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I meant to sit on this fic longer, but Ducard was having none of it. And BatmanBegins!Bruce is too whipped puppyish in a crazy obsessive way to resist. For what it's worth, the fic kicked my arse three ways from Sunday: I giggled at work, lost my thread of thought completely a dozen times and bothered everyone with coming up with a five-letter word for "touch" that'd start with S, because I pick strange moments to be a perfectionist.
Everything belongs to DC Comics, Christopher Nolan, and is Christian Bale's and Liam Neeson's fault for being too good actors.
Summary: Bruce takes Ducard's advice to pay attention to his surroundings literally. Could be Bruce/Ducard UST if you squint. 1440 words.
Memory(FeelIt)Now
I. Skin
Bruce keeps thinking about the latest riddle left on a black-and-green calling card, which means he only realizes he’s made it across the room once Tyrah takes one of the glasses from his hands. She’s smiling through a fog of cocktails and hash.
“Wow,” she says breathily. “Not a drop spilled, and this place is /packed/. The way you walked here from the bar – looked like all other people weren’t there. Like you’ve got radar or something. How’d you do that?”
He smiles ruefully. “It’s a knack.”
II. Sound
Bruce is unused to television, but channel surfing is in his blood. Leslie Thompkins forbade him to strain his eyes or his muscles for two days, and Gotham is unusually quiet, reeling in the wake of his fight with the Scarecrow, so he is not left with many options.
Somewhere between HBO and Comedy Central, a burst of sound that seems familiar. He draws an audible breath.
When he comes back to that channel, it’s just another British actor in a science-fiction movie, a combination that is more and more popular these days. He supposes space operas pay better than Shakespeare.
III. Savor
Between another Riddler rampage and a three-day racing event everyone who was anyone in Gotham had to attend, Bruce is as close to exhaustion as he lets himself get. That is why he only realizes what he’s drinking after the first sip.
“Alfred? Why isn’t this coffee?”
“Doctor Thompkins advised that coffee would not agree with the medicines she prescribed for your recent problems with Poison Ivy, Master Bruce. I believe maccha green tea has the same caffeine content and should be a suitable replacement.”
He looks at the frothed liquid.
“Next time, Alfred, just make it Earl Grey.”
IV. Scent
A freak November snowstorm paints Gotham white, hiding its dirt and its stench. The roads are impassable, and the rail is shut down, so Bruce decides to try walking home from work.
The streets are almost empty, and the solitary walkers are shivering in the cold. Bruce just wraps his scarf around his face and remembers how much colder it was in Bhutan. The snow falls heavily, thick enough that even the houses on each side of the street are barely shadows in the whiteness.
But it’s Gotham, and that means the rats and the sharks will take advantage of the purest things. There are four of them, moving out of the white haze.
“Don’t do anything funny, man,” one of them shouts, waving a sawed-off shotgun. “Just give us the money.”
Bruce is wearing a plain black coat. The hat and the scarf render him unrecognizable. He spreads his elbows away from his body, checks his footing, extends his awareness around him.
He can feel Ducard nodding with approval.
Before they attack him, he slips the scarf down for a moment and breathes in the clean scent of snow.
V. Sight
In the end, it’s not India or Tibet, or even somewhere as prosaic as Tokyo or Sydney. Bruce comes to New York on business, but after an utterly boring charity conference for once he’s eager to play the playboy. Laure’en and Renée are delighted to help him scandalize everyone at the Four Seasons. The girls are dancing on the table in the Pool Room Terrace in the middle of the birthday of someone he vaguely knows, and he turns to snatch more champagne for them from a waiter who’s just coming up the stairs.
For a moment he’s sure it’s someone else, another tall man with graying hair and a perfect suit. Then he connects things from the many weeks he spent studying the League of Shadows and the Demon’s Head, Ra’s Al Ghul.
As if he can feel Bruce’s sight, Ducard turns and smiles.
.
.
.
.
.
O-WA-RI-
Comment? (Yes/No/Batarang!)
Everything belongs to DC Comics, Christopher Nolan, and is Christian Bale's and Liam Neeson's fault for being too good actors.
Summary: Bruce takes Ducard's advice to pay attention to his surroundings literally. Could be Bruce/Ducard UST if you squint. 1440 words.
