Author's Note: So for my second shot I decided to try some angst. I'm not very satisfied with the ending, but oh well. I had a vision, and it ran away from me. Anyway, I hope you like it. Please leave a review :)
Disclaimer: I don't own Batman.
Rachel Dawes was seven years old when she married Bruce Wayne.
The wedding was a simple backyard ceremony. The officiator was a stuffed bear.
It was a sunny day in July. The groom wore khaki shorts and a Star Wars t-shirt. The bride wore a yellow sundress and a white handkerchief on her head as a veil. They exchanged plastic rings purchased for a quarter at the local arcade. The audience was small, no friends or family, only a few dolls and a giant stuffed dog. At the end, Rachel leaned over and planted a kiss on a shocked Bruce, who blushed, mumbled something about hearing Alfred calling, and fled.
In the weeks that followed, Rachel insisted that they do husband and wife things, like hold hands and go on dates. Bruce blushed every time Rachel grabbed his hand, but held his grasp on her small fingers nonetheless.
One day, while playing checkers, Rachel randomly blurted out, "I love you." She heard Mrs. Wayne say it to Mr. Wayne all the time, and she supposed it was something a wife ought to tell a husband. Bruce had simply looked at her and shrugged.
"I love you, too, I suppose," was the reply. Then his attention returned to the game. But his response was enough to keep Rachel on cloud nine the rest of the day.
At school, she told all her friends about her wonderful husband, Bruce Wayne. They would gather around her to giggle and coo over the plastic adorning her finger. And she felt like the luckiest girl in the world.
There was never an official, spoken separation, but Rachel could pinpoint the exact moment that the relationship ended. When Thomas and Martha Wayne died, a part of Bruce died. The young and happy part. The part that was married to Rachel. The part that was left wasn't interested in comfort from a fake wife.
A few days after the funeral, Rachel and her mother moved out of Wayne Manor. Bruce and Alfred came by, to see her new home, but Bruce was withdrawn and barely uttered a word to her the entire visit. That night, Rachel slipped the plastic ring off her finger and placed it in her bedside table drawer.
Then she cried herself to sleep.
Rachel Dawes was thirty-two years old when she married Harvey Dent.
The wedding was still simple, but it was held in a small nondenominational church instead of the sprawling Wayne Manor yard. The officiator was an old pastor named Paul who was going deaf in one ear.
It was a cold day in March, rainy and windy and altogether miserable, but Harvey said it didn't matter because they were together. The groom wore a black suit and a long black tie. The bride wore a second-hand, cream dress with a wreath of white lilies adorning her dark curls. They exchanged simple gold bands, bought with the savings of three months' salaries. The audience consisted of their family and a few close friends. Bruce Wayne sat in the very last pew, looking gorgeous in a no doubt designer suit and an ever so small frown, his gaze smoldering. At the moment when Pastor Paul asked if there were any objections, Rachel allowed her gaze to flit, just for a second, to Bruce. His jaw was clenched, but he remained perfectly still.
They were pronounced man and wife, and Rachel let herself breathe a sigh of relief. When she leaned in to kiss him, Harvey didn't blush or run away; he simply held her tighter.
At the reception, the happy couple was never more than inches away from each other. Harvey held her hand the entire night, and was constantly whispering "I love you," in her ear.
All of her friends declared they were jealous that Rachel had found someone as great as Harvey, and they giggled and cooed over her ring. But looking at her new husband, Rachel felt her stomach sink because his hair was blond and unkempt instead of brown and styled; his eyes were twinkling at her instead of piercing through her. And for the life of her, she could not bring herself to feel lucky.
At some point during the evening, Rachel excused herself to go to the restroom. She was sitting in her dressing room when Bruce found her.
"I'm glad you could come," she said to his reflection in the mirror. "I wasn't sure if you could make time in your busy schedule for little old me."
"I wouldn't miss this for the world, Rachel. You know that," Bruce replied quietly. She felt a hum of excitement in her stomach that after all this time, he still put her first.
"You look beautiful," he said, sitting down next to her. Her cheeks warmed. She found that she could not think of a single thing to say. Her stomach was completely aflutter in the presence of the man she had loved for so long, but her heart was filled with shame. She had a loving and devoted husband and here she was being flustered by another man.
Bruce also seemed at a loss for any more words. "Well then, I'd better get back to the party." He abruptly stood and started towards the door.
"It should have been us up there, Bruce," she blurted out, suddenly finding her voice. He turned slowly to face her. She dragged her eyes to meet his. His expression was unreadable.
"Why wasn't it us? We would have been happy," she whispered.
He approached her slowly, weighing every step, and knelt down in front of her, taking her face in his hands. "No, we wouldn't have been. Because some things are just not meant to be," he said softly. She felt his thumb brush away a tear that had escaped without her knowledge.
He pulled a small, perfectly wrapped box out of his pocket and placed it in her hands. "You deserve to be happy, Rachel," he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
Then he turned and left Rachel sitting alone. She ripped off the paper to reveal a velvet box. Inside the box sat a small plastic ring purchased for a quarter at an arcade. The paint was chipping off. And Rachel felt her heart break into a million little pieces.
Later that night, after Harvey was asleep, Rachel pulled the small box out of her purse. She contemplated it. This one box contained her entire childhood. All the dreams she had. All the happiness she envisioned. And now they were all fading away, just like the cheap gold paint on the ring.
She looked down at the solid gold ring adorning her left hand. It was modest, nothing like her childhood fantasies, but it was real. It was her future.
Gathering all her resolve, she pulled her bedside table drawer open and withdrew a matching small plastic ring. Gently, she laid it beside its partner on the soft velvet cushion and snapped the box shut. "Goodbye, Bruce," she whispered. She placed the box in the very back corner of the drawer and closed it before she could change her mind.
Then she cried herself to sleep.