[party post of horrible]
[OOC: the death of Rachel and Robin. Again, anyone is welcome into the actual party building. Currently, pre-explosion posting into the party can happen. :) Instead of worrying about the smalltalk beforehand? Might be easier to coordinate. It's only the conference room in a separate building that no one should be in unless they want to die with R
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She reminds him why life is worth living, why he's blessed to have been old enough to meet her and to spend time with her. The fight is a difficult one, but they're still fighting it because it's the right thing to do, because someone has to keep fighting and keep having hope.
Robin would never let her carry more bags than him. He is an angel and thus, he is stronger and again, he is a gentleman. He is equal parts gentleman and hobag. The look that she sends him makes him smile that charming smile of his. "I don't need that long."
He moves forward to open up the door of the conference room for her as well. "I was thinking of something that we could do together, nothing that wouldn't be rated PG-13, of course. We are practically in public."
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It's taught her why the fight is always a good fight, even when it doesn't seem that way. It's reminded her she's right that it's darkest before dawn.
"That is never true, Robin Rice," she says, with a vehement shake of her head; her lips are quirked in a rueful and amused smile. She leans up to place a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth. "You say you don't need that long, and then it's hours before you're ever done. Not that this is necessarily a complaint, mind you. Consider it a weighted observation I've made throughout the time I've known you."
She moves one of the bags to her other shoulder and re-adjusts the strap of her purse. "What did you have in--" Rachel's words die in her mouth, and she grows very still once she realizes they are not alone.
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"Would I lie to you?" He smiles when she shakes her head like that, and he leans in to press a kiss against the center of her lips after she's kissed the corner of his. "Listen it's honestly hard... if not quite impossible to resist you and hard to spend... one moment when there are so many moments available that follow. I hardly feel that's my fault."
Honestly, how can he be blamed for such a thing?
It isn't until the words die in her mouth that he realizes they aren't alone. Robin turns and freezes at the sight of him, immediately aware that he isn't a friend. It's a wanderer, under the table working at something which can't be good.
He has that frenzied look of angels or demons when they're in a fit of madness that frequently leads to violence. Robin freezes. His jaw locks and he moves in front of her imperceptibly.
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Robin does not see until it is too late that the man has a gun in his hand. He is on his feet and holding it, pointed at them before either of them can react. There had been safety for Robin so this comes as an absolute shock, he should have prepared. He is angry that they interrupted the process. Robin rushes forward but he's too late.
The gun goes off. It fires from his hand as Robin rushes forward in an attempt to stop it. The bullet finds its mark in Rachel. Robin breaks his arm, but it's too late.
The gun went off.
The gun fired its shot.
It's too late.
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There isn't some grand epiphany in which you say all the things you want to say to everyone you love but haven't had the time. There isn't some feeling that alerts you of the ticking clock that makes you rush to finish what you need to finish before you can't.
There isn't a ceremonial gong when it all starts to unravel.
There's silence. Rachel's gaze tears itself away from the gun and moves to the table he'd been setting up, and back into his eyes. She doesn't look away from his eyes. There's that need to reason first, above all, instead of being afraid.
She lifts both of her hands, keeping calm as she always tries to do under otherwise impossible circumstances. "You don't want to do this," she starts to say, and she gets no further. It doesn't hurt all at once. She doesn't feel pain. She isn't even aware she is bleeding until she slowly--far too slowly--lifts her hand and splays it over her stomach.
The shirt she wears is white. Blood blooms from the center of her stomach, spreading every which way like prickly vines, and when she drops her hand to her side again, it's covered in red. She stares at it in muted, numbed fascination, before she sways to the side and lets out one dizzying gasp. "Oh."
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He doesn't.
"If you leave, this room and the room with the party in it will explode. It's your choice."
It's not a choice at all.
Just like Chicago. Just like this universe.
It does not leave them with a choice. If it did, people would not turn into what they turn into.
