Nolanverse Batman fic: Goodbye
*cough* Nothing to see here.
Well, not nothing, it's a character study for in_the_blue's "Someone Else" writing challenge, the study of one character from another's point of view that I've been mulling over for weeks. It's also a character point-of-view of one of my favourite scenes from The Dark Knight. I'm so tempted to just not post this because, heh, it's a character sketch that's me exploring a particularly difficult relationship, not a fic as such. But I promised in_the_blue that there would be something from me for her challenge, and it's too long to post in a comment. So.
Title: Goodbye
Author: JK Ashavah
Summary: On the verge of turning himself in, Bruce says goodbye. Character POV from The Dark Knight.
Fandoms: Batman (Nolanverse)
Pairings: It's complicated.
Rating: Teen
Word count: 1717
Disclaimer: I wish I owned Batman. If I did, I'd be rich. But nope, owned by DC Comics, created by Bob Kane, movies by Warner Bros. Most of the dialogue is taken from The Dark Knight. No disrespect intended, no money made.
Goodbye
"Batman's going to turn himself in." Harvey's voice is flat, empty, so devoid of its usual fervour that she imagines she can see the despair on his face even through the phone.
They're such simple words, but they make not just worry but genuine fear clutch at Rachel's soul. For a moment, she's so stunned that she can't say anything; if there's one person even more stubborn than Harvey in his belief that he's doing the right thing, it's Bruce. She never for a moment believed that he'd actually give in to the Joker. He can't. She may not always agree with his methods, but she believes in him, in what he's doing, as much as she does in Harvey. He can't honestly be about to let a thug like the Joker stop him, after he's finally found a way to deal with the grief he's been struggling with for over twenty years. Can he?
"He can't." If he does, she'll lose the closest friend she's ever had, the one thing left of her childhood. And Gotham will lose one of its heroes.
"I told him that. I just ... he won't listen." She can hear the frustration in Harvey's voice so clearly that she can almost picture the scene. She knows Bruce's stubbornness all too well. Harvey sighs, and she pictures him shaking his head to shake off the thought, like he's done in so many discussions with her. "Look, you ... stay where you are. Stay safe. I love you."
And Harvey hangs up, leaving Rachel torn as she stares out at the city. For everything that's wrong with it, all the things that only someone who's grown up in the city and seen its inner workings for as long as she has can really know, she has to admit that Gotham is beautiful at night. Here, in its heart, seen from the penthouse of the Gotham Century Towers, the city never sleeps. She's always loved the view from this spot, the constant glow of the security lighting in the office building across the street, the clear line of sight down the road to the river, the constant movement of cars, of people, all going about their business as though night and day have no meaning. It's all the life and vibrancy that the city has, all the potential for what it could be, all tied up in the scene through those forty-foot windows.
But the view's lost something of its allure tonight; she's weary to the soul. This will be the culmination of long years of watching in despair as her best friend drifted closer and closer to self-destruction. She dreaded the day when it would happen and all that remained of the family she loved as her own would be a name that spanned the world, a name left empty with nobody to carry it on. She's already seen it happen once. She can't watch it happen again. Once his son is gone, Thomas Wayne will truly be dead.
This will be the end of Bruce as surely as death would. She knows him well enough to know that what he is now is wholly and utterly defined by Batman. And she hates that about him, and she loves it, too, because she remembers the man he used to be. A man she loved and still loves, even though it hurt and still hurts. Because he was a wonderful man, but so crippled by grief that he was little more than a shell. She spent so long hoping, longing for him to find a way to deal with that. They say to be careful what you wish for, and it's true. Because he found his way, but at what cost? Somewhere, as he dealt with his pain, he lost himself.
The true tragedy is that he can't see it.
She hears the soft sound of a familiar footstep and turns, abandoning the panorama to watch as Bruce, hands stuck in his pockets like he hasn't a single worry on his mind, saunters over to join her at the window. He meets her eyes for the briefest of moments, and the resignation she sees in his face confirms everything that Harvey's just said. But it's only there for a moment before he looks away and walks past her to stare out at the city.
