

Bruce doesn’t move to help him up, watching him instead. “I want to know why the instant I spoke on Tak you appeared as if you wanted to parachute off the Watchtower. Why you nearly ran away from me.”

Ollie sits up properly, elbows on his peaked knees, hands dangling, and fixes Bruce with a flat stare. “You mean why the idea of inviting Tak to a happy families Thanksgiving supper after I killed the mother who he knows raped me to get him might not be an easy subject for me to discuss out of the blue? I have no idea, Bruce.”

Bruce ’s brow furrows, a frown flickering onto his face. “Tak knows about his conception?” He licks his lips. “When did he find out?” He moves over to Ollie, holding his hand out for the archer.

Ollie stays where he is, curling in a little on himself to wrap his arms around his legs, propping his bearded chin on his knees. “I don’t know,” he mumbles. “He told Jason about it.” Ollie looks up suddenly, slightly worried. “I wouldn’t have told Jason myself,” he says, quickly. “About what happened with Shado. I didn’t want him to have to deal with that kind of shit. Tak told him.”

Bruce exhales, and lowers himself to the ground. One leg curls against the padded ground, the other leg crooking at the knee, as he settles a foot or two from the other man. “He told him while Jason was at the penthouse,” Bruce surmises. His voice is deceptively, carefully, neutral. “How did Jason approach you with telling you?”

"I don’t remember the details." Ollie pushes his nose against his kneecap. "Jason was good. It’s not like he ambushed me with it or anything, I kinda lost it when we were all in the — the globe thing — and he needed to tell me that he knew. To kinda let me know that it was all right to talk to him about Shado if I wanted to. He’s a sweet kid. Thoughtful." He makes a face and says, "…just didn’t want him to have to deal with it. The facts of what happened. Disgusting."

Bruce presses his lips together, and reaches out, to move his fingers through the hair at the back of the archer’s skull, down, over the nape of his neck. “The details might be what they are, Ollie, but that doesn’t make you disgusting. And it’s understandable why the.. result of that time— Tak-..” Bruce licks his lips. “It’s understandable why he would cause you discomfort, and if the boy is aware of how he came to be, he must obviously be cognizant of that, as well.”

Ollie jerks slightly under Bruce’s touch, but forces himself to settle, fingers digging into his calves to quell the itchy feeling under his skin. “We talked about it,” he says, voice low and toneless. “Tak and me. I needed to know if he thought I killed his mother on purpose.” He licks his lips, baring his teeth. “He said he knew I wasn’t capable of that.”

Bruce continues to push his fingers over and through Ollie’s hair, down his neck, obviously intending to soothe him. He makes a low, understanding noise, waiting for Ollie to continue speaking.

But Ollie doesn’t continue. He shakes himself out and stands up, unfurling, starting to strip the tape off his hands. “I’m done,” he says abruptly. “Let’s go home. You should be resting and I should be on patrol.”

Bruce doesn’t stand, looking up at Ollie from where he is sitting. He wants to say something, and it’s obvious, from the way he rolls his tongue against his lower lip, but after a moment, he remains silent. He stands up, and then, when he can move his hand around Ollie’s neck, he speaks. “..I want to understand what’s happening, Oliver. I don’t—” He breathes in, sharply. “I don’t want to be blindsided by anything else.”

"It’s all right, Bruce." Ollie finishes unwrapping his hands and drops the tape messily onto the mat, not bothering to dispose of it properly. "I promise I won’t blindside you with this down the road. Don’t worry about it." He nods towards the door. "Let’s go home," Ollie repeats.

Bruce picks up the tape, quickly winding it around his fingers, and moves to replace his pads as well. He slips back into his shoes, picking up his jacket.

Ollie is silent too as he puts on his shoes, shoving his hands into his jean pockets as they leave the room.

Bruce speaks to Oliver as they exit the training room, moving towards the elevator. “..I’d like some company tonight. Black Bat and Batgirl have the city.”

Ollie doesn’t answer right away, but when he does it’s with curiosity as he looks over at Bruce. “Yeah? You want me to…” The question trails off, Ollie looking slightly unsure as to what Bruce is asking. He reaches out and tugs Bruce’s sleeve at the elbow, encouraging him to complete Ollie’s half-spoken inquiry.

