[Of all the questions to ask. It's something he's asked every time he has a session with Dr Lector. At first, he'd be reticent. It's simply not done to talk about feelings. He's gotten more open. More willing to talk about what is bothering him. It's the only reason he had called, honestly. Because he'd felt safe enough to at least warn the man he'd not be around for a while.
But the fact that he told the doctor where he was, that he kind of waited for him, it means he understands, at least unconsciously, that he can't deal with this on his own in a remotely healthy manner.
He attacks, darting in, his aim for those vulnerable parts of the body, his voice a growl. The Wayne family's rabid dog finally broke his leash.]
Weak. Unless. Worthless. Disgusting.
[Each word is a blow, or tries to be. Each word is an answer. He feels weak because he'd been unable to protect Bruce again. Weak because all of Thomas' hard work to break him of these habits meant nothing. He'd gone right back to dealing with his hurt the old ways. Not chamicals, but the distraction of physical pain and the high of adrenaline to keep him from thinking about it for a while. Worthless because that's his meaning in life, to look after the boy, now a man. But also worthless because he's failing another boy, waiting for him back at Blackworth. He's probably worrying Regulus sick. Useless, because as much as he loves his 'son', the man hasn't truly needed him here. He'd been nothing but a problem. But mostly disgusted. Sick to his stomach that he would rather have Bruce here with him, where he might be some help, than back in Gotham and his own adult life. He hates that he mourns for the loss of a son, who is far better off at home, with another Alfred. And under all that, it's regret. That deep hurting feeling that he could have done more for Bruce. Been there more for him. Been better for him. That he'd never gotten to really tell the man how much he loved him and how proud he was of the man he'd become. He'd been given a gift, allowed to see his ward all grown up. He'd squandered it.]
It hurts. [Is the gravely conclusion even as he works to get past Hannibal's guard.]
no subject
But the fact that he told the doctor where he was, that he kind of waited for him, it means he understands, at least unconsciously, that he can't deal with this on his own in a remotely healthy manner.
He attacks, darting in, his aim for those vulnerable parts of the body, his voice a growl. The Wayne family's rabid dog finally broke his leash.]
Weak. Unless. Worthless. Disgusting.
[Each word is a blow, or tries to be. Each word is an answer. He feels weak because he'd been unable to protect Bruce again. Weak because all of Thomas' hard work to break him of these habits meant nothing. He'd gone right back to dealing with his hurt the old ways. Not chamicals, but the distraction of physical pain and the high of adrenaline to keep him from thinking about it for a while. Worthless because that's his meaning in life, to look after the boy, now a man. But also worthless because he's failing another boy, waiting for him back at Blackworth. He's probably worrying Regulus sick. Useless, because as much as he loves his 'son', the man hasn't truly needed him here. He'd been nothing but a problem. But mostly disgusted. Sick to his stomach that he would rather have Bruce here with him, where he might be some help, than back in Gotham and his own adult life. He hates that he mourns for the loss of a son, who is far better off at home, with another Alfred. And under all that, it's regret. That deep hurting feeling that he could have done more for Bruce. Been there more for him. Been better for him. That he'd never gotten to really tell the man how much he loved him and how proud he was of the man he'd become. He'd been given a gift, allowed to see his ward all grown up. He'd squandered it.]
It hurts. [Is the gravely conclusion even as he works to get past Hannibal's guard.]