Omi Tsukiyono (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
oneblackcat) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
synergetic2014-12-20 12:41 am
oneblackcat) wrote in synergetic2014-12-20 12:41 am
[KBF] Waking
It didn't work.
This was Omi's first realization as he opened his eyes to a sterile, bright room. He was awake, and that meant he was alive, and that meant he'd failed.
It was his only thought for several minutes. He was confused and tired, and kept thinking about going back to sleep. A couple of times, he did.
When he finally did come to more fully, his mind was blurry except for that one thought: he was supposed to be dead. He wasn't.
It seemed like a horrible irony. Of all people to fail a suicide attempt-- a boy in the business of making things die? Of course, he'd known going into it that there was only a chance of the drug being strong enough. He missed the obvious implication that to be in a medical room and not an interrogation one, it had been a close enough call for intervention.
He thought he was going to vomit. He curled his arm around his stomach, not registering until a good half a minute later that he'd been able to move it. His hands and feet weren't tied.
He almost tried to fumble out of the bed, to find a scalpel, a pair of scissors, a syringe, anything sharp. But when one's vision was a dizzying spin, leaping out of bed was just not in the cards. It was maddening: here he was with no restraints and apparently no guards, and neither one was needed to keep him planted right there on the bed.
He blearily tried to take in more of his surroundings. A bed with white sheets. Wires and beeps from equipment monitoring his vital signs. An IV taped to the top of his hand. And, unsurprisingly, an incredibly tender sore on his tongue. As his vision cleared, Omi tried, shakily, to push himself to sitting upright. His muscles didn't seem to want to cooperate, though, and after a couple of seconds they gave out, putting him right back against the mattress.
He lay alone, watching the nothing, and wondering, vaguely, where he was. And what the heck time it was.
This was Omi's first realization as he opened his eyes to a sterile, bright room. He was awake, and that meant he was alive, and that meant he'd failed.
It was his only thought for several minutes. He was confused and tired, and kept thinking about going back to sleep. A couple of times, he did.
When he finally did come to more fully, his mind was blurry except for that one thought: he was supposed to be dead. He wasn't.
It seemed like a horrible irony. Of all people to fail a suicide attempt-- a boy in the business of making things die? Of course, he'd known going into it that there was only a chance of the drug being strong enough. He missed the obvious implication that to be in a medical room and not an interrogation one, it had been a close enough call for intervention.
He thought he was going to vomit. He curled his arm around his stomach, not registering until a good half a minute later that he'd been able to move it. His hands and feet weren't tied.
He almost tried to fumble out of the bed, to find a scalpel, a pair of scissors, a syringe, anything sharp. But when one's vision was a dizzying spin, leaping out of bed was just not in the cards. It was maddening: here he was with no restraints and apparently no guards, and neither one was needed to keep him planted right there on the bed.
He blearily tried to take in more of his surroundings. A bed with white sheets. Wires and beeps from equipment monitoring his vital signs. An IV taped to the top of his hand. And, unsurprisingly, an incredibly tender sore on his tongue. As his vision cleared, Omi tried, shakily, to push himself to sitting upright. His muscles didn't seem to want to cooperate, though, and after a couple of seconds they gave out, putting him right back against the mattress.
He lay alone, watching the nothing, and wondering, vaguely, where he was. And what the heck time it was.
no subject
no subject
"...There's a lot that you know right now. You know about me. The history I have and the circumstances of... everything, past and present. You know the loyalty and bonds that come from working as part of a team. And you probably know what the options are better than I do... If you were me right now, knowing all that you do... what would you do? Really think about it, please."
Omi did not want the knee-jerk answer that could so easily come from resting comfortably in the position of world-beloved hero. An answer that did not truly consider the position he faced would not be helpful. But he wanted-- needed advice. And of everyone available... Robin was probably in the best position to offer it. Omi couldn't promise that he would do whatever it was that Robin suggested, but neither could he ignore the real value of his perspective, and the subsequent weight it would receive as he evaluated for himself.
no subject
"Uh, reserving the right to change my mind later?" he muttered. "Well."
It was hard to say. Very few things have only one answer.
"That depends on your final goal," he said, after a long moment. "Do you want to go back to what you were doing? Do you want to live a quiet life like a normal person? I'm not equipped to advise in either of those directions."
no subject
On the other hand, answering with his ultimate goal might not be the best response. It was curious to Omi that Robin seemed to be saying a quiet, normal life was no more feasible than continuing as Weiss. He would be right, too. Omi had long ago realized that such a life left him restless and frustrated in the face of newspaper headlines. That Robin recognized that much was an encouraging sign. It did beg the question, though...
