[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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[gothamsheiress]

"I truly hope so," she says, her smile fading away. "Would you call it something else?"

[stilljustandrew]

"I don't know."

He rubs at his eyes, not to wipe away tears but as though they're starting to hurt.

[gothamsheiress]

Honestly, that's a better answer than she feared, if not exactly the agreement she might have hoped for.

"All right," quietly.

"I do have another question or two for you, if you aren't too tired. If you'd rather I go now, though, they can wait a little while."

[stilljustandrew]

He hesitates, then gives his face one more rub and lowers his hand.

"I think I'm okay to keep going. A little bit."

[gothamsheiress]

"Thank you." She looks up at him, meeting his eyes. "I know this is hard for you. It means a great deal that you keep going."

[stilljustandrew]

His shoulders come up a little and then settle back down, in a suppressed flinch.



"I don't know what else to do," he half-whispers.

[gothamsheiress]

That makes her heart hurt. She can remember, as clearly as she can remember her first assignation, or clearer, being a ten-year-old orphan in Balm House whose solemn composure and studiousness came not from piety but from that same thought. I don't know what else to do.

"You could have refused to speak to me at all," she points out, "or retreated when the going grew hard. And you've done neither. I think that strength is yours, and yours alone."

[stilljustandrew]

He flushes a little, and drops his eyes -- but there's the tiniest flicker of a smile this time, wan and hesitant and short-lived, but there.

[gothamsheiress]

Good, because she doubts he's going to like the next part.

"May I ask you why you still wear those cuffs?"

[stilljustandrew]

His face goes blank, and he unconsciously draws his arms close to his chest, as though protectively.

"What?"

[gothamsheiress]

"I've worn cuffs before, but I always find they grow uncomfortable after a few hours."

[stilljustandrew]

"They're mine," he says, still a bit blankly. "They, they're supposed to stay on."

[gothamsheiress]

"According to whom?"

[stilljustandrew]

"You know," he whispers.

[gothamsheiress]

"I think," she says, quiet but definite, "you would likely feel better if you stopped wearing them."

[stilljustandrew]

"I --"

He shrinks back from her, arms held tighter to his chest, one wrist crossed over the other.

[gothamsheiress]

Brix makes no move to rise from where she's kneeling on the floor -- indeed, no move at all.

"I won't take them from you. But I think they're binding you to a memory of pain."

[stilljustandrew]

"It's not --"

He swallows.

"Not just pain."

[gothamsheiress]

"What if you took them off just for a night? To see how you felt. You needn't get rid of them or even put them away."

[stilljustandrew]

His head drops, and his shoulders hunch forward again.




"Please don't make me."

[gothamsheiress]

"I won't," again, calm and still definite. "But I ask you to think about it."

[stilljustandrew]

He swallows.

"What if," very low, "what if I say I don't want to."

[gothamsheiress]

Brix sighs softly.

"Then I will worry, and you will keep them, and that will be the end of that."

[stilljustandrew]

"Okay," he whispers. "I, I'll try. To think about it."

[gothamsheiress]

"Thank you."

It was worth trying -- strike while the iron is hot, after all -- but she would be lying if she told herself she isn't disappointed. But her expression remains composed and neutral.

"Is there anything else you need, in here? New books?"