He would not be someone like this, killing people with bombs. He was a good person before, and he's walking out the door. Robin is completely distracted and concerned with Rachel so it's not difficult for the bomber to leave without being stopped or questioned.
He stands there in front of the door.
"I wasn't always like this."
He opens the door.
"It's what Chicago does to you."
And he leaves.
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If they knew they would be dying, they never would have ended up here and they never would have died.
There is no warning at all. There's no hint to it being different than any other day.
Too late. Robin doesn't see the gun until it's too late. He hears it go off. He breaks the man's arm with one easy movement, and the gun falls to the ground, but he hears it. He hears the soft, pained Oh from behind him, and he knows before he has turned that she's been shot. The whole of him shakes, and he turns slowly. It feels like he barely moves at all, like his legs are moving without his permission but he turns to look at her and he sees it. His heart clenches up painfully, and he cannot breathe at the sight of the blood spreading out across her stomach.
How many times has he imagined her dying? How many times has he dreamed of holding her corpse between his hands? It's here. It's real. This isn't a dream at all. She's hurt and swaying in front of him-- It's because of her that he forgets completely about the man. The man could shoot him in the back, and Robin wouldn't notice, wouldn't care. Rachel has been shot.
Robin shakes his head. His eyes burn as he rushes forward, gripping hold of her with both of his hands. "No, no, no please..." he murmurs, pulling her in tight. His shaking hand moves to the wound on her stomach, and he is not aware of that many any longer. "Rachel."
He helps her to the floor, tightens his hold on her wound. His throat tightens, and he shakes his head. He should have been the one to get shot. It should have been him. He should have acted quicker.
"Please."
If you leave, the room and the party explodes.
If they don't leave right now, she could die. She will die. He can see it. He knows it. The whole of him freezes, and he opens his mouth to speak but can't.
"You'll be fine. I'm right here. I won't let you--" Robin has never lied to her. It's not about lying now. It's about begging the universe to let him be wrong.
It's funny, in a way that's not amusing at all, how you can want to die for decades of your life and when you finally don't want death at all, it's when it comes to take you.
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The whole of her body has been numbed, and what she can faintly feel is a sliver of icy coldness slowly start to spread from the low of her arms to the rest of her. She barely feels his hands on her. Is only dimly aware she is being lowered to the ground. She doesn't have time to answer that man whose name she's never going to know. She doesn't have time to explain that those aren't the only choices and why.
He says his name and she bites the insides of her cheek to keep from crying out his. She tries to take a breath but it gets caught up in her throat when it hurts to breathe in a lungful of air. She looks down at her stomach, the blood pooling from the center of it as droplets start to scatter across the ground.
"Robin," she says. Her voice is far too thin and high than it normally is but it doesn't shake. She says her name the way she'd say it's okay or don't be scared. Her first thought, unsurprisingly, is to reassure him. "I had more time than I was meant to have."
If she hadn't fallen through the Rift, she'd have died at the hands of the Joker two years ago and she'd have never met him. She'd have never met Martha and countless of other people that have changed her life. She was given more time than she ever should have been given by a slight of hand and twist of fate. In that time, she was given so many things.
The biggest gift was and always will be him.
She fights to the very end, but she also knows when the fight has been lost.
Rachel closes her eyes, taking a deep breath and swallowing back a noise. She moves her head sideways so she can look at him straight on, face impossibly close to his, and her hand squeezing his. If he stays with her, he dies. If he opens the door, he dies. And he's not even the one bleeding himself out dry.
That's what gets to her the most, and that's what makes it almost impossible to say what she says next, with a steadiness she isn't feeling.
"You're going to have to lock the door now."
To keep anyone from coming in.
No one else is coming into this room today.
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How many times has he had nightmares where he'd look down at his hands and see they were covered with her blood? His chest feels like it's on fire, and he would be calmer if he realized that he has to die too. At the moment, it seems like she was shot and he's to be left here without her, after holding her as she died. The thought is terrifying to him. It's driving him to the edge of his mind, because he cannot see his life without her in it.
