Fic: Heart Surgery
Apr. 1st, 2009 02:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mithenTitle: Heart Surgery
Fandom: Nolanverse, pre-Batman Begins
Characters/Pairings: Thomas Wayne, Martha Wayne
Rating: PG
Summary: Thomas and a pregnant Martha Wayne are visited by an old friend.
Word count: 2400
"You're stronger than your father."
"You didn't know my father."
--Batman Begins
Martha Wayne rolled over heavily, half-asleep, feeling the weight at her belly shift with her movement. The baby kicked once, as if petulant, and Martha smiled and smoothed a hand over the motion. "Soon enough, little one," she whispered. "Be patient."
Only then did she truly hear the sound that had woken her; voices from downstairs echoing up the stairwell. She frowned, pulling herself upright and grabbing a dressing gown, checking herself in the mirror quickly and putting her hair in order. She made her way down the stairs to the doorway of the library, then stopped outside.
"So where have you been this last year, my friend?" said Thomas.
"Oh, going to and fro in the earth, and walking up and down in it," answered a rich, urbane voice with a British accent, a hint of a chuckle under the words.
Martha's hand flew to her mouth before she could stop it--to cover shock or a smile, she wasn't sure.
"We've missed you, Henri," said Thomas.
"I've missed you both as well," said Henri Ducard.
: : :
Three years before:
"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Dr. Wayne," said the graying man with the sea-green eyes. He reached out to shake Thomas's hand. "My name is Henri Ducard, and I've heard so much about you. I came to this conference specifically to meet you, in fact."
Thomas's smile was diffident, uncomfortable; he never took praise well. "Oh, Dr. Wu is doing much more groundbreaking work than I am."
Martha couldn't help laughing at the flash of wry humor in Ducard's eyes. "My husband has a habit for modesty," she said.
Henri Ducard turned his full attention to Martha for the first time. "And you must be the new Mrs. Wayne."
"Please call me Martha." Martha held out her hand for him to shake, but instead he caught it delicately and bent over it, pressing a light kiss onto the knuckles.
"Martha," he murmured. "Enchanté." Martha retrieved her hand, feeling a bit flustered. "And your husband is far too modest. You are doing amazing work."
"The new organ transplant techniques are so promising," Martha said eagerly.
Ducard nodded absently. "Yes, of course. But I was referring to the work both of you are doing in Gotham. The philanthropy. The investment of Wayne money in the infrastructure. Your real work."
Thomas's face lit up. "Yes. I've been telling my father that's where we should be investing, in urban development, improved transportation systems, better waste disposal." His laugh was bitter. "He says there's no profit in it."
"What is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul?"
Thomas grabbed Ducard's elbow; Ducard looked surprised but didn't pull away. "You understand. We need to do more for Gotham than make money off it, like--like maggots feeding off a corpse. No, worse--feeding off a still-living man. Profiting from his wounds, his suffering. It's monstrous."
Ducard caught Martha's eye and Martha found herself smiling a little apologetically; Thomas revealed his passion for Gotham to few people, but when he did there was no stopping him.
But Ducard shook his head slightly, turning down the implied apology. "I'm pleased to have found a kindred spirit," he said to Thomas. He met Martha's gaze again. "Or two." He put a hand on Thomas's shoulder. "It's so rare that one meets other people committed to fighting injustice, to cleaning up the corruption at its source. Not just bandages on gaping wounds, but surgery." His smile at Thomas was warm. "How fitting that you should be a surgeon, cutting out the cancers in both the bodies and souls of Gotham."
Thomas glowed at the praise, and Martha found herself smiling at his delight. "Are you busy this evening?" Thomas asked. "Would you like to maybe, have a drink, keep talking about this?"
"I would be delighted," said Henri Ducard.
