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remix_reduxTitle: Seasons of Change
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nos4a2no9
Summary: The Bat clan comes to Princeton Plainsboro for some much-needed treatment.
Rating: G
Fandom: Batman, House MD
Original Story: Change Is the Only Constant bymarag
Thick smears of rain painted the windows of his private hospital room. He watched it streak the glass for a while, and wondered if the view it obscured – a courtyard garden of New Jersey ash and poplars – wasn’t slightly improved by the elements. He’d always enjoyed the rain. Even the over-manicured grounds of Princeton Plainsboro couldn’t diminish the natural beauty of a moist, green garden in early spring. If his last days were to be spent in this bed, presented with this view, he hoped very much it would continue to rain.
Another tremor in his arm. Bruce sighed and flexed his fingers.
Cassandra was at his side in an instant but he held up a hand. “It’s not so bad.”
“It’s bad,” she insisted, leaning over check his pupils. She reminded him very strongly of Alfred at times like these. No one else had ever managed the old man’s ne: Seasons of trick of blending concern, exasperation and affection into one simple statement. “Take something. Please.”
He pushed at her but it was like trying to move a mountain. The expression ‘weak as a kitten’ had taken on an entirely new meaning in the last month. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s nothing.”
Lying to her was useless, of course. She could easily deduce the truth in the tight white line of his mouth, the shadows under his eyes, even the way it took him a few extra seconds to focus on her face when she spoke. Given Cassandra’s ability to interpret physical movements, she had more than enough raw data to reach her own diagnosis of his condition.
She would have made a very good doctor if things had been different.
“Is Dick back yet?”
Cassandra shook her head. “He’s trying to talk to that doctor. He keeps sending students.”
Bruce almost smiled. Cassandra had clearly stated her opinion of Dr. House’s team of residents. She had assessed and then dismissed them in a single glance: the Australian never expected to be taken seriously, the girl asked questions to conceal the fact that she had no confidence in herself, and the black man was constantly outraged by every one and every thing. A rather harsh evaluation, but he trusted Cassandra’s ability to capture the broad strokes. They hadn’t made the trip up from Gotham by private ambulance to be treated by Dr. House’s team of residents, after all.
“Will he help?”
Another wave of pain swelled up within his head. The sensations tore at him and Bruce felt like a man pitched overboard on rough seas and swallowed by churning waters. He’d known agony before, and the uncertainty of facing life as a permanent invalid. Nothing could compare to this experience. If the pain hadn’t been so intense, or if the lapses in cognition and memory weren’t so frequent, he might never have made the decision to come to Princeton Plainsboro. Desperate times, and so forth.
“Yes. Eventually.”
“And if it’s too late?”
Bruce closed his eyes. His mouth felt dry and Cassandra was there with a cool glass of water and a straw.
“He’ll come around, Cass. Give him some time.”
She snorted. “He’s had nearly twenty years.”
“Then a few more days won’t matter.”
“Not to him,” Cassandra said, setting the glass down with a dull plastic ‘thunk’.
The door opened and Bruce and Cassandra both looked up expecting to see Dick. Instead Barbara was maneuvering herself through the wide doorway, her hands guiding the wheelchair with practiced skill.
“Is Dick back?”
“Not yet. Although his return seems to be more highly anticipated than the second coming of Christ.”
Barbara smiled. She didn’t do that nearly enough; it took twenty years off her face. “He is Dick, after all. Think he’ll be able to convince him?”
“If anyone can.” Bruce closed his eyes again. He was getting tired. Other than the pain and his inability to remember large chunks of his life, his inability to remain awake for more than ten minutes at a time was the worst thing about this damnable mystery illness. “Is it still raining out?”
Barbara had wheeled herself closer. “Yes. Get some sleep. And when you wake up, maybe Tim will be here.”
“Dr. House, Barbara,” he reminded her. “It’s what he wants.”
“I’m not sure what he wants should be any of our concern.”
Bruce didn’t reply. What could he possibly say? Instead he drifted off to sleep, leaving pain and the sound of Cassandra and Barbara’s murmured conversation behind. He didn’t remember his dreams these days; perhaps he slept better for it. When he woke the room was dark and slivered here and there by the moonlight leaking in through the blinds. That little courtyard garden must be lovely in the moonlight.
