Overture
All characters belong to Christopher Nolan and DC Comics
I do not own any of these characters
She lurks in the darkness, her natural element.
She sits on the couch, lithe frame pressing against the cushions as her gun-a method of survival is placed in front of her; resting on the glass and loaded with three bullets. She knows that she's entering a point of no return, slipping in the deep end-she's a killer. Her scars are reminders that she is broken and a captive of the illusions of freedom from the gray shaded world.
Her gloved fingers curl over the black steel of the gun, as the muzzle is aimed at the shadows of regrets. She is armed and dangerous, brown eyes glinting with a lethal glare and red lips are rigid and neutral. She listens sharply to obscure sounds of traffic-it becomes a sense of calming to her twisting soul. It doesn't last, each sound is impermanent -each breath that escapes her lungs is impermanent.
She knows the ropes and the jagged truths.
She feels a fracture in her disobedient heart, cutting deep into the flesh of her existence. Everything she feels is like ice, there is no warmth, just coldness that punctures inside the fabrics of her unsteady soul. She wants to feel alive, embrace the sunlight and have freedom to laugh, but she is caged in a world of despair and malice. Her life is worthless to anyone who pulls a trigger-cuts in deep and buries her.
Come with me...
Her own pleading words play in her mind.
"Come back to me," she whispers, breath is strained and eyes drift over the mixtures of shadow and moonlight. "Your life didn't give you everything." She narrows her eyes down at the gun in her hand-a choice stabs through her, she can either become a lethal weapon and travel the world hunting down targets that stole everything from her-family, money, identity. Her soul. She can throw the gun away and use the plane ticket; start an exceptional life away from the grim city and the memories of him.
She places the gun back on the table, next to the plane ticket.
"I guess the offer is on the table," she mutters out a cold breath, staring intently at the items placed in front of her. She closes her eyes for a moment, allowing all of her thoughts to drift back to his piercing hazel-green eyes burning in the darkness of the cowl-the softness of his straight, thinned lips and the raspy voice that made her blood become scorched every time she listened to the fierce growl of the Bat.
"He doesn't exist anymore." She reminds herself. "He's never coming back."
She hears something in the darkness of her apartment, alarming and familiar-a single drop of pearls on the glass.
She opens her eyes and stares at the necklace, it's in the middle of the gun and the plane ticket.
"That offer of yours," a deep, haunting voice bellows from the shadows. "Does it still stand?"
Her gut twists and instincts, scream -no.
Her wounded heart beckons her traitorous lips to answer, "Yes."
He steps into the shafts of light, his densely muscled body garbed in black longcoat, jeans and boots. His dark hair windswept and chiseled face weather-beaten. His hazel green eyes filled with acceptance and free from the shadows of Batman. He looks the same, she's not surprised that he's alive, if she is she will not show it.
He invades her space, she rises on her heels, meets him half way-she takes an impulse, but effective risk; pulls him closer and covers his smooth lips with a bruising kiss.
The kiss is explosive, long and deep. It's something they both need; something they both want.
They share the one, equal thing that both of them never thought it was possible to have...
Freedom.