From that day Henri was a fixture in their lives. He and Thomas played go and debated together late into the night in the library at Wayne Manor. His discussions with Martha were more often about literature and religion: they agreed about Jane Austen but remained unreconciled on the topic of Kirkegaard. They visited hospitals, toured schools, and explored the Narrows together, debating ways to improve the city. There were successes, but it seemed that the setbacks equaled or even offset them: a food bank opened for the poor would be looted, a new community program stalled due to graft and corruption. Sometimes Martha almost felt like there was a malignant force working against them; ridiculous notion, as nothing was necessary to counter progress but humanity's own greed and selfishness. It was discouraging. But always, always, Henri was with them, listening to their problems, helping them plan.
Until the day, almost a year ago, when he had announced he must leave Gotham to travel abroad. He had kissed her hand again and Martha had almost burst into tears.
How would they get by without their closest friend?
: : :
Martha remained frozen outside the library door, listening to her husband's voice mingle with Henri's. Thomas was discussing the composition of the board of trustees at Arkham Asylum. "We can't seem to keep good people on the board. They burn out, give up, or become co-opted." A soft click as one of them placed a go stone.
Martha could see them in her mind's eye, bent over the board, the fire crackling in the fireplace. They alternated colors each game: "Neither black nor white suits me all the time," Henri had said once with a small smile.
"It sounds like you've had a difficult year, Thomas."
"It's been harder without you here. I'll admit there have been dark days when I fear we've lost our way forever. But there's been progress as well. The monorail plans have come a long way in the last year." Her husband's voice had a spark of pride in it; Henri had been pessimistic about the project but after some early setbacks it had come along much more smoothly than expected. "I think you'll be delighted to find out how quickly we've moved ahead."
"Alas," said Henri, a smile in his voice. "Maybe I should not have returned. I appear to be something of a jinx."
Thomas laughed aloud, and Martha could see in her mind's eye the way he threw his head back, free and unreserved in front of his friend as he was so rarely anywhere else. "Oh Henri, we've missed you so," he continued, still chuckling, "Martha and I often wished you were here to share in our happiness as the monorail progressed. And...other things as well."
The joy in his voice made Martha blush slightly. She moved forward into the library rather than eavesdrop further, blushing more as Henri's eyes moved from her face down to her middle. When he met her eyes again, he smiled at her, but it seemed slightly strained. "Martha," he said, rising from his seat. "You look even more radiant than ever, my muse." He bent over her hand, the strands of his mustache brushing her knuckles slightly before his lips.
"So you see, Henri, we have some personal cause for hope as well," Thomas went on as Martha murmured a greeting. His voice was buoyant again, and Martha felt as always the shy joy that gripped her at seeing him so happy.
"Hope," Henri said. "Yes, I can see that." He sat down slowly in front of the board again, looking tired; without thinking, Martha picked up a blanket to tuck around his shoulders.
"I should have Alfred stoke the fire a little, it's rather cold," she said.
"Ah, you're kind to an old man and his old bones, my dear," said Ducard, and Martha couldn't help laughing.
"Oh, surely not so old, Henri." His eyes met hers briefly, and she looked away at the waning fire. "Oh, I can do it myself," she said, and moved to add another log to the blaze.
"Be careful, dear," Thomas called.
"I'm pregnant, not sick," she retorted. "There." The flames licked around the new log, slowly building. As she stood up, the baby kicked again, hard enough to make her wince, and in a moment Thomas was at her side, helping her up.
"Are you all right?" Henri's voice was worried.
"It's nothing. The baby is kicking." She touched the curve of her belly where the tiny blows were echoing through her body. "You can feel it here."
"I..." Henri was staring at her stomach. He looked up to her eyes. "May I?"
"Of course," she said easily, and Henri stood to rest his hands on her belly. The baby kicked again, more strongly, and Henri almost jerked his hands away. Martha couldn't help laughing, and he looked up at her, his hands still resting on her, warm through the cloth.
"He's a strong one," he said.
"Oh, we don't know if it's a boy or a girl yet," she said.
"He's a strong one," he repeated, looking down at her stomach again.
There was a tiny click behind them, stone on wood; Thomas had placed another go stone. "I believe it's your move, Henri," he said.