Bruce looks over, and moves his hand against the archer’s bicep. “I want you to stay. Stay with me.” He continues their path over to the Transport Bay, tapping in the coordinates for the Manor, his hand slipping down to gather his partner’s fingers against his palm.

Ollie pushes his fingers to interlace with Bruce’s, grabbing his hand tight. “All right,” he says. “You had a pretty long day in Medbay, after all. Maybe Alfred’s made some of those prune cookies you like and we can have some and make sure everything that’s supposed to be in the library’s still there.”

Bruce lifts his hand to kiss Ollie’s hand, before releasing him to let him step onto the zeta pad. He follows, sending them both down to the Cave.

Ollie steps off the zeta pad and out of that bay into the Cave proper, immediately rubbing his goosefleshed arms and announcing, “Brrrrrrrr!”, looking around as if this is Narnia and a convenient fur coat will present itself.

Bruce walks with him, smirking, reaching out and picking up his cape, draping it over the archer’s broad shoulders. He walks over to the Computer, smoothing his hand across the panel, typing in a few commands before he walks back over to Ollie, and moves his hands to the edges of the cape, tugging the archer towards him. “..it looks good on you.”

"Mmmmmm." Ollie leans in for a kiss. "Looked better than that when you were in the pokey and I was playing Longears." He rubs his chin with a crinkle of his nose. “‘Cept for having to go barefaced. I’m just not me without the ol’ chin warmer."

Bruce repeats. “While I was in the—” His eyes narrow, and he leans in, close, until their noses almost touch. “I haven’t monitored you closely enough to determine if you aren’t secretly scribbling out the phrases you know will make me shut up in a tiny Moleskine, Oliver.”

Ollie snorts. “Moleskine my ass,” he says in lofty dismissal. “It’s my finely honed instincts for figuring out people, B. Especially the ones I’ve been observing for years and years. I’m basically the Jane Goodall of Bruce Waynes.” Ollie considers this boast for a moment and amends, “…maybe /one/ little Moleskine.”

Bruce ’s grin crackles across his face and he leans in, half-coccooning Ollie in the cape, and kisses him, lightly at first before it deepens. He only pauses to agree. “It /is/ cold.” Bracketing Ollie’s hips with his hands, he pushes his thumbs over the rounded protrusion of muscle, the thick bands and cords that make up his abdomen, torso. He hums a low noise. “If we stay down here, we need to keep warm.”

Ollie sighs dramatically. “Work, work, work,” he complains, even as he reaches out to wrap his arms around Bruce’s waist, pulling the man even closer and kissing him soundly. “You sure none of the other nocturnals’ll come in and interruptus our coitus?”

Bruce arches an eyebrow. “Guess you’ve decided what we’ll be doing for the evening?” Bruce doesn’t look upset at all.

Ollie says somewhat tartly, “You had other plans? Wanted us to maybe turtle wax the Batmobile or sweep out the guano?”

Bruce hums, and fits his nose under the lobe of Ollie’s ear. “..then we should move upstairs. Better lighting.”

—- —- —-

He waits until they’ve both caught their breath, his fingers dragging along in sticky circles on Ollie’s hip, before he speaks.

”..talk to me, Ollie.” He licks his lips, forcing his eyes open. “I want to know..” Bruce hesitates, quietly. “I don’t know how else to proceed without interrogating you.”

For a moment, Ollie doesn’t know what Bruce is referring to, he’s so busy coming down from the blood rush, the pleasure, the release. When he does grasp it, he almost turns away from his partner, a tide of panicked reluctance rising in his chest.

But he doesn’t. He digs his nose against Bruce’s shoulder and breathes, before saying, “…I don’t know how to talk about it. I can’t just … I don’t know where …” Ollie shuts his eyes. “Look, if you can’t do it, maybe we just shouldn’t. I don’t have the energy to figure this out for you, Bruce.”

Bruce looks down at Oliver, his expression settling into something resolute. “I don’t know if you understand, but admitting that I’m unable to do something isn’t easy, Ollie.” He moves his hand over to the slight curve of the man’s hip where his thigh joins his body. “I am trying to find a way to understand, to talk, because I /want/ to.” He shifts closer to the archer, uncaring of how sticky they are. “..I’m not going to relent unless you ask me to.”

