Work Text:
Khoa tugged his katana from the shoulder of his opponent. They had long since passed out from shock, perhaps an act of mercy from Khoa, who initially had every intention of killing them. He wheezed, gingerly touching his side. Blood. Hastily, Khoa sheathed his katana, murmuring his coordinates to his wrist communicator. ICON chirped back a confirmation of the Ghost-Stream’s ETA. He shouldn’t have gotten scratched today, let alone stabbed, his training far exceeded that of a simple street thug. The blood-soaked fabric of his suit clung to his skin uncomfortably, cooling rapidly as the bitter wind hurtled against him. Beside him, the glittering shards of a shattered mirror caught Khoa’s attention, the broken pieces falling to the floor like rain. With a sigh, he lifted his helmet off his head, letting it fall haphazardly to the ground. In the mirror, his reflection peered back at him, expression fixed in grim contemplation. Gingerly, he pushed back the sweat-slick strands of hair which hung in his face. Grey. The majority of his hair nowadays was ashy, a stark contrast to the rich brown he’d had in his youth. It wasn’t the colour that bothered him particularly, appearances were certainly a benefit, but nothing that intellect and strength couldn’t compensate for. What concerned Khoa was the fine lines which tugged at his brown skin, beneath his eyes, and subtly next to his lips, which creased when he smiled.
Not bad for 65, he mused.
Pretty poor condition for a vigilante, though.
Aging was inevitable and it was futile to fight it, but Khoa allowed himself the underlying bitterness of disgruntlement. It wasn’t ideal, that was all. A spanner in the works. What was left for him was a boring retirement spent glaring out windows. Perhaps he’d find a man or woman to retire with, just for the last leg of his lifespan. It was far from satisfactory but Khoa felt a small flicker of amusement knowing that someone in his shoes would be handling his age much worse.
Khoa didn’t bother leaving a message, Bruce would just tell him not to turn up. He drove into Gotham, figuring it would be the least likely approach to give Bruce a heart attack. Crimson, amber, and rusted leaves drifted to the pavements of New Jersey, pedestrians layered in raincoats and scarves as gloomy, charcoal clouds loomed overhead. Gotham was nicer now than it had been in his younger adult-years. There’d been a great deal of progress in reducing pollution, all cars now being electric. Tram lines crisscrossed overhead as he passed through the city, notably redesigned to be less of an eyesore than their former counterparts. Gotham had finally become a city worth calling home. A small glimmer of pride glowed in his chest. Bruce really had made it after all.
Khoa had made some substantial progress himself, of course, but he’d save that for the unwilling ears he had travelled so far to reunite with.
He had heard from the grapevine that Bruce had given up on holding up a mansion. Since Damian had moved out, Bruce, for the first time in his life, had a house to himself. Bruce now owned a plot of land behind his house, apparently. Twice a day, he’d let his dogs out to stretch their legs, chasing each other through the orchards. How did Khoa know that? Well, let’s just say his Ghost-Net still outclassed Bruce’s security systems. Perhaps it should be acknowledged that Bruce never formally, or even knowingly, gave Khoa his new address. But then again, he’d never given Khoa any of his addresses.
Khoa parked a block away from Bruce’s house. It wasn’t so much of a big deal anymore when Khoa walked around in public. Since he hung up the katanas, he’d given up on hiding his face. He’d been working on his facial hair though, and that, he was proud of.
Perhaps he should’ve thought twice before knocking on the door. Khoa didn’t exactly come up with a plan or a speech to justify his sudden arrival, but when Bruce opened the door, he just… sighed. Khoa shrugged it off, he’d be pretty salty too if his teenage rival randomly appeared having clearly aged better than him. Well. It wasn’t that Bruce had aged badly. In fact, he looked amazing, but stubble had never been the look he thought it was.
“You haven’t changed much.” Khoa chirped, following Bruce into his house uninvited.
Bruce huffed, “I’m hoping that I can’t say the same for you.”