"Yes." Henri took his hands from her body, moved back to his seat. "I believe it is." He stared at the board for some time, stroking his beard thoughtfully. He picked up a stone and turned it idly between his long fingers; firelight glinted off its jet surface. "Thomas," he said suddenly, "I've heard that you're performing open-heart surgery on Vito Liggio next week."
"You've heard correctly."
"Liggio has...ties to organized crime. Or so I've heard."
Thomas barked a laugh. "If by 'ties' you mean he's one of the most influential people in the Mafia, then yes. He has 'ties.'"
Henri placed his black stone with delicacy on the board. Martha frowned. The white stones were boxed in well, with only a couple of possible exits. "Liggio is an older man. Surely not a very good prospect for surgery."
Thomas was glaring at the board. "I think he'll pull through."
"If he did not...if he were, say, to die on the operating table, no one would think less of your skills."
Thomas's head snapped up and he stared at Henri for a long time. The fire crackled as it rose, and Martha found her arms wrapped around her own belly, cradling the weight there.
"What are you implying, Henri?" said Thomas, the white stone clenched in his hand.
Henri met his eyes squarely. "That Gotham would be a better place without him."
"I took an oath to do no harm."
Henri's fist banged the table and stones jumped, rattling. "Do no harm? When men like him are choking the very life from Gotham, you think letting such a thing continue is doing no harm?" He leaned over the board, his voice low, intense. "It would take so little, Thomas. So little. You would be the scalpel, the tool by which we cut an infection from the heart of Gotham." His gaze flicked sideways briefly. "Do you really want to raise your child in a city riddled with human cancer, rotting from the inside out?"
"Human beings are not infections. And I will never use my skills to take a life." Thomas's words were strong, but his tone was pleading. "I understand what you're saying, Henri, but that is not the way to save Gotham. Please, try to understand."
Henri turned to Martha, still standing to the side of the board, between them. Help me, his gaze implored her. Help me convince him. And for a dizzying moment she could see his vision. The three of them, wielding the power of life and death over Gotham, subtle influencers behind the scenes, bringing peace and order to their city. No more corruption blocking their every move, no more obstacles to their plans to make Gotham flourish. For a moment, she could see it.
And then she moved to stand behind her husband, resting one hand on his shoulder and the other on her stomach. "I'm sorry, Henri," she said. "Thomas is right."
Henri stood, bracing his hands on either side of the table as if he wished to crack it in two. "I have seen what this world does to people like you, people too high-minded and pure to do what must be done. I beg of you," he said, his voice passionate, pleading. "As my friends, I beg you to be strong enough to survive. I am a tired, lonely old man, and I would like to...to salvage you from the wreckage of this city."
Thomas looked down at the board, but Martha shook her head slightly. "We still have hope, Henri. For our city, for our child. Can't you as well?"
For an instant, the eyes that met hers were chips of jade: stone-hard and weary and ancient indeed. Then Henri sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "This city will destroy you," he said, striding toward the door. "Because you are weak, and blind, and foolish. And I..." He stopped and rested one hand on the door frame, not looking back. "...I will never forgive it for that."
His footsteps echoed down the corridor away from them and they heard the front door close. The crackling of the fire was the only remaining sound.
"Am I?" Thomas whispered. He was looking at the go board, the black and white pieces jarred from their neat and orderly grid into disarray. "Am I weak?" He looked up at her and Martha was surprised to see his eyes wet. "What if I'm dooming our child to a life of chaos?"
Martha stooped to throw her arms around him. "Not weak, love. Never that. Your son would never want to be the child of a murderer. For his sake, we'll be strong, even if some call it weakness."
He clung to her for a long moment and she rocked him, staring at the fire consuming the firewood, turning it to ash and glory. Then he laughed into the curve of her neck. "I thought you said you didn't know if it was a boy or a girl?" he said, his voice just a bit shaky.
"It's a boy," she said, knowing it was true.
He's a strong one.
"It's a boy."
Fandom: Nolanverse, pre-Batman Begins
Characters/Pairings: Thomas Wayne, Martha Wayne
Rating: PG
Summary: Thomas and a pregnant Martha Wayne are visited by an old friend.