"Which directions are you equipped to advise in?"
no subject
He shrugged. "Obviously, I only have my own experiences to draw from," he said, slowly. "But... you know, I know killing people isn't satisfying. You're, you've got to be, disappointed by the waste of life. I'm not saying everyone can be rehabilitated, or do better if given a chance, but I am saying cutting off that chance is wasteful."
But that doesn't really answer the question, does it?
no subject
Had he been bolder, more verbally reckless, he might have countered with the obvious, "Stopping criminals is. I know you agree with that much." But it implied too much that the method was satisfying by extension, and that point Omi had to concede. Killing was not fun. It was vindicating to know a target would never take another innocent life again, but that satisfaction was from the ends, not the means.
And, though Robin had never directly communicated his advice, Omi found an implied piece well enough in what Robin said and-- more importantly-- what he didn't say. Normal life wasn't an option. Killing was unsustainable... and yet, Robin had not suggested jail. He hadn't suggested turning himself in. What he had suggested was that it was wasteful not to offer someone the chance for rehabilitation.
What was the logical conclusion of all of that? Omi hesitated to believe it, but he had no question about what it was, nor how to respond to it. He lifted his head a few inches. Not enough to look Robin in the eyes, but enough for the conviction to be seen in his face.
"Stopping criminals is what gives my life purpose. Without that, I don't see any meaning in continuing to exist." He delivered the statement without self-pity-- it was simple fact. No family, no future; if he wasn't serving some broader cause, like fighting to protect the city, he was just taking up space.
"You qualified a minute ago that your advice depends on my final goal. Ultimately, that's it. I want to do everything I can to end the harm of criminals the law hasn't been able to put away on its own. I don't care if I die trying. I want to protect all of the people who have--"
Who have all of the things I don't.
"What do I need to do to achieve that."
no subject
"Beyond that, I don't know. I do know," and here he leveled his best Batman glare, which was usually diminished by his smaller stature, but still got the job done, "that giving you what you want is not a priority. Right now, I don't trust you to do the right thing under pressure, and that means you're not getting thrown into any situation that would require you to make that right decision until you prove otherwise."
He held a hand up.
"And don't go playing the 'I've changed!' game with me. You have not. We've barely talked and while I am extremely persuasive, you're brainwashed and I'm not dumb. You haven't come around to my way of thinking just because of one heart-to-heart."
no subject
It was all fair enough, what he specified in conditions, of course. It was reasonable that he wouldn't be trusted right off. It was reasonable to operate from the idea-- the true idea-- that he wasn't that much different already. Maybe the difference was that Omi had assumed such things to be obvious. It was quite the unpleasant shock to discover Robin didn't consider him already possessing such basic understanding. Did Robin really think he felt so entitled?
Omi realized now that he was continuing to make the same mistake over and over with these two. Their images and reputations as forces for good had lent them favor. Every time, he had tried to cooperate with Batman or Robin, and every time, it left him in a worse off position. He'd tried to warn them out of the mansion, to help them fight off Schuldig. He'd tried to avoid making trouble when confronted with Batman. He'd tried to show a willingness to work towards some alternative lifestyle.
He'd acted on what he thought was the right thing to do.
It seemed he was wrong, though. This wasn't a relationship open to reciprocity or understanding. This wasn't the way someone who really wanted to help talked. Most likely, they were just trying to squeeze more information out of him to use against Kritiker. It was probably the only reason they had stopped him from killing himself, too. What other value did he have to them, after all? Nothing was going to change here. It was time to shut them out. Both of them.
Completely ignoring Robin was rude in its own right. However, beyond his resolution to offer no further inadvertent help, Omi was not any more interested in engaging condescension now than when Robin had first entered the room. He closed his eyes and turned his head away, his voice as soft and quiet as ever but with an unshakeable firmness.
"I'm done talking. Please, leave me alone."
no subject
With the very glaring exception of what Batman might say about it, he stood with the basic intent behind the words. Maybe Omi could use a second chance, but would he be using it to escape punishment or to do right?
Really, only the fact he was already going to be explaining himself to Batman kept Robin from the comeback that was forming as he stood to leave, shaking the wrinkles from his cape.