metalogs | ( open-ish ) dedicate and sacrifice my everything

[ She meets his glance with her own clear and steady – and thoughtful. ]

It feels a little unfair, sometimes, that I know so much about you and you know so little of me. If you'd like to know, I'll tell you.

But I understand the desire not to know, as well. I fear there are no easy answers here.

If you want to tell it to me as a bedtime story, I won't say no.

( it's said with a faint smile there on his lips, despite the heaviness he feels more than likely comes with such a story, but. it's just typical bruce at the end of the day. sitting there on the edge of the bed. holding that granola bar. gently letting himself look over to her then. )

[ Her smile is wry at that, but it's good to hear him tease, to see him looking a little lighter. He's been carrying a heavy burden since even before coming to this place, with all its myriad complications.

Diana shifts on the bed, moving over to the other side, and pats the side she'd left, inviting. He may as well make himself comfortable. ]

Do you know anything about the city of Atlantis? Or has Kyle told you of a man named Arthur, called Aquaman?

( he watches as she shifts back — as she pats the space on the bed there for him and, after a moment of just staring at the way her hand pats that spot, he looks away. down to the granola bar. tossing it over onto the table there with the other goods he'd purchased and toes himself out of his boots.

standing, he goes around the bed and drops himself down onto the other side of it, back hitting it with a slight bounce, not even bothering to take his jacket off, no. arms draped over his torso, head pressed somewhat into the pillow, he looks over to her beside him. gently thoughtful. )

Just that he's part of the Justice League. As for Atlantis, whatever's in books. ( a beat, he cocks a brow some. ) Let me guess. It's actually, in fact, real, and Aquaman is from there.

A very good guess.

[ She stays where she is, sitting, legs crossed, her hands loose in her lap. But her amusement fades as she remembers, as she thinks back. ]

There had been a war. We all thought Arthur lost; Atlantis, too. But through devious magic, they'd instead been tossed back in time. By three thousand years.

( a brow raises as she goes on — as she gets to the three thousand years part. it's already enough to wrap his head around being in the 80s. but three thousand years ago is just... )

Sounds a little prehistoric.

Less than you might think. There were many civilizations at that time to rival those of the here and now.

[ But she digresses. ]

We managed to open a portal... Kyle didn't want to go. He'd been seeing... visions... of us, all of us, lying dead. But we went. The trip was difficult. Everyone fell ill for a short time.

[ She looks over at him, meets his glance with a crooking smile. ]

You were sick longer than anyone else. Several days.

This a bad time to tell you I picked up cold medication?

( it's said a little dryly — meant to tease some at the fact that he'd be the one to get sick, but. any sort of amusement is relatively fleeting there as he looks to her still. )

What happened then?

[ Her smile flashes, warm and bright as a lit candle. ]

A very good time, I think.

[ But he isn't sick this time, and, yes, the prospect of having cold medicine is a relieving one, so she turns once more to her story. ]

The time and place where we were... they'd had a prophecy, one which named the Justice League as destroyers. They built a League of their own, one with godly powers, and came to fight us. We were... scattered. Weakened.

( he lets her speak — lets her say what she needs to. only thinking to say something when there's a break from her words. )

But you're here.

Yes. But first, I died.

[ Her words are soft, but matter-of-fact. ]

So did you. We all did. The last thing I remember from that battle was feeling your – Bruce's – hand in mine. Then there was nothing, for three thousand years but a dream of the Elysian Fields, until the new League – the one Bruce, our Bruce, had arranged to take our place if needed – re-animated us to fight the same threat, all over again.

[ Her mouth quirks. ]

From re-animation, we were brought back, whole, to life. But I don't recommend it. It wasn't a pleasant experience.

( three thousand years into the past. dying. coming back via re-animation... it's difficult to wrap his head around — to really understand and think of as something that happened to some version of himself and to others this version of him knows. when the most he's had to deal with thus far are the likes of the joker in terms of extreme cases... this all takes the cake... and he's not so sure he wants it to.

for a moment, words are lost to him and his gaze drifts past her — taking it all in again — before it returns to her face. before he's almost gentle in the way he speaks. )

Are you worried that's what'll happen this time around?

( a beat, a moment to clarify. )

That we'll all die here?

[ She gives him the time he needs, the space he needs, to think. To let it all sink in. And when he asks his question, she gives it due deliberation, taking a long moment to consider it, carefully. ]

It's a risk that's never far from us. One we all take with our eyes open. Death on the battlefield is all but an inevitability.

[ Meeting his glance again, she smiles, slight. ]

But I hope that it does not come on this one. I hope, for all our sakes, we may avoid battle altogether.

( the chances of this being a one-way trip for them all is a high possibility — one he'd taken into consideration at length before deciding to come here. death... it's never removed from the equation for him — something that doesn't even scare him when it concerns himself, but. when it concerns others... alfred... it's a fear he still hasn't mastered. that fear of losing someone else in his life who means something to him... who could mean something to him.

pulling himself up to sit, he looks to her with such a fierceness in those blue eyes that are all too genuinely earnest as he leans in some — as he gently reaches out to place his hand over hers. )

Even if it comes to that, I'll be there with you.

[ There's a fire in Bruce that's always called to the one burning in her own chest: a shared mission, a shared goal. She sees it now in his eyes, clear and steady, as he sits up, as he reaches for her hand. And even with that certainty, that fire burning, his hand on hers is gentle.

She turns her hand beneath his, laces their fingers together as they had once before, three thousand years in the past, and smiles at him. ]

And that is a very great comfort to me.