Memory(FeelIt)Now
I. Skin
The wind cuts deep into Bruce’s bare skin, but for this lesson it’s necessary. A single stripe of warmth over his eyes: the blindfold.
“Don’t limit your awareness to actual contact. Anticipate it. Let your senses extend – feel the movement of air, the change in temperature.”
Then Ducard falls silent, and touch is the only sense left to him. The wind shuts out all else. There is a tension in the air, and he shivers in sympathetic tremors.
The first time he catches Ducard’s strike, he finds out that his awareness is high enough to feel the smile as well. It cuts deeper than the wind.
Bruce keeps thinking about the latest riddle left on a black-and-green calling card, which means he only realizes he’s made it across the room once Tyrah takes one of the glasses from his hands. She’s smiling through a fog of cocktails and hash.
“Wow,” she says breathily. “Not a drop spilled, and this place is /packed/. The way you walked here from the bar – looked like all other people weren’t there. Like you’ve got radar or something. How’d you do that?”
He smiles ruefully. “It’s a knack.”
II. Sound
The only voice Bruce hears is Ducard’s. He takes his meals with others sometimes, and they help train him, but they do not speak to him beyond a word or two of command. Ducard seems to know how much Bruce likes his solitude, and is determined to shatter it: Bruce is never safe from lectures or chastisement. When a comment echoes in his ears for hours, he wishes he could pour wax into them, shut himself off entirely.
Instead, he focuses on Ducard’s voice. He lets its resonance, depth, the perfected English accent roll over him. He traces the French idioms that sometimes surface incongruously. He knows Ducard must read many old books, because sometimes he uses phrases found only in Spenser and Mallory. All these only appear when Ducard has been talking for hours on a subject he’s attached to. A lecture on ecology during a hiking trip to the next mountain reveals that Ducard’s Latin pronunciation is closer to medieval than modern, and that he considers Bruce’s Americanized Latin an abomination.
When Ducard notices how much Bruce enjoys the sound of his voice, he does not speak to him for a week. By the end of that time, Bruce is ready to scream.
Bruce is unused to television, but channel surfing is in his blood. Leslie Thompkins forbade him to strain his eyes or his muscles for two days, and Gotham is unusually quiet, reeling in the wake of his fight with the Scarecrow, so he is not left with many options.
Somewhere between HBO and Comedy Central, a burst of sound that seems familiar. He draws an audible breath.
When he comes back to that channel, it’s just another British actor in a science-fiction movie, a combination that is more and more popular these days. He supposes space operas pay better than Shakespeare.
III. Savor
Green tea is not a new flavor for Bruce. During his travels in Asia, it has always been the one thing he could safely drink. The kind served with every meal at Ra’s Al Ghul’s fortress is sharp and rich, and it helps against the cold and the tiredness.
Which is why it’s Ducard’s favorite medium for poisoning him. Officially it’s a way to train him to recognize and resist poisons, but by the fifth time he suspects Ducard has a taste for seeing him helpless and discomfited, reliant on the antidotes in Ducard’s hands.
Afterwards his mentor is always in a particularly good mood, and the lecture on awareness and defense accompanies a cup of maccha. Bruce concentrates on the rich savor of the tea and lets it distract from the humiliation.
Between another Riddler rampage and a three-day racing event everyone who was anyone in Gotham had to attend, Bruce is as close to exhaustion as he lets himself get. That is why he only realizes what he’s drinking after the first sip.
“Alfred? Why isn’t this coffee?”
“Doctor Thompkins advised that coffee would not agree with the medicines she prescribed for your recent problems with Poison Ivy, Master Bruce. I believe maccha green tea has the same caffeine content and should be a suitable replacement.”
He looks at the frothed liquid.
“Next time, Alfred, just make it Earl Grey.”
IV. Scent
Snow has a smell: clean and bright, tickling in the back of your throat. When it hides the world in white, muffles sound and numbs your skin with cold, it’s the scent that stays with you.
It disorients even Ducard, as he stops and turns around. Bruce doesn’t blame him: in a blizzard like this, he can imagine getting lost in the gardens of Wayne Manor.
“This way,” Ducard says finally.
It’s not this way; after a few steps Ducard’s foot hovers over emptiness. Bruce, close behind him, catches him by the arm, but then his own footing gives way and they stumble back, grabbing at the rock wall. They end up in an undignified heap on the ground.
