It's been more than five months since the hurricanes, and it's amazing how much work remains to be done. And to be brutally honest, I just don't know how much longer I can do it. Never thought I'd say this, but being Robin was, in a way, so much easier: swoop down on the bad guys, tie them up, alert the police, end of story. (Well, that's how it went when it worked...) This cleanup job is so completely different. It just goes on and on and on. Every time we think we've made some progress, we head to a new town, like this one, and it's time to start from scratch. So much destruction, so much pain, so little hope. I'm seriously thinking about calling it quits and moving back to Gotham. But would that make me ... a quitter? I left that place when things went wrong (horribly wrong), and now that I realize it's not going so great down here, I dream of going back?
I don't know. I just don't know.
Meanwhile, it's been almost a month since I opened Ollie's suitcase and found ... a pair of my own tights! The green leggings I wore as Robin. I don't know how he got his hands on them, or what he knows about me, or why we still haven't talked about this, but we haven't. Granted, I didn't look too closely--just saw them, shut the case, and tried to go about my business. I keep meaning to bring it up, and I haven't found a way to do it without admitting that I was snooping around where I shouldn't have.
Other than that gaping hole in the trust department, things are going great between us. We keep moving from one town or city to another either together or within a few days of each other, sharing sleeping quarters, and fucking like bunnies. Sometimes I fantasize myself being the meat in a Bruce-and-Ollie sandwich, and I like what I see. Strictly for selfish reasons, I'd love to introduce those two to each other--
--or not. I mean, two emotionally cold but physically hot daddies in the same room? I'd either freeze or melt. Or both!