OOM: Ghosts of Christmas

[master_bruce]

Bruce has next to no use for Christmas. The only difference it really makes to him is that he has to go to more pointless parties in Gotham. Though on the flipside, the crime rate usually does drop a bit.

Anyway, Milliways tends to give him a place to escape to, with the added bonus of more time spent with X. Not that she's here tonight, but he'll see her tomorrow. He was looking forward to catching up on some rest tonight - so he's actually kind of annoyed when he wakes up to find someone else in his room.

His hand is on a batarang before he's anywhere near sitting up.

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[master_bruce]

He wasn't expecting an answer, and didn't get one. But that's OK. Because even as he said it, he knows it wouldn't change anything. He can't not be Batman. Without that - even if it's something that fails completely - without that, he's really nothing. Just useless.


The guy at the table shifts in his chair, and Bruce realises all the seats are the same - straight-backed, with armrests, for ease of getting in and out of. A tremor of fear grips him, but he refuses to dwell on it. It'll be worth it. It will.

He can't drag his gaze away though. And he can't decide if what he's feeling is horror, or nothing at all. This just is. He doesn't feel anything but inevitability, right at this moment.

But eventually, he says, 'we can go now.' Still watching himself.

And thinking, maybe, that it might be the only time he sees himself like this. Hopefully. But if it isn't, at least he will have tried.

[christmas_future]

The ghost's grip drifts from Bruce's shoulder to his wrist, bone-cold fingers tightening almost to pain.

Deep, silent shadows enfold them, and on the other side --

The faint light of Milliways remains.

[master_bruce]

Back in his room, he can't deny the relief. It's one thing to face what's going to happen, and accept it - and another to look it in the actual eye, and imagine the pain. He's already trying to stop himself wondering what did that to his back. The easy bet would be falling off a building, and the cape failing. He'll have to be vigilant on maintenance and testing.

But for now, he just looks at the ghost. He can't say 'thank you'. He's not grateful for this. But he's not irritated about it anymore, either.

'I guess I won't see you next year.'

He shrugs, and turns away from it.

'Goodbye.'

[christmas_future]

The whisper of air just off the skin of his neck is surely just a passing draft.

Even if it radiates a strangely inhuman chill.

Still, regardless of whether or not he again turns around, only the shadows remain.