It’s the third time in the last hour, and Bruce can’t hide his smile. It’s testimony to how cold and tired Ducard is that he does not comment; still, he pointedly does not move off Bruce as he gives in and searches for his GPS unit.
Ducard never smells of anything, so all Bruce can smell is the snow.
A freak November snowstorm paints Gotham white, hiding its dirt and its stench. The roads are impassable, and the rail is shut down, so Bruce decides to try walking home from work.
The streets are almost empty, and the solitary walkers are shivering in the cold. Bruce just wraps his scarf around his face and remembers how much colder it was in Bhutan. The snow falls heavily, thick enough that even the houses on each side of the street are barely shadows in the whiteness.
But it’s Gotham, and that means the rats and the sharks will take advantage of the purest things. There are four of them, moving out of the white haze.
“Don’t do anything funny, man,” one of them shouts, waving a sawed-off shotgun. “Just give us the money.”
Bruce is wearing a plain black coat. The hat and the scarf render him unrecognizable. He spreads his elbows away from his body, checks his footing, extends his awareness around him.
He can feel Ducard nodding with approval.
Before they attack him, he slips the scarf down for a moment and breathes in the clean scent of snow.
V. Sight
Since he can remember, Bruce could feel when someone was watching him. It’s a tightness in the back of his neck, a subconscious radar that acquires every object and leaves it to him to highlight them in green or red, friend or enemy.
In the fortress, he can always tell when Ducard is looking at him. That’s how he knows Ducard does not sleep much: those eyes are on him too often. While he eats, while he trains, while he stands guard over the road to the fortress, keeping his eyes trained on the rocks below. He always knows when Ducard is near, even if he cannot sense him in any other way.
The first time he does not feel those eyes for a whole day, he breaks decorum long enough to ask one of the other men training in the fortress. He is told that Ducard left on business overseas (Japan, one man thinks, and another mentions Australia), and will be back within the week.
Dissecting the cause and effects of the panic this ignites within him keeps Bruce occupied until he is within Ducard’s sight again.
In the end, it’s not India or Tibet, or even somewhere as prosaic as Tokyo or Sydney. Bruce comes to New York on business, but after an utterly boring charity conference for once he’s eager to play the playboy. Laure’en and Renée are delighted to help him scandalize everyone at the Four Seasons. The girls are dancing on the table in the Pool Room Terrace in the middle of the birthday of someone he vaguely knows, and he turns to snatch more champagne for them from a waiter who’s just coming up the stairs.
For a moment he’s sure it’s someone else, another tall man with graying hair and a perfect suit. Then he connects things from the many weeks he spent studying the League of Shadows and the Demon’s Head, Ra’s Al Ghul.
As if he can feel Bruce’s sight, Ducard turns and smiles.
.
.
.
.
.
O-WA-RI-
Comment? (Yes/No/Batarang!)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-27 11:26 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-27 11:47 am (UTC)Bruce-in-my-head just spent the whole time in Bhutan creepily obsessing on Ducard. All that's left for me to write is whether Ducard got tired of Bruce lurking around corners and dragged him to bed during the training, or whether that'd happen once they meet again post-movie :>
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Date: 2005-07-27 11:30 am (UTC)Do I detect a reference? :3
This is lovely as always; I just love your wordflow. There's a lot of poetry in your writing style and it's always a pleasure.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-27 11:51 am (UTC)And thank you!
(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-27 11:33 am (UTC)How could you end it like that?!?!?!
Ahem, lovely as always and is that a Qui-Gon hint I see? I still want to hurt you though^_~
(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-27 11:52 am (UTC)If it saves me from being hurt, I promise at least one Ducard/Bruce PWP in the future. Because Bruce is cute when he's all starry-eyed :D
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Date: 2005-07-27 11:39 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-27 11:55 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-27 11:42 am (UTC)Wonder when Bruce going to realize that 'yes' was the right answer to "But is Ra's al Ghul immortal?", and how badly that will throw his when he does...
When he comes back to that channel, it's just another British actor in a science-fiction movie, a combination that is more and more popular these days. He supposes space operas pay better than Shakespeare.
bweeeeee!
Afterwards his mentor is always in a particularly good mood, and the lecture on awareness and defense accompanies a cup of maccha.
I can just imagine it. Ducard looked positively gleeful when Bruce faked him out in the 'moving ninjas' scene, so it's easy to imagine Ducard bouncing around, cheerfully lecturing Bruce about not letting himself be posioned.
