Stephanie Brown (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
alwaysroomforhope) wrote2009-03-07 09:34 pm
alwaysroomforhope) wrote2009-03-07 09:34 pm
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Steph's talk with Batman has cleared up precisely nothing. It's nearing daylight by the time the window slides up soundlessly again and she slips inside, cloak blending with the shadows, tired and only wanting to slide into bed with a snuggly, snoring boyfriend. Which she promptly does.
Somewhere that's way too early in the morning, the warm snuggling goes away. There might have been some talking, but Steph couldn't swear to it, because it's nearly evening by the time she actually wakes up, finding herself curled up in a tight ball alone in bed with exactly zero answers more than she started with.
She crawls out of bed, shaking her limbs out to clear the cramps from sleeping so huddled, and shaking her head to clear the bad dreams. (Running, always running, with her father behind her laughing and his friends, and Batman ahead - so far ahead she'll never catch up - and then a long line of people she's known, people who've died, people who she might have killed. Phil and his two stupid cannibal sons are there, staring at her. Babs is there, watching her run. Sokka isn't there, she can't find him anywhere, she can't find anyone who won't look at her like she's a failure -- and alwaays the running.)
Cleaning her teeth is the first thing she does; after sleeping all day it feels like her tongue is a dirty fuzzy old sock. Then she wanders out to the balcony to look down at the city spread out below the apartment. It's Metropolis - too clean, too shiny. It's not home, not the way that Gotham was or the farm is now. But maybe she can learn to live with that.
Somewhere that's way too early in the morning, the warm snuggling goes away. There might have been some talking, but Steph couldn't swear to it, because it's nearly evening by the time she actually wakes up, finding herself curled up in a tight ball alone in bed with exactly zero answers more than she started with.
She crawls out of bed, shaking her limbs out to clear the cramps from sleeping so huddled, and shaking her head to clear the bad dreams. (Running, always running, with her father behind her laughing and his friends, and Batman ahead - so far ahead she'll never catch up - and then a long line of people she's known, people who've died, people who she might have killed. Phil and his two stupid cannibal sons are there, staring at her. Babs is there, watching her run. Sokka isn't there, she can't find him anywhere, she can't find anyone who won't look at her like she's a failure -- and alwaays the running.)
Cleaning her teeth is the first thing she does; after sleeping all day it feels like her tongue is a dirty fuzzy old sock. Then she wanders out to the balcony to look down at the city spread out below the apartment. It's Metropolis - too clean, too shiny. It's not home, not the way that Gotham was or the farm is now. But maybe she can learn to live with that.
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Incredibly.
"Okay. Okay, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell."
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It's a little too blank, not enough emotion. He's said it too much to put his heart into it again.
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"I love you," Steph whispers, both arms going around him, resting her forehead against his. She says it so easily these days, so often - that's twice in one conversation - but it's just as serious, just as earnest, just as heavy with meaning every time. Steph is physically incapable of anything else, of saying words she doesn't mean.
"I won't let you lose me. Ever. I don't care what I turn into, where I end up, as long as I don't lose you along the way."
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But woe betide the person that tries to tell them that.
Wrapping his arms around her, too, Sokka kisses her again. He might not be good with words sometimes, but he can always prove his devotion, his attention with his silence.