Awakening

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9:12 A.M.

Wayne Manor

Gotham

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Cold sunlight flooded the room as the curtains were pulled back and Rachel opened her eyes to a glorious and chilling sunrise the next time she awoke.

Even without knowing, she knew that a lot of time had passed. The past was but a distant memory, blurred and meaningless, as the present came into sharp focus.

She was not in the hospital.

A brilliant white glow diffused into the room, making the spotless cream walls gleam like polished ivory and illuminated the bronze frames of a picture hanging above the massive fireplace, where a fire burnt merrily. The portrait was of a family of three, sitting in front of their stately manor, the father, mother and son beaming down at her, the sun rising up behind them, in the distance, the blurry outline of a butler behind the curtains, caught in a flutter on the camera.

Turning her head slightly Rachel allowed her eyes to rest on the man standing beside the life-size window, one half of his face lost in the glare of the sun, the other cloaked in shadow.

A tired pale face, dark messy hair sticking up, deep black eyes that seemed to consume her as they turned upon her.

'Bruce.' She managed to rasp out.

And then the dam broke.

In the blink of an eye Bruce had crossed the room and was kneeling beside her bed. His eyes, darker than the darkest night, seemed to overwhelm her with their joy and uncontrollable fever as he grasped her hand firmly.

Rachel felt her throat constrict as their eyes locked; there was so much anxiety, understanding and protectiveness in them that she wondered why she'd ever doubted him, before he shut his eyes as tears threatened to fall down, his lips parting to take in a steeling breath of air.

In a rare moment of epiphany, she knew was that the man beside her was Bruce. Her Bruce. The one who had left and never come back.

She saw how tired he looked; the bags under his eyes seemed to speak for themselves. He opened his eyes again, more resolute, determined not to break down in front of her. Rachel tried to suppress her smile.

Even after all these years, she could see through him, clear as day. It was like the past twenty two years had never happened; that they were eight year olds again.

Bruce.

He was her friend, her best friend. She was his playmate. His soul mate.

How could she have forgotten those years? The time they'd spent together?

Bruce laid a hand on her forehead, frowning slightly, to calm his trembling as much as to assure her. He tried to smile at her but it never reached his eyes.

Rachel didn't want to look away from him, afraid that it was all a dream that the next moment she would wake up in the hospital again, watching the shadows move across the white wall and the white floor, as day faded into night and night lightened to another day. The relentless moving on of life, regardless of pain or joy, love or death.

No one had ever come to see her, not Harvey, and not the doctors every time she had been awake. She wondered if she looked that horrible and then realized with a somewhat vague surprise that she didn't mind even if she did. What did looks matter when you know that the next second could be your last?

Rachel gave a lop-sided smile.

'Hey,' Bruce said in a small voice, his eyes lighting up, 'how do feel–'

Pulling down, she embraced him gently, feeling the taut muscles rippling under his thin cotton shirt. Slowly, she felt him loosen under her, and gently, almost hesitatingly he allowed himself to hold her, his strong arms gripping her thin emancipated body like they would never again release her, their forms molding together like they'd been made for each other.

She remembered him now, and remembered how it had been.

There were no secrets, lies or pretensions in their friendship. They had no masks to hide behind. There was no wariness or doubt between them, only unwavering loyalty borne out of years of sharing treasures and secrets, getting in and out of trouble, discovering the world and their selves.

An unbreakable bond, a steadfast faith, a mutual understanding between two souls, linked together by an unspoken oath, taken long ago in the nights of hiding together and the days spent chasing each other.

Had the world clouded her eyes so much that she'd never recognized that the little boy was still there, beneath the dark and the sunny mask? Had she given up her hope too quickly, too selfishly, possessed by the mad rage of a moment, watching her love fall for her friend?

Gotham is not beyond saving, he'd told her once, and she'd nodded her assent.

But what about you, Bruce, she wanted to ask, is there any hope left for you?

The man beside her opened his eyes, baring his soul to her.

She understood now.

She'd never stopped loving him, however many miles or beliefs separated them. Even though more than two decades had passed since she'd felt that way, Rachel knew her love for him had never died, not when he'd threatened to become a wanderer, a murderer, a squanderer or even a protector, because in the end, like always, he'd done the right thing. He always did the right thing, however challenging or difficult.

He had chosen to save Gotham.

How could she have ever doubted him?

But there was no going back. By her own hand, she'd changed things. Things that couldn't be undone. Her feelings for him would never change, and she couldn't bring herself to hurt him more by giving him a hope that might never be fulfilled. She'd already injured him enough, many times. She'd made a decision and she was not going to go back on her words.

She knew she loved Harvey.

But she would never stop loving Bruce more.