As if he can feel Bruce's sight, Ducard turns and smiles.
Not *quite* sure where you're going with this (has Bruce finally figured out that Ra's al Ghul is immortal, and thus *crap!* moment), but I love the ominousness of the ending. And the fact that Ra's al Ghul is delighted to be back causing Batman trouble -- it's probably the most fun he's had in *decades*.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-27 12:00 pm (UTC)It might not be actual bouncing, but Ducard just plain loves teaching and influencing people. Plus I'm sure having a helpless gorgeous young man at his mercy doesn't exactly hurt. (Did I mention Ducard-in-my-head is one kinky bastard?)
(has Bruce finally figured out that Ra's al Ghul is immortal, and thus *crap!* moment)
The way I see it, he's mostly figured it out in his subconscious, but still doing a lovely job of suppressing it until reality looks him in the face, as it is. At which point his brain shuts down until it's restarted by something.
(Like, say, Ducard cornering him as he gets out of the restaurant, scaring off Renée and Laure'en and taking care of some "unfinished business"... >:D)
Please don't throw me in the briar patch...
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Date: 2005-07-27 01:07 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-27 01:12 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-27 01:38 pm (UTC)Dissecting the cause and effects of the panic this ignites within him keeps Bruce occupied until he is within Ducard’s sight again.
My, Bruce has really an problem. *laughs* I wonder if he is aware how much he depends/has a crush on Ducard?
(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-27 01:53 pm (UTC)And Brucie represses his ish-oos with typical Batman skill, of course. Ducard, on the other hand... the more I think about it, the more I come to the conclusion that he'd be amused, and then drag Bruce bed-wards. All in the cause of improving the training of course :>
(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-27 02:04 pm (UTC)You had me bound at your feet with that first paragraph straight away. Blindfolded!Bruce sensing that sharp little smile of Ducard's... so fucking sensual.
(And he speaks Latin... guh. Love the little details.)
Really, at this point I'm so fucking speechless with how much I love this one (and with the prospect of a kinky brutal urgentsexy pr0n bit to follow... oh my, yes.) that all I can say is why didn't I find you earlier, seeing as you seem to have a thing for Master Qui-Gon too...?
*bows deeply and is torn as to whether to use a Quicon or a Ducard one*
(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-27 02:52 pm (UTC)Qui-Gon... eep. That's a complicated one - I liked him in TPM, but I liked Maul better, and I totally didn't see Qui/Obi. I've recently had a resurfacing of interest as ROTS got me back into a Star Wars mood, and I've realized that all my character analyses, especially Dooku's, have a Qui-Gon-shaped hole in them. Someone promised to lend me TPM on DVD soon, so I'll hopefully explore this one.
People have been daring me to tackle Darth Qui-Gon.
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Date: 2005-07-27 08:34 pm (UTC)Genius, darling, pure genius. I loved the structure of this thing so much.
Tell me where will be more, yes?
Please?
Much love,
~Kat
(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-27 10:01 pm (UTC)Judging by the size of the plotbunny herd, and the accessories they're sporting, there will be more. With higher rating, too :S
(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-27 09:01 pm (UTC)and then ur fic make me smile too.
Hope to read more of this pairing *grins*
(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-27 10:02 pm (UTC)(Oooh, Equilibrium icon!)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-27 09:42 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-27 10:03 pm (UTC)Bruce himself isn't aware how much of his self he owes to Ducard's teachings.
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Date: 2005-07-28 05:50 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-28 12:29 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2005-07-28 08:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-28 09:32 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-30 10:57 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-01 12:03 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-01 10:07 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-01 12:34 pm (UTC)May I friend you?
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-01 01:35 pm (UTC)And friend ahead - I'll friend back, that's for sure :)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-03 08:34 am (UTC)Dissecting the cause and effects of the panic this ignites within him keeps Bruce occupied until he is within Ducard’s sight again
Oh, Bruce. You have issues. *happy sigh* I adored this, great work! *adds to memories*
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-03 10:00 am (UTC)Oh, Bruce. You have issues.
Trade paperbacks, I think you'll find ;)
(no subject)
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Date: 2005-08-05 11:02 am (UTC)Thank you for sharing!
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-05 12:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-05 07:13 pm (UTC)~Olivia~