Absent-mindedly, Khoa hummed, his eyes fixed on the framed photos which littered the walls. “Your protégés have moved on?”
“My children have moved out, yes,” Bruce paused to adjust a wedding photo, his expression fond, “Tim, Cass, and Dick are still operating in Gotham and Blüdhaven.”
Khoa scrutinised the wedding photo, wracking his brain for the few interactions he’d had with them. “Right, Dick and...”
Bruce sent him a warning look. “Barbara.” he reminded him, flatly.
“Oracle, of course…” Khoa mumbled. “And the others?”
Slowly, Bruce sighed, a mixture of contentment and bittersweetness. “Damian is studying abroad in medicine, and the others… are doing their own things too."
“I see.”
The house was gloomy, unlike the cosy apartment that Khoa had made for himself. There was a faint buzz of jazz playing in another room. Miles Davis, Khoa remembered. Bruce had taken him to a jazz club in their younger days to familiarise him with the genre. It was one of the best nights they had shared together. They’d even danced under the low lighting of the club, hands on each other’s shoulders and hips, laughing nervously as they moved in tandem with the other bodies on the dance floor. They’d shared a kiss that night, wine-drunk and giggling, hands clumsily twisted in hair and untucked shirts. Khoa recalled how Bruce kept breaking the kiss to whisper excitedly when ‘No Moon At All’ started playing. Khoa would just grin hazily, pulling him back in again, their lips meeting each time, helplessly like magnets. It had been difficult to tell through the dim orange glow of the table lamps around them, but Khoa barely caught the glittering of tears in Bruce’s eyes as he’d smiled, before burying his face in Khoa’s shoulder, languidly pressing his lips to the exposed skin as they moved together.
So many decades later, Bruce was notably more depressed. Sure, life gets you, but there was something underlying. It had been eating him up for years.
“You have more time for yourself now. What do you do with all your time?” Khoa asked over his shoulder as he followed the music deeper into the house.
“Well,” Bruce’s voice sounded stiff, “I can’t exactly patrol like I used to. Sometimes I stay on comms but…” Khoa snorted.
“Give it up, Bruce.”
Bruce’s response was defensive and slightly wounded. “Have you?”
“Yeah.” Khoa shrugged, shooting Bruce a knowing look. “I was the strongest and now I’m not. No use trying to relive the old days.”
“That easily?” Bruce objected, “We almost died for this.”
Casually, Khoa beckoned Bruce into a cosy room lined with bookshelves, where a vinyl player sat neatly against the wall. He sighed softly as he sat on a loveseat, gesturing for Bruce to sit across from him.
“If you want to die for this, go ahead.” Khoa started, watching as Bruce’s expression soured. That had a tendency of happening when Khoa gave him advice. “But I think you gave up on this a while ago.”
“Yeah.” Bruce admitted, “It’s not easy, though.”
The vinyl player crackled as the next song started. It was slow and brooding, like many of the songs that Bruce favoured. A reed diffuser sat by the open window, and as the soft breeze touched Khoa’s face, the subtle smell of pine and musk hit his senses. There was another scent amongst the air that Khoa picked up on, however. Tobacco?
Khoa straightened in his seat, his curiosity piqued. “I didn’t take you for much of a smoker these days, Bruce.”
With a grunt, Bruce stood, bracing himself slightly on the armrest as he picked an object up from a table behind him. Khoa found himself catching it before he’d even registered it being thrown towards him. Vaguely, he acknowledged Bruce taking his seat again as he examined the polished mahogany pipe in his palms. Khoa flipped it over to find an engraving neatly carved into the side, finished with gold leaf.
‘T.W.’
“You’ve picked up your old man’s bad habits.” Khoa observed, amusedly. Bruce reached over to take it back but Khoa snatched it back, studying it with a closer eye. “May I try it?”
Bruce’s lip twitched as if he were about to wrestle it back, but instead he just sighed, grabbing a box of matches and a bag of tobacco from a drawer next to him. Silently, Khoa handed the pipe over, watching as Bruce nimbly packed its chamber with the tobacco before striking a match to light it.
