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15 July 2009 @ 08:43 pm
[sunday_reveries] I'll wait.  
(I’ll wait)

He left before dinner was finished. His pager had gone off and Eleanor knew that it was business calling when he pursed his lips at her from across the table and sighed. Suddenly, she wasn’t hungry for the sushi she and her boyfriend had just ordered. She crossed her arms over her chest when he stood and bit at the inside of her cheek.

“It’s the rules, babe, you know I’ve gotta go.” Eddie told her. He cupped her face in his hands and lifted it so he could see eye-to-eye with her.

“I know,” Eleanor said after a moment of cold silence.

And she did know.

It was nothing new, really. While Rupert Thorne had done his best to keep the wool over his daughter’s eyes, she was wise enough to understand that mob rules were law. If he was called away, he had no choice but to go. That didn’t necessarily mean that she had to like it, though. She merely had to accept it.

Eddie stroked the side of her face with his thumb. “Going to smile for me before I leave?”

She let her pout give way to a half-hearted smile which was crushed beneath her lover’s mouth after a moment.

“Be careful out there?” She murmured against his lips.

He nodded his head in agreement and pulled away from her, straightening to his full height. He was a tall man – six feet tall, easily, probably taller – with dark hair, broad shoulders, and something wolfish in his eyes. If Eleanor hadn’t known Eddie Morgan for years, she would have been intimidated by the man…something about him just screamed “Bad news.”

Eddie reached for his wallet and removed a credit card. “Stay and eat, alright? I’ll be home before y’know it.”

Eleanor watched her boyfriend leave the restaurant and sighed, leaning back in her chair. She considered the drink in front of her before she raised her hand to wave over the waiter.

“I’d like to make that order to go, please.”


She kept the television on for company when she got back to his apartment. The volume was turned down low and she sat, curled up on the sofa. The blinking, digital numbers on the cable box told her that it was forty five minutes past midnight.

Eleanor found herself missing the early days of her relationship with Eddie. Back when things weren’t so serious, his absences were easily shrugged off. She had other things to do, after all, other people to see. There was little attachment and Eddie was little more than a diversion.

He wasn’t trivial anymore. When he left these days, she felt like she was holding her breath as she awaited his safe return. Only when she heard his key in the lock and his heavy footsteps in the room would she allow herself to relax.

It was now fifty minutes past midnight. Ten minutes to one.

The Thorne girl turned off the television and retreated into the bedroom; he would wake her when he got in, she reasoned.


His alarm was set for half past six. The obnoxious beeping roused the brunette from her sleep and she fumbled around until her hand touched the alarm clock. She switched it off and rolled over, seeking the warmth of her lover.

He wasn’t there – aside from her, the bed was empty. Eleanor felt a twinge of worry in the pit of her stomach; why wasn’t he home yet? It had been hours.

She pulled herself from bed and checked the room for signs of disturbance…for signs of her lover.

The clothes he had been wearing the night before were not in the dirty clothes hamper. The suit that had been neatly set out on the valet stand was untouched. There we no signs that Edward Morgan had come home at all.

Eleanor made coffee and drank it from her lover’s favorite mug. She swallowed her worry down with the rich taste of Columbian coffee; Eddie would be fine.


“Let me know if that boyfriend of yours turns up under a bridge somewhere, won't you?” Alberto Falcone asked as he carelessly turned his cigarette in his long fingers. The Falcone son had smoking down to an art, Eleanor decided. He made the habit look beautiful.

She wasn’t in the mood, though.

“How do you say “Screw you” in Italian?” the Thorne daughter snapped at him.

He made a soft tutting sound with his tongue and in that moment, Eleanor could not decide if he was gawky or a Roman. He spoke, then, “That’s not very nice, Miss Thorne.”

“I’m not a very nice person, Mister Falcone,” she countered.

Alberto’s only answer was to take a drag of his cigarette.

He was right, of course. Eleanor knew that in Gotham it was never a good sign if someone hadn’t been heard from for a few hours. Her worry had resurfaced and would not be quelled.


At ten o’clock, her cell phone began to vibrate.

Eleanor pulled it from her pocket to check the caller ID and relief rushed through her when Eddie Morgan’s name came up. She put the phone to her ear; “Eddie?”

“Hey, baby. Sorry I haven’t called.”