Oh, it's so ironic; you've got the good book, your name's still on it

[silkandstone]

There are a lot of commuters on Chicago's streets today, who can be caught between or at their destinations.

Ruvin is on her way to see Wyatt. She wasn't sure about doing this, but... She felt better, last time she was there, however brief their talk was. And even if the medication has side effects that she didn't expect, it still helped her

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[rattle_thecages]

The stubborn, foolish part of Rachel had hoped that when she opened her eyes she'd be back in the Conrad. That it was all a nightmare she could lock up inside her mind, never to be revisited. A strangled noise filled with frustration leaves her once the tape starts playing again, Joker's scarred laughter blasting through the speakers. She will not go crazy, she will not -

The noise is static on her skin.

"I believe what doesn't kill you only makes you...stranger."

No, no.

"Well hello, beautiful."

Stop. Stop.

"She was going to wait for me, Alfred."

At the knock she lifts her head, but Rachel doesn't move from her spot.

[silkandstone]

He knocks again, to be polite, despite the fact that Rachel can't unlock the door from inside. As soon as he opens it, the playback stops. Den glances up, catching the tail end of the last statement. "I can't say I'm surprised you selected that particular compilation."

And then he's inside and the door closes behind him. "How are you, Miss Dawes?"

[rattle_thecages]

Rachel's jaw locks at the sound of his voice. She is not discussing Bruce with this man. "Of course you're not surprised, Mr. Clark." Rachel doesn't spare him a glance. Her voice is tight, barely restrained in its anger. "I'm not a spontaneous individual."

The playback is still ringing in her ears, despite the fact there is silence at long last. She finally looks at him once he has the audacity to ask how she is faring. As if he gives a damn.

Defiant. Always defiant. It's her downfall in moments like these. "Would you really like me to waste my breath and your time by stating the obvious? Do tell me exactly what it is you'd like to know."

[silkandstone]

He sets the cooler down, takes out the wine bottle, glasses, the packaged food inside and spreads it carefully over the table. With nothing for sustenance but tea, cookies, and condensed milk, he imagines she's rather hungry at this point. At long last, he sits, taking his glass and narrowing his eyes at it, as though the wine soured during the walk.

"You aren't much of an opponent like this, Miss Dawes."

[rattle_thecages]

"As if you've given me much to work with. Points for originality, however," she says, motioning to the walls that are now only scarcely covered with crime-scene photos.

Rachel tore down most of them.

She looks at the wine and it's a stab to the heart. Robin. She is so hungry. She is so tired. Her pride forces her to stifle both needs. "I don't care. I don't care about your stupid tea party. I don't care about your poetry or your ending. You need to let me go."

[silkandstone]

How incredibly dull.

"What are you?" His interest is becoming clinical. If she's not straightforward, he can always experiment. "In the park, your reaction was completely disproportionate to the amount of poison I gave you. Some side-effect of your rift-given changes?"

[rattle_thecages]

Rachel doesn't answer him.

She looks straight on ahead as if he hadn't spoken. Even looking at him makes her sick. He can't take her away from her home and keep her here like some kind of experiment.

Faintly she can still hear Joker laughing, as if it's lingered on the walls. She knows that somewhere, he really is.

[silkandstone]

With the faintest sigh, Den gets up. He stops in front of her, wine still in hand, and throws the contents of the glass into her face. "Wake up," he says. It's the same tone he used on Sark in the woods.

Now sit and be good, before I kiss you.

"I asked you a question. I asked it politely. Now, if you please, I'd like an answer."

[rattle_thecages]

Rachel doesn't have time to react properly. She's barely wiping the wine offf her face when he speaks again.

She gets up as well and takes one step back.

"Go to hell."

[silkandstone]

"I've been. It's not that exciting."

With some portion of the speed he showed Sark, he breaches the space Rachel's made and grips her throat with his free hand. With the other, he very carefully sets the glass on a side table. "While I generally keep my temper itself in check, my patience only runs so far. I gave you the opportunity to tell me. Now, Miss Dawes, you will show me."

[rattle_thecages]

Rachel draws in a breath sharply, closing her eyes so she doesn't have to look into his. You make me sick, you make me sick, you - Even if she wanted to answer him, she couldn't. His fingers dig into the skin, leaving imprints on her neck.

She struggles against him, twisting in place before she aims a kick squarely for his groin.

[silkandstone]

Well ow. Den can't say that was entirely unexpected, but uncomfortable, certainly. He backhands Dawes across the face and then grabs her chin, forcing her face back toward him.

"Open you eyes, my dear," he says. It comes out like a warning.

[rattle_thecages]

"Open yours," she whispers once she's met his gaze. He'll find in her eyes everything he's come to expect but there's something more, something even she wouldn't be able to decipher.

"It's been a week of playing and now you're bored. How frustrating, isn't it? To find something has not lived up to your expectations." I cannot abide by stillness. "I don't wish to know what you'll do when you find there comes a day where nothing and no one satisfies your hunger. Do your worst, but there is nothing here in this room you desire."

So let me go. I fear what I'll learn if I stay. The truth encased in those unspoken words screams in the silence that follows, and somewhere in the trajectory between the bones and the soul and the lips, she realizes it's not what will make her free.

[silkandstone]

His eyes light up. There. That's why he wanted her, was curious about her. "On the contrary. You raise my expectations with every encounter."

And that is exactly what he wants. Surprise. He presses his lips against her forehead, blessing the contact with a heavy dose of his favorite neurotoxin. Loss of limb function, blackouts, hallucinations--and yet mild enough that she won't suffer after effects. Once a few days have gone by, at least.

[rattle_thecages]

Her hand lifts to her face, fingertips resting on the corner of her lip where blood trickles from when he backhanded her. "East is East, and West is West--" and never the twain shall meet.

Rachel doesn't get to finish. She never gets to ask why (I was just a nameless woman, sitting on a park bench one unforgiving day, reading a book we'll both know the meaning to).

She tries forcing her eyes to remain open but the familiar numbness greets her. His lips on her forehead--and of all the gestures, it's this one she'll wonder about--give way to the darkness.