“Don’t swallow the smoke.” Bruce muttered, gesturing for Khoa to take it back. Khoa shot him a grin as he took the pipe between his lips, taking a long drag. As he exhaled, he leaned back, letting the smoke float above him in a fragile cloud. He stayed there for a second, enjoying the burn of Bruce’s icy stare on him. It wasn’t bad, the pipe, though it had nothing on the cigarettes that Khoa would bum off loners lingering outside convenience stores and restaurants as a teen.
“Remember when we’d smoke?” Khoa asked lightly, glancing to meet Bruce’s eye. The man swallowed, leaning forward to pluck the pipe from Khoa’s mouth.
“I do remember,” Bruce took a quick drag, blowing the smoke in the direction of the window, “you never did spend more than three dollars on cigarettes.”
Khoa shrugged, “I was savvy.”
Bruce coughed as he wheezed a laugh, “They were disgusting.”
“You never complained.” Khoa dismissed, taking the pipe back from Bruce. “Seems to me like you’ve let yourself become spoiled again.” He raised an eyebrow as he took a drag.
Through the smoke, Khoa noticed Bruce smile. It was a sort of shy smile, like the one he would show Khoa when they passed a cinema or theatre on their travels around the world. It was the equivalent of a dog resting its chin on your lap, its tail wagging ecstatically as it stared up at you with wide eyes. Unfortunately for Khoa, it had a similar persuasiveness. This time, however, he wasn’t so sure what he was being asked for.
(Inwardly, he knew it didn’t matter. The matter was probably yes, regardless.)
Silence settled upon them gently, like silk falling over skin. There was a cherry note in the tobacco which lingered in the air. Fondly, Khoa smiled to himself. Bruce’s tastes had changed. His posture had changed too. There was a slight hunch in Bruce’s back as he studied the steadily worsening weather outside, which Khoa guessed was linked to the pain that he tried to hide when he stood.
“Which of your rogues put you in retirement?” Khoa asked, his eyes narrowed in scrutiny. Bruce sighed, his mouth opening to answer but Khoa cut him off.
“Wait, let me guess-”
“Bane.”
Khoa sat up, jabbing a finger towards Bruce. “I would’ve guessed that!” he protested.
“It’s…” Bruce paused before biting his tongue, shaking his head exhaustedly. “…Nothing. It’s nothing.” Dejectedly, he took a long drag from his pipe.
“Ok.” Khoa shrugged. “It can be nothing.”
Bruce’s shoulders seemed to relax, but his expression seemed haunted by something still.
“Though,” Khoa rested his head on his hand, his expression knowing, “your ‘nothing’ is putting you in a rather difficult mood.”
Gruffly, Bruce stood, once again failing to conceal his pain as he steadied himself on the back of the seat. Khoa followed, pressing his hand on Bruce’s lower back.
When Bruce winced, Khoa smiled. “I knew it. How long have you been avoiding it?”
“A year.” Bruce grunted.
Khoa nodded. “Hot baths, I assume?”
“-And CBD ointments.”
“Have you started tranquilising yourself at 9pm again?”
“…Occasionally. At 8pm now.”
Abruptly, Khoa put a hand on his shoulder, forcing Bruce to meet his eye, his expression unreadable.
“Take a bath. I’ll help you.” Khoa suggested, airily.
Bruce furrowed his eyebrows, shrugging Khoa’s hand off him, “I’m not helpless, Khoa. Believe it or not, I’ve been managing just fine without you.”
“I’m not calling you helpless-”
“What are you calling me, then?” Bruce hissed.
“Dunno,” Khoa thought for a second, “maybe you stink and I was being polite.”
Bruce glared at him, clearly unimpressed.
“You’ll get a less painful back and I’ll get a less anal Bruce, this is a productive suggestion!” Khoa pressed, crossing his arms.
When Bruce didn’t respond, Khoa pursed his lips, contemplating for a second.
