Brick for brick

Preface: Hey! My first attempt at a Batman thingy. Just because it is seriously getting on my nerves not to have gotten it out of my head yet and probably because I don't really share everyone's interest in creating deviant love stories including the Joker and a teenage girl desiring to explore her most rebellious side. Not that I don't like him as a character -I actually went to see TDK to witness Heath Ledger's fantastic performance- but as a Batman fan since my youngest days (My favorite Batman movie being Returns. Ok, now it is TDK, but still. I pledge eternal allegiance to Tim Burton's art.), I have a neat preference for Bruce Wayne who has a particularly complex personality, even though everyone seems to have forgotten it now that they have been mesmerized by the Joker's own complexity.
I will not forget to mention that, the character of Rachel Dawes, which I though useless when I first heard of it, now seems to me like the perfect invention to give more substance to Bruce Wayne as a human being. And being the silly romantic I am, I still hate her for choosing not to try and find the little boy in him herself instead of waiting for him to come back. So this is what this story is going to be about...
Set at the end of Batman Begins, a rewriting of the final scene which might have a sequel or not. I don't know yet. But what I'm sure of, is that if I had been Rachel, this is what I would have said and done. (Why is it that Kathie Holmes must always play the annoying one, with her psychological blocks and her tendency to complicate relationships that could be so simple? Oh well... They found the answer to that problem in TDK. Naaah I'm mean. Enough stupid comments, now on with the story. Thanks for your patience lol)

Disclaimer: None of it is mine. I will regretfully add: not even Christian Bale's perfectly round butt. (sigh)

Sitting at her office, she carefully folded the newspaper she had been reading. On the front page was a large photograph of Batman. Giving a closer look, she cursed herself silently for having missed the resemblance. She had known him all her life, as far as she could remember, he had always been there. He had been there when she had lost her first baby tooth, he had been the one giving her her first kiss -they were 6 years old; he had taught her some valuable life lessons -more particularly about how to trick Alfred into giving them dessert twice. Yes, this shadowy figure on the front page of the Gotham Times had been her alter-ego during the first years -the best years- of her existence.

Yet something struck her as she was now literally squinting at the picture. Of course, now that she knew, she recognized the jaw line, the lips, the chin... It was Bruce. But, if she had not seen, if she had ignored the obviousness of these features... Maybe it was because it was not him anymore.
For years after Alfred had him declared dead, she had kept on wondering what her life would have been if she had never left the manor, if they had kept on growing up with each other. Would they have shared the same symbiotic relationship they had had during their childhood or would have life separated them? This question never left her, and each time she would look at pictures of them, nostalgia, regrets would invade her heart. But when she heard those words, a mere echo, out of Carl's mouth "He's back", as if he had been talking of some sort of messiah... Nostalgia and regrets transformed into hope. The silly, unrealistic hope that the 23 year-olds they were when they last saw each other would remain unchanged. That when she would see him they would erase those 7 years of silence with a smile.

All their lives they had been able to communicate without words, but when she finally ran into him by accident; even words were not sufficient. The man escorting two models enveloped in bathrobes was not the Bruce she had known. It was the caricature of caricatures; a cliché of billionaire playboy as described in the papers. What had he been doing? Where had he lived? What had he become? This?
When he told her he was more, more than what she saw; she renounced judging him but she warned him. Then, precisely, his eyes told her more than she realized at first. She understood later, when she learned...

Sighing, she traced the contour of Batman's mask.
"It's not what you are underneath, it's what you do that defines you."

He had repeated word for word what she had meant as a life lesson of her own. Now she realized she had hurt him. Again. Like that night in her car, when she had slapped him; when... she had told him things she would never forgive herself for saying. She would never ask him to forgive her. Never. Because she was slowly realizing that these words had created this mask. She swallowed; she had created the Batman.
All those times where she had told him what he needed to hear -at least this is what she had thought when she had said it- he had listened. And each time he had acted on it. Literally. She suddenly felt the unbearable weight of guilt; more than a mere dispute between lifetime friends, it had been the turning point of his life. She was responsible.

When she parked her car, she saw for the first time all her childhood reduced to ashes. The Wayne Manor had always seemed indestructible, unsinkable, eternal. But it was gone, like the young Bruce and Rachel who used to play around the gardens and fight for native artifacts they would find there. This feeling of void even stronger when she saw Bruce covering up the well, this well that had caused her so much fear when she had seen him fall in it. Had she led him to pain all her life? She was beginning to wonder; and for this, she felt awful. All her life she had loved him, yet she never succeeded in showing it to him. She had just, made him fall in a well and break his leg, she had told him monstrosities that had made him disappear and as soon as he had come back she had resumed her little game. This subconscious game she could not quite understand but that she felt she needed to end.
Feeling her presence, he smiled. She could not understand how he would smile to her after all the things she had done.