Dick was asleep in the bedside chair. Bruce managed to tug a hand free from the blankets to slap him gently on the knee.
“Dick,” he whispered. “Dick, wake up.”
Dick grumbled something and flung an arm across his eyes. Bruce shook his head. Dick had never liked being woken from a sound sleep, not even to go chasing across the rooftops of Gotham. The boy he’d once been vanished years ago, but traces of him remained.
“Dick, please.”
Dick finally opened his eyes. “You okay? Need something?”
“Did Dr. House—“
“Tim said no. He didn’t know you were sick. Not at first, anyway. I thought you’d told him.” Dick fixed Bruce with a disapproving glare. “But even when I explained that it was more than just old age or a few battle wounds he...he said no.”
“He has that right, Dick.”
Dick pushed himself out of his chair, rubbing at the stiff tendons in his neck. “You’re being pretty rational about all of this. If you came to me for help and I said no...”
“It’s different for Dr. House. And very few of us are blessed with your forgiving nature.”
That drew a smile from Dick. “Yeah, yeah, I’m one of a kind.”
He went to stand by the window. Bruce resisted the urge to ask Dick to throw back the curtain. “He doesn’t look happy, Bruce.”
“Did you expect otherwise?”
“Yeah, I did, actually. When he left...I mean, sure, he was angry about Stephanie, about his dad. But Tim was always able to bounce back. He was always the strongest out of all of us. Me, Barbara, Cassie...I never thought he’d be the one who could walk away.”
“Perhaps the accident—”
“Yeah,” Dick said, his arm dropping to his side. “He’s on something. Vicodin. Jesus, Bruce, he’s a mess. The stuff he says.”
“He’s had a difficult life. Most of which was my fault.”
Dick turned to stare. “You never talked like that before.”
“I’ve never had a room with a view before.” Bruce sighed. “Give him some time, Dick. He’ll come around.”
They listened to the sound of footsteps fade in the hallway outside the room.
“You knew we had an audience?”
“I’m dying, Dick. I’m not completely insensitive.”
“So did you mean it?”
“Every word.”
Bruce turned back to the window. It was still raining.
Author:
nos4a2no9Summary: The Bat clan comes to Princeton Plainsboro for some much-needed treatment.
Rating: G
Fandom: Batman, House MD
Original Story: Change Is the Only Constant by
maragThick smears of rain painted the windows of his private hospital room. He watched it streak the glass for a while, and wondered if the view it obscured – a courtyard garden of New Jersey ash and poplars – wasn’t slightly improved by the elements. He’d always enjoyed the rain. Even the over-manicured grounds of Princeton Plainsboro couldn’t diminish the natural beauty of a moist, green garden in early spring. If his last days were to be spent in this bed, presented with this view, he hoped very much it would continue to rain.
Another tremor in his arm. Bruce sighed and flexed his fingers.
Cassandra was at his side in an instant but he held up a hand. “It’s not so bad.”
“It’s bad,” she insisted, leaning over check his pupils. She reminded him very strongly of Alfred at times like these. No one else had ever managed the old man’s ne: Seasons of trick of blending concern, exasperation and affection into one simple statement. “Take something. Please.”
He pushed at her but it was like trying to move a mountain. The expression ‘weak as a kitten’ had taken on an entirely new meaning in the last month. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s nothing.”
Lying to her was useless, of course. She could easily deduce the truth in the tight white line of his mouth, the shadows under his eyes, even the way it took him a few extra seconds to focus on her face when she spoke. Given Cassandra’s ability to interpret physical movements, she had more than enough raw data to reach her own diagnosis of his condition.
She would have made a very good doctor if things had been different.
“Is Dick back yet?”
Cassandra shook her head. “He’s trying to talk to that doctor. He keeps sending students.”
Bruce almost smiled. Cassandra had clearly stated her opinion of Dr. House’s team of residents. She had assessed and then dismissed them in a single glance: the Australian never expected to be taken seriously, the girl asked questions to conceal the fact that she had no confidence in herself, and the black man was constantly outraged by every one and every thing. A rather harsh evaluation, but he trusted Cassandra’s ability to capture the broad strokes. They hadn’t made the trip up from Gotham by private ambulance to be treated by Dr. House’s team of residents, after all.