“It’ll be like old times,” he continued, “remember that time you got an infected stab wound on your back and I had to apply ointment every day and wash it?” he nudged Bruce.
Bruce wrinkled his nose, “The stab wound you gave me?”
Coyly, Khoa brushed his comment off, “I even stitched it.”
“Trying to evoke nostalgic feelings isn’t going to sway me.” Bruce raised an eyebrow at him, traces of amusement in his expression.
Khoa frowned, “That doesn’t work anymore?”
“Well…” For a heartbeat, Bruce looked away in contemplation, “I guess… it does.”
“Perfect, I’ll run a bath.” Khoa marched towards the stairs, leaving Bruce staring helplessly after him.
Steam fogged up the en-suite window, the branches behind it blurred as they shuddered in the wind. As Khoa rummaged through Bruce’s toiletries, the delicate dripping of the tap echoed through the navy-tiled room.
“Avoid alcohol cleansers, they dry your skin.” Khoa called out behind him to Bruce, who lingered in a bathrobe behind him, his lips fixed in a small smile as he watched the other man scrutinise his collection.
“So what?” Bruce murmured, shrugging off the robe lazily as Khoa plucked another inadequate soap from the drawer. “I’ll be dead in a couple decades or so, anyway.”
The water was hot as Bruce eased in, allowing his muscles to relax as the heat engulfed them like hospital anaesthetic.
“Then I’m sorry,” came Khoa’s response, dripping in sarcasm, “because you’ll be looking like death himself in three months with this- what is this?” He held up an aftershave to Bruce, who had by now settled in the bath, his head resting on a towel behind him. “I’m willing to bet this is two ingredients away from napalm.”
“Ah,” Bruce hummed, “Jason picked that up for me. I’ll consider it an act of chemical warfare.”
“Old habits, perhaps.” Khoa remarked, chucking it in his reject pile.
“I’ll have you know, it’s just been 35 years since our last fight.” Bruce replied, matter-of-factly.
Khoa snorted, “When he set the fireworks off, which way were they facing? Was it framed as an accident?”
Bruce huffed a laugh, despite himself. “We agreed we wouldn’t let it ruin the party.”
He sent Khoa a fond look.
“Jason has a daughter now, she’s 12 years old. I couldn’t be prouder of both of them.”
“Good.”
“Yeah,” Bruce exhaled slowly, “it’s very good.”
Khoa moved to perch by the bath side, an expensive one of Bruce’s shampoos in hand.
“Were you scared?” he asked, curiously.
“Terrified.” Bruce answered. “It would've been my dying regret had I not found it in myself to fix things between us.”
“And…” Khoa squeezed some shampoo onto his palm, lifting Bruce’s head to massage the liquid onto his scalp.
“No, it wasn’t easy. At all. It took work.” Bruce paused, “I’m so grateful that he’s allowed me to be a part of his family.”
Quietly, Bruce exhaled as Khoa let his head rest again, moving to massage the suds into the top of his hair. In all honesty, Bruce had been surprised at Khoa’s insistence to bathe him. It wasn’t that the gesture was alien to them at all. As Khoa had mentioned, Bruce had needed care from time-to-time during their training. What surprised Bruce was what Khoa had left out. See, when the two of them were training in the North Korean mountains, Khoa had received a nasty hit from another student, breaking his dominant arm in one clean motion. Despite only knowing each other for a couple months, Bruce had offered to help him with his chores and daily routine. When it came to bathing, Khoa had initially declined, but Bruce’s insistence ended with both of them drenched in water, laughing as Khoa playfully fought off Bruce’s attempts to wash him. It was a fond memory. One of Bruce’s fondest, actually.
If Khoa had used it to his advantage, it would’ve probably worked flawlessly.
Bruce smiled as fingers carded through the longer hair by his face, feeling each strand get combed backwards as Khoa meticulously ensured he’d shampooed everything.
“Is this one to your standards?” Bruce quipped, hearing Khoa huff behind him.
“I’d say this shampoo qualifies as non-hazardous, yes.”
