[reverse darkest timeline AU: cellthread #2]

[stilljustandrew]

[Previously: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5]

What's worried Baby the most, over the past few days --

Well. What's upset her the most is Andrew's consistent refusal to speak to her mind-to-mind, or out loud beyond the few necessary words she might exchange with any other inmate, such as requests for food, fresh clothes, an extra blanket.

But what's worried her is that he hasn't asked for anything to pass the time. No tablet with games or videos on it, no pencil and paper, no baseball to bounce off the opposite wall.

No books.



In the cell, Andrew finishes his breakfast (cornflakes, with sliced banana), sets aside the bowl, and settles down leaning against the wall.

Comments

[stilljustandrew]

"It is true," he insists, "it's always been true. And I used to hate it, I used to have to make things up all the time to tell myself it wasn't true, I had to make myself out to be super important, and, and special, and better than everyone --"

His voice shakes; his eyes are burning.

"And I don't need that anymore. Not when I'm with Him."

[gothamsheiress]

"Andrew."

Brix rises and crosses the cell, kneeling beside him, and oh, she would like to give him the comfort of touch, but she's afraid he'll shy away.

"This is not a game of dice where you win the pot or you lose it all. If you are not a king or an angel or an archangel, it does not follow that you're nothing. You, Andrew, you still matter. And you're not with him now, and you matter to me."

[stilljustandrew]

She's not wrong; he's shrinking away from her nearness even without an offered touch.

Or maybe it's her words he's shrinking from. The look on his face is fear, no longer hiding itself.

[gothamsheiress]

Brix sits back on her heels, almost abeyante, to give him a little more space.

"What frightens you about that?" she asks, very soft.

[stilljustandrew]

"What --"

His throat is too tight to make a sound; the words come out as a breathless whisper.

"What do you want?"

[gothamsheiress]

She takes a slow breath in, out.

"Just now," she murmurs, "I want help you face what it is that's frightening you."

[stilljustandrew]

"If I, if I matter to you then you want something --"

He fumbles for the ring on one of the cuffs, grips it tight.

[gothamsheiress]

Brix gives him a startled look.

"Andrew -- the only thing I want is your well-being. That is the only reason I'm here." She lifts a hand, palm up, and indicates the cell. "What could I even ask of you?"

[stilljustandrew]

"I don't know."

He's shaking.

[gothamsheiress]

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, and starts to rise.

"Let me get you a drink of water."

[stilljustandrew]

"No," and it's abruptly loud and vehement, shaking even on the single syllable.

[gothamsheiress]

She stops, half-standing, and slowly lowers herself back to kneeling.

"All right."

[stilljustandrew]

He buries his face in his arms, struggling to slow down his breathing.




"I want to go home."

[gothamsheiress]

"I know," she sighs. "I know. It's all right. You'll be all right. Cry, if you need. It's all right."

[stilljustandrew]

His shoulders shake; he doesn't lift his head from his folded arms.

He's trying to cry silently, and almost managing it.

[gothamsheiress]

"It's all right. Whatever you need," she repeats -- but for the most part, she sits quietly, letting him ride it out.

[stilljustandrew]

Slowly, slowly the weeping subsides.


"Please," he whimpers, "please tell them to let me go home."

[gothamsheiress]

She lets out a soft, pained noise of her own.

"To him?"

[stilljustandrew]

He sniffs hard, and nods.

[gothamsheiress]

Brix shakes her head.

[stilljustandrew]

His eyes well up and spill over again, and he lowers his face back into his arms.

He's holding on to both cuff-rings now, in a close-drawn gesture like gripping his own wrists.

[gothamsheiress]

"I'm truly sorry. Andrew, I am. It must seem as though the officers here are doing just what he did, and that -- and it must seem as though you're being punished not only for what you did but what was done to you.

"But they don't wish to hurt you, or punish you. Nor do I. I can see that you've been hurt and I would see you healed. And if I sent you back--" A breath, in, out, steady and smooth as a sword's blade. "I would be no better than the angels who turned a blind eye to my parents' deaths."

[stilljustandrew]

He doesn't respond, except with a higher hunch of his shoulders.

[gothamsheiress]

Eventually, quietly: "Would you like to be alone for a little while?"

[stilljustandrew]

The movement of his head is barely visible, but if you're watching closely it's a nod.