- I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Rachel.

Sorry? What can he be sorry for? She moved closer to him.

- No. No, Bruce... I'm sorry. The day that Chill died, I... I said terrible things.

She did not know how to phrase it, but it had to come out. Her stupid pride, this is what had always made her play this game with him. Now she had to get rid of it, let her heart speak for her. But he did not let her:

- But true things. I was a coward with a gun, and justice is more than revenge. So thank you.

No, please. No. Don't thank me. She thought with rage. I made your life miserable when you needed it the least. I deserve nothing more than disdain. Suddenly, it all rushed out:

- You can't thank me Bruce. I made you leave, I made you disappear. It's like this well, I made you fall, I...

He smiled. Once more she failed to understand his reaction. Did she know him at all anymore? She just knew she wanted to keep this smile from fading, so she stopped talking, almost in spite of herself.

- You taught me how to become better. I fell in that well because of my selfishness, I left because of my stupidity. Each time, you were there to show me what mistakes I had made. This is why I thank you. This is why I'm grateful.

So, he recognized it. She had participated in making him what he was today. Far from reassuring her, the thought increased her distress. When he realized it, he frowned. Unsure of what to say, of what he missed that maybe... should have been said. As usual, the little boy in him trying the best he could to please the only one whose opinion made the difference.

- What is it, Rach?

She forced a smile, desperate to know exactly how to express her feelings. She drew closer once again, so close that she was now inches from his face. This straight, innocent looking face hidden behind a terrifying mask. She raised her hand, touching it slowly; as if to trace the contours of this mask like she had done with the photograph of Batman. Now she knew.

- I never stopped thinking about you. About us. And when I heard you were back, I... I started to hope.

He tried to keep himself from smiling, but he had waited for these words ever since he had understood what they meant. Even though he knew they would automatically be accompanied with a "but". He was determined not to let a "but" ruin his hopes again. Whatever it was.

- But then I found out about your mask.

Of course.

- Batman is just a symbol, Rachel.

He answered fast, to justify himself, to prove he was "more", just like he had tried when they had seen each other at the restaurant. This time she wanted him to know he had nothing to prove. Especially not to her.

- No. This...

Her fingers now on his chin brushed his lips softly.

-... This is your mask. Your real face is the one that criminals now fear. The man I loved, I made him vanish. I am responsible. I contributed in silencing him, in hardening him. That night, when I told you... those things, I destroyed the last parcel of innocence you had preserved. I forced you to bury the little boy you were.

What could he answer to that? He did not even know what it could possibly mean. What had made the little boy in him disappear was the sight of his parents dying in the shadows of a dark alley. But what had kept him human... It had always been her. Images suddenly rushed through his brain; Rachel holding his hand at his parent's funerals; Rachel straightening his tie before he left for Princeton, giving him a confident smile; Rachel scolding him when he bought her a Porsche for her 20th birthday.

- Rachel... You're the one keeping that little boy alive. When I see you, I want to be more, I want you to be proud of me. With you I don't have any mask to wear. Nor Batman or Bruce Wayne's. I don't have to think, I just... want you to see I'm here. Unchanged.

This time, she was the one smiling. She had been close from asking him, pleading him to save the little boy, to search for him in the deepest corners of his heart, but he was telling her she had no effort to make. Was it possible?

- I want to keep this little boy alive.

He could find no better conclusion to this than a kiss. Hesitating, he leaned forward, remembering with amusement the first time he had done this. They were 6 years old. At that time he had wanted to imitate his parents. He liked seeing them exchanging kisses. To him it meant security, it meant his family was united, ready to face anything. He had wanted to kiss Rachel for this reason. To make sure that together, they could face to worse. Today it made more sense than ever before. Had he ever fantasized about their first "adult" kiss? He had imagined it passionate, a breathless testimony of years of longing; but it was none of that. It was brief but meaningful, it meant security, and union. Keeping his forehead against hers, he waited for her to say something, unable to formulate anything intelligible himself. His wish was soon granted, Rachel's teeming brain still working its way through the successive revelations she had had to face until then:

- How can I keep him alive?

Another smile, he cupped her face in his hands.

- You just have to stay with me.

He kissed her again before welcoming her in his arms. She breathed heavily, burying her face in his shoulder. She could feel the silent strength in him, a strength she had never seen before. She knew it was the strength of this man wearing a mask. But she could also feel the soft kisses he left in her hair, a softness she had missed for so long. It was the softness of the little Bruce Wayne that had stood by her in good and bad times. Standing over the ruins of their lost childhood, she realized with relief, that what had been lost could be rebuilt. The foundations intact, the past teaching timeless lessons. And she knew he felt it too.

- What are your going to do? With the manor.

She felt him smile against her hair.

- Rebuild it, brick for brick.

Yes, he felt it too. They would finally be given a chance to finish growing up together.

End