“You never used to care about this stuff.” Bruce murmured, his voice teasing. Behind him, Khoa began scooping water onto his hair, rinsing the suds out carefully.
“I got bored after I quit my work. I tried to fight it but my world shrank, and suddenly the acidity of my soap started annoying me.” Khoa’s voice was tight, almost brittle in the silence of the room.
“Oh.” Bruce breathed. “You miss it, don’t you?”
Khoa hummed softly, “I dream about it. I dream of fighting you once more.”
“Who wins?”
“Me, of course.” Khoa replied, his fingers tracing the grey strands interweaving with Bruce’s black hair.
“Definitely a dream, then.” Bruce mused, quietly.
Khoa lingered downstairs as Bruce changed, the bath by now draining. The dogs were asleep, exhausted from their earlier run before Khoa’s arrival. Admittedly, they were cute. Large breeds, too. Khoa was pretty indifferent towards pets but perhaps he’d get used to a companion, particularly if it could make itself useful. He pet one, a greyhound, letting it lick his hand as it sleepily awoke.
“She likes you.” Bruce’s voice sounded from the doorway.
“How can you be sure she’s not planning on mauling me later?” Khoa replied dryly. He listened as footsteps approached him, stopping beside him.
“Because I feed her. Sufficiently.” Bruce answered in exasperation. He kneeled, his hand joining Khoa’s.
Khoa hummed in response, stealing a glance at the man next to him. Truthfully, he did look a lot better for the bath. There was a glow to him that wasn’t there before. His hair was still wet, curling slightly as it dripped down his neck. Bruce was beautiful, unfairly beautiful, and it didn’t seem right to leave after this. His car could get towed for all Khoa cared, he had about five more collecting dust in various garages around the world.
Beside him, Bruce cleared this throat. “Khoa, what will you do when you leave?”
Khoa thought for a second, sighing softly, “I’ll let myself become irritated by the weather, then I’ll spend an hour agonising over which company I’ll call to fix my heating. Maybe after that… I’ll read a book.”
He glanced at Bruce, “What about you?”
“The same. Probably.” he muttered.
Outside, rain gently pattered against the window. The breeze from the open windows had become icier, but Bruce showed no intention to close them. Khoa figured that he’d gotten used to the noise of the wind, and the knocking, creaking, and whistling it brought. Bruce was a man with more paranoia than he knew what to do with, perhaps an excuse for the inexplicable did him good.
“Why…” Khoa stopped himself, forcing his words to run through his head again, “Why don’t we move in together? Retire together, I mean.”
At his words, Bruce froze in place, “Seriously?” He shot Khoa a wary glance, “You think that would work out?”
Khoa shrugged, “Who knows.”
“Convincing.” Bruce hummed, his eyes fixed on the greyhound in front of him, which had just rolled onto her back. Even Khoa could admit, she was adorable.
“I’ll even listen to your dreary music.”
Bruce snorted, “I’m afraid that’s a given.”
Playfully, Khoa scowled, “Then you better start getting open-minded. I will be redecorating.”
“Sure.” Bruce waved his hand, “Mess about with my bookcase and see where you end up.”
“Oohh,” Khoa drawled, meeting Bruce’s warm gaze, “Is that a threat I hear?”
Bruce nudged him, his lips fixed in a small smile, “Maybe.”
“Then I will be bringing my katanas.”
“Absolutely not.”
“What? Why?”
“My grandchildren come here.”
“Fine… I’ll keep them hidden.”
Gradually, Bruce stood, dusting dog hair off his trousers. “Don’t make me regret this, Khoa.”
As he followed, Khoa couldn’t help his smile. It was a similar excitement to what he’d felt upon his first meeting with Bruce: the anticipation and exhilaration of having someone he related to, who shared his ideals, his passion, and his goals. Maybe they’d tear through books, arguing over their interpretations, instead of turning themselves into weapons under the strongest minds on the planet, but Khoa could accept that.
The jazz, however, he could do without.