Chapter Text
Lanie was admitted into Wayne manor as a guest and even though she’d been within the walls of the late Victorian home countless times, this time, felt different.
It was quiet and filmy. Warm winter light spilled in through the windows, though it was late afternoon and the light was faster disappearing in favor of a sunset. She had no doubt it would be stunning over the Gotham forest trees and the shimmering waters of the nearby Bay. If she and Jay were feeling up to it, they would have wrapped themselves in blankets and hats and scarves, then taken hot cocoa out to the edge of the property to watch the sun disappear. Then they probably would have walked around the barren gardens and he would have smoked a cigarette and they would have talked about how they were going to move somewhere warmer when they got old and crinkly.
The pretty picture of it all, made her smile. Until she thought of why she was here and why her body ached from crown to heel. She wasn’t here for sunsets or romantic evenings out in gardens. She was here to set things right after their little world had imploded. She was here to make order out of chaos and to see with her own eyes, that the man she’d fallen in love with, was still just a man.
Because she was certainly just a woman. A woman whose heart felt sore and weary.
Lanie had come to the manor in sweats, no makeup, and a messy attempt at a bun. She’d come with dark circles under her eyes and skin drained of all its color. She came like a weary vagabond ready to seek shelter. And Wayne manor welcomed her with open arms.
Alfred must have recently cleaned by the servant’s entrance off the kitchen, because it smelled like lemon oil and mint. The floors were glossy under the sheen of dim lighting. Frames and windows glowed and lacked even a spec of dust. She found herself briefly wondering if Alfred ever took a day off, or if he ever let even a smudge remain within the hallowed walls of the manor. She doubted it.
“Where is everyone?” Lanie asked softly, following Alfred as he wordlessly brought them deeper into the home. It felt like she should whisper as though she were inside a church. Though that made her feel silly.
“Downstairs, Miss Lanie. I’ll take you to them.”
“Oh.”
She’d not been aware of a downstairs in the Wayne manor. Given the size of it, this didn’t come as much of a surprise. Still, there was a thread of something tenuous in Alfred’s voice that suggested the downstairs was generally off-limits. And it made her keep close to his heels as they paced down the long hall that bisected the manor then took a sharp right past the formal dining room, before stopping at an ornate grandfather clock that looked spectacularly old.
Pausing, Alfred lifted a weathered hand to the face of it, opened the glass lid then spun one of the long black hands with his index finger. Lanie watched the process with a frown, unsure what the hell the old butler was doing, but then stared dumbstruck when the clock broke from the wall with a sigh and hiss. The seal around the clock popped open like a can of soda and a small gush of alien air attempted to equalize the change in pressure. Gooseflesh spilled over her arms and legs.
“Right this way, madam,” Alfred hummed, completely disregarding her expression as he pulled the clock back on a set of shiny brass hinges and then disappeared into the yawning black entrance he’d just exposed.
Lanie followed silently. She could hardly do anything else.
Jay had told her that Bruce Wayne was the Batman. And logically, over the weekend, she’d let herself consider the information and tried to digest it in pieces, so it could be understood. She’d thought herself fairly accustomed to the information. But sinking deeper and deeper into what was obviously a cave, and a tightly held secret, she felt a little shaky and a whole lot unsure of herself.
If she’d been alone, Lanie likely would have dissolved into awkward inappropriate giggles.
The air was slightly chilly and damp on her skin and she shivered, when she could hear the tell-tale sounds of bats roosting overhead. If she looked, all that could be seen was sooty black. But she could hear their paper-thin wings beating the air.
This place belonged to the Batman.
The abrupt change from gloss and polish, to gritty cool sharpness, made the reality of what she was walking into, that much stronger. If Lanie closed her eyes, it would be easy to believe this was all a dream.
When Alfred stopped at the base of the stairs and Lanie came to stand at his side, she was greeted with something much more technically advanced than her first imaginings with the wet and bats. In the bottom of the cave, it appeared that no expense had been spared in making a top of the line workspace. Grated walkways crisscrossed the massive rocky outcroppings, leading up to a higher deck where a bank of computers glowed dimly blue, or to other carved out platforms housing gear and weapons. Over her head, by a set of stairs, there was the Batmobile, in all its glory shining dewy and black beside a pair of equally jet-black motorcycles. Lanie immediately thought of Jay’s own bike and then felt her stomach cramp imagining him fighting alongside the Bat. As a lethal weapon of muscle and mind.
It was something absolutely thrilling and then terrifying to imagine. It was one thing to be told, an entirely different thing to see the evidence.
A waterfall at the far reaches of the cave where the floodlights didn’t reach was a dull roar over her ears and she was glad she couldn’t hear how loud and fast she was breathing.