Word count: 2400
"You're stronger than your father."
"You didn't know my father."
--Batman Begins
Martha Wayne rolled over heavily, half-asleep, feeling the weight at her belly shift with her movement. The baby kicked once, as if petulant, and Martha smiled and smoothed a hand over the motion. "Soon enough, little one," she whispered. "Be patient."
Only then did she truly hear the sound that had woken her; voices from downstairs echoing up the stairwell. She frowned, pulling herself upright and grabbing a dressing gown, checking herself in the mirror quickly and putting her hair in order. She made her way down the stairs to the doorway of the library, then stopped outside.
"So where have you been this last year, my friend?" said Thomas.
"Oh, going to and fro in the earth, and walking up and down in it," answered a rich, urbane voice with a British accent, a hint of a chuckle under the words.
Martha's hand flew to her mouth before she could stop it--to cover shock or a smile, she wasn't sure.
"We've missed you, Henri," said Thomas.
"I've missed you both as well," said Henri Ducard.
: : :
Three years before:
"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Dr. Wayne," said the graying man with the sea-green eyes. He reached out to shake Thomas's hand. "My name is Henri Ducard, and I've heard so much about you. I came to this conference specifically to meet you, in fact."
Thomas's smile was diffident, uncomfortable; he never took praise well. "Oh, Dr. Wu is doing much more groundbreaking work than I am."
Martha couldn't help laughing at the flash of wry humor in Ducard's eyes. "My husband has a habit for modesty," she said.
Henri Ducard turned his full attention to Martha for the first time. "And you must be the new Mrs. Wayne."
"Please call me Martha." Martha held out her hand for him to shake, but instead he caught it delicately and bent over it, pressing a light kiss onto the knuckles.
"Martha," he murmured. "Enchanté." Martha retrieved her hand, feeling a bit flustered. "And your husband is far too modest. You are doing amazing work."
"The new organ transplant techniques are so promising," Martha said eagerly.
Ducard nodded absently. "Yes, of course. But I was referring to the work both of you are doing in Gotham. The philanthropy. The investment of Wayne money in the infrastructure. Your real work."
Thomas's face lit up. "Yes. I've been telling my father that's where we should be investing, in urban development, improved transportation systems, better waste disposal." His laugh was bitter. "He says there's no profit in it."
"What is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul?"
Thomas grabbed Ducard's elbow; Ducard looked surprised but didn't pull away. "You understand. We need to do more for Gotham than make money off it, like--like maggots feeding off a corpse. No, worse--feeding off a still-living man. Profiting from his wounds, his suffering. It's monstrous."
Ducard caught Martha's eye and Martha found herself smiling a little apologetically; Thomas revealed his passion for Gotham to few people, but when he did there was no stopping him.
But Ducard shook his head slightly, turning down the implied apology. "I'm pleased to have found a kindred spirit," he said to Thomas. He met Martha's gaze again. "Or two." He put a hand on Thomas's shoulder. "It's so rare that one meets other people committed to fighting injustice, to cleaning up the corruption at its source. Not just bandages on gaping wounds, but surgery." His smile at Thomas was warm. "How fitting that you should be a surgeon, cutting out the cancers in both the bodies and souls of Gotham."
Thomas glowed at the praise, and Martha found herself smiling at his delight. "Are you busy this evening?" Thomas asked. "Would you like to maybe, have a drink, keep talking about this?"
"I would be delighted," said Henri Ducard.
From that day Henri was a fixture in their lives. He and Thomas played go and debated together late into the night in the library at Wayne Manor. His discussions with Martha were more often about literature and religion: they agreed about Jane Austen but remained unreconciled on the topic of Kirkegaard. They visited hospitals, toured schools, and explored the Narrows together, debating ways to improve the city. There were successes, but it seemed that the setbacks equaled or even offset them: a food bank opened for the poor would be looted, a new community program stalled due to graft and corruption. Sometimes Martha almost felt like there was a malignant force working against them; ridiculous notion, as nothing was necessary to counter progress but humanity's own greed and selfishness. It was discouraging. But always, always, Henri was with them, listening to their problems, helping them plan.
