"I'm not running from. No, I think you got me all wrong. I don't regret this life I chose for me."
It's cool outside. The air on his face is welcome, and it cannot reach any other part of him. His eyes sting, and it's only determination and an ever-present anger that keeps them open and focused. The anger's origin is simple enough, even if the outlet for it is notA year has dragged by, filled with nothing but ignored days and nights that
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She's not supposed to be here. She's supposed to be at the Conrad, resting. Why she left the hotel in the first place--the reason now eludes her. She can't remember it anymore.
Too much, too fast, too soon.
It's you.
There's an arrowhead she gave him, and a letter she never did. There's a memory (they're eight and running through gardens), and then another (It's what you do that defines you), and an unspoken goodbye that never really meant anything.
Too fast, too much, too soon.
The air leaves her lungs in one violent breath.
It's like a truck has run her down and there are only pieces left from the wreckage. It takes what seems like forever for Rachel to leave the safety of the ground.
Lifetimes are encased within the moment she was crouched on the floor to the moment she's finally standing, her eyes never once leaving the cloaked shadow on the opposite side of the street.
Not once.
It can't be ( ... )
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There's no reason for him to hear that small breath, but he does.
The shadows are everywhere. They're cloaking the woman's face and there's absolutely no reason for him to feel something other than the cold he carries with him.
She takes a step back and he opens his mouth to ask if she's all right when the shadows leave her.
She's unmasked.
He hears nothing but the sounds of something rushing through his head, past his ears and beyond. It's pressure and it's confusion. It's disbelief and it's something he's fought to lose in the dark. It's nothing he can force even his mind to speak of.
It's not her.
It doesn't make sense. Nothing makes sense right now.
... I failed you.He doesn't realize what he' ( ... )
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Anything that could have given her the faintest hint of one--the regret of what was lost, the absence of Gotham and him, the anger at what followed--she forced herself to let it go.
She couldn't live with it. It would have killed her. She slowly released every thread of the past locked around her, one by one, and soon enough she was weightless of the baggage save for one thing.
The one thing she never did manage to walk away from, no matter how much distance she placed.
When he pulls off the mask and she can see--really see--his face, her heart starts thudding violently. He's always been unreadable, a swarm of masks on top of masks with the true surface buried within ( ... )
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He tells himself that, over and over, and there's a part of him that notices that the voice in his head isn't the one he hears answer her. It doesn't match, and it hasn't for a long time now.
"You're real."
His voice is harsh. It sounds like he hasn't spoken for a very long time, like he's forgotten how.
Her voice. He has to close his eyes for a moment.
'You're here.'
It's her, and his eyes snap open. He steps back toward her and his arms go around her. He's picking her up and holding her. His arms are holding her close and he can smell her hair. He can feel it against his face, and he has to lean back to look. He has to see.
He can't let go.
Even to look, he can't let go.
"Rachel." His hands release their hold around her body only to touch her face and he's looking at her. He's looking so closely.
"I wasn't fast enough." He's mumbling now, not speaking to her. "You were gone. You were ...you were gone."
His eyes focus again, locking on to her. "You're real." A breath. A heartbeat. " ( ... )
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Just in time to notice someone dressed in dark body armor using a car as a landing pad.
His first instinctive thought is to wonder if this is another member of the Justice Society, but he's aware that's just wishful thinking. Aside from himself and Lois, there doesn't seem to be anyone else from their world.
Lamenting the absence of his Blur costume, Clark approaches the figure on the car.
"Nice landing." When in doubt, state the obvious.
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It's natural for most people to stare or to initially back away from something loud and startling. The fact that he's in Chicago gives him a clue that things are obviously not as they should be, however, and his reply is given in an unreadable voice that shares a likeness with gravel...and the broken glass littered on the cement.
"Thanks." Bruce says nothing for a long moment, simply appraising the man. "Your car?"
There's no apology offered. It's not like Bruce cares, truthfully, though he'll be more than glad to replace it first thing in the morning.
He's simply curious as to why the man approached a car being flattened.
More than that, however, he's curious about something else. "For clarification purposes, would you tell me where we are?" It irritates him to need to ask.
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Not everyone survives an impact like that, especially since most of the buildings around are of a reasonably tall height.
"You're welcome, and, no, it's not." But it does belong to someone, and the owner is sure to get an unpleasant surprise in the near future. Not that Clark can lecture on this - he once swan-dived off a skyscraper to save a friend and ended up totaling a truck.
Still.
"Chicago, Illinois. United States of America. On Earth," he adds a little lamely, for clarification purposes. There's a reason for that too, but the narration will hold off on lectures for another day.
He's more interested in the suit, dark colors a direct contrast to his jeans and blue plaid shirt.
"Are you okay?"
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He's a suspicious man by nature, to say the least.
There's no glance back at the car to see the damage. There's no need. Bruce shrugs and nods once. "It'll be taken care of," he mutters.
There's a short nod given at Chicago, Illinois. Another at United States of America.
There's a sharp look given at On Earth. He doesn't remark and his mask gives little away in the means of facial cues. There are his eyes, however, and they're amused, if only for a moment ( ... )
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