Slowly, as if she might break at the slightest touch, Bruce pulled back and touched her face. A tremor passed through his entire being as his fingers traced lightly over her scars, lingering over where the skin stretched smoothly. For an instant, his eyes lost their elation and became utterly bleak, devoid of any emotion as nightmarish memories resurfaced and threatened to burst forward.

Memories of his past, memories of their past.

Like a barren wasteland, stretching on endlessly, without an end in sight, he gazed into her eyes, feeling himself being slowly engulfed by their vibrant brown.

He was so tired.

Tired of running, of being chased, of being hunted down.

Every morning, it had become more and more difficult for him to drag himself to work pretending he was alright, to go on acting on that stage of reality where one slip of word, one unheeded action might unravel a lifelong play in an instant; while each night spiraled uncontrollably into skirmishes and hunts that lasted well into dawn. For nearly three months, he'd not slept soundly, woken up by nightmares, their laughter and screams echoing, no, howling in his head.

His laughter, her screams.

And then, slowly but steadily, whether by conscious decision or forced circumstances, Bruce Wayne had diminished, disappearing somewhat in the aftermath of everything that had happened. The world had been stripped clear of its lies and pretensions for once by a madman. It did not notice his absence.

The Dark Knight had taken over, driving him to work even harder, play fairer as he strove to maintain the toehold of grip he'd managed to achieve, the leash he'd managed to loop around the head of Gotham's underworld. Even as their power weakened, the Batman grew. Not a man anymore, a myth. Not a savior anymore, a monster.

A legend.

A combination of fact and fabrication, a fable so powerful that he overshadowed even the Clown Prince of Gotham in the hearts of the people. He had become an idea, a belief in himself.

A symbol.

Much more than he'd set out to achieve. But as he'd gotten closer to his goal, Bruce had slowly begun realizing its flaws. The dream of a perfect Gotham seemed even further away than when he had started the path, even more precarious and unsteady then he'd imagined. Unattainable. Impossible.

He was unstoppable.

Bruce tightened his grip on Rachel's hand, afraid that she might disappear like everything else. That he might wake up into another nightmare to find that it had all been a wonderful dream.

No. He could not stop.

Rachel looked at him, frowning, as if trying to figure out what he was thinking. Lifting her arm, she interlaced her fingers with his reassuringly, seeking out the warmth in his eyes.

'Hey.' She said softly, drawing him closer. Leaning forward, his breath hitching up, Bruce wanted to say something, anything to make her understand how he was feeling. The guilt was like a raw wound, clawing at his gut, more painful than any flesh wound he had ever sustained.

I'm sorry I let you for dead, he wanted to speak, I'm sorry for everything–

'It's all right.' She whispered.

How did she know?

'You did what needed to be done.' She said smiling, a little sadly. She couldn't say anything else. The pain was just too real, and time had yet not erased all the wounds.

But Bruce remained morose, his eyes piercing through hers, as if searching for something. Searching for what, she wondered. Forgiveness? But she'd already forgiven him.

Understanding? But she understood him. And understood the reason why he had done what he had done.

'I believe you.' She whispered after a moment, closing her eyes. There was it. She'd opened up those gates of emotion.

She couldn't see him like this, blaming himself, couldn't let him endure the pain he was inflicting upon himself alone.

No, not this time. He wasn't alone.

She couldn't be his. But she could be with him.

She kissed him softly.

Deep within the depths of the cave, a single drop of water fell from a stalagmite and down a large chasm.

For an entire minute, there was absolute silence and then a magnified splash echoed around the cave.

A gasp, a moan, a stirring of shadow at the bottom of the chasm. And then…

Silence.

The man who had been guarding the cave had moved noiselessly to the edge of the black void at the activity, but now he returned to his position, picking up his gnarled staff.

It wasn't the time.

Yet.

Sitting down, with his back to the entrance, he stared with infinite patience at the trickle of water, collecting on the tip of the stalagmite, waiting for it to become heavy enough to become the drop that would fall next.

It was as if everything he'd ever suffered for, everything he'd endured had been for this moment. The moment of pure bliss. They seemed to stay like that forever, neither one willing to come back to reality.

Finally they separated, a little out of their breaths.

Bending down again so that their foreheads touched, Bruce understood that in that instant, there was nothing that he wanted more, than to leave everything behind and stay like that forever, gazing into her eyes, holding her hand, just being with her.

'Rachel,' he whispered, his voice cracking, knowing that he was going to shatter everything between them forever, that from this moment onwards, because of what he would say, Rachel wouldn't be able to bear staying in the same room as him, wouldn't be able to see him without remembering everything that happened. That from this moment on, she would despise him with all heart.

Hate him.

'Harvey is dead. Because of me.'