He doesn't want that life.
His hand presses against her wound and tightens his hold on her. His other hand is shaking, covered in her blood too as it reaches out for her face, cupping the side of her face as he looks at her. Robin shakes his head again.
I had more time than I was meant to have.
A choked noise leaves him, and he nods. He knows it's true. He knows her life and the life she would have led had she not fallen through the Rift. Robin leans forward, lips trembling as he presses a kiss against her forehead. Tears start to spill down his face. "It never would have been enough time," he says shakily.
They could have had another year together. They could have had several more years together, and he would always want more time, one more hour, one more day with her.
"You brought so much joy to my life from the very moment that you entered it, Rachel."
Even if he could open the door, Robin wouldn't. He couldn't leave her. He wouldn't want to. There is no life without her. He made it for himself before knowing she was alive and near. He could not do it again. He could not do it after holding her in his arms as she died.
You're going to have to lock the door now.
It hits him then. It hits him then, and it's the most reassuring realization that could occur to him at this moment. His chest calms. There's still pain and grief, but there's no terror at all.
Robin isn't afraid of death. He's been searching for it for years and years. He no longer wants or desires it like he has before, but there's nothing to be afraid of. There's nothing to regret, because she-- she's going to die and he has never wanted to be anywhere but right by her side.
He stares at her for a long quiet moment. The tears are in his eyes still, but he's remarkably calmer than he had been before. Robin's hand slips into her hair and he leans in to kiss her before he stands and moves to the door to lock it.
No one will be coming into or leaving that room today.
Robin moves back to her side, sinks down beside her, and gathers her up in his arms, holding her close to him. His lips press against her forehead. Tears slide down his face still.
"I'm not afraid of dying," he says against her skin as he keeps her close, keeps one hand against her wound to buy them just a little more time, just a little more time. "I'm only afraid of trying to live without you."
He wouldn't be able to.
If she's going to die, he wants to die with her whether he's bleeding out or not. It's where he's meant to be.
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Life does not come without risks and death never destroys an ideal. She won't be here tomorrow. She won't be here in a few hours, maybe only even minutes, and nothing for her has changed. She still believes in all the things she's always believed, and bombs and men that create them have not been able to break what she worked so hard to build.
Gotham was a dying city. They said to let it die. It was rotten to its core and it wasn't worth saving. She never believed it, and still doesn't, now that she's worlds away. Her mind will go to Bruce, and she'll think of two little kids running through the gardens, an arrowhead, and a Finders Keepers.
She'll think of Alfred and his gardens, his hope and his perseverance, but she won't remember what it was that he last said to her. Before the Rift took him. Before she forgot that she was supposed to say goodbye.
There was a life before and after Gotham. There is always life after something has ended. Everything begins and everything ends. Nothing is meant to be theirs forever. Nothing is meant to last. They are, in the end, bones and blood and pieces of everything and everyone they've ever known. They're living here on borrowed time, and she is at least, satisfied with what she's done with the time she was given.
Closing her eyes when she feels his lips brush her forehead, she forces the words to leave her mouth. They're important to say and she won't listen to her body as it says she can't. "It's not how much time we have," she says, and she doesn't realize her cheeks are wet. "It's what we do with the time we're given. And we did so much. You gave me so much. You have made me happier than I thought I could be."
He showed her she was so much more than a lawyer and her ideals.
He showed her how to want other things and still keep the part of her that made her who she is.
They spent so much time together. They learned each other back and forth, front and back. They went dancing and they went to Paris and they got married. They fought for Wanderer rights and they fought for justice in their own way, and whenever life gave up on them they found a way out of it once more to disprove what's always been said. About angels with terrible Callings. About wanderers who don't live long enough to make a difference.
Under any other circumstance, she'd be acutely aware of his realizations. As it is, everything has grown foggy, like she's experiencing and seeing him through a veil. She's going to miss him so much.
