I Bet On Losing Dogs

This Night Has Opened My Eyes

No one sleeps at all. Or maybe you do. It's all a blur. You go through the motions of getting ready, but you don't remember if the sun is up. You hear a door slam maybe once or twice throughout the night. Unsurprisingly, when you leave your room at dawn, Lucy is there. No one can be alone for too long. You wonder what your target looks like, how much is on the line for your disappearance. You think about going to 44 Below, asking for Oz, and wanting to get paid for yourself. What is his angle? Can't he get money elsewhere? Or how much was he getting?

Jacques joins you for breakfast, a hearty meal. He's somber, but neither of you knows more besides the kidnapping. Maybe it's better that way. He eats with his fist balled up as he stabs into his pancake. You try not to stare, not knowing what to say. It dawns on you that you're all in danger—anyone associated with Wayne. You hate waiting for the next move, the next crime. What can you do? Your self-defense is rusty. However, looking at Jacques, Lucy and Alfred, you think you're safe.

You wonder if they've killed before or if they enjoyed it. Anything for Wayne Enterprises, for Bruce. He doesn't seem to have trained killers as his help, but maybe he uses them as a front if something happens. You wonder how long it takes for them to harden and hide it. Jacques clears his throat. "You gotta eat, (Y/N)." Lucy tsks, "Leave her alone today." He shrugs but heeds her words. You hear heavy footsteps down the stairway. Your heart skips beats. Bruce is tired, defeated. He sits across from you. Lucy and Jacques quickly leave without saying a word.

"This is all my fault," Bruce says, staring at your plate. "No, it's not." You say quickly. His voice is soft, monotone. He's trying to maintain The Bruce Wayne, but he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I took away my family's funds. I pushed Harvey. I did these things." His nostrils flare, "And now we all suffer." You don't know what he wants you to say. You think of poor Elvira, resigned to her fate with Harvey but hopefully for yours with Bruce. Maybe he'll leave now. "We don't have to," you start, reaching for his hand. He pulls his hands back.

"We can fight. We can't give in. My father made a dire mistake. He lost his life for it. I'm trying to preserve my family's legacy, right the sins of my namesake. And everyone involves is at risk." Your bottom lip quivers. "Did they find them?" You ask hopefully. He nods; his eyes are cloudy. You've never seen Bruce cry. You don't think he has in a while. The tears do not leave his eyes as he inhales sharply, closing his eyes. "They're at Gotham General Hospital." You're relieved that he says they. "Can we see them? I want to see them." He shakes his head.

"Harvey is in the BVU and Elvira..." His voice trails. "She's alive?" You ask quickly. He grimaces, "She's in the ICU in a coma." Your relief is short-lived, heart sinking. You sit back in your seat, tears falling into your lap. "I'm sorry." He whispers, bowing his head forward. You try to think on the bright side. They're alive. You can't imagine the pain they're in, that they've suffered. "Harvey... He's not the same." Bruce continues, his voice shaking. "Well, he's been through a lot," you say, making an excuse. You can't imagine yourself going through the same pain and remaining fine. You are not the same person from your attempted kidnapping. You're just lucky they were saved in time. Bruce slowly shakes his head. "He has but..." His brow twitches. He can't explain it, his mouth opening and closing. "He won't be the DA." You want Bruce to stop talking. Nothing he says eases the pain in your heart. His cell phone rings, and his eye meet yours. "I'll be right back." You watch his back as he goes to study, closing the door.

You stare at your breakfast, pushing at it for a bit. You don't know what you should do. What do you do in a situation like this? You don't know. It's different than finding out someone is dead. They're alive, at least. But the waiting. You haven't had to wait for this type of information before. Jacques returns and takes your plate without asking. You don't mind, feeling sick to your stomach.