[ Barbara follows, her mind doing more mathematic calculations about distance and time than her face ever betrays, and when Bruce is talking to the tender on the other side of the bar, Barbara raises a hand to her second earbud again, and says a single short sentence. There's a moment when she's tempted to re-send it to Jason, too—a brand new and different quid pro quo growing between them here. But he'd be more to explain.
Then, he's done with that short task, and she knows she doesn't know enough to know anything yet. That he looks like himself. Neither so achingly young, it's a constant reminder of who he isn't yet, nor old enough to be someone's grandfather, edged and alone. ] A very long time.
[ There's a vague twinge. A tired habit of leaving it at that. That she's grown used to keeping her words and her thoughts to herself. Across the year, and especially in the two months before this last one. (Except for Jason. And, now, again, Dick.) He deserves a clearer answer. He won't be satisfied with its obliqueness. But she leans against the bar and presses something else instead. ]
no subject
Then, he's done with that short task, and she knows she doesn't know enough to know anything yet. That he looks like himself. Neither so achingly young, it's a constant reminder of who he isn't yet, nor old enough to be someone's grandfather, edged and alone. ] A very long time.
[ There's a vague twinge. A tired habit of leaving it at that. That she's grown used to keeping her words and her thoughts to herself. Across the year, and especially in the two months before this last one. (Except for Jason. And, now, again, Dick.) He deserves a clearer answer. He won't be satisfied with its obliqueness. But she leans against the bar and presses something else instead. ]
Where did Aurora take you from?