"Harvey called," she says, swaying gently on the spot, trying to pretend that it's not as much of a wrench to her as it is; there's no arguing with Bruce based on emotion. He only responds to cool logic. "He said Batman's gonna turn himself in."
He averts his eyes from the city, but doesn't meet hers.
"I have no choice." His voice is firm as ever, and she almost misses the over-the-top emotion that was once in everything he did. At least then, she knew what he was feeling. Since he came back, it's like he's cut himself off from emotion. How else could he even pretend to be so calm about something that's going to completely destroy his life?
She used to think she was one of the few people he was honest with.
"You honestly think that's going to keep the Joker from killing people?" She doesn't, Harvey doesn't. Surely nobody would. There's nothing to be gained from this. That's why she simply cannot understand why he would do this to himself.
"Maybe not." Still, he doesn't look at her. "But I have enough blood on my hands."
There it is. Finally, something real, a glimpse of the man beneath the face he wears for the world. The uncertainty, the guilt, the tiny quaver in his voice say he knows what this will cost him. Hint at what the last few days have done to him.
"And I've seen now what I would have to become to stop men like him." Now he looks at her, and any thought she had moments before about him distancing himself from emotion vanishes at the pleading in his eyes, like he's begging her to understand, to be with him on this one impossibly hard decision.
But she can't. It won't change anything other than to make him feel better about himself in the short-term. That's so little gain for the cost.
"You once told me that if the day came when I was finished, we'd be together."
And there it is. The thing that's hovered between them since she started dating Harvey, the thing that he mentioned only days ago, that she didn't have an answer for then any more than she does now. He's clinging to the hope of a dream long-faded. And how she wishes it wasn't so, and she wishes he saw more in his life than just her as some incentive to truly live again. She can't be what he needs, and he can't be what she needs, and she loves him so desperately that she wishes that weren't true. Because he needs something to find himself again, but she's as lost as to what that might be as he is.
"Bruce," she says, and she shakes her head, hair whispering around her face. "Don't make me your one hope for a normal life." She can't keep looking into that intense gaze of his; she looks down at the floor, but she hates that she's done it and looks back up almost as quickly. He's walked a few steps towards her and pauses again and now she can't look away from him, however she might try.
"Did you mean it?" His voice is barely more than a whisper now, and so plaintive that she can hear years of regret for everything that ever did and never did happen between them, years when she always wondered if it was only her or if it was him as well, and she can't answer at first. How can she? She did mean it, but that was before Harvey, before she realised that she's spent her whole life waiting for Bruce Wayne and that she's moved beyond that now. For her own sake.
"Yes." She can't lie to him, though she wishes she could, because now, she regrets saying it. She's not the same woman she was when he left, she's not the same woman she was when he came back. She's changed since she made him that promise, and he hasn't.
Bruce's hand, astonishingly gentle for a man with so much strength, brushes back her hair, and it's almost enough to make her doubt all her resolutions about him and believe that yes, he can be the man he once was. But she knows, even as he leans in and kisses her with a passion she thought he'd long lost, that even if he could, it's too late now. Because the kiss, filled with all the things he's never said to her, all the desperation and longing they both kept to themselves for so long, says one thing above all:
Goodbye.
Their eyes lock for a long, long moment when they break apart, his hand still buried in her hair, hers still resting on his shoulder. Don't do this, she pleads silently, but there's just as much resignation in his eyes as when he walked in.
Then he drops his hand from her hair and turns, one hand still in his pocket, and begins to walk away. She shakes her head as she watches him, and she almost doesn't say anything, but she can't leave it like this.
"Bruce."
For a moment, she thinks he'll keep walking, but he doesn't; he turns, eyebrows raised like he's got no idea what she's going to say, and she gives her head the barest of shakes again. She'll never understand how he can go from such intense emotion to blankness in moments. The Bruce she knew would never have done that. The Bruce she knows now has made himself numb.
"If you turn yourself in, they're not gonna let us be together." It's last-gasp, and hollow, and it's all she has left to beguile him with, and he knows it as much as she does.
She has to blink back tears as he walks away without another word.