“Where—” Lanie’s voice came out too thin to be heard and she had to try again, “Where is Jay?”
“Right this way,” Alfred mused, his brows lifted as he watched Lanie take in the cave for the first time. He’d had to have known that it was now safe to bring her here. Else he never would have done this.
Still, there was a little part of her brain that screamed at her to leave. At any moment, the Bat could come and see she’d invaded his space. And that was a frightening thought. Even if she knew the man beneath the mask.
Alfred led her over one of the walkways, down a ramp and through a set of doors that were to the right of the main computer deck she’d seen. When they strode into a room of white walls and shining stainless steel cabinets, Lanie was stopped in her tracks by the grouping of men.
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen them all before. Because she had.
But she’d seen them as men. Not like this. Never, would she have pictured Jay’s family like this. Bruce, wearing black thermals with the Bat insignia unmistakably marking his chest. Dick, fully out-fitted, sans the domino of Nightwing, leaning over what looked like a cot, his back to her. Timothy, Red Robin, looking at her with the cowl missing but with smears of black grease paint around his eyes still. Damian glaring and feral, wearing sweats and looking as vicious as ever. He too, wore the Bat insignia on the thermals she could see sticking out from beneath his halfway zipped hoody.
Bruce stepped forward, eyes dark and strained, face carefully blank. “Lanie.”
“Bruce,” she swallowed, trying not to stare, trying not to feel the scarlet heat that was swamping her face and neck. She felt so out of place and absolutely forbidden here. And just a touch of afraid. Because she didn’t feel welcome here. This place felt just a bit frightening and off-limits. And this room smelled like antiseptic and faintly of blood. Another reminder of what she’d stepped into and who Jay really was.
She’d come here to see Jay. Not to stare and gape. Not yet. She imagined, ten years from now, they’d all laugh about how long she went without knowing any of it and how shocked she’d been. But that time wasn’t now. Now, she just felt awkward and foolish and anxious.
She’d come here to see her Jay.
“Where’s Jay?”
Bruce’s expression crumpled a little and something like fear rushed up Lanie’s throat when the sea of semi-uniformed men parted to reveal that little cot, Dick had been leaning over, in this clean antiseptic smelling place. A bed with Jay in it.
Suddenly, the blood smell made sense. And so did the grouping of men around the bed and their oddly tight expressions.
Lanie felt abruptly sick. And scared.
For the second time in two days, her heart stopped completely. She didn’t breathe as her eyes flickered over his frame, hungry to see him and desperate, beyond desperate, to see the rise and fall of his chest. When she confirmed it, when she could see the flutter of a pulse in the hollow of his throat, Lanie surged forward and ignored everyone else.
She could hear Bruce trying to explain, but it sounded like hazy buzzing in her ears. She caught words like, ‘he’ll be OK’ and ‘some blood loss’, but there seemed to be a disconnect between her brain and her ears. Lanie couldn’t see or think or hardly breathe past simply getting to Jay’s side and feeling that he was alive and well.
She was on her knees by the cot, grabbing onto one of Jay’s hands, pressing her mouth to chapped knuckles as the tears sprang up. The curses came shortly after and she didn’t notice when everyone left. She was too busy cussing Jay out, gripping his hand so hard it was bruising her own knuckles with the pressure.
“What did you do to yourself Jay?” she snapped, angry tears pearling down her cheeks, “How could you go off and get hurt like this and not call me?”
“I’m sorry.”
Lanie jerked at the rumbling voice and looked down into red-rimmed green eyes that were clear and smooth and familiar. A hiccupping sob rose up her throat and stole her breath and then her voice and she bent over Jay and let the tears come.
She only cried harder when Jay’s hands gripped hers weakly and didn’t push her way. When he pressed her fingers to the pulse in his neck, like he’d done so many, many months ago in the manor to show he was alive, she counted the heartbeats with the strain of her own. She counted them till she could believe them.
Jason drifted off to the soft sounds of Lanie sobbing and if he’d been able to get up without screaming in pain, he might have tried to comfort her better. Unfortunately, that was an impossibility.
When he roused again, he figured it must be sometime in the middle of the night because the cave lights were dimmed, and the med-bay was empty. Lanie was still with him, tucked into his side, softly snoring but stiff as a board with both hands clenched into her chest in tight fists. A little hazy from the drugs, and a lot soothed to see her here, he smoothed a thumb between her brows where they wanted to crinkle in worry and she sighed into him. Warm and soft and Lanie.
She smelled good in the dark like this. Her breath felt cool and gentle on his neck and even though he could imagine better circumstances for getting her down in the cave, he couldn’t be upset about it. Lanie was here. And she’d come on her own. No one had called her. Because he’d told them not to.
But she’d still come.