Until the day, almost a year ago, when he had announced he must leave Gotham to travel abroad. He had kissed her hand again and Martha had almost burst into tears.
How would they get by without their closest friend?
: : :
Martha remained frozen outside the library door, listening to her husband's voice mingle with Henri's. Thomas was discussing the composition of the board of trustees at Arkham Asylum. "We can't seem to keep good people on the board. They burn out, give up, or become co-opted." A soft click as one of them placed a go stone.
Martha could see them in her mind's eye, bent over the board, the fire crackling in the fireplace. They alternated colors each game: "Neither black nor white suits me all the time," Henri had said once with a small smile.
"It sounds like you've had a difficult year, Thomas."
"It's been harder without you here. I'll admit there have been dark days when I fear we've lost our way forever. But there's been progress as well. The monorail plans have come a long way in the last year." Her husband's voice had a spark of pride in it; Henri had been pessimistic about the project but after some early setbacks it had come along much more smoothly than expected. "I think you'll be delighted to find out how quickly we've moved ahead."
"Alas," said Henri, a smile in his voice. "Maybe I should not have returned. I appear to be something of a jinx."
Thomas laughed aloud, and Martha could see in her mind's eye the way he threw his head back, free and unreserved in front of his friend as he was so rarely anywhere else. "Oh Henri, we've missed you so," he continued, still chuckling, "Martha and I often wished you were here to share in our happiness as the monorail progressed. And...other things as well."
The joy in his voice made Martha blush slightly. She moved forward into the library rather than eavesdrop further, blushing more as Henri's eyes moved from her face down to her middle. When he met her eyes again, he smiled at her, but it seemed slightly strained. "Martha," he said, rising from his seat. "You look even more radiant than ever, my muse." He bent over her hand, the strands of his mustache brushing her knuckles slightly before his lips.
"So you see, Henri, we have some personal cause for hope as well," Thomas went on as Martha murmured a greeting. His voice was buoyant again, and Martha felt as always the shy joy that gripped her at seeing him so happy.
"Hope," Henri said. "Yes, I can see that." He sat down slowly in front of the board again, looking tired; without thinking, Martha picked up a blanket to tuck around his shoulders.
"I should have Alfred stoke the fire a little, it's rather cold," she said.
"Ah, you're kind to an old man and his old bones, my dear," said Ducard, and Martha couldn't help laughing.
"Oh, surely not so old, Henri." His eyes met hers briefly, and she looked away at the waning fire. "Oh, I can do it myself," she said, and moved to add another log to the blaze.
"Be careful, dear," Thomas called.
"I'm pregnant, not sick," she retorted. "There." The flames licked around the new log, slowly building. As she stood up, the baby kicked again, hard enough to make her wince, and in a moment Thomas was at her side, helping her up.
"Are you all right?" Henri's voice was worried.
"It's nothing. The baby is kicking." She touched the curve of her belly where the tiny blows were echoing through her body. "You can feel it here."
"I..." Henri was staring at her stomach. He looked up to her eyes. "May I?"
"Of course," she said easily, and Henri stood to rest his hands on her belly. The baby kicked again, more strongly, and Henri almost jerked his hands away. Martha couldn't help laughing, and he looked up at her, his hands still resting on her, warm through the cloth.
"He's a strong one," he said.
"Oh, we don't know if it's a boy or a girl yet," she said.
"He's a strong one," he repeated, looking down at her stomach again.
There was a tiny click behind them, stone on wood; Thomas had placed another go stone. "I believe it's your move, Henri," he said.
"Yes." Henri took his hands from her body, moved back to his seat. "I believe it is." He stared at the board for some time, stroking his beard thoughtfully. He picked up a stone and turned it idly between his long fingers; firelight glinted off its jet surface. "Thomas," he said suddenly, "I've heard that you're performing open-heart surgery on Vito Liggio next week."
"You've heard correctly."
"Liggio has...ties to organized crime. Or so I've heard."