She thinks she knows now what her answer to Harvey's question should have been.
Well, not nothing, it's a character study for in_the_blue's "Someone Else" writing challenge, the study of one character from another's point of view that I've been mulling over for weeks. It's also a character point-of-view of one of my favourite scenes from The Dark Knight. I'm so tempted to just not post this because, heh, it's a character sketch that's me exploring a particularly difficult relationship, not a fic as such. But I promised in_the_blue that there would be something from me for her challenge, and it's too long to post in a comment. So.
Title: Goodbye
Author: JK Ashavah
Summary: On the verge of turning himself in, Bruce says goodbye. Character POV from The Dark Knight.
Fandoms: Batman (Nolanverse)
Pairings: It's complicated.
Rating: Teen
Word count: 1717
Disclaimer: I wish I owned Batman. If I did, I'd be rich. But nope, owned by DC Comics, created by Bob Kane, movies by Warner Bros. Most of the dialogue is taken from The Dark Knight. No disrespect intended, no money made.
Goodbye
"Batman's going to turn himself in." Harvey's voice is flat, empty, so devoid of its usual fervour that she imagines she can see the despair on his face even through the phone.
They're such simple words, but they make not just worry but genuine fear clutch at Rachel's soul. For a moment, she's so stunned that she can't say anything; if there's one person even more stubborn than Harvey in his belief that he's doing the right thing, it's Bruce. She never for a moment believed that he'd actually give in to the Joker. He can't. She may not always agree with his methods, but she believes in him, in what he's doing, as much as she does in Harvey. He can't honestly be about to let a thug like the Joker stop him, after he's finally found a way to deal with the grief he's been struggling with for over twenty years. Can he?
"He can't." If he does, she'll lose the closest friend she's ever had, the one thing left of her childhood. And Gotham will lose one of its heroes.
"I told him that. I just ... he won't listen." She can hear the frustration in Harvey's voice so clearly that she can almost picture the scene. She knows Bruce's stubbornness all too well. Harvey sighs, and she pictures him shaking his head to shake off the thought, like he's done in so many discussions with her. "Look, you ... stay where you are. Stay safe. I love you."
And Harvey hangs up, leaving Rachel torn as she stares out at the city. For everything that's wrong with it, all the things that only someone who's grown up in the city and seen its inner workings for as long as she has can really know, she has to admit that Gotham is beautiful at night. Here, in its heart, seen from the penthouse of the Gotham Century Towers, the city never sleeps. She's always loved the view from this spot, the constant glow of the security lighting in the office building across the street, the clear line of sight down the road to the river, the constant movement of cars, of people, all going about their business as though night and day have no meaning. It's all the life and vibrancy that the city has, all the potential for what it could be, all tied up in the scene through those forty-foot windows.
But the view's lost something of its allure tonight; she's weary to the soul. This will be the culmination of long years of watching in despair as her best friend drifted closer and closer to self-destruction. She dreaded the day when it would happen and all that remained of the family she loved as her own would be a name that spanned the world, a name left empty with nobody to carry it on. She's already seen it happen once. She can't watch it happen again. Once his son is gone, Thomas Wayne will truly be dead.
This will be the end of Bruce as surely as death would. She knows him well enough to know that what he is now is wholly and utterly defined by Batman. And she hates that about him, and she loves it, too, because she remembers the man he used to be. A man she loved and still loves, even though it hurt and still hurts. Because he was a wonderful man, but so crippled by grief that he was little more than a shell. She spent so long hoping, longing for him to find a way to deal with that. They say to be careful what you wish for, and it's true. Because he found his way, but at what cost? Somewhere, as he dealt with his pain, he lost himself.
The true tragedy is that he can't see it.
She hears the soft sound of a familiar footstep and turns, abandoning the panorama to watch as Bruce, hands stuck in his pockets like he hasn't a single worry on his mind, saunters over to join her at the window. He meets her eyes for the briefest of moments, and the resignation she sees in his face confirms everything that Harvey's just said. But it's only there for a moment before he looks away and walks past her to stare out at the city.
