[With every reassuring circle being smoothed along his spine, the other arm settling into hold him there- the tension in his body starts to ease, inch by painful inch, sinking further into the spaces Fitz has allowed him into, arms finally coming up to hold him back. One arm wraps itself around Fitz, and the other digs it's fingers into the fabric of his shirt, just above his ribs, moves the way the rest of him does, to the rhythm of his breathing.
He doesn't, otherwise move. Doesn't turn his head to stare at a spot on the wall, doesn't turn so his nose isn't so uncomfortably being squashed against him. Just takes deep, uneven breaths and takes what little of Fitz' strength that he can, to try and bolster his own. Fitz nudges his head gently, whether by accident or design to stir some kind of response out of him, more of a sign of life than he's shown thus far, but it doesn't matter. He doesn't deign the greeting worth really responding to.
Not until he makes that soft joke, so painfully like him that he's gotten to know over the past month, that he has to laugh. Or, he would, if it could make it past the tightness in his throat and the fabric of Fitz' shirt, ends up more of a vibration of him moving with the motion than actual sound.
It does, however, prompt somewhat of an answer. As much as he doesn't want to say the words- make them more real, than seeing Bruce and being able to reach out and touch him without him disappearing had been- Fitz is trying, and so Dick should too. It is, after all, the reason that he came.
His head shakes minutely, and while his voice might be muffled, he isn't mumbling. Speaking at a level intended for Fitz to be able to hear]
I'm afraid not. [A beat] The person I mentioned- he's. Where I'm from, he's- dead. I knew- I knew he wasn't the same one. He's so much older, so much- but I could still read him. And he knew me. But-
[And then it cuts off, and nothing else is forth coming, despite how stilted and rushed his actual answer had been. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out. At the end of the road- Bruce will still go back to where he came from, or Dick will, and Dick will have to lose him all over again. Grieve anew, when he's so barely gotten through the process the first time around. He feels scrapped open, and there's no fixing that.
Not even if Fitz could raise the dead. Past experience proves that's not going to give him back the father he lost, not really]
no subject
He doesn't, otherwise move. Doesn't turn his head to stare at a spot on the wall, doesn't turn so his nose isn't so uncomfortably being squashed against him. Just takes deep, uneven breaths and takes what little of Fitz' strength that he can, to try and bolster his own. Fitz nudges his head gently, whether by accident or design to stir some kind of response out of him, more of a sign of life than he's shown thus far, but it doesn't matter. He doesn't deign the greeting worth really responding to.
Not until he makes that soft joke, so painfully like him that he's gotten to know over the past month, that he has to laugh. Or, he would, if it could make it past the tightness in his throat and the fabric of Fitz' shirt, ends up more of a vibration of him moving with the motion than actual sound.
It does, however, prompt somewhat of an answer. As much as he doesn't want to say the words- make them more real, than seeing Bruce and being able to reach out and touch him without him disappearing had been- Fitz is trying, and so Dick should too. It is, after all, the reason that he came.
His head shakes minutely, and while his voice might be muffled, he isn't mumbling. Speaking at a level intended for Fitz to be able to hear]
I'm afraid not. [A beat] The person I mentioned- he's. Where I'm from, he's- dead. I knew- I knew he wasn't the same one. He's so much older, so much- but I could still read him. And he knew me. But-
[And then it cuts off, and nothing else is forth coming, despite how stilted and rushed his actual answer had been. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out. At the end of the road- Bruce will still go back to where he came from, or Dick will, and Dick will have to lose him all over again. Grieve anew, when he's so barely gotten through the process the first time around. He feels scrapped open, and there's no fixing that.
Not even if Fitz could raise the dead. Past experience proves that's not going to give him back the father he lost, not really]