Thomas barked a laugh. "If by 'ties' you mean he's one of the most influential people in the Mafia, then yes. He has 'ties.'"
Henri placed his black stone with delicacy on the board. Martha frowned. The white stones were boxed in well, with only a couple of possible exits. "Liggio is an older man. Surely not a very good prospect for surgery."
Thomas was glaring at the board. "I think he'll pull through."
"If he did not...if he were, say, to die on the operating table, no one would think less of your skills."
Thomas's head snapped up and he stared at Henri for a long time. The fire crackled as it rose, and Martha found her arms wrapped around her own belly, cradling the weight there.
"What are you implying, Henri?" said Thomas, the white stone clenched in his hand.
Henri met his eyes squarely. "That Gotham would be a better place without him."
"I took an oath to do no harm."
Henri's fist banged the table and stones jumped, rattling. "Do no harm? When men like him are choking the very life from Gotham, you think letting such a thing continue is doing no harm?" He leaned over the board, his voice low, intense. "It would take so little, Thomas. So little. You would be the scalpel, the tool by which we cut an infection from the heart of Gotham." His gaze flicked sideways briefly. "Do you really want to raise your child in a city riddled with human cancer, rotting from the inside out?"
"Human beings are not infections. And I will never use my skills to take a life." Thomas's words were strong, but his tone was pleading. "I understand what you're saying, Henri, but that is not the way to save Gotham. Please, try to understand."
Henri turned to Martha, still standing to the side of the board, between them. Help me, his gaze implored her. Help me convince him. And for a dizzying moment she could see his vision. The three of them, wielding the power of life and death over Gotham, subtle influencers behind the scenes, bringing peace and order to their city. No more corruption blocking their every move, no more obstacles to their plans to make Gotham flourish. For a moment, she could see it.
And then she moved to stand behind her husband, resting one hand on his shoulder and the other on her stomach. "I'm sorry, Henri," she said. "Thomas is right."
Henri stood, bracing his hands on either side of the table as if he wished to crack it in two. "I have seen what this world does to people like you, people too high-minded and pure to do what must be done. I beg of you," he said, his voice passionate, pleading. "As my friends, I beg you to be strong enough to survive. I am a tired, lonely old man, and I would like to...to salvage you from the wreckage of this city."
Thomas looked down at the board, but Martha shook her head slightly. "We still have hope, Henri. For our city, for our child. Can't you as well?"
For an instant, the eyes that met hers were chips of jade: stone-hard and weary and ancient indeed. Then Henri sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "This city will destroy you," he said, striding toward the door. "Because you are weak, and blind, and foolish. And I..." He stopped and rested one hand on the door frame, not looking back. "...I will never forgive it for that."
His footsteps echoed down the corridor away from them and they heard the front door close. The crackling of the fire was the only remaining sound.
"Am I?" Thomas whispered. He was looking at the go board, the black and white pieces jarred from their neat and orderly grid into disarray. "Am I weak?" He looked up at her and Martha was surprised to see his eyes wet. "What if I'm dooming our child to a life of chaos?"
Martha stooped to throw her arms around him. "Not weak, love. Never that. Your son would never want to be the child of a murderer. For his sake, we'll be strong, even if some call it weakness."
He clung to her for a long moment and she rocked him, staring at the fire consuming the firewood, turning it to ash and glory. Then he laughed into the curve of her neck. "I thought you said you didn't know if it was a boy or a girl?" he said, his voice just a bit shaky.
"It's a boy," she said, knowing it was true.
He's a strong one.
"It's a boy."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-03 06:16 pm (UTC)Am I the only one creeped out by how I'm imagining Henri would look at Martha? Or is that just me?
(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-04 01:18 am (UTC)Um...no. There's a reason I had him be gone for a year when Martha was nine months pregnant. And there were earlier versions of this where Martha was definitely quite aware of his interest...and then a few versions where he was about as interested in Thomas...but I decided adding twists like that would distract from the story, so most of it stayed well under the surface. I'm kind of glad you picked it up anyway, though. :)