“ you know, sometimes i completely forget about it ‘cuz i hung out with pat so much, but i used to live in this real rinky-dink old orphanage in the cauldron. i swear to god, sometimes when i step in there just to visit one a’ the old sisters who used to look after my sorry ass, it’s like i smell the dust and the candles and all that shit and suddenly i’m like eight years old again. “ he scratches his head, absent smile on his face. “ it was a pretty okay time, not gonna lie. they’re the only reason why i have any sorta morals n’ values today. and not to mention, it was better than bein’ on the street, if you ask me. “
i can see what you’re not doing: washing, changing your clothes.
“ don’t worry, lina. i caught the hint. i know it smells like a pair of socks in here. ain’t surprised, either. “ he hasn’t really moved from his spot on the couch since she decided to drop in through the window to pay him a surprise visit, feet propped up on the coffee-ring-stained table and cigarette smoke filling the heavy air of the room. it smelled awful, and so did he: the whole place had the stench of death in there, the odor of decay. tommy really did look in worse shape than usual, too : deep rings under his unmasked eyes, black beard covering the lower half of his face that he idly itched from time to time, old boots covered in grime.
“ … ‘s just been an effort lately, is all. getting around and doing things n’ what not. i’ve just been hanging out right here, and whatever. “ without him. maybe moving into pat’s apartment had been a mistake, but it had seemed terribly smart when he first did it and pat was alive. now it was like there was nothing in there that didn’t remind tommy of him. old baseball cards, t-shirts that still carried his smell, stupid playboy magazines and photographs from the ‘80s. tommy shifted, looking at her from over his shoulder. he’s silent for a moment before he shrugs, takes a long drag on his cigarette, and says as casually as possible, “ my brother died a couple weeks ago. “
so i just heard about it and then, it’s pretty stupid, but i got nervous. i wanted to hear that you were okay.
clark had looked at him with worry in his eyes, expression drawn in concern for the ex - hitman who’d lived with him for the past year and a half or so. you’re sure? you’re sure you’re ready to go back? i can go for you, you know … just get whatever seems necessary. i can be back in minutes. tommy was hearing him, but not really listening : coal - black eyes drawn on the floor, anxiety and nausea coiling in the pit of his stomach. “ no. “ he’d told clark, lifting his chin slightly. “ i’ve got to go back … myself. i just want to face it. like ripping the band-aid off. “
while he’d once worn the label of ‘ gothamite ‘ with powerful pride, now, to tommy gotham was like the image of hell he’d see if he looked the word up in the dictionary. all gargoyles and crosses staring down on him in the cauldron … haunted parking lots … and that goddamned apartment he’d left all his crap all that time ago, that apartment that held that goddamned bathroom in it where sometimes he could still catch the phantom scent of pat’s blood filling his nostrils, still see his prone form, murdered in the bath tub.
but he had to go back. if he didn’t face that horrible place sooner or later, he wouldn’t ever do it. so, they took a cab out to gotham. he stared out the window the whole time, barely noticing the way clark’s hand squeezed his own sweaty palm throughout. the superman could tell he was really, genuinely terrified: no wisecracks, no sarcasm to cover the nerves; just a rock nestled in the pit of his throat and the image of sean cleaning the glasses behind the counter at noonans in his brain. it was like if he hoped enough, he’d step into gotham and nothing would be changed, and he’d be twenty - seven again, and he’d trail into noonans and grin and everyone would be there. but they wouldn’t be. they were all dead. perhaps including tommy.
before he knew it, they were there.
eyes closed tight ; bile rising in throat from the familiar dusty smell of the building. hand reaching for clark’s arm, just in case his legs give out from underneath him. taking the rickety old elevator because he doesn’t do stairs anymore. then, they arrive: his apartment, once pat’s old apartment. clark has the keys: the door swings open. smells horrible, like trash that hasn’t been put out in months, like unwashed clothes, like beer and stale cigarette smoke. he’s not looking at the bathroom ; doesn’t notice when clark responsibly turns into the bedroom to gather the things they’d come to get. ( clearly he was trying to get them out as soon as possible. )
not looking at the bathroom. he trails to the kitchen when the red light of his answering machine stares daggers into him, trying not to think about the way his knees and hands shake just being in this goddamned room. couldn’t wait to get back to metropolis where things were clean and didn’t reek of death. beeeeep. tommy? ugh, this is so stupid … it’s been a while since i moved to new york. wanted to see if you were – he clicks deborah’s voice off, decided to continue on, ignoring messages from hawken and maggie, knowing full well what was going to be in there. ( i know you’re dead, but i miss you. i wanted to hear the sound of your voice. ) surprise paints his features when he sees: KYLE, S. he knows that name.
“ … i wanted to hear that you were okay. “ her voice quite literally makes him want to weep ; and he would, if he could. he braces a hand on the table, head dipped as he listens to selina’s smooth, beautiful voice, filled with concern that was genuine and friendly, expression drawn in indescribable despair that he could just barely keep from passing from his lips in the form of a dry sob. it hurt so bad, this life he left behind – when he ditched all of the bad things, he’d left the good things in his wake, left them to be devoured by all the bullets and blood and demons. he can feel clark’s eyes looking at him from behind.
selina left that message a year and a half ago. tommy picks up the phone, presses a button. voicemail: her voice. he sounds broken when he opens his mouth. older. as he speaks, he feels clark’s warm hand on his shoulder. silent support. “ hi lina. returning your call. — i’m okay. “