( the gentle way in which her fingers slide between his stirs something within him he long thought gone — lost within the shadows of the batman much as bruce wayne himself tends to be and has been for the past two years especially. the reclusive prince of gotham who is hardly ever seen in public — who is hardly ever seen even within the halls of the manor he lives within over looking gotham, lost in the shadows of the vigilante stalking gotham and doing whatever it takes to try and fix it.

staring to their hands there on the bed in a motel that is so far from home in a number of ways, he's here in a place he never thought he would be, facing things and about to face things he never thought would ever be a possibility for him to.

pad of his thumb so very gently brushing along her thumb, he lifts his gaze from their hands — brings it up to meet hers. )

Try not to take too long tomorrow. If you need backup or... anything goes wrong...

I won't.

[ The edge of before, the annoyance, seems to have dissipated, leaving – as always – the truth beneath. His worry, his misgivings. Concerned for her, even though from his perspective he hardly knows her. Worried despite her own not-insignificant powers.

His thumb tracing over hers is as light as a butterfly – or, she supposes, the brush of a bat's wing. ]

Three hours.

[ It serves as both a gentle reminder and a promise. ]

If I'm late, if something happens, you'll know where I am. But so you know... there is very little that could keep me from returning, when my mind is set on it.

( for all the flack he might get about not caring, the problem is that he does, even if some angry part of him maybe wishes he didn't. he cares and that care allows him to still feel pain, to still feel guilt... to still feel fear in ways he'd hoped he'd mastered by now.

what's happened to alfred, the thought of what could happen to any of the adopted kids under his care in some other world so close to his own...

his gaze on their hands again, it lifts when she speaks and he looks to her with a quiet understanding; he's much the same way. )

I'm gonna hold you to that, just so you know...

I'd expect nothing less. But please, for my sake –

[ Some amusement filtering into her voice as she leans forward. ]

Don't call him Cupid. Believe me when I say the pettiness of gods can ruin even the best-laid plans.

( unexpectedly, that gets him to smile — gets a faint sound of amusement leaving his lips as he leans in some, too. as blue eyes search her face, their gaze softening some. )

Right. No Cupid. ( a heartbeat of a pause. ) Anything else I should know?

About the gods? Almost certainly. But is this really the time for a divinity lesson?

[ She's teasing him. It would be nearly impossible not to, now that he's smiling, now that all his sharp edges are softening. There he is: the man behind the cowl. The one who, in another world, is one of her dearest friends.

Anything else I should know? Again: almost certainly. But is it even possible to compress years of camaraderie, arguments, trust broken and reforged, into a few words? Should he know what else happened on that battlefield, so long ago?

(Is that enough?) ]

( the smile, though it shrinks some, lingers there on those lips that grow dangerously closer to diana with yet another gentle lean in. there's a softness there in the way he looks to her — in the way fingers brush between hers in almost tender clasp. the television softly fills whatever silence ends up lingering between them with those pauses, just barely there in terms of background noise. whatever diana was watching... it's not important now. wasn't entirely important to begin with. but it serves its purpose here for the moment, of giving them something to mask the sounds of heartbeats and gentle breaths. )

You got a better idea for what to do?

[ What she thinks of, now, as he leans closer and their fingers twine together, is not a last embrace on the battlefield, but of a dream that came after. A clear day on Themyscira, a breeze tugging at her gown, at his hair.

(One more day. Can I have one more day?
Every one I have left. My life is yours. It always has been.)

Maybe the only lie she's ever spoken to Bruce: It was terrible. The trip through potential futures, all of which she set aside to return to what she knew was already good.

But here, now, this Bruce; everything he has is the future. He's barely started on his mission, is still becoming the man she knows so well. Is it selfish, then, to wonder what could be? ]

Perhaps a few thoughts.

[ To his question before: there's so much he should know. Not only about her, and their friendship, but about the League, his work. If he's genuinely curious about the gods, she can regale him for hours with stories, beginning with how they brought her to life.

And then there's the soft look in his eyes. The warmth of his breath. She hasn't been this close to him in a long time. ]

Though it would be wiser simply to go to sleep. We'll all need our rest.

( so close now, eyes fall shut out of instinct to, noses just barely touching. he’s been here before, in a way. staring down to selina amidst a wash of oranges, reds, and purples across the sky, gotham stretched out around them. the way everything seemed to come to pause, the world around them a mere backdrop to their existence — to a moment that lingered on his lips after.

this moment feels similar to that… but also fills him with something else. something he can’t quite put his finger on. maybe because it’s bruce here on the bed and not batman on a rooftop overlooking the city. someone he hasn’t let himself be for a long time now. not genuinely, at least. not like this.

a breath on his lips — a huff of soft laughter, he swallows. just another inch closer. )

Yeah. Probably should.

( words as soft as the breath he takes — as the way her hand feels within his, there’s a moment where he thinks to- or maybe it’s that he doesn’t think, for once, and lips part gently, when the sound of guests passing by, unruly with their laughter, chases the moment away and bruce pulls back some, letting his gaze drift towards their closed door. when they pass by, he ducks his head — swallows and looks over then to the television that still offers them noise to fill the silence. he doesn’t even know what he’s watching. it’s just there. like him. )

I, uh… can take the chair. If it’s better for you.

[ His nose brushes hers, his eyes heavy-lidded and warm, and she has to wonder if perhaps Eros is at work in this world. But the hung moment evaporates as a few other motel guests pass by outside and he turns away, though his hand stays in hers. When he looks back again, she smiles, a little rueful.

Perhaps they never will get their chance. But she contented herself with the knowledge that he'd always be in her life long ago, and so he is now. This Bruce who hardly knows her.

But he feels it, too, she thinks. Their connection. Something strong enough to cross universes. ]

That won't be necessary.

[ She sits back, herself, adding to the air between them. No longer almost forehead to forehead. ]

There's plenty of room.

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