[reverse darkest timeline AU: cellthread #3]

[stilljustandrew]

It's been about two days.

Nobody's come for him.



Andrew's lying down, staring at the far wall.

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[stilljustandrew]

His face starts to crumple again, and he forces back the tears with terrible effort.

"I don't know. I --"



"If He were here --"

[gothamsheiress]

She almost points out that he isn't, but stops herself. Waits.

[stilljustandrew]

He lowers his head, rests his forehead on his crossed wrists; his hair spills down in front, nearly hiding the cuffs.

"If He were here," and it's a touch louder, a touch steadier, "or if I could just talk to Him, even. Then I think it would. But --"



"I'm trying to think of Him here, and remember what it feels like when I'm with Him. And it's not working. It's not enough."

[gothamsheiress]

Brix hesitates a moment, then--

"If you could talk to him, he could remind you of the choices he made for you, and of the consequences of defying him. And, yes, of the rewards of obeying him."

When you are in pain and frightened, simply the cessation of pain and fear is a reward. Is it not?

She cocks her head, watching the set of his shoulders.

"What do you think it means, that when he isn't here to remind you of his glory, that you can't remember how it feels?"

[stilljustandrew]

His shoulders tighten, tremble slightly.

"I don't know."

[gothamsheiress]

"That's all right. Think about it," she suggests.

She can wait while he does.

[stilljustandrew]

His head moves slightly, rubbing his eyes against one wrist.

"Maybe it's me. Or, or just ... being human. That I can't hold it in my head. I'm not ... big enough."

[gothamsheiress]

"What if he's the one who isn't big enough?"

[stilljustandrew]

A swift intake of breath, and his head jerks up to stare at her with -- shock, yes, verging quickly into offense and anger.

But first, and clearest, a flash of stark fear.

"No."

[gothamsheiress]

Brix sits, still and impassive, meeting his gaze.

(She's as afraid to push too hard as to push too little.)

[stilljustandrew]

"Don't --"




"Don't say things like that."

By the end of the sentence, it's almost a plea.

[gothamsheiress]

"I told you from the beginning that I would be honest."

[stilljustandrew]

"I -- I know, but --"

He swallows.

"I can't listen to that kind of thing. I don't want to ... get angry."

[gothamsheiress]

Her eyebrows go up.

"Why not? It might be good for you."

[stilljustandrew]

"You wouldn't leave?"

[gothamsheiress]

"If you got angry?"

She sounds genuinely surprised.

"Andrew, of course not. I'd be more worried if you weren't angry, in your circumstances. And if you need someone to curse at or strike or to hold onto you, to be angry, I can be that someone."

[stilljustandrew]

He holds very still, barely breathing.



"I," thin and stifled, "I think I would prefer not to do that."

[gothamsheiress]

"Then you don't have to. That's all right."

She gives him a close look. "But is there a reason you'd rather not get angry?"

[stilljustandrew]

"It's ..."

A beat, and he looks away.

"I don't want to make you angry at me. And I, I don't want to ... take anything out on you."

[gothamsheiress]

"You think if you get angry, that will make me angry at you?"

[stilljustandrew]

He nods, silently.

[gothamsheiress]

She lets out a breath.

"I beg your forgiveness if I've made you fear that," softly. "I know I haven't always had the best control of myself. But that fault lies with me, not you. Certainly not you."

[stilljustandrew]

Very soft: "I don't think it's you."

[gothamsheiress]

It's a small thing -- but she feels her heart lift. Small progress is still progress, after all.

"What would he do, if you were angry?"

[stilljustandrew]

Andrew blinks at her.

"I ... He didn't do anything. I didn't get angry at Him."

He says it like it's an impossibility.