"I don’t want you to relent!" Ollie’s voice spirals louder, frustrated and laced with something else at the edges, something uncomfortably close to frightened. "But I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know where to start or how. I get that admitting you’re not infallible isn’t /easy/ for you, Bruce, but what the fuck makes you think that talking about Shado and — and—" He bares his teeth, an animalistic grimace of pain. "Why d’you think that would be /easy for me/??"

"I didn’t say that it was, Ollie," Bruce says, quietly, as he hooks his chin over the man’s shoulder. "..I want you to forgive me for not knowing intrinsically how to help you." He moves his hand up, spanning across Ollie’s bare chest, protectively, as if he means to guard the organ within from harm. "Can you forgive me for not knowing? For my trial and error?"

That gets a laugh from Ollie, and even if it’s a little bit wild, the action of laughing calms him somewhat. “Baby,” Ollie says, “I’m all about your trial and error. I love your trial and error, I’ll go with you through all kinds of your trial and error.”

He settles his hand over Bruce’s, further soothed by the lub-dub of his heart under their fingers, and mumbles, “I keep bringing it up with you two and it just … goes nowhere. Like it’s not important, like I’m making a big deal out of nothing.” Ollie sighs. “And I know I shouldn’t have expected anything because you were both dealing with so much and it was bad timing on my part, but you don’t know how humiliating that is, Bruce, how devastating. Especially about something like this. That’s why it’s hard for me to do it again. That’s what /you/ need to understand.”

Bruce listens, remaining silent, and after a long moment, he kisses Ollie’s shoulder. “I understand.” He traces his fingers down the center of Ollie’s chest. “Can you forgive me for that?” Licking his lips, he continues. “For not pursuing it further?”

"Of course I can forgive you." Ollie shakes his head. "I already said it was my own fault for bothering you with it. That’s not the point." He blinks at the ceiling. "The point is, I don’t want to bring it up again if it’s gonna go nowhere. If you want anything out of me, you’re gonna have to try to figure it out." Ollie lickes his bottom lip, tongue feeling cold against the thin membrane. "And if that’s not something you can do, then it’s fine. I get it. I knew getting into this relationship how wounded Kate and you are. I don’t expect either of you to hurt yourselves more trying to — well, forcing yourselves to do things that aren’t easy for you."

He looks at Bruce and smiles. “Okay? Not top priority. We can move on if this doesn’t pan out. It’s fine.”

"It’s not fine," Bruce says, and there’s a hardness there.

He moves to get himself under Ollie, hauling the man on top of him, and curls his arms over his body against his chest. “..it’s not fine, Oliver. This is important to you. It’s important to me.”

Ollie lets Bruce shift and adjust them and takes his time settling, sprawling his legs out to counterbalance. “All right,” he says. “That’s good to know.” He lets his head drop back, eyes scanning the ceiling aimlessly, then eventually says, “…so Talia said she didn’t know that Alfred dislikes her, that’s kinda weird, huh?”

Bruce hums softly, pushing his hand over Ollie’s hair from his brow, over. “..are we moving on from talking about you, baby boy?” The endearment is soft, barely spoken.

He shrugs, and continues, “I mean, I woulda thought she’d remember the stems in the vase — wait, do /you/ know about the stems?” Ollie twists a little to glimpse Bruce’s face, although it’s not very comfortable so he resumes his former position quickly. “About Alfred and her and the flowers, shit, maybe you /didn’t/ know.”

And as tantalizing as the bait is, Bruce turns, once again, so he can face Ollie, linking their legs. His hands move under the archer’s jaw, thumbs skating in tandem across his cheeks. “..tell me about the night she died.”

The question is baldfaced, and Ollie’s eyes drift half-shut. When he starts talking, it’s stop-start and without his usual ease with words; the story is stilted, fractured. “She was … chatty. Talked to Jason a lot. Sly assassin shit, trying to get info out of him without him realizing.” A smile touches Ollie’s lips. “He shut her down fast. You taught him well.”

