Unfulfilled Slumber
Part 2
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6:23 P.M.
Room No. 14, Affinity Hospital,
Gotham City
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The first time she awoke, it was dusk.
Bright light flooded above her and a faint crisp odor of disinfectant could be discerned.
Opening her eyes, Rachel was pleased to find out that she could turn her head. Looking around, she could make out the faint outline of the foot of her bed and the IV tube attached to her arm. She could feel the cold seeping in through the thin cotton slip she was wearing. A hospital.
She was in a hospital.
Through her window, she could see Gotham, alive, with noise and lights in the evening air, welcoming the night and the nightlife. A life or hundred could end but the great pulsating organism that was Gotham would go on living, its vast mechanism absorbing yet another sacrifice, its engine gearing up to hang on through another day, to suffer another night.
She tried to sit up, but was mildly surprised when her body refused to move. Rachel already felt hot and bothered in the stuffy room when a second ago she had been freezing. Lifting up a shaking hand to wipe off the beads of sweat that had gathered on her forehead she felt dizzy for a moment…and everything came rushing back in a crescendo of sensations, overwhelming all her thoughts.
The blare of sirens…
Fire licking her skin…
Hishands on her shoulders…
Thoughts swirled around her head, sometimes distorted and disconnected, and sometimes, startlingly lucid.
A dash of purple…well hellooo there, beautiful…a flash of silver…you want to know why I use knives…a fountain of crimson…you think you're in pain now…a trail of oil…let's take, a trip through hell,together, you right here and I out there in uh-Gorrrdon's fortress, but don't worry, we won't leave ah-Dent outta all the fun…
No! No! No! Not Harv –
There was no escaping from the nightmare.
She didn't know she was screaming until the doctors came running.
Consciousness returned, uninvited and sudden, the aftereffects of a drug-induced sleep which does not drive out tiredness but only pushes it to the back of all the numbness. The slow throbbing in her head had dulled, leaving behind a stark clarity for the first time, allowing her to think.
Rachel clenched her fist, feeling the empty air. She had had a strange dream. Had someone been holding her hand?
Pushing away the absurd thought, she touched her face, tracing over the scarred skin, her lips curving up wryly, thinking what her god-fearing mother would say if she saw her now.
Atonement for her sins? The price of her mistakes?
Probably pass it off as a divine design of the all-mighty.
Her mother couldn't have seen evil if it danced in front of her, waving a knife in one hand and a detonator in the other. Rachel wondered vaguely if it were the drugs which were making her remember the woman after such a long time. She had all but cut her completely out of her life.
Mrs. Dawes had been a pious woman. A devout catholic, she had tried to inspire her daughter to share the grandeur of her religion many a time.
Unsuccessfully.
Rachel had about as much interest in passing her time in attending masses and praying as Bruce had in working to get good grades. In the years following their move from the Wayne Manor to the city, Mrs. Dawes became feebler in her attempts to convince her daughter to put her trust in the power of the divine. How couldn't she, when even the world seemed to have lost its faith, in God and in fellow man?
Gotham's fall from grace only made her more disturbed, until she could no longer live in a place where the goodness had died, as easily as the pulling of a trigger, as a flash of knife, only to be replaced by a grim veracity, austere in its intensity, bare and brutal. As the city fell into decay, her mother became more and more agitated, unable to protect her daughter and herself from the harsh reality. What she didn't understand was that Rachel had long ago given up believing in her words, her tales of triumph of good over evil, of everything happening as a result of God's plan for mankind.
So in Rachel's second yeah at college, her mother moved out, away from Gotham and its unkindness, leaving behind a daughter who had no time for her naivety and her beliefs.
My daughter, the cynic. My daughter, the skeptic, her mother used to say. She wasn't entirely to blame.My daughter, the lawyer had been added later on, but Rachel didn't like to think about that.
Not only would she completely agree to disagree with her mother on each and everything, Rachel would never pass a single opportunity to scoff at her mother's steadfast faith and superstitious nature. Gotham's descent only strengthened her conviction that praying and believing were useless. If you wanted to get something done, you had to go out there and do it. You couldn't trust anyone. The world was a jungle, and there wolves on every corner, ready to tear you apart.
Rachel had been told to believe in the inherent goodness of humanity but all her experiences had proved otherwise. Her mother couldn't see the true colors of the world they lived in, so she had escaped.
But she had stayed. Stayed to endure, to stand up…to fight.
And look where that had got her now.
In the deepest corners of her mind, she always wondered if the real reason she had kept on fighting was really to make the world a better place or to prove her mother wrong.
Lawyers were supposed to be smart, intelligent. People who could make the correct judgments at the right time.
However, lately it seemed she had made very bad decisions. Letting Harvey take the fall for Batman, agreeing to go ahead with his daring plan, leaving him hanging on a thread of faith were only some of them.
But the one decision, she did not regret…was giving the letter to Alfred. The one she'd written in a fit of rage, whatever cool her words might have sounded.
Bruce read the letter. He decided to move on. He let me go.
It had been just been proved in the ultimate test of all. He chose to save the one hope for Gotham rather than save her. In the end, he had made the right choice. After all her misgivings and her doubts, he had taken the right path. That was all she needed to know. Gotham's future was in safe hands again. Batman was no longer vulnerable. He could be the hero of Gotham. The one they deserved and needed.
With the sense of relief, surprisingly, came a misplaced sense of guilt and bitterness. Taken aback, Rachel tried to push it to the back of her mind. Wasn't that what she'd wanted? She had given him up long ago. Given up on the small hope that one day they could be together.
So why was she feeling distressed now all of a sudden?
He could be the Knight of Gotham. He could be everything. She tried to reason with herself.
Then realization washed over her like a bucket of icy cold water.
Cruel.
She was cruel. In her own selfishness, she had denied him the one chance of a normal life. The chance to escape from his anguish. The chance to put away his mask; not only the leather one, but the one he always wore, day after day, week after week, month after month, in front of the world, hiding what was best of him. Denying the world the glimpse of the true Bruce Wayne. Everything that Thomas Wayne had been and more.
Much, much more.
The one chance of salvation.
He is the future. He will save Gotham.She tried to disagree with herself in an argument she knew she was going to lose. Because whatever she may say, and whatever he may have left unsaid, Rachel knew him too well to know that if there would ever have been a time when Bruce Wayne stopped being Batman, it would be with Rachel beside him.
But now, now there was no way he could leave the mantle of the Dark Knight. The system was too corrupt, the cops were too corrupt and the Joker had just shown that to the world, albeit in a brutal manner. Batman would never stop as long as the mob was alive and thriving. He would make sure they were gone for good before he'd go out.
He would never stop until Gotham was safe again. She would have to accept that.
Maybe, she thought faintly, as she drifted off to sleep, watching dawn approach, we can be friends again.
'Doctor Elliot?'
'Yes?'
'Good evening. I am here to take Rachel Dawes with me.'
'Rachel Dawes? Are you relation?'
'…no. I'm a friend.'
'I'm sorry, I don't think…'
'I'm sure we can work something out, Dr.…Thomas, isn't it?'
'Yes. But the police…'
'Oh, you'll be getting a call from the Commissioner soon, Thomas. He'll explain everything. '
'This is highly irregular…'
'How about we take this to your office?'
'I…'
'Excellent hospital. I'd love to help out sometime.'
'Who exactly do you think you…?'
'Wayne. Bruce Wayne.'