“Will he help?”
Another wave of pain swelled up within his head. The sensations tore at him and Bruce felt like a man pitched overboard on rough seas and swallowed by churning waters. He’d known agony before, and the uncertainty of facing life as a permanent invalid. Nothing could compare to this experience. If the pain hadn’t been so intense, or if the lapses in cognition and memory weren’t so frequent, he might never have made the decision to come to Princeton Plainsboro. Desperate times, and so forth.
“Yes. Eventually.”
“And if it’s too late?”
Bruce closed his eyes. His mouth felt dry and Cassandra was there with a cool glass of water and a straw.
“He’ll come around, Cass. Give him some time.”
She snorted. “He’s had nearly twenty years.”
“Then a few more days won’t matter.”
“Not to him,” Cassandra said, setting the glass down with a dull plastic ‘thunk’.
The door opened and Bruce and Cassandra both looked up expecting to see Dick. Instead Barbara was maneuvering herself through the wide doorway, her hands guiding the wheelchair with practiced skill.
“Is Dick back?”
“Not yet. Although his return seems to be more highly anticipated than the second coming of Christ.”
Barbara smiled. She didn’t do that nearly enough; it took twenty years off her face. “He is Dick, after all. Think he’ll be able to convince him?”
“If anyone can.” Bruce closed his eyes again. He was getting tired. Other than the pain and his inability to remember large chunks of his life, his inability to remain awake for more than ten minutes at a time was the worst thing about this damnable mystery illness. “Is it still raining out?”
Barbara had wheeled herself closer. “Yes. Get some sleep. And when you wake up, maybe Tim will be here.”
“Dr. House, Barbara,” he reminded her. “It’s what he wants.”
“I’m not sure what he wants should be any of our concern.”
Bruce didn’t reply. What could he possibly say? Instead he drifted off to sleep, leaving pain and the sound of Cassandra and Barbara’s murmured conversation behind. He didn’t remember his dreams these days; perhaps he slept better for it. When he woke the room was dark and slivered here and there by the moonlight leaking in through the blinds. That little courtyard garden must be lovely in the moonlight.
Dick was asleep in the bedside chair. Bruce managed to tug a hand free from the blankets to slap him gently on the knee.
“Dick,” he whispered. “Dick, wake up.”
Dick grumbled something and flung an arm across his eyes. Bruce shook his head. Dick had never liked being woken from a sound sleep, not even to go chasing across the rooftops of Gotham. The boy he’d once been vanished years ago, but traces of him remained.
“Dick, please.”
Dick finally opened his eyes. “You okay? Need something?”
“Did Dr. House—“
“Tim said no. He didn’t know you were sick. Not at first, anyway. I thought you’d told him.” Dick fixed Bruce with a disapproving glare. “But even when I explained that it was more than just old age or a few battle wounds he...he said no.”
“He has that right, Dick.”
Dick pushed himself out of his chair, rubbing at the stiff tendons in his neck. “You’re being pretty rational about all of this. If you came to me for help and I said no...”
“It’s different for Dr. House. And very few of us are blessed with your forgiving nature.”
That drew a smile from Dick. “Yeah, yeah, I’m one of a kind.”
He went to stand by the window. Bruce resisted the urge to ask Dick to throw back the curtain. “He doesn’t look happy, Bruce.”
“Did you expect otherwise?”
“Yeah, I did, actually. When he left...I mean, sure, he was angry about Stephanie, about his dad. But Tim was always able to bounce back. He was always the strongest out of all of us. Me, Barbara, Cassie...I never thought he’d be the one who could walk away.”
“Perhaps the accident—”
“Yeah,” Dick said, his arm dropping to his side. “He’s on something. Vicodin. Jesus, Bruce, he’s a mess. The stuff he says.”
“He’s had a difficult life. Most of which was my fault.”
Dick turned to stare. “You never talked like that before.”
“I’ve never had a room with a view before.” Bruce sighed. “Give him some time, Dick. He’ll come around.”
They listened to the sound of footsteps fade in the hallway outside the room.
“You knew we had an audience?”
“I’m dying, Dick. I’m not completely insensitive.”
“So did you mean it?”
“Every word.”
Bruce turned back to the window. It was still raining.
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