It had to mean that they would be alright. It had to mean she’d come because she’d accepted the things he’d told her and still wanted him. He couldn’t believe different.
Lanie shifted a little on the cot, making the metal squeak, then blinked open slightly swollen red eyes at him. She’d never looked more lovely.
“Hey,” he whispered, smoothing his thumb over her bottom lip now, silently asking permission to touch her more.
She sighed, squeezing a millimeter closer, easily giving that permission, then gently hooked an arm over his chest. “Hey.”
Knots loosened in his stomach, aches smoothed, and he let himself hope.
“You’re here.”
“Yes.”
They sat silent for long minutes. He traced her face, ran his fingers through her hair. Lanie sat perfectly still, letting him explore as she hummed in agreement with the touches. It was almost better than the words. Almost better than saying everything between them was really going to be alright. But he needed to hear those too.
“What happened?”
“Didn’t Bruce tell you?” Jason questioned, brow wrinkling as he stared into the hazy dark to try and make out her face better.
“He tried. I was a little—distraught when I saw you. I didn’t listen well.”
Jason toyed with an earlobe, then started wrapping her silken hair around a finger. “I got stabbed a couple of times, during a bust with a local crime boss. Lost a lot a of blood.”
“Jay, my God.”
“I’m alright. It wasn’t a big deal. Alfred stitched me up. We’ve got blood on hand, so I had a transfusion too. But I’m OK.”
“You could have died.”
He opened his mouth to say he’d already been dead before, because that would be a natural response for him, but the words died in his throat when Lanie tensed.
“I’m sorry. That was insensitive.”
“Lanie—you don’t need to apologize.”
Her eyes glowed like moonstone under the security lighting outside the med-bay and Jason wanted to bottle the feeling in his chest for a bad day. For the days when he didn’t believe anyone or anything. He wanted to keep this moment for later. Because he could see in her gaze how much she loved him and how much she cared. The fact that she was lying on this fucking uncomfortable cot still, was proof enough of her staying power. Of what she was willing to offer.
Lanie was the rock in the storm. Even when the storm was him.
“Why did you come?”
He knew no one had called her. No one would break the sanctity of that particular rule, unless death was on the table. Thankfully, his wounds had been moderate, but not severe enough to override his requests. Though he did feel like shit.
One lucky fucker with a switchblade and he was sporting thirty-two stitches and would have a couple new scars to add to the patchwork job he had going. It was part of the job. Sometimes, someone got lucky and got through the armor. Sometimes, things happened.
“I needed to see you.”
“See me?” he whispered, letting the fresh stitches in his side sting so he could lean closer to press a kiss to her forehead.
“I needed to see my Jay. The man I fell in love with,” he froze, and she blew out a tired breath, “I know your real name is Jason. At least your legal name. But I knew you and still think of you as Jay. And even though you’ve got all these other parts to you, that I didn’t know about till a couple days ago, in my head and in my heart—you still feel like just Jay. The Jay I love.”
Jason’s heart was slamming into his ribs, a hefty reminder of him being alive. Of this moment being real, and he swallowed thickly as all the fear and the pain and the noise in his head from the last few days went quiet. It all went softly and abruptly, silent.
He suddenly felt like he could sleep for days. Like he could relax after having had every muscle in his body tense for years.
“Is that OK, Jay? That I still see you like that?”
Jason nodded, feeling so damn thankful and relieved and exhausted, he couldn’t express it without breaking down, “Yeah. It’s OK. I—I like it. I’m still just me. I’m still just Jay.”
“Yes,” Lanie whispered, “I might need you to remind me of that in the future—in case you’re stupid again and get yourself hurt like this.”
He choked on a surprised laugh, then shook his head, “I’ll do my best.”
She inhaled delicately, a pleased sound breaking the seam of her mouth, “I’m counting on it.”
Lanie and Jason stayed at the manor for a week until Jason was fully back on his feet. Dick helped placate his academy instructors and Lanie kept him company in bed. They read Chaucer and laughed over some Shakespearean comedies he hadn’t dusted off in centuries. She fed him toast and made him stay in bed too much, but Jason let her because he felt too damn spoiled not to.
He let her baby him and boss him. And she didn’t bring up the new tiny strains between them. The little things that made their dynamic just that much different. She’d forgiven him, and they were moving forward, but things were—different.
At the end of a week, Alfred informed him he didn’t need to return to the manor for the removal of the stitches because they were dissolvable. They packed up, said a few goodbyes and went back to the original scene of the crime where it all went bang. Their apartment.
It felt a little strange now, walking in the door and seeing that nothing had changed. It felt like everything had. Most of it for the better, but still. More should look different on the outside, when there’d been such a vital shift on the inside. At least, that’s what it felt like.
