She didn't expect him to be around the next morning. She certainly didn't expect being woken up by small pained noises and then a groan that sounded like it came straight out of a grave.
Cracking an eye open, she meant to check on what exactly Bruce was doing that merited that kind of noise but he was nowhere to be seen.
"Wayne. What on earth are you doing, and, more importantly, where are you doing it?"
You don't suffer the injuries Bruce has, abuse your body in the way Bruce has, without consequences. Unpleasant consequences. Usually he's able to push it down, hide the symptoms, ignore them, even. But this morning his back is betraying him, his body is betraying him. He's made it as far as Cersei's en-suite where he's standing, face pale, skin grey and covered in a cool and clammy sweat, hands gripping the side of the vanity in front of the mirror, bend over as if he's about to pass out.
His white dress shirt - he didn't take if off last night in spite of encouragement, too many questions he wasn't in the mood to answer - hangs off him. He really thinks he's about to be ill.
Bruce doesn't respond to Cersei. He just wants to be left alone.
It's too early to be awake but here she is, waiting for a reply from someone who isn't inclined to say anything. Getting out of bed, she slips into her dressing gown and goes looking for the previously source of noise, now silence, and finds it in the bathroom.
He doesn't look too well. Actually he looks half-dead.
Jaw set, tone like ice, he manages to make it sound dignified, somehow, even as he's bent over in her bathroom, looking like the walking dead. Somehow he makes it sound like she's being dismissed.
"I appreciate the sentiment but I already am up and your definition of 'fine' needs to be adjusted."
Walking towards him, robe swinging around her legs, she comes to a halt behind him, a little to the right, never taking her gaze off of Bruce's in the mirror.
"While I'm sure this approach of yours works perfectly fine when you're within your own four magical walls, I can promise you it won't do you any good here."
Lying down actually sounds like the best idea he's heard in weeks. Though he's not sure moving is such a great idea. Moving, he thinks, will possibly end with him on the floor.
He can have as many minutes as he wants whether she'll give them to him or not. Contrary to popular opinion, time is still free. He can have something else, however. Reaching up - never touching him - Cersei retrieves a bottle of painkillers from the cabinet and leaves two of them on the edge of the sink.
"Take your time but take these, too. It's more effective than the 'breathing through the pain' crap."
Bruce wouldn't say time is free, he'd say time is the most expensive currency a person has, because every second is one you can't get back, it's running out and there's nothing you can do about it.
"It's just a mild back ache, Cersei."
And he forces a smile. It's a smile he's used on so many women in the past. The, it's all good, trust me, I'm fine, smile.
But the moment his hand leaves it's grip on the counter to reach for the pills it's all over, his back gives out entirely and the weight of him hits the floor with a force that's got to hurt.
She doesn't buy the line or the smile but if he insists on doing it his way, Cersei is more than happy let him deal with it however he chooses to. But then the house of cards collapses quite abruptly and ends up on her bathroom floor.
Fortunately, he can't see the small flinch and brief flash of panic in her eyes or things might become awkward. Well, more awkward.
The pain is outrageous and he can't help but react to it, he screams out in absolute agony and it dissolves, under his insistence, to a series of grunts.
She has half a mind to actually leave him there, on the ground. Cold tiles are what doctors recommended for back aches, isn't it?
Stepping over him, Cersei fills a glass with water and grabs the pills. She puts the glass down and drops the painkillers into his hand before she leaves the room.
A few moments - and a quiet phone call to the family physician - later, she returns with a blanket that she dumped on him unceremoniously and sits down on the edge of the bathtub.
"How long do your 'spasms' last?" the blonde asks conversationally. If he insists it's nothing, she's more than happy to treat it as nothing and see how long he can keep that act up.
Reply
Cracking an eye open, she meant to check on what exactly Bruce was doing that merited that kind of noise but he was nowhere to be seen.
"Wayne. What on earth are you doing, and, more importantly, where are you doing it?"
Reply
You don't suffer the injuries Bruce has, abuse your body in the way Bruce has, without consequences. Unpleasant consequences. Usually he's able to push it down, hide the symptoms, ignore them, even. But this morning his back is betraying him, his body is betraying him. He's made it as far as Cersei's en-suite where he's standing, face pale, skin grey and covered in a cool and clammy sweat, hands gripping the side of the vanity in front of the mirror, bend over as if he's about to pass out.
His white dress shirt - he didn't take if off last night in spite of encouragement, too many questions he wasn't in the mood to answer - hangs off him. He really thinks he's about to be ill.
Bruce doesn't respond to Cersei. He just wants to be left alone.
Reply
He doesn't look too well. Actually he looks half-dead.
"Bruce, what's going on?"
Reply
He looks at her through the mirror.
"I'm fine."
Jaw set, tone like ice, he manages to make it sound dignified, somehow, even as he's bent over in her bathroom, looking like the walking dead. Somehow he makes it sound like she's being dismissed.
"There's no need to get up."
Reply
Walking towards him, robe swinging around her legs, she comes to a halt behind him, a little to the right, never taking her gaze off of Bruce's in the mirror.
"While I'm sure this approach of yours works perfectly fine when you're within your own four magical walls, I can promise you it won't do you any good here."
Reply
Bruce makes a sound, it could be a snort, it could be a grunt, it could just be the pain.
"I'm trying to use the bathroom. A novel idea, I know, but perhaps you could give me a little privacy."
Reply
What is he trying to prove? There isn't even anyone here to prove anything to.
"Will you stop being so stubborn and go lie down already before you faint in my bathroom and hurt yourself even worse?"
Reply
Lying down actually sounds like the best idea he's heard in weeks. Though he's not sure moving is such a great idea. Moving, he thinks, will possibly end with him on the floor.
"Give me a few minutes, Lannister."
Reply
"Take your time but take these, too. It's more effective than the 'breathing through the pain' crap."
Reply
Bruce wouldn't say time is free, he'd say time is the most expensive currency a person has, because every second is one you can't get back, it's running out and there's nothing you can do about it.
"It's just a mild back ache, Cersei."
And he forces a smile. It's a smile he's used on so many women in the past. The, it's all good, trust me, I'm fine, smile.
But the moment his hand leaves it's grip on the counter to reach for the pills it's all over, his back gives out entirely and the weight of him hits the floor with a force that's got to hurt.
Reply
Fortunately, he can't see the small flinch and brief flash of panic in her eyes or things might become awkward. Well, more awkward.
"I'm calling a doctor." Always so practical.
Reply
The pain is outrageous and he can't help but react to it, he screams out in absolute agony and it dissolves, under his insistence, to a series of grunts.
"No."
He manages.
"Just get me to the bed."
Reply
There's a frown on her face and a hint of exasperation, too.
"Are you completely mad? What on earth makes you think I could lift, let alone drag you all the way over to the bed?"
Reply
"All right,"
And he says the next as if it's completely reasonable, as if it's the most logical and normal suggestion in the world.
"It's just a spasm. Just get me a blanket and I'll stay here for a while until it passes."
Reply
Stepping over him, Cersei fills a glass with water and grabs the pills. She puts the glass down and drops the painkillers into his hand before she leaves the room.
A few moments - and a quiet phone call to the family physician - later, she returns with a blanket that she dumped on him unceremoniously and sits down on the edge of the bathtub.
"How long do your 'spasms' last?" the blonde asks conversationally. If he insists it's nothing, she's more than happy to treat it as nothing and see how long he can keep that act up.
Reply
Leave a comment