She misses so much already.
Rachel slumps against the wall when he goes to stand, her head lolling to the side as her gaze follows him. Her vision blackens before it clears up again, and she knows he hasn't turned off the lights. It's starting to hurt now but she doesn't say it, and as long as she doesn't move, she can get to the next moment, and the next, before--
I'm only afraid of trying to live without you.
Rachel's face crumples and she cries softly, silently. The tears burn down her face and she shakes her head. He is, and always has been, so much stronger than he's ever known. From the moment she found him in that hallway, broken and wanting to die, to this moment right now, he's been stronger than he's ever known. She's seen all of his struggles, from the Calling to the abuse to the alcohol, and it has never been anything short of inspiring and beautiful.
"But you did so good." He needs to hear that and she needs to say it, at least one last time. She's a better person for having known him. He did so much for himself. Her voice only cracks once when she brings him over to her, resting her forehead against his. "You did so good, Robin. And I am so proud of you."
It may be over, but her hand is holding his hand.
Her hand isn't empty and neither is his.
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He wonders about Scout, about how she'll get on on her own. They became family even if they rarely saw one another. Will anyone understand her as he came to understand her? And Rachel is dying, bleeding to death in his arms. His breath hitches in his throat as he tightens his hold on her, pressing another quick kiss into her hair.
They will both be dying. There's no escaping that death at this point, and he's grateful for it. He is grateful that he won't have to find his own way to death after losing her. It's already waiting for him, and it's the right decision. There's nothing else to decide. It's the right thing to do.
It's the right decision, and he isn't capable of making any other decision, not when he knows how many lives ride on this one, not when he loves so many lives in that other room.
He has made so many memories in Chicago that are worth going over again in the final moments. There were times where he felt he could help others, where he had a family, and she has always been that family to him. Rachel. She's the center of what his family has been.
Robin can tell how difficult it is for her to get those words out, and he has to choke on another sob. "We did so much," he agrees, and he says the words softly because they're only for her, because he can't speak any louder than that. "We loved so much more in almost two years than most people do... in their lifetimes."
He has no regrets. He will always want more time with her to have more, to be more. He would have had a family with her if she wanted it, and he never would have imagined himself having children, never would have dreamed that he would marry or love someone. He would have grown old with her if they were meant to grow old at all, but they never really were. In another universe, she told him Time is short for you and me, Robin. Always will be. We've been in love through time and time has never loved us back.
"I never knew how much you could love someone... until I loved you." There's that sound again like a sob, like something that's choked in his throat, strangled coming out of it. "I never knew... anyone could love me that much until you did."
Robin wouldn't have believed it. He wouldn't have imagined it, and he kept those walls up to prevent himself from ever finding out that it was true. No one could love a monster, but she taught him. She taught him better than that. So many times, he would run away in fear, make decisions that almost cost them everything. They found each other again during the plagues, after the plagues, after they'd been in a room with four walls that he thought they would never be able to recover from.
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His heart leaps into his throat, and he cannot breathe around it. The man is speaking in the distance, and he gets the button from under the table before he returns to her. Robin gets the blue one, doesn't bother with the other one, will have no need for it.
Robin slides down beside her again, picking her up and putting her in his lap instead. He wraps his arms around her so that she doesn't have to bother trying to hold herself up. He'll keep a hold of her. He'll keep her sitting up until it's over, until she takes her last breath.
The button is set aside. It's not until she stops breathing that he'll take it and push it. She already knows what it's like to die in an explosion. Robin won't let her go through that again. He won't be pushing the button until she's gone as painful as it is to think of watching her die in front of him, he can't do anything else.
His hand rests against the back of her head when she starts to cry. Robin presses another kiss against her hair, and he closes his eyes which are burning with fresh tears of his own. His hands are shaking. Rachel is the strongest person that he has ever known. She has fought against all odds, against everyone saying otherwise, despite being pushed back time and time again.