Jason unpacked his duffel, watched TV quietly with Lanie perched on the opposite end of the couch with her feet in his lap. He did his best to act like nothing was wrong or different or strange, but by the time he’d cycled through three reruns of Law and Order, he was feeling antsy. They’d not talked anymore about any of it, and there was a part of him that was glad for it. The morning of finding out everything, he’d done enough talking to last a lifetime. But she hadn’t.
And yes, she’d said she still saw him as just Jay. Her Jay. But it felt different now. Was it only on his side? Was he the only one, who felt slightly out of order? Like they’d been put back together with a missing piece?
He wanted to ask, but then he didn’t. It was quiet between them. Peaceful even.
But it didn’t feel as soft or smooth or relaxed. Like they were both waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Lanie?”
Lanie glanced up from the novel she was reading and lifted a brow, “Yeah?”
“Have you felt like—” he pursed his lips, studying the TV for a long moment before reaching for the remote to mute it, “Have you felt like everything is different now?”
She put down her book on the coffee table and pulled her feet off his lap. He immediately missed their warmth on his legs. “You feel that it’s different?”
“Don’t you? Everything feels, just a little, off. Like we’re still not quite fully OK.”
“I think it’s going to take time Jay,” Lanie spoke matter of fact, but her hands had tightened on the couch and her shoulders were stiff.
“I said a lot when we talked about everything. And you didn’t really. Did you—I mean—” he swallowed, wondering if this was a terrible idea, “did you have things you wanted to say, but didn’t get to? Or things you wanted to ask?”
Lanie stared at him, brows drawing low over those expressive hazel eyes then she finally looked down at her feet and sighed. “I guess maybe I do.”
“OK, let’s hear it.”
“Jay—I don’t want to push you. I never have. You know that.”
“I do. But I’m telling you it’s OK now. I think we need to get the rest out. To get it all out.”
Whatever it was. He needed the last piece to click back in.
“The Joker,” Jason stiffened and Lanie automatically reached to grab his hand. It meant more to him than she probably realized. Mostly because she did it without thought. It was second nature for her to be soothing and kind. It was simply who she was. “He did terrible things to you. And he killed you. I just—I don’t understand why you didn’t kill him. You killed others as Red Hood. Men who’d done less but you kept Joker alive.”
“I—” wow, that was a question he’d not been expecting. One he occasionally still struggled immensely with, “I tried to. And failed. Brue stopped me.”
Her nose wrinkled and something like disgust passed over her face. It made warmth flow from his chest into his toes. “Why?”
“Because Bruce doesn’t kill, and he wanted to protect me. He thought I would regret it once I realized what I did.”
“And would you have?”
He frowned at her, “I don’t know. I can’t honestly say. I wish he were dead. I still have fantasies of killing him on my bad days, because it helps me feel more in control. But I don’t know. Bruce did what he thought was right. It took me a long time to come to terms with that and forgive him for it.”
“I—” Lanie inhaled sharply, “I’ve never been a violent person, Jay. You know this,” she lifted her eyes to his with a look of sudden apology, “But with a face to the crimes, with a person I can hate for the things done to you—I’ve been wanting him dead. I’ve been struggling with the fact that he’s not.”
“Oh Lanie,” he was smiling even though she looked sick over what she’d confessed, and he couldn’t stop himself. Yeah, maybe it was fucked up that his girlfriend wanted someone dead on his behalf, but it felt amazing. It felt incredible. “I struggle with the same things. I figure it makes us human.”
“I’m not that sort of person.”
Jason cocked his head and frowned, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but every person is that sort of person, given the right circumstances.”
She looked at him hard, like she was trying to figure a puzzle out then finally nodded, “Yes, I guess that’s true. The right place, the right time, the right ingredients. And it all goes to shit.”
“Yeah…Are we OK now?”
Lanie sighed and the last tiny little piece, the one that had felt out of joint, steadily clicked into place. “I think so.”
He dipped to take her mouth and groaned when she easily accepted the kiss. She was warm and inviting and immediately responsive. They’d not had sex in ten days. It felt like an eternity. And it felt so fucking great to actually want it like that. To need that physical and emotional sort of connection with another human being and have his past trauma as the least of his concerns when it came to his sex life.
In the kiss, in the press of skin on skin and the sudden hungry burst of need between them, it was just them. There was no Joker. No eerie haunting laughter or terrifying flashes of greasepaint and smiles. It was just Jason and Lanie.
For once, for once in all the years of trauma and insecurity, Jason wasn’t scared of the what-ifs or the future that would probably hold more flashbacks and panic attacks and nightmares. He wasn’t scared. Because he had Lanie. And Lanie was going to stay. Lanie didn’t run. She didn’t back away from a fight. Lanie Thompkins loved hard and long and forever.
And Jason was never going to give that up. Ever.