[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.

Comments

[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?"

[stilljustandrew]

"I ..."

His glance flickers to the stack still on the chair, and then down to his hands, as his arms relax into his lap.

"... I haven't read those yet."

[gothamsheiress]

"Oh -- would you like different ones?"

[stilljustandrew]

He shakes his head, biting his lip again.

"I keep ... I keep wanting to read one," he mumbles wretchedly, "and then being scared to, and feeling guilty about it, and ... I just stop thinking about it. Until next time."



"I don't know how to start."