She has inspired him. "If you hadn't believed in me first," Robin says, and his hand cradles the side of her face as they sit so close, her forehead against his forehead. "I never would have believed in myself. Every good thing in my life came from you."
Robin squeezes her hand when she takes hold of his.
There's something so familiar about it, so commonplace yet so meaningful still. You're not alone.
Didn't he take her hand on the day that they met?
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There is comfort in knowing they are doing the right thing, never the easy thing, never that. She's prided herself on leading by example; on holding fast to her moral compass, to her beliefs, to her hope. She has prided herself by living her life as decently and honorably and honestly as possible. She isn't going to go back on any of it now that it hurts.
And it does hurt.
It hurts all over.
Her eyes are bleary and barely open. They feel like they're being glued shut but she wants to keep looking at him. He's beautiful, Robin, and she's always thought so. Beautiful and charming and funny and hers. There's a ring on his finger she put there. There was a small church in Paris where she said everything she ever wanted to say, and she'd say it again if she could form the words.
I've seen you grow into this amazing, strong, brave man that stands before me today. I've seen the burdens you've had to carry and what you've had to face. I believed in you then and I believe in you now. I'll never stop fighting for what I believe in, and I'll never stop fighting for us. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you, Robin, and you'll always have my hand to hold the way you've held mine.
It all seems really simple, in the end.
Life is a series of choices, the sum of one's actions and their struggles, their fighting and their caving. There's a lesson in everything. There were lessons she had to learn, whether she knew it or not, and she'd have never learned them if hadn't found herself in Chicago. She'd have never met him, and that would've been not only incredibly wrong, but heartbreaking. She is who she is now because of him and what they've achieved, what they've shared, what they've learned.
Nothing has made her happier and nothing has broken her heart more.
Rachel has only given her heart fully and completely, without any reservation twice in her whole life. A young life, but a full life.
She's only ever given it away completly twice.
The first time she gave it away wasn't to a person. It was to a city. It was to Gotham and everything it stood for, all of its hope and its gritty reality, and how deeply she'd wanted to save it. The second time was to Robin. "Y-you've been my Gotham in this world," she whispers, way too low but she hopes he hears it and he understands.
He'd always wanted to see it for himself. In a way, he did.
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He held her hand from the very first day. Gotham was gone, swept away from her in an instant. The courthouse was gone, a Rift twisting and tearing it apart. Everything she'd held dear and every belief she'd held fast to was ripped away from her. For the first time in her life, Rachel Dawes didn't know what to do and didn't know where to start. And here was this utter stranger, reaching out to steady her rattling hand, when she'd been used to doing the rattling, and it made all the difference.
It made all the difference, and from that day on, it was what they did for each other.
They reached out when the other needed something to hold on to.
They fell in love and they changed each other's lives. She has absolutely no regrets about anything they've done. Every word they ever said, every choice they ever made, it led to what they had. She is grateful everything she has ever wanted to tell him is something he already knows. There isn't a secret between them. There isn't anything she failed to do that she wanted to do for him. There isn't a moment they have had where she has not felt absolutely and entirely loved. There isn't a moment she has shared with him in which she has not loved him completely.
Words are no longer coming to her.
Rachel's vision keeps turning black, swimming in and out of the pitch darkness, and she's cold. It's easier to touch him instead. Her hand flattens against his chest, the way it has countless of other times. Her palm feels the drumming of his heartbeat. Her other hand rests against his cheek weakly, tugging him down toward her. Her throat pinches with tears, and her vocal chords work furiously against her once her lips meet his. "Robin, I love you."
They say life flashes before one's eyes when they're about to die.
That isn't true for her.
She doesn't see her whole life flash before her very eyes. She doesn't see any one moment in consecutive order. She sees small snippets and tokens of people she's loved, flashes here and there that do not hold enough coherency in their threads to form anything that's whole. Her mother's favorite red shoes. The law books she left on the table of her apartment. Robin's typewriter and the smell of his coffee. The arrowhead she gave back to Bruce. The dry pressed roses that were Alfred's favorites. And Robin.