Eyelids closing completely, Ollie continues. “Got her to Blackgate, to the cell that was ready for her. Specially prepared. She’d already paid off the guards, brought in her Shado League goons, small stuff, dumbasses.” He shakes his head. “Aimed an arrow at her, told her to call ‘em off. She was talking about how she never taught me to kill people I love. How Jason would make a good friend for Tak. How I was nothing but empty threats.” Ollie screws his eyes shut tighter. “That’s when I shot her.”

Bruce pushes the calloused pads of his thumbs over those closed eyes, kissing his eyebrows, each in turn. “How did it feel, when you let it go?”

"I don’t know," Ollie says automatically, and a couple seconds later, "Like nothing. Calm. Nothing."

Bruce kisses the edge of Ollie’s mouth. “Did you want to kill her?”

"No. I don’t know. Maybe I did." He shudders, fingers curling to dig into Bruce’s hip. "Maybe I saw my chance and I took it. Maybe she finally got to me. I don’t know." Ollie shifts, restlessly, muttering, "I was half-crazy by that point whenever I talked to her and I know she could see it, see me unraveling. Maybe she just knew how to fuck me. Again."

Bruce moves his hands to Ollie’s upper back, pressing his fingers against the thick slats of muscle there. “..her training was.. Impressive. Extensive.” He exhales, remembering. “Formidable.” He lifts a hand to cup the man’s skull. “How did you feel when she died?”

"I don’t know." The same refrain slips from his mouth and Ollie grimaces at how foolish it sounds. "Shocked, I guess. I put the arrow exactly where she landed it on me. On you. She’s survived worse. I thought she would’ve recovered." Ollie lifts his hand, covering his eyes. "I must have wanted to kill her. I lost it and I killed her."

Bruce’s exhales, and pushes Ollie’s hand from his eyes, pressing his forehead to the archer’s. He licks his lips, but doesn’t say anything else, pushing his fingers along the other man’s back.

"I killed my son’s mother," Ollie says, voice dull. "He’ll never forgive me. He already thinks I’m a piece of shit, now I’ve got no chance."

"Have you spoken to him about it?" Bruce asks, not stopping the path of his fingers, up and down Ollie’s back.

"Yes," Ollie says shortly. The confused, upset haze clears a little from his expression and he presses his lips tightly together. "Yes."

"And he said that he thought badly of what you did."

Ollie makes an angry sound, jerking as if he’s about to get off the bed. “No! That’s not what he said, he didn’t say anything about what I did. He probably would have—” He pulls away from Bruce, sitting up on the edge of the bed facing away from him. “Tak knows I didn’t purposely make a kill shot. You have to understand, Bruce, how he grew up. The kind of mindset Shado had. The League of Assassins didn’t have far to go when they trained her, fucking Yakuza princess she was.” Ollie rubs his arms, dragging his fingernails up and down his tensed muscles.

"She trained him to think like her. He’s not a bad kid, and he wants to be part of the family, but he respects strength. Ruthlessness."

Bruce sits up, too, and looks at Oliver’s turned back, his eyebrows rising up over his forehead. “..Oliver, you honestly think I don’t understand the mentality of a child born in their darkness?”

"I know," Ollie practically moans, putting his elbows against his knees and covering his face with his hands. "I’m not trying to insult you, for god’s sake. I just want you to know he’s a good kid. His attitudes aren’t his fault. He — I talked to him after the Gotham globe, after Jason let me know that Tak /knew/ how he’d been conceived."

Ollie’s back curves some more, muscles shifting under his skin. “He’s not angry that I killed his mother,” he says, voice muffled through his hands. “He would have preferred that it was intentional instead of an accident. He’s not upset about how he came to be, he…” Ollie makes an agonized sound. “I looked better to him in his mother’s story, where I got her pregnant and then left to tend my own affairs. He respected me then. Now, he — he thinks his mother was right to take what she wanted, if I was weak enough to let it happen.”

"I didn’t think you were insulting me," Bruce clarifies, and moves his hand to Ollie’s back, curving it over his spine. "I had no doubt that he—" The conversation is quickly stoppered, however, and he moves off the bed, shrugging his boxers up. He crouches in front of Oliver, moving his hands to his knees. "What happened to you had /nothing/ to do with weakness, Oliver." His voice darkens, the words hardening. "/Nothing./ Do you understand?"