"Harvey called," she says, swaying gently on the spot, trying to pretend that it's not as much of a wrench to her as it is; there's no arguing with Bruce based on emotion. He only responds to cool logic. "He said Batman's gonna turn himself in."
He averts his eyes from the city, but doesn't meet hers.
"I have no choice." His voice is firm as ever, and she almost misses the over-the-top emotion that was once in everything he did. At least then, she knew what he was feeling. Since he came back, it's like he's cut himself off from emotion. How else could he even pretend to be so calm about something that's going to completely destroy his life?
She used to think she was one of the few people he was honest with.
"You honestly think that's going to keep the Joker from killing people?" She doesn't, Harvey doesn't. Surely nobody would. There's nothing to be gained from this. That's why she simply cannot understand why he would do this to himself.
"Maybe not." Still, he doesn't look at her. "But I have enough blood on my hands."
There it is. Finally, something real, a glimpse of the man beneath the face he wears for the world. The uncertainty, the guilt, the tiny quaver in his voice say he knows what this will cost him. Hint at what the last few days have done to him.
"And I've seen now what I would have to become to stop men like him." Now he looks at her, and any thought she had moments before about him distancing himself from emotion vanishes at the pleading in his eyes, like he's begging her to understand, to be with him on this one impossibly hard decision.
But she can't. It won't change anything other than to make him feel better about himself in the short-term. That's so little gain for the cost.
"You once told me that if the day came when I was finished, we'd be together."
And there it is. The thing that's hovered between them since she started dating Harvey, the thing that he mentioned only days ago, that she didn't have an answer for then any more than she does now. He's clinging to the hope of a dream long-faded. And how she wishes it wasn't so, and she wishes he saw more in his life than just her as some incentive to truly live again. She can't be what he needs, and he can't be what she needs, and she loves him so desperately that she wishes that weren't true. Because he needs something to find himself again, but she's as lost as to what that might be as he is.
"Bruce," she says, and she shakes her head, hair whispering around her face. "Don't make me your one hope for a normal life." She can't keep looking into that intense gaze of his; she looks down at the floor, but she hates that she's done it and looks back up almost as quickly. He's walked a few steps towards her and pauses again and now she can't look away from him, however she might try.
"Did you mean it?" His voice is barely more than a whisper now, and so plaintive that she can hear years of regret for everything that ever did and never did happen between them, years when she always wondered if it was only her or if it was him as well, and she can't answer at first. How can she? She did mean it, but that was before Harvey, before she realised that she's spent her whole life waiting for Bruce Wayne and that she's moved beyond that now. For her own sake.
"Yes." She can't lie to him, though she wishes she could, because now, she regrets saying it. She's not the same woman she was when he left, she's not the same woman she was when he came back. She's changed since she made him that promise, and he hasn't.
Bruce's hand, astonishingly gentle for a man with so much strength, brushes back her hair, and it's almost enough to make her doubt all her resolutions about him and believe that yes, he can be the man he once was. But she knows, even as he leans in and kisses her with a passion she thought he'd long lost, that even if he could, it's too late now. Because the kiss, filled with all the things he's never said to her, all the desperation and longing they both kept to themselves for so long, says one thing above all:
Goodbye.
Their eyes lock for a long, long moment when they break apart, his hand still buried in her hair, hers still resting on his shoulder. Don't do this, she pleads silently, but there's just as much resignation in his eyes as when he walked in.
Then he drops his hand from her hair and turns, one hand still in his pocket, and begins to walk away. She shakes her head as she watches him, and she almost doesn't say anything, but she can't leave it like this.
"Bruce."
For a moment, she thinks he'll keep walking, but he doesn't; he turns, eyebrows raised like he's got no idea what she's going to say, and she gives her head the barest of shakes again. She'll never understand how he can go from such intense emotion to blankness in moments. The Bruce she knew would never have done that. The Bruce she knows now has made himself numb.
"If you turn yourself in, they're not gonna let us be together." It's last-gasp, and hollow, and it's all she has left to beguile him with, and he knows it as much as she does.
She has to blink back tears as he walks away without another word.
She thinks she knows now what her answer to Harvey's question should have been.