And Robin.
The hand that was holding on to his cheek drops down to the floor limply, but her other hand remains in his. As quickly as she takes a breath, her body decides it doesn't need it anymore.
Her eyes close and the room becomes a void.
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They are doing the right thing though he can hardly think of that with her in his arms, dying, her blood spilling out of her and on to him.
If he could take away all of that pain for her, he would. He would in a heartbeat, and he tightens his hold, burying his face against her. His breath hitches in his throat, and it may be that they're so connected that he's thinking of that same moment in the church in Paris. They had such a wonderful time together in France.
He had felt nothing but happiness in his time spent there with her, happiness and love, and he had been so relaxed with her. Paris is a city that will always be theirs together as much as Chicago was home. They have already said to one another, countless times what they mean to each other and how much they've done for one another. They've already tried to put their love into words though there could never be the right ones to explain it.
Robin had told her so much then about how she changed him, what she had done for him, and how she helped him learn how to stand on his own and hope on his own. No one has ever given him anything as great as what she gave him.
You are the only person in any universe that I would want to spend the rest of my life with, whether that is one more day, one more year, or one more decade, Rachel, that's all I could need or want. It does not matter how long, the longer the better. I'm where I belong. I'm with you.
That remains true. It has been true since the moment that he met her and found that he could reach for her hand when he didn't reach out to anyone, when he didn't let anyone get past those walls. She was different from the start.
From that moment on, he wanted to see her again. He wanted to help her. In the city where it feels as though everyone has to fight for themselves in a sea of darkness, he wanted to fight with her. He wanted to listen to what she said, and he let himself believe it. There was something about her that helped him believe it.
Robin's breath catches in his throat. You've been my Gotham in this world, and he does know what that means, because he understands her connection and love and belief in that city, how she fought for it when no one else thought it deserved fighting. "And you've been Paris for me," he says softly, the one place in the world, the one person in the world that he could find peace with, love with, hope with.
He remembers standing on top of the Eiffel Tower for the first time and feeling something completely unrecognizable to him at that time. Now he knows that that feeling was hope, and he found it with her.
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When she closes her eyes and rests her head against his shoulder, Robin has to bite back the sob that threatens to break lose. He cradles her whole body against him, does not let an inch of her remain bare or open. "Long after this is over, I will love you. Somehow. Impossibly so," he says against her. "If anything survives of me here, it will be that."
The book that he has written, he was able to write because she first believed in him and had faith in him in a way that no one else did. The book will remain. Her efforts will remain. The inspiration that she provided to others will remain in their hearts.
Years and years later when they're forgotten, these things won't remain, but for now, it's impossible to think that this love could die even knowing that they will die. They are dying. The love that he feels for her is too strong to just die as though it never existed.
Robin has no regrets either. He can't. He can't after how happy they have been for months, for months.
Robin, I love you she says, and he has to choke on another noise that he forces back. He kisses her again, cradling her body which seems to be going limper and limper as time passes. "I love you," he breathes out against her skin, tears slipping down his face and likely falling on to hers. He can't catch his breath with the grief that's tearing his chest into pieces. "I love you, Rachel. My wife. My best friend."
Everything.
She has been everything to him.
"I love you," he says just as her hand goes limp and falls from his face to the floor. Robin lets out a sob that comes from the deepest part of himself, and he cradles her against his chest. Her arms are limp beneath her though her hand (limp and unmoving) still remains in his own. He grips hold of it despite the fact that she isn't moving anymore, can't feel that he's holding on to her hand.
"I love you."
til my body is dust
til my soul is no more
I will love you, love you.
And when he finally takes the button and pushes it, sending her body and himself up in flames of destruction and he dies with her in his arms, it's all he knows.
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