“‘You can’t always be so timid, son’,” Ollie says, voice mimicking one with a clearer ring to it than his own warm burr, one with even more inbuilt arrogance. He laughs, a bitter noise, and scrubs his hands over his face and back into his hair. “Tak takes after his namesake, all right.”

Lifting his hands, Bruce takes Ollie’s own, and presses them against his chest. He pushed his fingers in, against the inside of his partners arms, hooking his fingers into the nook. “..if it were me, if Talia had done what Shado did to you, would you think it weakness?” He looks up from his crouched position. “Would you think I was timid?”

"You wouldn’t have stayed with her after." Ollie slides his hands up until his fingers are fanned over Bruce’s collarbones, thumb tips lingering in the notch. "You wouldn’t have thought about your partner at home and figured you were the kind of faithless rat who obviously took a chance to hook up with a hot dragon lady, so you might as well keep on going."

A corner of Ollie’s lip lifts and he shoves his thumbs into that divot between Bruce’s collarbones. “Don’t ask me things like that. We’re not the same kind of man.”

"Yes, we are," Bruce automatically corrects. "And if anything, you are a better man than I am, or could be." He looks up at Ollie. "..and I might have stayed." He doesn’t look proud of the admission, but continues. "..I might have stayed, Oliver, you don’t know what I wouldn’t have. I’m not.." He shakes his head. "I have that problem with the women I love."

Ollie looks skeptical, but the suspicion sags at the corners, washing away as Bruce keeps talking. “Okay,” he says in a considering tone, not wanting to dismiss what Bruce is saying. He slides one hand around to the back of Bruce’s neck, leaving the other lingering on a collarbone, and takes a deep breath to try and clear out some of the clinging, persistent cobwebs of self-loathing.

"I know what you’re saying is true," Ollie tells Bruce. "I know it intellectually. You’re right, I would tell you it wasn’t your fault, that you were shot and drugged and couldn’t give consent. It’s hard to internalize how that applies to /me/, though, Bruce. I try and sometimes I manage but it’s shaky ground." He twists his mouth. "I get upended real easy."

Bruce moves up closer to Ollie, until his knees are flush with the bed’s edge. “Then this is where you put your faith in me, that what happened..” He shakes his head. “It isn’t because you were weak, Oliver.”

Ollie lifts his head, chin jutting out as he examines the ceiling again, swallowing Bruce’s words over and over until he can lower his gaze to meet Bruce’s once more. “All right,” he says. Then, pronouncing each word distinctly, “I think that’s enough for now.”

Rising up, Bruce moves, pulling and pushing until Ollie moves back with him, onto the bed. Then, there, he tangles their limbs together, wrapping him up in his arms, spooning the archer. “..thank you, Ollie.”

There’s a lassitude that spreads through Ollie’s body as Bruce hauls him back onto the bed, arranging and patting and tucking until they’re all bundled and cosy; he feels drained, through and through, but his natural robust constitution keeps his mind ticking away. “What for, why,” he murmurs, taking Bruce’s hand and using the other man’s fingers to card through his beard. “I should be thanking /you/.”

Bruce tugs at those hairs, kissing the side of the man’s throat. They hold the world between them here, ocean tide against verdant shores, and his voice is soft as he pushes the words against the shell of his partner’s ear: “..for believing in me.”

"Of course I believe in you," Ollie says, as if Bruce has tried to inform him that stars live in the sky and fish live in the water. "You’re my partner. I love you. I believe in you and Kate both." After a moment or two Ollie amends, worried that he might have sounded too flippant or dismissive, "—your trial and error was just fine, honey."

Bruce tries to chuckle, but all that comes out is an amused huff of air. He murmurs, pushing his cheek against Ollie’s shoulder, as he pushes himself towards sleep: “..no blood or bones this time.”

Ollie doesn’t say anything to that. He’s not entirely sure he’d agree that there was no blood. But Bruce is close enough, and warm enough, and there’ll be time to think about it in depth, later. He lets himself sleep.